Enemy Zone (Trident Rescue #1) - Alex Lidell Page 0,2

“You need to leave. Now.”

I stand my ground. “The First Amendment says otherwise.”

Hunt takes a step toward me, his shoulders spreading as if he’s about to sprout wings like an archangel. His stance is pure trained authoritarian. This guy comes from either a law enforcement background or, more likely, a military one.

Just like my father. Just like Jaden. The thought of my ex-fiancé makes me shudder with revulsion.

“Cullen,” Eli says from behind the medic, the warning note in it subtle but unmistakable.

Hunt’s hands curl into a fist, anger radiating from him in waves. I back up a step. A muscle in Hunt’s jaw flexes, and he spins on his heel, slamming his palm against the Suburban with a loud clang—Eli saving his hand from getting crushed only by virtue of his uncannily quick reflexes.

All right, so maybe Eli Mason isn’t drunk.

Stomping around the medical Suburban, Hunt slides behind the steering wheel.

“Mason, shotgun.”

At first, I have no idea what Hunt’s decree means. Did he seriously just threaten me with a shotgun? But then Eli throws me a narrowed glance before snapping to like a cadet and climbing into the passenger’s side.

Ah.

I go to take another picture of the scene, my hand stilling midmotion. Not only had Eli Mason not acted intoxicated, but the way Hunt barked out orders, it was hard to imagine the medic being on his patient’s payroll. The only thing Frank’s lead had gotten correct, it seems, was the accident site.

The siren comes on, wailing so loudly that I clap my hands over my ears. Then the Suburban maneuvers into traffic, cutting off a sedan, and careens down Main. A couple of blocks down, it whips down a side street, the flashing lights strobing across the manicured landscaping of both buildings and residences alike.

Before I can register everything that just happened, the emergency vehicle and its surly occupant have vanished from sight.

Great. The only place willing to hire me had sent me on a story without the correct information, and I hadn’t been able to obtain even the briefest of interviews from anyone involved.

What now?

2

Cullen

“A dog? Seriously, Mason?” Cullen Hunt frowned at Eli Mason as the former SEAL balked at the sight of a suturing kit Cullen was pulling out. Cullen had already given up on the notion of taking the stubborn son of a bitch to a hospital to get a full concussion workup, but he wasn’t about to give in on this. The laceration on Eli’s arm was not bleeding much, but it was long and deep enough to develop an infection if they weren’t careful. Eli got off light. Whatever else, the Caddie had one hell of a safety system.

“You can maneuver a goddamned Humvee around mortar explosions, but a dog sends you into a tree?” Cullen asked.

“It was right there in the middle of the intersection…” Eli threw up his hands, the sudden action making him wince and grab his neck. The man’s British accent—which his London-born parents beat into him—was more pronounced than usual, as it always became under stress. “It was little and brown. Had floppy ears. So it was probably a puppy. I may be an arsehole, but I’m not gonna run over a puppy. And I don’t need a nursemaid, Cullen. Or stitches. I’m—”

“Oh, let me guess,” Cullen interrupted, speaking over him. “You’re fine.”

“I am.” Standing, Eli paced back and forth in one of the med bays at the small Trident Rescue Medical Facility, arms crossed over his chest. At least there was no one else there to watch Eli very much not practice what he preached when he was the medic on duty.

Unlike Denton Valley’s main emergency medical response operation, Denton EMS, Trident Rescue was a private company—one that Cullen owned. The SEALS had trained emergency medicine into his blood and Cullen brought the passion with him when he left the military.

He’d tried volunteering at Denton EMS, but the civilian service didn’t scratch the right itch. However, Trident Rescue did—especially once Cullen recruited Eli Mason, Liam Rowen, and Kyan Keasley, the men Cullen had befriended at the military high school their parents had shipped them off to.

Now each volunteered a shift or two a week at the Rescue, picking up any trauma calls Denton EMS sent their way. With how shorthanded Denton EMS always was, they were more than happy for the occasional help—especially for remote mountain accidents.

It was a win-win. The Tridents kept up their skills, Denton Valley got free medical assistance, and the occasional serious accidents on