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couldn’t.
    But it could happen again, no matter what anyone believed.
    There were enemies within and without, and as far as Jake could tell they didn’t need to be fundamentalists to want to see America humbled. That was the biggest change he’d recognized. He could still remember the anger he’d experienced firsthand when he rocked up to a bar in Paris during his leave. All he’d done was ask for a beer. The accent had been enough to earn a torrent of abuse about interference, being part of the world police, and other bullshit that made him turn around and walk right back out of the bar. He’d only wanted a fucking drink, not a lecture on the rights of man. It was worse than the crap he’d taken growing up because of his skin color. The world was black-and-white in so many different ways.
    This wasn’t an accident.
    He knew it.
    Even without seeing the smoke, he knew it.
    Fort Hamilton was a strategic target.
    The part of Jake Carter that would always be a soldier processed things in a logical fashion. Stage one: threat assessment. What were they facing? Who was the enemy here? What is their endgame? Stage two: intervention. Become an obstacle between the enemy and their goal.
    He heard an old guy explaining to his daughter, “You hit Hamilton, you cripple the Army response to anything on land. Simple as that. Take out the tunnels and bridges and we’re an island of sitting ducks. It ain’t good, kid.” The words carried easily despite the wind and the traffic. Jake stepped away from the stairs and onto the sidewalk beside the subway entrance. “Smart move if you want to inflict maximum damage.” The guy was absolutely right.
    Not far away, a young woman, an NYU student judging by her bohemian outfit and the hemp book bag slung over her shoulder, was a lot more alarmed. “What’s next? We have to get out of here. First they take out the Army and the National Guard, what’s next?” she wailed at her friend, clutching her arm tightly. Hysteria wasn’t going to help anyone, natural or not. “They’re gonna start herding us into little pens, like mice, and doing experiments on us! You watch! They hate us!”
    He wanted to go over to her and explain that this was New York, not Auschwitz, and Josef Mengele was dead; if it was al-Qaeda they wouldn’t be interested in turning her into a lab rat—but he didn’t bother wasting his breath. Hell, he knew plenty of people who thought like that, and plenty more who’d argue that the Big Apple was already a major filth-ridden and rotten maze, complete with bits of cheese scattered throughout and a whole lot of panicked mice in business suits bouncing off each other every day of the fucking week.
    Why Fort Hamilton?
    If you were going to hit a major target, why not some place here in Midtown instead of down in Brooklyn?
    He was getting ahead of himself.
    He was thinking like it was a foregone conclusion that al-Qaeda, the Taliban, Hamas, Hezbollah, or even the Ku Klux fucking Klan was behind the panic. He didn’t even know for sure what had happened, let alone who was behind it.
    He thought about what the vet had said.
    Which is when Jake realized that he was already working on stage two, figuring out the best way to put himself between the unknown enemy and their goals before he’d established who or what the threat was. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t his fight anymore. Once a warrior, always a warrior.

CHAPTER TWO
    SHE COULDN’T SEE ANYONE, BUT THAT DIDN’T MEAN there wasn’t anyone watching.
    Getting out had been too easy. She wasn’t buying it. Too many years in combat situations and hot zones—and even more spent training others to cope with the demands of both—had drilled an almost preternatural awareness into Sophie Keane. She knew when she wasn’t alone.
    It wasn’t just paranoia.
    It was the middle of the afternoon. Paris was a busy city. Maybe not New York–busy, but it was always bustling with activity and beautiful people. The power