Sudden Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

Panama was a shock to Pat Kincaid, and in many ways to Jack as well. He’d almost walked away, but instead he’d remained steadfastly loyal. He had owed it to his unit and himself to see it through, stand up during the fallout, defend his decision, and take his punishment. In the end, however, Pat Kincaid had decided to bury the situation and “protect” Jack’s future—something Jack had neither asked for nor wanted.
    Then the Colonel had the audacity to demand an apology and a thank-you, or Jack need not come home for Christmas.
    Except for weddings and funerals, Jack hadn’t been home since.
    But he wanted to see his brother. He simply couldn’t plan a scenario that would guarantee he could go to San Diego, visit Patrick, and leave without running into Colonel Kincaid.
    Life has no guarantees.
    He’d considered watching the hospital and going in after the Colonel left. According to Dillon’s message, Patrick would be released within the week. It would be easier to control the situation if Jack went to the hospital then to postpone a visit until his brother was home.
    Scout walked over to Jack with Padre—Father Francis—at his side. The priest was drinking bottled water; Scout was on his third draft. Sitting at the table next to where Jack stood like a stone sentry, they all faced the door.
    “Go,” Scout said.
    Jack didn’t have to ask what his longtime friend meant. He didn’t say anything, but glanced at Padre. Padre had been Frank’s nickname since he and Jack met that first day of basic training when they both signed into the Army Rangers. Frank was a couple years older, and when it got out that he was a Catholic seminary dropout, the name stuck. Jack thought it ironic that when Padre left the army five years ago, he’d gone back to the seminary.
    Padre had told Jack that the nickname saved him. Jack told him he’d saved himself.
    Scout said, “We just got off a successful op, we have no pending assignments, now’s the time.”
    “Something may come up.”
    Scout shook his head. “You’re the last person I expect to make excuses.”
    Jack tensed. “The Guatemala situation came down fast. If we hadn’t responded immediately, the outcome could have been worse.”
    “We’re not the only guns for hire.”
    Jack frowned—he didn’t like the expression, though it was accurate.
    Padre interjected, “Is Dillon in San Diego, too?”
    “Yes.” Jack glanced at Padre. His friend knew what was important to him, and the irony that Padre—a man Jack had fought beside, a man he had saved, a man he had almost died with—had become his confessor wasn’t lost on him. In many ways, Padre was a closer brother to him than his twin, Dillon; in fact, half-Cuban Jack looked more like the full-blooded Cuban priest than he did his fair-skinned twin. In other ways, they were worlds apart.
    Scout drained his beer and centered it on the worn wood table and continued. “Do you think I couldn’t handle the team on my own? Or was putting me second in command lip service?”
    “You know it wasn’t.”
    Scout shook his head. “You’re fucking scared.” He tipped his beer to Padre. “Sorry.”
    Padre smiled. The scene always played out the same.
    Jack didn’t respond. Fear didn’t come into it. Rage did. He didn’t know if he could stop himself from punching the Colonel in the jaw. All the wasted years when Jack could have been a brother to his six siblings, a son to his mother. All lost because Colonel Pat Kincaid couldn’t accept Jack’s decision in Panama.
    What was he supposed to do? Let innocent civilians die because the intelligence had been wrong? He had been forced to act, even though by disobeying direct orders he could have jeopardized the mission. Jack had been willing to be reprimanded for that decision, even if it had resulted in a court-martial.
    Pat Kincaid hadn’t even allowed his son to take the heat.
    “Take my plane,” Scout offered.
    Jack cracked a half-smile. Scout babied his