Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 Read Online Free PDF Page A

area, his mind heavy with the implications of the imam’s words. His insistence of Sajjan’s help.
    Across the marble floor, a flicker of movement stilled him.
    Dressed in an Army tactical shirt and pants that hid his prosthesis, Nina’s son-in-law sat on the sofa, elbows propped on his knees, fingers threaded. Intelligence lurked behind those pale green eyes. Tony held his gaze for a second then looked down.
    Ah. “You heard.”
    Tony shrugged. “He’s not exactly quiet.”
    With a sigh and bob of his head, Sajjan sat opposite the young man who’d entered his life like a storm and hadn’t let up. But today, right now—the taut lips. The intensity. “You’re angry.”
    “Absolutely. That attack”—he pointed to the south with flared nostrils—“was against
my
brothers.” His lip curled as he thumped a hand on his chest. “And that man knows something about it.”
    Sajjan rubbed his well-trimmed beard, thinking. “Yes, I believe he does.”
    “What are you going to do about it?”
    Sajjan considered the young man. At least twenty years his junior but with no less fervor or willingness to play the intelligence game. “Me?” He gave a cockeyed nod, smiling at Tony VanAllen. “I’m going to recruit help.”
     

EAMON
    Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan

25 March—1930 Hours
    R ich. As sole heir of his father’s fortune, which had a net worth of over two billion dollars, Eamon Straider grew up lacking nothing. Except meaning.
    Powerful. Primed and prepped to walk in the shoes of his father, who served as prime minister of Australia, commissioned by the governorgeneral.
    War hero. With his own Australian SAS team, he’d earned two Victoria Crosses, which was why he’d tattooed one over his heart. He loved the joint special forces, working with foreign elite warriors like himself. And he had a special place for certain Americans, especially those with Raptor, but his loyalty would never waver from his homeland.
    He’d attained every single goal he’d set for himself, save one: marriage. Being a warrior didn’t lend itself well to building a family and being a part of the family. But if his father could do it, perhaps Eamon could. Someday.
    He strode toward the JSOC building carrying the heavy burden of bad news. Captain Watters had offered to deliver the news, but they both knew that Eamon had developed… something with Lieutenant Hastings. He should be the one to convey the tragic news.
    Inside, he made his way toward the general’s office, noting the lone lamp light burning at the end of the hall. That would be her desk. He held straight and didn’t let himself falter.
    A strange, strong odor stung the air. It smelled like antiseptic. He glanced around. Was someone cleaning?
    “Oh.”
    Eamon pivoted toward the soft voice. His gut tightened, but this time for a different reason.
    Lieutenant Brie Hastings stood there in uniform, the ACUs doing nothing to camouflage her figure. But it was her smile, those soft blue eyes, that had him paying more attention than he should. Especially now.
    He finally noticed the red around her eyes. And the way she rubbed and folded her hands quickly. That was what he smelled. Antiseptic. But the stink of it was strong. How much had she used?
    “I—I couldn’t get the blood off.” Her voice pitched as she went to her desk and dropped into her chair. “Did you… see him? Is he…?”
    The way her voice cracked again, her eyes pleading with him, broke his resolve. He eased toward the chair at the corner of her desk. Sat on the edge. Looked at his boots. Couldn’t…
    “He’s dead. Isn’t he?”
    Swallowing, he met her gaze. Gave a curt nod. “The bullet nicked a main artery. Lodged in his heart. There… there wasn’t anything they could do.”
    Her chin quivered as her eyes drifted away, filling with tears. “He’s gone.” A shudder pulled her straight. The grief and brokenness vanished in a strange wave of resolve as Brie pushed to her feet. “Excuse me. I