Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Because we’re due to go wheels up soon, and the higher-ups thought it would be a good fit for him. Who knows. This is coming down from high up the chain of command. It’s a done deal.” The LT’s tone left no more room for argument. “And you are going to be his official team liaison. We’ll put you on Team Bravo when we’re out there—”
“Aww. Hell no. I’m the best marksman you’ve got, and you know it.” The pain in his hand was making him somewhat punchier than usual, but he’d be indignant no matter what. He’d earned the right to be with the first group of guys out in the field. Their sixteen-member team often operated in groups of four and eight, with others hanging back, ready to move in if additional support was needed. The past few years, Bacon was always one of the first guys out. His work as a sniper gave him a reputation as being one of the elite, and he was damned if he’d let the LT shove him on to babysitting duty.
“You’ve got a bum trigger finger.” The LT pointed at Bacon’s hand. “Now, we could put you on medical, get you a few weeks of PT and—”
“I’m not hurt that bad.” Bacon struggled to his feet because sitting on the hard dirt with the LT looming over him was starting to grate. “I don’t need leave. Just a few days—”
“Exactly.” The LT’s smile said that Bacon had walked right into his snare. “You’re too valuable to put on leave. Which is why I’m putting you on this reporter fellow. He so much as shits out of place, I want to know about it. And keeping him safe is top priority. You’ll ensure that.” He punctuated his words with a hard stare.
“Yes, sir.” Nothing left to do but agree. He didn’t have to like this, but he could tell by the set of the LT’s shoulders that arguing was futile.
“Tomorrow he’s scheduled to join us for PT. You’ll stick with him when he can’t keep up.” The LT said it like it was a given, and honestly, it probably was. No reporter could keep up with a team of hardened SEALs.
“Yes, sir.” Fuck. This was going to be such a drag. “Actually, maybe several of us could take turns—”
“We will all work to ensure Mr. Bryant’s safety, but he’s your responsibility.” The LT leveled him with another glare.
“Bryant? It’s not Spencer Bryant, is it?” He had to shout to be heard over the drone of the chopper, which had landed in a clearing nearby.
“Think that’s the name.” The LT tapped his foot, clearly impatient with Bacon now and ready to board the chopper. “Why?”
Bacon scratched the back of his neck. “Just heard the name before. Got his book for my mom for Christmas.”
“Excellent. You’ll have something to chat about besides classified information we don’t need you sharing.” The LT gave him a smile that could not have been more fake, and done with Bacon, he headed over to the rest of the team.
Spencer Bryant. Fuck. This assignment could not get any worse.
Bacon loaded up with the other guys, taking his place between Shiny and Curly. Everyone was in a good mood, probably because the LT had yet to make his announcement about the journalist. That should be fun to watch. Not. The team was going to eat Bryant alive and laugh over his carcass.
Bacon had been aware of Bryant’s work through regular appearances on the talking-head shows and NPR. He was known for writing deeply moving, heart-wrenching features and had a couple of books under his belt too. It was no wonder he’d been picked to embed—his coauthored book on amputee patients at Walter Reed had won all sorts of awards. And his other book had taken his prize-winning article on poverty in America and turned it into a haunting exposé. That was the one Bacon had given his mom. After he’d read it cover to cover himself.
But it wasn’t the books or the articles or the media appearances or the decidedly choppy ride that had Bacon’s stomach churning on the flight back to base. Spencer Bryant was also hot as fuck for an older guy, and as if that weren’t bad enough, he was Pride magazine’s Bachelor of the Year. They’d put him right on the cover, showing off his silver-fox good looks with an unbuttoned business shirt. That feature was what had really put him on Bacon’s radar and made him buy the books. And Bacon sure as fuck wasn’t confessing to the LT that he had a subscription to Pride. The LT was in no way part of the social circle that knew that Bacon was pan. Further, the LT was decidedly tetchy lately about same-sex relationships, and Spencer Bryant was openly, unapologetically gay. If—when—the guys got whiff of that, shit was going to get real.