"I need your help."

Startled by the desperate request drifting through the phone line, Joel Wilde's fingers tightened around the cordless receiver pressed to his ear. It had been one helluva long time since he'd heard that voice, but he recognized it instantly. A friend. A comrade. The man who'd literally saved his life.

"Zach?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me." Zach Marshall's forced chuckle fell flat. "It's been a while, huh?"

More than four years, to be exact, Joel thought as he sat down on one of the bar stools in his kitchen. As marines they'd been assigned to the same Force Reconnaissance unit, and after serving their country for four and six years respectively, they'd both opted not to reenlist. Their last mission in Baghdad had been harrowing, and one that neither of them had been eager to repeat. In fact, most of the men who'd been a part of that assignment had walked away with either physical or emotional scars. And for some, both.

Joel was a man who'd always thrived on risk and adventure, but his tour of duty in Iraq had been much more than he'd ever bargained for. After watching good men die and nearly losing his own life, as well, Joel had wanted nothing more than to join the real world again and live a normal life, free from strict rules, from relentless, rigorous missions, and from being responsible for other men's lives.