his attention from the lake. He scanned the horizon looking for Max, his German shepherd, and found him chasing a rabbit across a broad expanse of land. His attention drifted up a rise in the distance, and he caught sight of a monstrous log cabin that seemed to float on an outcropping. Logan passed his gaze across the land again and took in the fences. He must have trespassed on private property. It had been late when he pulled off the road. The GPS on his phone indicated he was twenty miles outside of Ennis, Montana. He hadn’t seen any lights in the gloom and assumed he was in the middle of nowhere, so he pulled off for a restless night’s sleep.
Rising from the ground, he picked up his sleeping bag and rolled it with precision, like he’d been trained in the army, then stowed it in the bed of his truck and began to strip. Max came bounding up and danced around his feet as he kicked off his boots, so Logan put him in a Down. The dog still had too much puppy in him sometimes. His enthusiasm for the coming swim caused his withers to shake while he waited for Logan to give him the signal.
Pulling the thermal from his body, Logan tossed the shirt inside the bed to keep it dry, then shrugged off his jeans. He stood silently when he was done and let the cold air sting his body awake. After fighting in the Afghan desert, Logan welcomed the cold. He’d trained in this very state, alongside his brothers in arms, to stay conditioned for conflict in colder climates, so he was used to blocking out the cold.
His mind wandered to his brothers Coop, Buster, and Loverboy like always when anything reminded him of his time in the army. He drew in a sharp breath as broken fragments of memories passed through his mind’s eye. Loverboy had been the exact opposite of his nickname. He couldn’t turn the head of a woman if he’d tried. He was too focused on the next big mission to pay attention. His skills within The Unit were legendary. With the ladies, they sucked. A smile crept across his mouth at the memory. Fuck, but he missed his brothers.
Pain clawed its way up his gut, tightening his chest, suffocating him along with the memories of better times. With a quick slash of his hand, Logan released Max from his Down, and they both took off for the frigid water. The moment he dove in, the pain—his constant and unrelenting companion—disappeared with the rush of ice-cold water. He always welcomed the drop in body temperature. It froze him on the inside, so the pain didn’t kill him. If he were a different man, he might have ended the torment his brothers’ ghosts caused him, but he owed it to them to keep living. To find a place in this world where he could honor their sacrifice. Live the life they’d all dreamed about on dark nights. And he’d do just that, as soon as he figured out how the fuck to move on from their deaths. Until then, he’d keep pushing through until he found a place that allowed him to breathe without a sharp pain with every breath.
Logan stayed in the water until his body protested, then crawled onto the rocky shore and lay face down while the sun warmed his bones, allowing him time to gear up against another day of searching for peace.
He threw the same clothes back on, then rubbed down Max with an old towel. The dog’s tongue lolled to the side, his mouth open wide with joy from their swim. He looked nothing like the trained killer he was. The war dog who’d covered his back when evil came to call.
“You hungry or did you catch that rabbit?” Logan mumbled, pulling a metal bowl from a sack of dog food in the bed of his truck, filling it up.
Max licked his lips in anticipation.
“I need coffee,” Logan stated. “Eat, then we’ll hit the road and see what Ennis has to offer in the way of food.”
He stored the dog food, then checked to make sure his weapons were safely stowed. Pulling out his keys, he opened the metal toolbox and examined their position. He’d modified the inside to hold his personal collection, padding the sides with foam and clamps to keep them steady against potholes. His M40 had dislodged on the bumpy ride, so