The familiar smell of G96 gun oil rose up around him, but today it failed to raise his spirits. The room was quiet. He was alone, which suited him fine. Everyone would assemble shortly for the daily 0800 team briefing in HRT’s main classroom.

He heard footsteps in the corridor and pressed his lips together.

Dammit. Not so alone.

“Livingstone?” Payne Novak called loudly as he walked into the room with three figures trailing behind him.

“Here.” Shane stared at Novak, who looked as pale and exhausted as he felt. Instinctively, Shane knew he didn’t want to hear whatever the guy had to say.

“I saw your truck in the parking lot.”

Shane raised his brow in question.

“Everything okay?” Novak asked.

It was the wrong thing to ask, especially in front of the new recruits.

Shane looked away, swallowing hard.

Novak exhaled sharply. “Look, Shane, I know you’re upset—”

“I am way beyond upset, boss.” Upset was when you lost your keys or were dumped by a woman you liked. This feeling of utter devastation was like acid corroding his bones and making him feel raw and achy. But he couldn’t afford to show how badly Scotty’s death had affected him. He didn’t want to jeopardize his career. He wasn’t ready to quit HRT, not by a long shot, nor did he like sitting on the sidelines. He needed to help catch this guy. He gritted his teeth and forced out, “I’m dealing with it.”

Novak quietly appraised him. Payne Novak was a man who didn’t say a lot and, until about a month or so ago, hadn’t tended to smile much either. Not that they’d had much to smile about in the last week. But when Novak spoke people tended to listen, which was why he’d been promoted to temporary leader of Gold team while their actual team leader was on some super-secret mission to who the hell knew where.

“You remember Will Griffin, Hunt Kincaid and Meghan Donnelly.” Novak introduced the people at his side. Shane recognized them all from Selection and New Operator Training School—NOTS.

The three HRT teams—Blue, Red, and Gold—were each comprised of two seven-person assaulter units and one eight-man sniper unit, plus support personnel. Each selection cycle, the teams had different requirements that needed to be filled by new operators after people aged out, moved up the ranks or headed into other sections of the FBI. Or because of injuries…or death.

HRT had never lost a man during an active response. Until Scotty.