About This Book
Magnus arrives in the Arctic for severe-weather training, overseen by an international joint task force, but run by military brass. With multiple countries involved and multiple divisions of the military, it’s a wide-open mix of potential trouble. And trouble is what he’s here to find. Not to create. However, after meeting the one and only doctor on-site, a female member of the British team, Magnus knows that she needs his help to keep her safe. Yet she can’t be his main interest, not when something is seriously wrong at this Arctic training compound. Too bad his heart wasn’t listening …
Dr. Sydney Jenkins had been a last-minute replacement for the doctor scheduled to be here. Sydney had been delighted for the new experience, until she arrived to find all hell breaking loose, almost on her first day. Men missing, accidents that shouldn’t be happening, and her medical clinic targeted. Not sure who to trust, she’s inclined to accept Magnus’s protective presence, but … she’d been wrong before.
Making a mistake under these conditions would be fatal—for both of them …
Sign up to be notified of all Dale’s releases here!
Prologue
Lieutenant Commander Mason Callister walked into the private office and stood in front of retired Navy Commander Doran Magellan.
“Mason, good to see you.”
Yet the dry tone of voice, and the scowl pinching the silver-haired man’s face, all belied his words. Mason had known Doran for over a decade, and their friendship had only grown over time.
Mason waited, as he watched the other man try to work the new tech phone system on his desk. With his hand circling the air above the black box, he appeared to hit buttons randomly.
Mason held back his amusement but to no avail.
“Why can’t a phone be a phone anymore?” the commander snapped, as his glare shifted from Mason to the box and back.
Asking the commander if he needed help wouldn’t make the older man feel any better, but sitting here and watching as he indiscriminately punched buttons was a struggle. “Is Helen away?” Mason asked.
“Yes, damn it. She’s at lunch, and I need her to be at lunch.” The commander’s piercing gaze pinned Mason in place. “No one is to know you’re here.”
Solemn, Mason nodded. “Understood.”
“Doran? Is that you?” A crotchety voice slammed into the room through the phone’s speakers. “Get away from that damn phone. You keep clicking buttons in my ear. Get Helen in there to do this.”
“No, she can’t be here for this.”
Silence came first, then a huge groan. “Damn it. Then you should have connected me last, so I don’t have to sit here and listen to you fumbling around.”
“Go pour yourself a damn drink then,” Doran barked. “I’m working on the others.”
A snort was his only response.
Mason bit the inside of his lip, as he really tried to hold back his grin. The retired commander had been hell on wheels while on active duty, and, even now, the retired part of his life seemed to be more of a euphemism than anything.
“Damn things …”
Mason looked around the dark mahogany office and the walls filled with photos, awards, and medals. A life of purpose and accomplishment. And all of that had only piqued his interest during the initial call he’d received, telling him to be here at this time.
“Ah, got it.”
Mason’s eyebrows barely twitched as the commander gave him a feral grin. “I’d rather lead a warship into battle than deal with some of today’s technology.”
As he was one of only a few commanders who’d been in a position to do such a thing, it said much about his capabilities.
And much about current technology.
The commander leaned back in his massive chair and motioned to the cart beside Mason. “Pour three cups.”
Interesting. Mason walked a couple steps across the rich tapestry-style carpet and lifted the silver service to pour coffee into three very down-to-earth-looking mugs.
“Black for me.”
Mason picked up two cups and walked one over to Doran.
“Thanks.” He leaned forward and snapped into the phone, “Everyone here?”
Multiple voices responded.
Curiouser and curiouser. Mason recognized several of the voices. Other relics of an era gone by. Although not a one wanted to hear that, and, in good faith, it wasn’t fair. Mason had thought each of these men were retired, had relinquished power. Yet, as he studied Doran in front of him, Mason had to wonder whether any of them had passed the baton or if they’d only slid into the shadows. Was this planned with the government’s authority? Or were these retirees a shadow group to the government?
The tangible sense of power and control oozed from Doran’s words, tone, stature—his very pores. This man might be heading into his sunset years—based on a simple calculation of chronological years spent on the planet—but he was a long way from being out of the action.
“Mason …” Doran began.
“Sir?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
Mason narrowed his gaze and waited.
Doran’s glare was hard, steely hard, with an icy glint. “Do you know the Mavericks?”
Mason’s eyebrows shot up. The black ops division was one of those well-kept secrets, so, therefore, everyone knew about it. He gave a decisive nod. “I do.”
“And you’re involved in the logistics behind the training program in the Arctic, are you not?”
“I am.” Now where was the commander going with this?
“Do you know another SEAL by the name of Mountain Rode? He’s been working for the black ops Mavericks.” At his own words, the commander shook his head. “What the hell was his mother thinking when she gave him that moniker?”
“She wasn’t thinking anything,” said the man with a hard voice from behind Mason.
He stiffened slightly, then relaxed as he recognized that voice too.
“She died giving birth to me. And my full legal name is Mountain Bear Rode. It was my father’s doing.”
The commander glared at the new arrival. “Did I say you could come in?”
“Yes.” Mountain’s voice was firm, yet a definitive note of affection filled his tone.
That emotion told Mason so much.
The commander harrumphed, then cleared his throat. “Mason, we’re picking up a significant amount of chatter over that training. Most of it good. Some of it the usual caterwauling we’ve come to expect every time we participate in a joint training mission. This one is set to run for six months, then to reassess.”
Mason already knew this. But he waited for the commander to get around to why Mason was here, and, more important, what any of this had to do with the mountain of a man who now towered beside him.
The commander shifted his gaze to Mountain, but he remained silent.
Mason noted Mountain was not only physically big but damn imposing and severely pissed, seemingly barely holding back the forces within. His body language seemed to yell, And the world will fix this, or I’ll find the reason why.
For a moment Mason felt sorry for the world.
Finally, a voice spoke through the phone. “Mason, this is Alpha here. I run the Mavericks. We’ve got a problem with that training center. Mountain, tell him.”