“Read the lawyer’s letter.” Caz motioned to the packet. “It seems a consortium dumped a ton of money into upgrading the old resort. The place re-opened this spring.”

Bull nodded. “There’s a fancy hotel, ski lifts, hot springs. Proposed golf course. Summer recreational shit.”

In the papers, Gabe found a map of Rescue. When visiting Mako, he’d rarely gone into the town itself. The town was a branch off the big Sterling Highway that went to Homer—and the road through town continued up to the mountain resort.

There was no other way to reach McNally.

“Interesting. There’ll be a ton of tourists, including skiers, looking for cheap lodging.” But, if he remembered right, the town didn’t have much more than a few businesses. Hardware. Post office. Mako’s old war buddy, Dante, owned the grocery.

“Resort employees, too,” Bull commented.

An influx of tourists into an unprepared town? “It’s going to be a mess. Damn first sergeant and his missions.”

Gabe leafed through the rest of the papers. A note from the lawyer. Copies of titles to land and buildings all over town. In addition to their homes, they now owned a restaurant, gardening center, hotel, and quite a few stores. All had closed down some time in the past.

Mako’s expectations were clear.

Gabe’s balls shrank at the thought of disappointing the sarge. They’d learned early on that giving less than 110 percent of effort earned a scathing dressing-down. Even Navy SEALs’ Hell Week had been easy compared to his first year with the retired Green Beret.

He glowered at the letter. “I miss that crazy bastard, but Jesus, nobody can manipulate a person like an old drill sergeant.”

“I bet he’s laughing his ass off right about now.” Caz grinned. “He probably figured it was suitable revenge for the way we coerced him into moving to town.”

“Of course he did.” Bull’s deep laughter was like a foghorn.

“I can’t believe he took the money we sent him and bought property,” Gabe muttered. They’d all sent a portion of every paycheck to Mako. “It was to help support him, not…this.”

“It’s not like he ever spent money on anything—except maybe military surplus, bomb shelters, and MREs.” Bull glanced over. “Speaking of military, we haven’t heard from Hawk since last December. The company says he’s out of the country.”

Private military companies weren’t particularly good at reassuring families. And this company had turned into a shit operation. “Hawk will check in when he returns to the States. He’ll get the packet then.”

“Guess that’s all we can hope for,” Bull said. “So, about the town. Caz and I have been in Rescue a month now. I’m remodeling the old roadhouse there.”

“What about your restaurants in Anchorage and Homer?”

Bull put his hands behind his head. “That’s why God created managers.”