For the first time in his adult life, as a civilian.

His fingers involuntarily twitched at his sides, betraying the slightest hint of unease. Though he had always thought highly of the gentlemen who'd started this company—finding better soldiers than Brian Payne, Jamie Flanagan and Guy McCann would be damned near impossible—Will had nevertheless never imagined that he'd be working for them.

In fact, if anyone had told him three months ago that he would be anything other than in service to Uncle Sam, he would have asked them to hand over their crack pipe and would personally have escorted them to rehab.

But that was before the…incident.

Will determinedly closed the door on that line of thinking before any of the horrific images could form. One, in particular, haunted him.

Knobby knees, thin limbs, a bloodied, tattered teddy bear…

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and swore under his breath. Dammit, he had to get a grip. He couldn't afford to blow this. He had been especially grateful to Colonel Carl Garrett for mak ing the recommendation for this new career. Frankly, when he'd decided he had to get out—that he no longer had the stomach for war—Will hadn't given much thought to where he would go or what he would do. He just knew that he couldn't do his job anymore, that he'd never be able to do it again.

As for the men who were with him that fate ful day, Chase Harrison and Tanner Crawford, who knew what they were going to do? Chase seemed to be dealing with the tragedy much better then he or Tanner had, so Wil