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caught the dig. “Being brave is hard work. But I’ll live up to my reputation. Going to live up to yours?”
    “What’s life without a little danger?”
    “Peaceful,” Bruce replied, amused. “And peanut butter and banana sandwiches do not make you bulletproof.”
    Wolf shrugged. “Somebody’s got to cover Bear’s back.”
    And Bruce knew that simple statement said it all. For the SEALs—as well as for PJs—friendship was more than just a personal loyalty, it was a tactical advantage. The enemy wasn’t fighting one man; it was fighting a team. And when dying for a friend was the price every man was willing to pay without a second thought, the teams could do what individuals could not—bring everyone home. Bruce knew that truth from personal experience. He had his partner Rich to thank for surviving more close calls than he cared to put into words. “Got enough ammo?”
    “Quit nagging. We learned the lesson of Ecuador. We’re ready.”
    STATESIDE SUPPORT, INC.
    N ORFOLK , V IRGINIA
    “What do you think, Scott?” Jill Stanton tried to sound calm as she stood in the mess that was Seaman Tyler Jones’s living room. The stereo speakers he had considered his pride and joy were gone. Half the CDs. A video camera. The burglar had been thorough, taking things he could carry and easily resell. The shock she’d gotten hit with on walking into this crime scene was wearing off. She was still feeling shaky, but it was being replaced with a growing sense of anger.
    Detective Scott Reece walked down the hall to look at the bedroom. Her brother’s friend from childhood was a police officer for the Hampton Roads communities, and he’d been prompt in answering her page. “Five burglaries in the last two months, three of them your clients. Not so unusual when you consider your clients are primarily single, collect expensive stereo equipment, and the news of their deployment is advertised in the local newspaper. When was the last time you were here?”
    She followed him into the bedroom where the dresser drawers remained half open, pulled off their tracks and shoved back at odd angles. “Two days ago, midafternoon. I watered the plants and fed his turtle.” The burglar hadn’t bothered to take the turtle.
    “Do you have the list of belongings and photographs of the apartment?”
    “Terri is bringing the file from the office.” Jill prepared for this kind of crisis with every client—burglary, fire, and storm damage. Making sure possessions were inventoried and that there was adequate insurance coverage was part of the process of taking on a new client.
    Tyler had elected not to be told about something like this, but rather have her simply deal with it for him. She couldn’t blame him. He was working on the GW flight deck, and he didn’t need to be distracted from his job by something stateside that he could do nothing about. Tyler’s insurance was up-to-date. As soon as the settlement amount was known, she’d get started replacing and repairing the damage to give him the best possible news on return. Where was she going to find replacement speakers?
    “It will be the same routine as last time. We’ll dust for prints, talk to neighbors, inventory what’s missing.” Outside the apartment, two officers had already begun the canvass of the building residents to see if anyone had observed something unusual. “We’ll get him, Jill,” Scott said. “Something stolen will turn up and give us a lead. It doesn’t make sense that he’s keeping everything he’s taken. He’s selling it somewhere.”
    Jill wished she believed him. He’d said the same thing after the last two break-ins at clients’ homes. She knew he was working the cases hard, but she had clients to protect and she needed the man stopped today, not tomorrow.
    Scott led the way back to the living room. The burglar had run something sharp along the hallway wall, scraping the paint. Car keys probably; the same senseless damage someone would do in a