Garrett’s Destiny by Anna Blakely

Chapter 1

“Sonofabitch!”

Garrett Morgan ducked his head, rolling onto his back as a bullet whizzed past. Warmth from the projectile’s heat kissed his cheek a fraction of a second before he found himself lying safely behind a large boulder.

His heart pumped a massive shot of adrenaline into his veins.

“You good, Falcon?”

Beckett “Bones” Stone’s southern drawl hit Garrett’s ear through the state-of-the-art coms provided to each of the Tac-Ops teams.

“Yeah,” Garrett huffed out a quick response to let the former Marine know he hadn’t taken a hit. From his hidden position, Garrett—Falcon to his teammates—closed his eyes and took a moment to regroup.

The back of his shirt stuck to him like some sort of grotesque second skin. Dust and grime filled his nostrils, and the night’s hot, humid air continued to draw sweat from every pore in his body.

God, I hate it here.

That same thought had been rolling through his mind since he’d stepped off the plane a few hours ago. Not surprising, given the fact that his previous times in Syria held very few good memories, and those he did have stemmed from his time on base with his former unit.

Before leaving the military, Garrett been a special operations sniper for the 75^th Regiment—more specifically the Army’s 3rd Ranger Battalion. During that time, he’d grown as close to his fellow soldiers as he was his own family.

In the years since leaving the Army behind, Garrett had found a new extended family. One he cared for and trusted as much as his last.

Though he’d only been employed by Tactical Operations for three years, he’d formed the same type of unbreakable bond with the team he was on now. Bones, Apollo, Digger…they were all former military and tough SOBs. And he trusted each and every one of them with his life.

Speaking of…

From both sides where Garrett lay, his team fired back at the enemy. Clearing the way for him to do his thing.

Waiting for the signal telling him it was safe to move, Garrett silently cursed his still-racing heart. And though it was impossible, the heat from that damn bullet still seemed to warm his cheek.

Fuck me.He’d had close calls before, but none like that one. Still, he needed to get his head on straight and concentrate on the task at hand, or he’d be useless to the men fighting beside him.

Eyes still shut, he focused on the job he was here to do. Using techniques he’d learned back in his Army days, Garrett slowed his breathing. Working to get his racing heartrate back to a normal pace.

Soon his pulse became steady, and his body slowly lowered its elevated adrenaline levels. The physical reaction he’d experienced was more than a little intense. And confusing as hell.

This wasn’t the first time he’d come close to being hit. He had been hit before. Both in the Army and since taking the job with Tac-Ops.

What the fuck, Morgan? You should be used to this shit by now.

On paper, Garrett and his teammates were senior travel insurance agents for a company known as Travel Assurance Coverage and Operations.

The company’s headquarters was in the heart of Charlotte, North Carolina, though there were offices located around the globe.

What the public saw when they drove past their high-rise office building was exactly what their boss wanted everyone to see… A high-end company that sold personal protection and extraction insurance to those traveling abroad.

What the public didn’t see—what they couldn’t see—was that Garrett and his team actually worked for a clandestine group of operators known as Tactical Operations, or Tac-Ops for short.

The acronym happened to work for both their cover jobs as insurance agents and their true reason for employment. A brilliant move on their boss’s part.

While Garrett and the other members of Tac-Ops One were licensed travel protection insurance agents, they were also specialized, below-the-grid operatives who took on government-sanctioned jobs.

Jobs that very few people knew about. Ones that included, but were not limited to, hostage location and rescue.

In short, the multi-million-dollar insurance agency was a legitimate front for what they’d really been hired to do…

Help rid the world of the worst mankind had to offer.

Thanks to the United States’ long standing and unwavering stance on negotiating with terrorists—they don’t—it was up to companies like Tac-Ops to step in when Uncle Sam refused.

Not that anyone within the American government would ever acknowledge their existence. Each team member was well aware of the ramifications should they be caught and captured on foreign soil.

To put it simply, if Garrett and his team screwed up, they’d be ass out.

But despite the risks, they’d signed the dotted line without hesitation. Just because they got out of the military didn’t mean their loyalty to their country’s citizens had waned.

It didn’t matter if it was one innocent or one hundred…if someone fucked with the United States, the men of Tac-Ops would do whatever they had to in order to take them down.

Case in point.

More than ready to get the job done and leave this Godforsaken place, Garrett spoke into his coms once more.

“Please tell me you have the bastard in your sights.” The comment was directed toward Bones.

“Just…about…there.” The former Marine Raider let his words linger. A whisper of a shot followed and then, “Got ’em!”

With his movements instant and fluid, Garrett wasted no time rolling back onto his stomach and repositioning his weapon. Using the night optics mounted atop his SR 25 rifle, he found his next target.

Releasing a slow, controlled breath, he did what he’d been trained to do. With a precision he took pride in, Garrett began the countdown in his head.

Three…two…

His lungs deflated with a slow exhale. His hot breath feathered past his parted lips as it brushed over them.

He pulled the trigger.

Bitter sulfur and smoke warred with the sweet smell of gun oil as the lethal round was released through the weapon’s chamber. The combination of scents provided Garrett with a feeling of comfort he’d only ever found on the battlefield.

Through his lens he watched the man crumble to the ground like a deflated balloon. One Garrett had popped with less than five pounds of trigger pull.

“Party’s started, boys.” Bones’ Texas accent was laced with anticipation. “Time to drink up.”

Garrett’s lips curved upward. The other man’s good looks, charismatic personality, and laid-back demeanor allowed him to thrive in just about any situation. Right now, the former Marine’s tone gave away his desire to finish this and get the hell home.

I feel ya, brother.

Over the next several minutes, the sound of crackling gunfire filled the night air as they continued with the first phase of their plan. One by one, the team systematically took out each of the tangos standing between them and their objective.

With all visible threats neutralized, they began closing in on the building currently housing the hostages. A dozen barely qualified private contractors hired by the U.S. government to help train local military and other security agencies.

Despite the contractors’ own lack of sufficient training and experience.

For the past three weeks, the group of men had been held against their will after being ambushed by Syrian insurgents unwilling to accept the positive changes happening in their country.

It was Tac-Ops’ job to locate, rescue, and return the hostages to safety.

They’d found them. Now they just needed to get them out alive and transport them back home to their families.

Let’s do this.

“Keep your eyes peeled, gentlemen.” Digger’s deep voice commanded as their boots whispered over the dry dirt. “No mistakes.”

As their team leader, it was Digger’s job to make sure they were at the top of their game. But Garrett was tempted to tell the man that his order was unnecessary.

They all knew what was at stake.

Experience had taught them that one fuckup was all it took to change—or end—a life forever. Or in this particular case, twelve lives.

With their weapons held securely in front of them, Garrett and the others moved shoulder-to-shoulder as they crossed the dry stretch of land between the hillside and the decrepit building.

Their steps were precise and purposeful. Their boots marching swiftly across dirt and rocks as they stayed alert, ready to pull the trigger at the first sign of danger.

“Tac-Ops One, do you copy?”

The familiar voice reached the ears of every team member. As usual, Garrett, Apollo, and Bones remained quiet so Digger could respond.

“Affirmative, Shadow. What do we know?”

“Your perimeter’s clear. Hostages are still in the same location, northeast corner of the building. There are seven tangos inside. Two with the hostages, three standing guard in the main area, and two more moving around inside the building’s entrance. They know you’re coming, so be ready.”

No shit.Garrett smirked. He was tempted to point out the fact that the gunfire had been a dead giveaway but kept his smartass comment to himself. This wasn’t the time or place for their usual, friendly banter.

“Copy that,” Digger mumbled. With his night vision goggles focused on the door they were inching toward, their leader addressed the team once more. “All right, boys. You heard the woman. Let’s take care of these assholes and get those people home.”

Letting out a low “Hooah”, Garrett once again forced his breathing to remain steady as they reached the large, stone structure. With Shadow serving as overwatch, he felt confident in their approach.

Using her mad skills on the keyboard, the mysterious woman was the team’s eye in the sky, so-to-speak. Shadow saw everything…and missed nothing.

No matter where Garrett and his team found themselves, she was always there. Watching over them from the start of each mission to the end.

She’d inform the team of any and all threats her high-tech system detected, doing all she could to warn them of possible menacing forces in their vicinity.

Yes, Shadow was brilliant, to say the least. She was also something of an enigma.

Always working from an undisclosed location, her voice provided a touch of calm in the midst of chaos.

Everyone on the team trusted her. Every piece of intel…every suggestion she offered…they all took her at face value. Despite having never met her in person.

Other than their boss, no one knew her real name or how she’d come to work for Tac-Ops. What the team did know—the only thing they needed to know—was that the woman they all called Shadow had their backs. Always.

“Breaching the building’s entrance now.”

Digger’s hushed voice broke through Garrett’s thoughts. Positioning himself to the right of the rusted metal door, he watched as Apollo pressed the breach strip onto the door above the handle.

On Digger’s order, the other man pressed the remote detonator. A fraction of a second later, the device exploded.

With a burst of smoke and minimal debris, the locking mechanism was destroyed. Using the sliver of space between the jarred door’s edge and its frame as a pathway for their bullets to travel, the men inside wasted no time in their attempts to neutralize Garrett and the others.

Anticipating the tangos’ reaction, the team waited for a break between gunshots to return fire. Just as they had countless times before, each member took his assigned infiltration position and began moving in on their targets.

Garrett stayed low while Digger took the upper stance. Both men’s shots were synced as they simultaneously took out the first two targets. With the entrance cleared, Bones and Apollo followed as the four men moved deeper into the moonlit warehouse.

“Your location’s been compromised.” Shadow’s announcement came as no surprise. “Three tangos are headed your way.”

Weapons secured, the team moved past the two bodies through the industrial space. Another rush of adrenaline spiked through Garrett’s veins as he steeled himself for a fight he knew was coming.

Shadow had given them invaluable intel on their opponents’ general locations and movement, but no one could accurately predict the last-minute decisions the remaining tangos might make. For this reason, the men of Tac-Ops kept their guard up and their trigger fingers ready.

In a wave of movements, each team member did as they’d been trained to do.

Bones reached for the door’s handle. Apollo withdrew an M18 smoke grenade from his vest and waited. After another silent countdown courtesy of Digger, Bones curled his fingers around the knob as Apollo inserted his gloved index finger into the thin metal circle at the top of the grenade.

Pulling the pin, Apollo waited for Bones to open the door before releasing the grenade’s safety lever and tossing the metal cannister through the door’s opening. The bursting charge was released, its telltale hiss preluding a billowing stream of thick red smoke.

The instant cover allowed the team to enter the space unseen while their infrared goggles attached to their combat helmets made it possible to locate their targets with ease.

Through the thick, swirling smoke, the team brought the three bastards into their sights. Garrett dropped the first tango to fill his vision.

Almost simultaneously, Bones and Apollo took down the other two while Digger covered the team, sweeping the space for additional threats.

Thirty seconds later, the smoke had all but cleared as Garrett and the others crossed the expansive space toward the room where the remaining hostage takers, or HTs, were presumably located.

According to Shadow’s intel, there were only two tangos left. Both holed up in the same enclosed area as the twelve men Garrett and his teammates had come here to save.

.

“Shadow, tell me what you see,” Digger ordered as they covered the distance toward their final targets.

“I’m still picking up fourteen heat signatures in the room to your left.”

Twelve hostages. Two tangos. Exactly what they were anticipating.

“Perimeter?” Digger double-checked.

“Clear.”

“Copy that.”

Positioning themselves by the door—Digger and Bones on the left, and Apollo and Garrett on the right—the four men readied themselves for what they hoped to be their last confrontation on this particular op.

Just as he’d done for the initial breach, Digger used hand signals to count down from three. When he curled his fingers inward to form a tight fist, the team sprang into action.

Using the same type of low-impact explosive as before, Apollo blew the locks. The door popped open, a smoke grenade was thrown, and the team took out the final two HTs with relative ease.

It had all gone exactly as planned.

Blowing out a breath, Garrett lifted his goggles and lowered his weapon, relaxing for the first time since coming here.

He had no way of knowing what a grave mistake he was making.

The threats had all been neutralized, but what they didn’t expect—what he, Shadow, or the others couldn’t possibly have predicted—was for one of the hostages to pick up a dead HTs gun and aim it directly at Garrett.

“Wait!” Garrett threw up a hand to show the man they were the good guys. But it was too late.

The terrified hostage pulled the trigger, releasing a round of ammunition through the automatic rifle’s barrel. The single projectile tore through the stale air, the heated metal heading straight in Garrett’s direction.

Traveling at 3,300 feet per second, there was no way to avoid being hit.

The bullet slammed into the center of Garrett’s chest, forcing him off his feet. He landed with a hard thud, his back and head bouncing off the room’s cool concrete floor.

Chaos ensued as his teammates yelled at the man to drop the weapon. Their voices and Garrett’s vision faded in and out as he fought to remain conscious.

The shock to his system stalled his breathing. His lungs failed to follow the command his brain was sending.

Breathe, damnit. You need to fucking breathe!

Pain ratcheted throughout his entire torso, grabbing hold of his heart and clamping down. Garrett’s lungs burned with their need for oxygen, so he opened his mouth in search of the air his body needed to survive.

It didn’t work.

Jesus.He’d been hurt

before, but not like this. Never like this.

The pain was indescribable. He could actually feel his organs beginning to shut down. Or at least he thought that’s what he was feeling.

As he lay there, Garrett’s faltering brain screamed to understand what was happening. One quick glance at the man who’d shot him, and he knew.

You’re dying.

The pain in his chest remained. His lungs still refusing to open. A dark cloud framed his blurred vision, and little by little, it began closing in around him.

Garrett felt himself fading away.

“Falcon!”

Someone yelled his Tac-Ops nickname, but he couldn’t respond. Rough hands pulled at his vest and shirt.

“Come on, man. Stay with me!”

More discussion erupted between his team and the hostages. Garrett could hear his men assuring the captives that they were safe. Someone—Bones maybe?—announced that they were American operatives sent to rescue them.

Some hostages cried with relief. Others cheered. The man standing beside him kept repeating how sorry he was for having shot him.

Though he tried again, Garrett couldn’t formulate a response. He wanted to tell the distraught hostage to stop. That he understood why the guy had done it.

The man was scared. Desperate to find a way out of this hell hole. And Garrett and the others hadn’t been able to identify themselves before the shitstorm had broken loose.

For all the poor bastard knew, Garrett and his team were just another set of bad guys coming to take them to a secondary location. Or worse.

But he couldn’t tell the remorseful man that or anything else. All he could do was lay there. Praying for air that refused to come and wondering if his luck had finally run out.

Cold from the concrete penetrated the back of Garrett’s vest and sweat-drenched shirt. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just his injured body knocking on death’s door.

As he began to lose consciousness, Garrett thought about his dad. His brother, Colt. The mom they’d lost years before.

Garrett missed her like crazy, but at thirty-five, he wasn’t quite ready to see her again. There was still too damn much he wanted to do with his life.

Not ready to fucking die.

“Quit being so dramatic.” Apollo’s deep voice traveled through the fog. “You’re not fucking dying, so stop with that shit.”

What the…

Had he said those words out loud? Garrett somehow managed to peel his eyes open and stare up at his olive-skinned teammate.

“Welcome back.” Apollo gave him a wink.

Well shit. Maybe he wasn’t dying after all.

Putting conscious effort into speaking again, Garrett managed to rasp out a strained, “V-vest?”

“Did its job.” Hands pressed along his sternum and ribs as Apollo checked for fractures or other signs of injury. “Bullet tore through the first protective layer but didn’t penetrate the ceramic plate.” His teammate’s fingers continued with their poking and prodding. “Doesn’t feel like anything’s broken. No obvious signs of internal injuries, but you’ll need to be checked out as soon as possible, just in case.”

Thank Christ.

Now that Apollo mentioned it, the horrific pain Garrett had felt seconds before was finally beginning to let up. More of a dull, bruising ache than the suffocating burn, he was able to focus on the people around him better. Their images becoming clearer.

Garrett’s chest expanded slowly as he tested his lungs. Filling them at a cautious, hesitant rate, he used the same controlled pace to release the air he’d just pulled in.

Garrett repeated the action. Once. Twice. Three times.

“There ya go, buddy.” Apollo spoke again. “That’s it. Nice and easy.”

“How is he?” Digger’s large, hovering form came into Garrett’s view.

“He’ll live.”

“Help me up.” Garrett grunted. He raised a hand, which Apollo immediately took.

With his teammate’s help, he got back onto his feet. The tender pull in his chest made him wince. He’d no doubt be feeling the effects of being shot at close range for the foreseeable future.

“You good?” Digger squeezed one of his shoulders.

Garrett nodded, looking at the twelve strangers anxiously staring back at him. “Let’s get these guys out of here and get the hell home.”

“I second that motion,” Bones chimed in. “Don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m damn glad Owens is giving us the next two weeks off. My ass needs a vacation from all this shit.”

Two close calls on a single op?

A vacation’s exactly what I need.