The Player - By Rhonda Nelson Page 0,3

“if-only” until hell froze over and the outcome would still be the same—Danny Levinson, best friend, beloved son, brother, uncle and cousin to a family which still grieved his loss, would still be six feet under in Arlington National Cemetery.

He’d still be gone.

And no matter what Garrett, Payne or Jamie ever said, Guy knew he’d never stop believing that it was his fault. As the senior officer, he’d been in charge. He couldn’t take credit for the success of the mission without also taking blame for the loss. And no one would ever convince him otherwise.

It was that simple…and that complicated.

For the time being, they were each three days and three favors away from freedom—a brand-new life devoid of mistakes and if-onlys—and God knows they all needed it. Especially Jamie, who seemed to be taking it the hardest. An image of Danny’s crooked grin suddenly rose in his mind, causing a barbed-wire of tension to tighten around his chest.

They all needed it, all right. They needed it badly.

1

* * *

Atlanta

Three months later…

“IT’S HAPPENED,” Jamie Flanagan announced grimly. He snagged a chair from a nearby table, whirled it around and straddled it with a dejected whoosh of air that effectively caught his best friends’ combined attention.

In the process of licking the hot wing sauce from his fingertips, Guy looked up. “Dammit, we both warned you about this. Which one is pregnant? Christy? Liz? Monica?”

“My money’s on Monica,” Payne said easily. “She was clingy.”

“Had to change the security code to the building because of her, remember?”

Payne nodded, absently taking a pull from his beer. “She was a pain in the ass, I remember that.”

Guy shot Jamie a pleading look. “It isn’t her, is it, Flanagan? Say it isn’t her. She’s, er…She’s not mother material.”

Equally annoyed and horrified, Jamie swore hotly. He should have known they’d leap to the wrong damned conclusion. Considering they’d both been riding his ass about his “serial” dating, it only stood to reason that they’d immediately suspect a woman problem.

“Nobody’s pregnant, dammit,” he snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you bastards that I’m careful?” He exhaled loudly. “I know how to apply a friggin’ rubber, for chrissakes. It’s Garrett. He’s calling in my favor.”

Guy blinked. “Oh.”

Payne stilled and his ice-blue gaze sharpened. “What does he want?”

Jamie let out another long breath, uttered a short disbelieving laugh and shook his head. “He wants me to go to Maine for a week to guard his granddaughter.”

“Guard his granddaughter?” Payne repeated. “Guard her from what?”

That had been the first question he’d asked as well, and the answer he’d gotten had been irritatingly ambiguous. Not that he hadn’t taken and followed orders on less information. He’d been trained to obey, to trust in the authority of his superiors, and yet something about this felt…off. He’d tried to chalk it up to his new civilian mentality, but he suspected that this gut hunch had more to do with intuition than new programming.

“Garrett says there’s evidence that a personal enemy of his might be targeting her.”

Guy frowned. “Personal enemy?”

“What sort of personal enemy?” Payne asked. “I mean, I don’t doubt that he’s got one—a man doesn’t get to his level without pissing people off. Still…” he added skeptically.

Jamie couldn’t help scowling. “That’s just it. He wouldn’t say. Evidently he’s got someone in place through the weekend, but needs me to step in on Monday.”

“We’ll have to rearrange some things,” Payne said, predictably jumping into logistics mode. “Guy and I will have to split your cases.”

“It’s piss-poor timing, that’s for sure,” Jamie said, signaling the waitress for a beer. A midtown staple, Samuel’s Pub had quickly become their traditional beer and sandwich haunt. Good Irish whiskey, good prices, Braves decor. What more could a guy want? Jamie muttered a hot oath. “Hell, some notice would have been nice.”

Guy rocked back in his chair and grinned. “But that would be completely out of character for Garrett.”

Too true, Jamie knew, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d be leaving his friends and partners in the lurch three months out of the gate in their new business venture. Thanks in part to all three of them, Ranger Security had taken off better than any one of them could have expected. Jamie inwardly grinned. Turns out hi-tech personal and professional security was in high demand—and quite lucrative.

Thanks to Payne’s investment capital—though he seemed to resent his impressive portfolio at times, Payne had “come from money” as Jamie’s grandmother used to say—they’d secured top-of-the-line equipment and