Page 2 of Deep Cover

By the time Blackout Command showed up for the video debrief, he’d been poked, scanned and psychoanalyzed enough for a lifetime. He sat straight in his chair and answered “yes, sir” and “no, sir” in all the right places while three men he’d never met in person decided his future from behind a screen.

The last stop was the one that actually mattered—in a briefing room that didn’t appear on any hospital directory.

His own commanding officer of Sierra team was waiting for him outside it, arms crossed. As Rivers approached, he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face, even as he realized Cannon was giving him a thorough once-over.

“They clear you?” he asked.

He gave him a hard nod. “Every box checked off.”

For the first time, Cannon’s face split into a grin. “They give you the man physical?”

“Standard for post-injury clearance,” he repeated the doctor’s words.

Cannon snorted and studied him another second—long enough that Rivers felt that scrutiny in his spine. His leader was trying to assess whether to trust his gut or a doctor’s signature.

Whatever he saw must be convincing because Cannon’s expression relaxed.

“Good enough for me.”

He clapped a hand on Rivers’s shoulder, the closest thing to affection either of them ever exchanged.

“Welcome back.”

ONE

Eight weeks away from the team, and the war room hadn’t changed at all. It still smelled like coffee and gun oil and buzzed with the usual tension hanging over the table.

Rivers stood in the doorway a beat longer than he needed to, just soaking it in. The hum of the overhead lights. The scarred conference table. The whiteboard with scribbles of ops he’d missed.

He’d pictured this room night after night from his hospital bed, wondering if his body would ever let him come back.

As he stepped into the room, every head whipped up.

“Look what the wolves dragged in.” Their commanding officer, Cannon, was on his feet first, hand out, and Rivers crossed the room in quick strides to take his hand. They gripped each other hard, and Rivers felt the difference that eight weeks away had done to his calluses.

He turned to the table. Rome crossed his arms, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Glad you’re not dead, asshole. You officially back?”

“Officially back.” Rivers rolled his shoulders, testing the familiar pull along his side where the bullet had gone in. An inch closer to his spine, and this reunion would have looked a hell of a lot different.

He barely pulled out his chair to sit when Cannon’s phone lit up. Not his personal phone or the secure line for Blackout command.

The ghost-network phone. Blackout teams only. No agencies. No official channels. Not since they’d learned they couldn’t trust either.

The shift in the room was instant, and Rivers’s welcome back was suddenly over.

Cannon answered the call and thumbed it to speaker. The clipped voice of Con, SEAL Team Blackout Charlie’s leader, came through.

“We’ve got news. Chickie, go on.”

A second voice cut through the room. Henner, aka Chickie, spoke with a flat calm that told them things weren’t looking good.

“We believe the weapons stolen from Echo team’s armory have been distributed along the East Coast. May has been tracking them.”

Rorke leaned closer and caught Rivers up under his breath. The hunt for Echo’s stolen weapons hadn’t stopped while he was out. They’d chased leads even before he was shot, but they were still no closer to identifying who’d ordered the armory cleaned out.

Cannon’s jaw worked, tendon tightening under three days of stubble. “Sierra’s been on this case for months. Why are we just now learning about this?”

“Command held it back. More just came in. We’ll patch you in on a video call in a minute.” Con ended the call.