Page 4 of Hushed

And that ghost was making a beeline for Gage.

It wasn’t possible that he was seeing what he was seeing right now. His brain had to be playing tricks on him. And yet the familiar face kept getting closer and closer.

“Reggie? It can’t be.” It came out a whisper of shock. A glance at Peter and Ripley told Gage his friends were experiencing the same sense of shock he was. They couldn’t all be having the same hallucination.

He’d watched Reggie get shot years ago during a rescue mission. He later died on the operating table of an arterial bleed that couldn’t be stopped. Gage sat at his funeral with Peter, Ripley and the others and mourned his death. He’d traveled to New York and held Reggie’s sister in his arms as she grieved. And he spent the last several years keeping an eye on her from afar. At least until recently, when it became clear she needed him, and she’d become so much more than his best friend’s little sister.

All of these thoughts happened in the few seconds it took Reggie to reach him. When he was in striking distance, the burly man launched himself at Gage, trying to land a punch to his nose. But Gage was quick, and he dodged it instinctively, while trying to hook Reggie around the legs, taking him to the floor. The two men rolled on the ground, and somehow Reggie ended up on top of him.

“You’re supposed to be dead, you bastard,” Gage shouted as he dodged another swing.

Reggie’s eyes were wild as he scowled down at Gage and raised his fist.

“And you were supposed to take care of my sister. Not knock her up.”

Chapter 2

Six years ago

Gage

“Reginald, Christopher?”

Gage’s heart pounded as the doctor stepped into the hospital waiting room and called for the family of his best friend and teammate, Chris Reginald, aka Reggie. None of the men he’d served with went by their real names. They all had nicknames of some sort. Cannon Ripley, another teammate they called Boomer, stood next to him, and the two men spoke at the same time.

“We’re his brothers.”

Before the doctor opened his mouth, Gage knew it wasn’t good news, and his stomach churned. Blood rushed in his ears, and everything else faded away except the painful words the doctor spoke.

“I’m so sorry. We did everything we could. He’d lost too much blood, and the artery was damaged beyond repair.”

A wave of rage crashed through Gage’s body, the roar of it drowning out even the doctor. Autopilot had him turning away from the terrible news, and he stalked out of the waiting room.

Carrie called after him, begging him to stay, threatening to come after him, but Boomer convinced her to stay put. None of it stopped Gage. If he stopped, he would punch something, and he might not stop until his knuckles were shattered.

Somehow, he ended up in his truck, fighting the urge to scream. As if on autopilot, he started the engine and left the hospital, driving aimlessly through the streets of D.C., cursing at idiotic drivers the entire time.

As he drove, memories of all the time he’d spent with Reggie flooded him. They’d gone on some of the most dangerous missions in the world, taking out terrorists, rescuing hostages, and keeping their country safe, and a simple rescue mission for a friend with limited fire power killed him. It didn’t seem possible. This is not how he was supposed to go out. They were supposed to all die old men in nursing homes, flirting with the nurses.

At least that’s the story they always told each other. Each one of them knew they might die on any mission. It’s why Peter and Ripley didn’t go out in the field anymore. They’d found women who made them want to stay home and alive. Gage didn’t go on missions much anymore because he generally had a fundamental disagreement with the way the department functioned. But Reggie had fieldwork in his blood, and deep down everyone knew that of all of them, he would be the most likely to die in the line of duty.

Somehow, he managed to make it to his house without wrecking, but he couldn’t make himself get out of the truck. He slammed his palm into the steering wheel as he sat in his driveway and cursed God and any other higher power that might be in charge for letting this happen.

His phone rang, and he tried to ignore it, but Peter Mercer’s name flashed on his dashboard screen. Peter was the one they were rescuing when Reggie got shot. Carrie, Peter’s new girlfriend and submissive, must have broken the news. He would be grieving just as hard as Gage, if not harder.

Seeing Peter’s name allowed him to put the grief and rage in a dark corner of his mind to be dealt with later, and he accepted the call.

Because that’s what Gage always did. He put his own needs on the back burner and answered the calls of his friends, his countrymen, and anyone else who might need him. Fixing people’s problems was how he connected with the world.

“Peter, how’s the arm?” His voice was surprisingly calm, given the rage that simmered just beneath the surface.

“Carrie told me about Reggie,” Peter said, ignoring his question.

“Yeah. It sucks.” Sucks was putting it mildly, but if he admitted his heart was breaking into a million pieces, he would fall apart and be no help to anyone.

“I’m so sorry, Gage. You two were the closest out of all of us. How are you holding up?” Peter asked.

No. This call was about Peter and his grief. Gage had no interest in talking about himself.

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