The first time Derek saw a hawk launch from a branch and snatch up a mouse in its sharp talons, he knew what he wanted to be called. In all the years since, Hawk had never lost his fascination with the predatory birds.

Only Gabe had refused to choose a new name because Gramps had said Mama chose his name especially for him. For who she thought he’d be. Gabriel was a guardian angel, the messenger of God. She’d said she knew her son would someday be a protector. A hero.

He wouldn’t give up his name…or her dream for him.

Trying not to tremble like a coward, that’s what he’d told the sarge.

Mako had been quiet for a long time and then said, “Can’t argue with a mother’s hopes. God knows this fucking world needs more heroes.”

Chapter One

Gabriel had tried being a hero. Served as a Navy SEAL, a police officer, and as a mercenary. Yeah, no. He’d hung up his cape for good.

People didn’t want heroes.

And he was done risking his neck for anyone ever again.

Nope, he’d stay far, far from the job of hero and away from people, as well. Damn straight.

Stiffly, he rose from where he’d been kneeling on the porch. The ladder-back chair he’d made with hand tools was finished. Limping slightly, he carried it inside and set it beside the kitchen table. Not bad, but it’d taken him forever. He grinned ruefully. If he tried to make a living by building furniture, he’d starve.

Shaking his head, he headed back outside. Long winter, small cabin. He needed to be outside.

Spring had finally arrived on the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska. A couple of weeks before, the river near Mako’s old cabin had been an impressive flood of water with massive chunks of ice. Now, the water level was returning to normal, and the snow was disappearing.

Back on the porch, he stretched. His left shoulder and hip only throbbed resentfully, far improved from the stabbing pains he’d suffered when he arrived last fall. Back then, he’d moved like a gunshot cripple—because he was—now, his limp only appeared when he was an idiot and overexerted himself. Like ever since the snow began to melt.

He should go into Seward sometime. He hadn’t been there since he arrived last fall. He probably had mail piled up in the post office box.

The mail could sit and rot. After the disastrous ambush of his mercenary team, which could have been prevented if the company hadn’t lied to him, he’d quit and come here, to where he’d grown up.