“Then what?”
Adam shrugged, a frown dominating his features. “That depends.”
“Tom Hood?” Last Chase heard, the man responsible for Tara Pisani’s death had moved on to terrorizing women in Detroit.
“I’ve got people on it.”
Chase didn’t doubt it for a second. Adam’s alter ego, Sam Black, was a well-connected figure amongst the underbelly of society. A ghost who walked between two worlds, he didn’t really exist in either. It made for a lonely life, one Chase had no interest in pursuing.
Grace Grayson belonged to him, and he wasn’t ever letting her go. He’d already made the necessary arrangements. Stopping in Seattle before coming to Montana, he’d made sure his family was safe, and then he’d settled his affairs.
For better or worse, his life centered on Gray now.
His heart didn’t beat if hers didn’t.
And right now, her heart was still broken. “I want to be there when you go after Hood.” Tom Hood would die in the not-too-distant future. The kill was Adam’s. Chase understood why, but he needed to be able to reassure Gray justice had been served and her friend’s death avenged. To do that, he had to watch the man die.
Adam’s eyes were a dark gray where the colonel’s had been a faded green. The color might have been different, but the sharp look was the same, and he felt the weight of it as Gray’s brother measured him for worth.
The scrutiny made his feet press against the rock, his spine elongate, and his chin lift. He probably grew about two inches, but despite his body’s reaction, he didn’t have anything to prove. Gray was his, and good luck to anybody who tried to tell him otherwise.
Adam’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “My father said you never did take the easy road.”
Chase nodded in acknowledgment, the pang in his chest keeping him from speaking. The colonel’s death and Tak’s absence left a gaping hole in both him and the JTT. Everyone had lost someone they cared about, some of them more than others, with Gray being at the top of the list.
Some healing had to happen. It would take time. Unfortunately, Chase suspected time might be the one thing they didn’t have a lot of. They were marked men, all of them, and they needed to get their shit together—fast.
“You see the news?” Adam asked.
“Yep.” Jonas Johnson and the Department of Homeland Security were being hailed as heroes by the media for stopping multiple shipments of illegal arms from being smuggled into the country. Only the members of the JTT knew the truth. “You did the right thing.”
Adam had ensured the weapons would never make it into the hands of Johnson or his backers by having Jay leak shipment information to multiple enforcement agencies. The strategy had worked, and the weapons had been seized. It was a small victory, but they’d take it.
“You think Johnson’s going to announce his candidacy for president soon?”
“Any day now,” Adam replied, turning his back and stepping off the rocks. “Gray’s been waiting for you. Trail’s that way.” He jerked his head toward a patch of flattened scrub on the edge of the clearing and headed for the cabin he’d isolated himself in.
Chase grinned. That was a dismissal if he’d ever heard one. Adam Grayson wasn’t as undecided about his future as he believed. Feeling lighter than he had in days, he checked his G-Shock and hit the trail at a fast clip.
T-minus one hour and fifteen minutes before he got his hands on his woman, and he planned to use the time wisely. It would take about that long to formulate a tactical plan to cover all the ways he wanted to make her squeal, pant, and moan.
And the best part—she had no idea he was coming.
CHAPTERFORTY-EIGHT
Buried under a blanket,Gray sat curled in a ball in the corner of one of the great room’s leather couches, listening to Cody snore as she stared into the fire. She hadn’t heard from Chase since their call last night, and her mood had gone fromI can do thistoWhere the fuck is the vodkaas the morning progressed to afternoon.
She didn’t begrudge Chase spending every waking second looking for his best friend. It was the least they could do. She missed him, though. Missed him like she was dying of thirst, and he was the last drop of water.
Desperate to feel the beat of his heart between the pauses of her own, she wanted him—needed him—pressed against her. She needed his scent filling her nose and soothing her spirit. Needed his capable hands telling her without words she’d be okay.
They’d be okay.
“Let’s go, sunshine. You need to get the stink blown off you.” Grant’s voice reached her before he came into view.
She lifted her gaze in time to see him come around the couch and frown at the sandwich she hadn’t eaten. Not the sandwich’s fault—or Grant’s. He made a decent grilled cheese. She just wasn’t hungry for food. “I don’t want to get the stink blown off me. And stop fucking calling me sunshine, dickhead.”
Despite her protest, she tossed aside her blanket and pressed her bare feet to the warm carpet. Kincaid was one of those persistent fuckers who didn’t let up until he got what he wanted, and she had zero energy to fight him. Besides, a walk outside would help to pass the time until Chase called.
