Page 1 of Night Justice

Prologue

Even after unbuttoningthe collar of his Navy whites, Lance Sorenson still felt like he was choking. He hated being the ice-cream man, especially when he had no choice in the matter. That was something he wouldn’t miss one bit.

The diner was deserted, but that wasn’t a surprise at this time of night and in this area of Washington D.C. The real question was how he’d made his way from Arlington Cemetery to the diner; the last thing he remembered was the Admiral’s coffin being lowered into the ground.

When the waitress came, he ordered coffee. Tiredness battled inside him, along with so much anger, he struggled to keep the violence at bay and not hit out at anyone. Something was broken inside him, and the pain was reaching unbearable heights.

The waitress had put a steaming cup in front, her hand shaking, before scurrying away. She’d probably sensed the impending explosion simmering just below the surface and wanted to be out of the line of fire.

He forced himself to unclench his fists and slow his breathing to control the rage burning in his gut. His hand went around the mug, but he didn’t drink. Lance doubted he could swallow coffee or refrain from throwing the cup at the wall if he dared to pick it up. Would violence alleviate his pain and guilt even just a little? Probably not.

As he stared into his black coffee, his mind took over and reality blurred, he saw himself standing by two graves, surrounded by many people, both friends and strangers, all gathering around two lost souls. Two people he should have saved but had failed instead. Despite what everyone had told him, he knew he was to blame.

On that fateful day, he’d lost his friend Beatrice Dante, and his mentor, her husband, Admiral James Feander. Both had played important roles in his life. After he’d become a Navy SEAL, he’d been assigned to a separate team created by the Admiral who’d pushed each of its members, honing their skills, valuing their intelligence and instincts in the field. Even when he’d become brass, James Feander had remained close to his men, and the realities of being in the field and the work they did.

His wife, Beatrice Dante, was no ordinary woman. Rising from a dark and violent past, she’d founded Purgatory, an organization that worked in close collaboration with the US government to accomplish those missions judged impossible, using official and sometimes not so official channels. He’d gladly worked for her, as did his brothers and best friend, accomplishing the impossible time and time again without ever regretting his decision, until that fateful night when he couldn’t protect them both.

He’d reached them too late, and today, lowering their coffins into the ground had been pure hell and confirmation his life would never be the same. He, Lance Sorenson, would never be the same.

Air shifted around him, but Lance didn’t look up. He didn’t give a fuck what happened around him, too focused on drowning into this endless well of agony.

Someone slid into the booth opposite him, and he didn’t have to look to recognize Sam Ferguson, friend and fellow Purgatory agent.

“Damn, man. You weren’t easy to find, even dressed like muscled whipped cream” The man ignored Lance’s silence and ordered coffee and pie. Forced away from his somber thoughts, Lance wanted to give the intruder a piece of his mind, but he refused to look up and decided to continue giving him the silent treatment. When the waitress came with his order, she lingered a little longer, probably reassured by Sam’s easy and charming demeanor.

After a couple of bites of his pie, Sam reached out and slapped his shoulder, flashing his thousand-watt smile when Lance raised his head, which made Lance clench his teeth. Once more, violence bubbled to the surface, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it together. Not even for a friend.

Sam took a sip then pushed his unfinished dessert and coffee aside. He probably realized it wasn’t a good idea to leave potential weapons within Lance’s reach. “Everyone is worried, Sorenson. You didn’t say a word from the moment you arrived at the ceremony until you disappeared. Your brothers are looking for you, and you’re not answering your phone. What’s going on, man?”

Lance raked his hair, but all he wanted to do was punch Sam, and his hand shook with the effort it took to hold back. “Leave me the fuck alone, Ferguson.”

He leaned back, and Lance decided the blond man had a death wish when he smirked at him. “As if that’s gonna happen any time soon. What’s going on? Answer me, and if your answer’s sane enough, I’ll leave and won’t tell your brothers where you are.”

The last thing he wanted was to have the cavalry after him. “There’s nothing to say, Ferguson.”

“It’s hard for everybody. We lost two of the most important people in our lives.”

It was clear that Ferguson didn’t understand any of it. He felt responsible for Beatrice and the Admiral’s deaths, and it went way deeper than admiration, loyalty, or friendship. Words were unable to express how he felt.

“Lance, it’s not your fault. I’ve spoken with the others, even those who were assigned to that mission, and it couldn’t have ended any other way. Beatrice was one of the most intelligent and skilled agents out there. If she couldn’t find a way out, nobody could. And let’s not forget the Admiral. He was a powerhouse in his own right.”

His pain was so vivid and untenable, Lance slammed his fist into the wooden table. “There’s always a way. If I hadn’t been so involved in the mission, if I’d thought outside the box, I would’ve seen it.”

Sam put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “There wasn’t. Beatrice led that mission as she always did, straight as an arrow and no holds barred.”

“Fuck that, Sam. Bea ran Purgatory like a government organization, played more by the rules than she let on. She took on individuals with blood on their hands and offered them a second chance, but the way she functioned was by the book. That’s what got her and the admiral killed. They didn’t have the right perspective and didn’t allow themselves to stray outside the lines enough to keep themselves alive.”

Sam seemed to think on his words, a frown forming on his face. “I don’t know if that had an impact on their deaths. I’m a thief by trade, and I don’t play well with rules, so I’m used to the discomfort. I deal with it for the organization, but it’s a challenge. I guess rules are easier for you being a Navy SEAL.”

Bile rose in his throat. “Was.” That simple word said out loud for the first time shook Lance to the core, but he stayed with it.

“What do you meanwas?”

“I’ve resigned from the Teams. I’m no longer a SEAL, I’ve also resigned my commission. I’m waiting for the paperwork to process, but I’m done, man. It may take several months to put everything behind for good, but I’m closing that door and not going back.”

It wasn’t often Sam Ferguson, international thief, Purgatory agent, and well-known smart ass was rendered speechless. His eyes widened a moment before he nodded. “Does that mean you’re taking over Purgatory with Gabrielle?”

Gabrielle Thorne was Beatrice’s natural heir and had become Lance’s friend over the years. Would he be interested in slipping into Beatrice’s shoes? What he expected to be a sarcastic bout of laughter turned into a half-sob. “No. No more walking the line for me. I need...”

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