Rogue Protector (Gone Rogue #1) - Patricia D. Eddy

Chapter One

January

Austin

“He’ll see you now, sir,” the uniformed airman says as he nods towards Commander Ivan Clarke’s office door. My boss, the head of the Special Operations Command Unit, summoned me here with an early morning phone call and then made me wait for two hours.

Two hours I spent sitting on an uncomfortable couch, back stiff, hands on my thighs, staring straight ahead at the photographs lining the wall behind the airman’s desk. I’m in some of them. As are the President, the Vice President, and the Secretary of Defense. Photographs that used to represent the pinnacle of my career. Everything I ever wanted and more. But now… I don’t know.

Standing, a quick tug on my coat hem smooths away the wrinkles, and I give the younger man a nod of thanks.

I shut the door behind me, then march up to the Commander’s desk, stopping three steps away and giving him my best salute before standing at Attention, my gaze fixed just over Clarke’s shoulder.

“Pritchard,” Commander Clarke says. “You weren’t due back here for another month.”

The judgement in his tone doesn’t surprise me. Nor does his lack of an At Ease command. He’s pissed. In his position, I’d probably do the same damn thing.

“Sir. I had a family emergency—“

“You’ll want to shut your trap before you dig that hole any deeper.”

“Yes, sir.” Clarke has the power—and every right—to end my career. Or worse. Leaving my post without warning or permission, going AWOL—especially at my level—was a stupid move. But one I’d make again without hesitation. My sister and my best friend needed me, and if I hadn’t dropped everything to go to Venezuela, Trevor might be dead. And Dani...his death would have killed her too.

But the real offense? Engaging with hostiles on foreign soil without orders. If I was seen, recognized, recorded by a single traffic camera, I’ll be stripped of everything. My job. My rank. My pension.

My freedom.

Clarke could convene a court-martial with the snap of his fingers. From the look on his face, he still might.

“Morales called me. Passed on your vague excuses for why you had to disappear in the middle of the fucking night and not contact anyone for three days.”

The commander runs a hand through his thinning hair before muttering, “For fuck’s sake, Pritchard. At Ease.”

I interlace my thumbs behind my back and track the commander’s movements as he turns to stare out the window at the rain that’s been hammering Fort Bragg all morning. “You’re one of the best, you know. Or were. When I tapped you for JSOC commander, I knew—knew—it was the right decision. You wanted more, and you deserved it. But now?” Shaking his head, he says, “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve been riding a desk too long.”

Fuck.

His gray eyes focus on me, and I can see the exhaustion in them. Not much different from the look in my own every morning. “It’s like you’re trying to get court-martialed. Explain yourself.”

“There’s still a lot of good I can do here, sir.” I don’t believe that. Not anymore. But it’s what I’m supposed to say. All the conversations I’ve had with Clarke over the past year have been full of everything I’m supposed to say. “I can be on a flight out before the end of the day to rejoin Morales and the others.”

“No.” Commander Clarke leans back in his chair and shakes his head. “You’re goddamn lucky you chose your friends wisely, Pritchard. And you better hope there’s no fucking evidence you were ever in a foreign country without authorization.”

“There isn’t, sir. Because I wasn’t.” Again, what I’m supposed to say. He’s not buying my bullshit. Not for a second. But this is the game.

“You went rogue,” he says. “And I can’t have that on my watch. So you’re headed to Pakistan. We’ve set up a dozen Grey Fox listening posts across the country to monitor for terrorist chatter. You’ll oversee them until I have some fucking confidence you can do your job and follow orders.”

Pakistan?

I swallow hard and force myself to look him in the eyes. “So, I’m out. Sir.”

Clarke snorts. “You should be. Without a doubt. And if it were up to me, you would be. But the President doesn’t want any official churn right now. So, until he’s ready, you’re going to Pakistan. Officially, you wanted to get back into the field for a few months. To put your finger on the pulse of the men who risk their lives every day.” The commander flattens his hands on the