Enemy Zone (Trident Rescue #1) - Alex Lidell Page 0,4

instead, trying to keep his tone even.

“It’s Bobby. His request to be stationed in Stuttgart has been honored, so all three of us will be settling in Germany for the foreseeable future. It’ll get him out of the Middle East, and it’s a promotion for him too. We’ll be able to be together as a family now. We just received the call this morning.”

“That is great news,” Cullen said, meaning every word. No one knew better than him what horrors abounded in Afghanistan and Iraq. Bobby coming back alive and whole to be a husband and father was worth celebrating.

Not that many came back whole. Cullen sure as hell hadn’t. Bar Peterson—their fifth musketeer from military school—hadn’t made it back at all.

Which wasn’t to say that Suzy’s news didn’t leave the Rescue in a lurch, because it absolutely did. Suzy was Cullen’s right-hand man. Or woman. Whatever. She’d been indispensable.

“Thank you for understanding, boss. I wish I could’ve at least given you notice, but…” Her voice fizzled into nothing.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll hold down the fort till I find a permanent replacement.” He paused. “I mean it, Suz. Give my congrats to Bobby and take care of yourself. You need something, you call me from any time zone.”

Hanging up, he glanced up at Eli, who’d taken it upon himself to slap a Band-Aid over Cullen’s work, offer him a smart-assed salute, and traipse out of the room. Ingrate. Not that he didn’t love that ingrate like a brother. He’d die for the guy and knew Eli would return the favor. So would Liam and Kyan.

What none of the assholes would do, however, was restock the supply closet or file medical reports on something other than whatever scrap of paper happened to be around when they deployed. You’d think that with all four of them now heading up major businesses, administrating something as small as Trident Rescue would be easy, but the reality proved anything but. Even Liam, who owned a security company, could barely be trusted to lock the door after himself.

“Suz isn’t coming back,” Cullen hollered out to Eli, and his one-time lieutenant marched back over the threshold.

“What? Not ever?”

“No. Bobby got stationed in Germany. She and the baby are going with.”

Eli scratched his head. “You need to hire someone ASAP.”

“Oh, you think?”

Cullen scrubbed a hand over his short hair. His assistant, Catherine, should be returning within the next few days. Unless she pulled a Suzy. Catherine Falkner, a matronly lady in her sixties, hadn’t missed a single one of her workdays until she’d been rushed to the ER with a high fever and severe stomach pains that turned out to be appendicitis. So chances were she’d be back relatively soon. He hoped.

As if she’d sensed his need for her, a text bloomed across the screen of his cell.

Doctor says I’ll need to be on half days with light duty only, but I’m released for work starting tomorrow. May I come in from eight to one?

He typed his answer to her as fast as his thick fingers would allow.

You can work whenever you want. And for fuck’s sake, find me a new dispatcher.

I’ll wash your mouth out with soap, Cullen Hunt.

Cullen snorted.

Looking over Cullen’s shoulder at the messages, Eli shook his head before swatting the back of Cullen’s.

“You deserved that, asshole. But at least I trust Catherine more than I trust you to actually hire someone. I know Trident Rescue is your baby, but you need someone here. Someone who isn’t you.”

3

Sky

I return to Denton Uncovered to hear cackles of laughter as soon as I walk through the entrance. The photographer—whom I hadn’t ever formally met—and the sportswriter stare at me with mirth.

“So…how’d it go?” Capaldi, the sports guy, asks.

“Did you get your story on Eli Mason?” Dyer plays with his camera.

I bristle. Had the bastards known Frank was sending me on a wild-goose chase? “What’s so funny?”

“Ignore them, honey.” As if summoned from his office by my presence, Frank materializes beside me, his tone patronizing. “Boys will be boys.”

Boys will be boys. I’d heard that line before back in New York. It’d been right before my career had gone up in flames. Blood boiling, I spin to my new editor. “Why did you tell me the accident was caused by alcohol?”

“That’s what my sources said, honey. And you should never believe in other people’s sources.” His voice hardens. “A fact you’d know if you had a shred of experience or at least some common sense. Don’t like