Beyond the Breaking Point - Lori Sjoberg Page 0,88
increasingly under her spell.
“So why did you leave the Army?” Wade asked right before he ate another bite of steak. It was delicious—slightly charred on the outside, juicy on the inside, and seasoned to perfection.
“Like I said, it was time for a change.”
“I get the impression there was more to it than that.”
She lifted and lowered one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my time with the Army. I met a lot of wonderful people, and it was an honor to serve my country. But all that structure…well, sometimes it can be stifling. There are rules and regulations for every little thing, and you have no choice but to comply with them. After eight years, I wanted more control of my life. That sounds kind of shallow, doesn’t it?”
“No, not at all. Austin and my other brother Ryan expressed similar reasons for leaving the Marines. Not everybody’s meant to dedicate their entire adult life to military service.” Personally, he liked structure in his life, but that much regimentation would drive him insane. “Besides, you served twice as long as your original commitment. It’s not like you bailed at the first opportunity.”
What looked like relief crossed her face. She cut what was left of her steak in half and placed one piece on his plate. “Enough about me. I want to hear about you.”
“No, you eat it,” he said, even though he’d already finished his meal and the sight of more steak on his plate made his mouth water. They still had dessert, and hopefully that would be enough to carry him through the night. If not, he could always grab something out of his pack. Last he checked, there were still a half dozen meal bars and a few packs of jerky.
Hope shook her head. “I’m getting full.”
“Too full for cake?”
The faintest of grins teased her lips. “You can never be too full for cake.”
“Got that right.” He picked up his fork and knife. Who was he to argue if she didn’t want to eat all of her steak?
“I was curious.” Hope scooped up the last piece of potato with her fork. “Did you always want to be a DEA agent?”
“Nuh-uh,” he said around a bite of food. He swallowed and washed it down with a swig of beer. “Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to work in law enforcement, but I never had a clear idea of what branch. By college, though, I’d narrowed it down to the FBI or CIA.”
Her head tilted a little to the left. “What changed?”
“My brother, Nate. He got addicted to opiates after a sports injury, and that put him on a path to harder stuff. Damn near destroyed his life. He’s okay now,” he added before Hope could ask. “Cleaned himself up and turned his life around. I’m proud of him.” It hadn’t been easy, and Nate had experienced his fair share of setbacks, but once he’d realized the extent of his problem and decided to turn his life around, he’d fought like hell to make it happen. “After seeing how drugs could ruin a life, I changed course and aimed for a job with the DEA.”
Hope sipped her soda and set the glass back on the table. “I’m sure that couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t.” Wade cut another piece of steak. “There’s a written test, full-panel interview, and if you make it past that, you have to complete a drug test, polygraph exam, psych assessment, and a background check that combs through every aspect of your life, from conception to that afternoon. By the time they’re finished, they know more about you than you do.”
She made a face. “That’s pretty invasive.”
“It has to be, considering the field. I’m sure they have equally stringent requirements for anyone applying to med school.”
“True.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “So what happens if you make it past all that?”
“Training at Quantico: physical, firearms, and classroom. You learn about federal and international law, ethics, how to recognize and identify drugs, and how to handle yourself in high-stress situations that may require the use of deadly force. After graduation, you’re required to move to whatever duty station you’re assigned.”
Though he’d clawed his way into the top five, he hadn’t graduated at the top of his class, a fact that bugged him to this day. That honor had gone to Special Agent Vonda Warren, a spitfire from South Carolina who was a demon on the firing range and could take