extended a hand. They exchanged a fist bump then acknowledged the reaction from the crowd.
Nate grinned at his buddies. “You thought I was hardcore, guys. This guy could teach all of us a few things. He’s good. Damn good. Glad he let me win.”
Sam smiled at the obvious lie and nodded, then turned to head to the showers.
Nate caught up with him.
“Not so fast, Sam. First off, thanks. I’m not used to having to reach inside—nice to have genuine competition. Tell me about yourself. Which branch are you?”
Sam didn’t ask him how he knew he was Special Forces, simply answered, “Delta. You Ranger?”
Nate nodded in confirmation. “Where did you train?”
“I was a master MAC trainer at Benning.”
Nate put up in hands in mock defeat. “Hell, no wonder you’ve got better technique than I’ve ever been up against. Shows in your discipline. Me, I couldn’t handle the regimen. Too much of a rule breaker. Plus I spent time in the Philippines which made me persona non grata in MAC training.”
Sam threw him an admiring glance. “Thought I recognized some Eskrima moves. Sure hate to meet you in an alley. What knife do you carry?”
Nate frowned, “The basics. Don’t go very many places without a balisong.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Although in a pinch I’ve resorted to box cutters, screwdrivers and on more than one occasion, a broken whisky bottle.”
At that moment Dan Coulter came around the corner, an anxious frown pinching his worried face.
“Damn, Nate. Been looking for you. Eric’s been trying to reach you. Thinks he’s found a savvy enough accountant to serve our purposes, and Doc’s pinned the time of death. And buddy, the Chief’s been poking his head in every office door. Said to tell Stryker to get his ass over to his office… PDQ.”
“Comin’, Dan. Give me five minutes in the shower and I’ll be right out. And if you see the Chief, tell him he’s third on my list. I’ll get there when I can.”
Nate turned to introduce Sam but the locker room door closed on the tall man’s back before he could. He shrugged. Strange guy. Obviously protective. Probably comes from being the only black guy in a lily white room. But shit, he must realize that being Delta Force allows you to be purple with green stripes, and two-hundred-pound men will go down on their knees and beg to kiss your ass in admiration.
Chapter 7
“Stryker!”
The Chief’s trademark bellow echoed down the hallway. Nate turned with a grin.
“Been looking for you, Chief.”
The tall man strode toward him, his stern expression and the deep furrow between his brows told him that as usual the Chief was hovering between annoyance and fury with him.
“The hell you have, Stryker. If you had been, you would have found me since I’ve been chasing you since 5:30 this morning. Don’t you ever answer your fucking phone?”
Nate winked at him. “Hell, Chief, that’s what caller I.D. is for.”
The Chief made an effort to suppress his smile but gave up.
“Damn, Nate, I need to talk to you. Privately.”
Nate frowned.
“Problem?”
Rather than responding, Chief Roberts glanced in the doorway of the conference room then motioned to Nate to follow him into the empty room.
“Let’s go in here, Nate.”
Nate followed his mentor into the conference room, knowing full well what he wanted to talk to him about. He’d listened to the Chief’s escalating messages and knew that a face to face was the only way to deal with the brusque man. Chief John Roberts was the single most important man in Nate’s life. As a young police detective, Roberts had kept a talented kid from falling off the ledge between good and bad. He’d turned the hooky playing, small-time thief and big-time hoodlum into a college all-star basketball player. It was the Chief who convinced him to join the U.S. Army, and the Chief who inspired Nate to follow his path into special operations. Nate more than surpassed his mentor’s aspirations when
Nate grinned at his buddies. “You thought I was hardcore, guys. This guy could teach all of us a few things. He’s good. Damn good. Glad he let me win.”
Sam smiled at the obvious lie and nodded, then turned to head to the showers.
Nate caught up with him.
“Not so fast, Sam. First off, thanks. I’m not used to having to reach inside—nice to have genuine competition. Tell me about yourself. Which branch are you?”
Sam didn’t ask him how he knew he was Special Forces, simply answered, “Delta. You Ranger?”
Nate nodded in confirmation. “Where did you train?”
“I was a master MAC trainer at Benning.”
Nate put up in hands in mock defeat. “Hell, no wonder you’ve got better technique than I’ve ever been up against. Shows in your discipline. Me, I couldn’t handle the regimen. Too much of a rule breaker. Plus I spent time in the Philippines which made me persona non grata in MAC training.”
Sam threw him an admiring glance. “Thought I recognized some Eskrima moves. Sure hate to meet you in an alley. What knife do you carry?”
Nate frowned, “The basics. Don’t go very many places without a balisong.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Although in a pinch I’ve resorted to box cutters, screwdrivers and on more than one occasion, a broken whisky bottle.”
At that moment Dan Coulter came around the corner, an anxious frown pinching his worried face.
“Damn, Nate. Been looking for you. Eric’s been trying to reach you. Thinks he’s found a savvy enough accountant to serve our purposes, and Doc’s pinned the time of death. And buddy, the Chief’s been poking his head in every office door. Said to tell Stryker to get his ass over to his office… PDQ.”
“Comin’, Dan. Give me five minutes in the shower and I’ll be right out. And if you see the Chief, tell him he’s third on my list. I’ll get there when I can.”
Nate turned to introduce Sam but the locker room door closed on the tall man’s back before he could. He shrugged. Strange guy. Obviously protective. Probably comes from being the only black guy in a lily white room. But shit, he must realize that being Delta Force allows you to be purple with green stripes, and two-hundred-pound men will go down on their knees and beg to kiss your ass in admiration.
Chapter 7
“Stryker!”
The Chief’s trademark bellow echoed down the hallway. Nate turned with a grin.
“Been looking for you, Chief.”
The tall man strode toward him, his stern expression and the deep furrow between his brows told him that as usual the Chief was hovering between annoyance and fury with him.
“The hell you have, Stryker. If you had been, you would have found me since I’ve been chasing you since 5:30 this morning. Don’t you ever answer your fucking phone?”
Nate winked at him. “Hell, Chief, that’s what caller I.D. is for.”
The Chief made an effort to suppress his smile but gave up.
“Damn, Nate, I need to talk to you. Privately.”
Nate frowned.
“Problem?”
Rather than responding, Chief Roberts glanced in the doorway of the conference room then motioned to Nate to follow him into the empty room.
“Let’s go in here, Nate.”
Nate followed his mentor into the conference room, knowing full well what he wanted to talk to him about. He’d listened to the Chief’s escalating messages and knew that a face to face was the only way to deal with the brusque man. Chief John Roberts was the single most important man in Nate’s life. As a young police detective, Roberts had kept a talented kid from falling off the ledge between good and bad. He’d turned the hooky playing, small-time thief and big-time hoodlum into a college all-star basketball player. It was the Chief who convinced him to join the U.S. Army, and the Chief who inspired Nate to follow his path into special operations. Nate more than surpassed his mentor’s aspirations when
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