Chapter One
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The blast of light and sound tore through the decrepit ranch house as the stun charge detonated inside.
Colt Morgan shoved through the busted kitchen door, rifle up, boots crunching over broken tile and rotted drywall. His comms provided him hearing protection against the blast still echoing in his skull, and he wore tinted eye shields and body armor as he scanned the room.
The air was thick with smoke, the sharp tang of ammonia and something worse. Maybe kerosene. The asshole who’d set up this place wanted to send a message.
And Colt wasn’t in the mood to read it.
“Target’s in the back bedroom,” came the crackle of his partner Harlan Creed’s voice in Colt’s earpiece. “Unconscious but breathing. Hostile’s down in the hall.”
“Copy,” Colt muttered, sweeping his sector.
He moved fast, clearing a makeshift barricade of overturned furniture and chicken wire. The smell got worse the farther he went. Sour sweat, piss, and other scents Colt didn’t want to identify.
A groan echoed from the corner.
Colt pivoted, laser sight locking on a man slumped against the wall, hands clamped over his ears. Obviously the flashbanghad gotten to him. No surprise there. It was damn effective at neutralizing hostiles.
The guy reached for a shotgun, but Colt was faster. One hard boot to the ribs, and the weapon skittered across the floor. Colt hauled him up by the collar, shoving the dazed man forward. He got them moving, or in the hostile’s case—staggering—toward the exit.
Colt met up with Harlan at the back door, the heiress, Cassandra Vale, slung over his partner’s shoulder like a duffel bag. Cassandra was barefoot, her silk blouse ripped and streaked with grime, but she was alive. Pale, limp, breathing.
“Whole place is rigged with explosives that have been tripped,” Harlan blurted. “We’ve got maybe sixty seconds.”
“Then move,” Colt couldn’t say fast enough.
They tore through the scrub brush behind the house, boots pounding dirt, Colt dragging the kidnapper by the back of the shirt as they ran. A low rumble built behind them, then the world erupted in fire.
The explosion blasted heat across Colt’s back, shoving him forward as he and Harlan dove behind the armored SUV parked at the edge of the tree line.
Flames consumed the ranch house in seconds.
Colt leaned against the vehicle, panting, watching the fire twist up into the stars. Another second slower and they’d all be ash.
“You good?” Harlan asked, still cradling the woman’s body.
Colt managed a nod, and he whipped out a pair of plastic cuffs to restrain the asshole who was moaning and trying to wriggle away. “Yeah. Glad this was easy.”
“Explosives don’t say easy to me,” Harlan grumbled.
True. But they’d come prepared for that. Prepared for a fight to extract the hostage, and everything had gone as planned.Whenever an op didn’t go sideways and no one got killed, Colt was more than happy to label it easy.
Harlan opened the rear door of the SUV and eased Cassandra inside onto the seat. Colt moved to the other side, scanning her face for signs of consciousness. Still unresponsive.
“She’s alive,” Harlan said, brushing a leaf from her hair. “But she’s been pumped full of something.”
“Benzos, maybe worse.” Colt stepped back, dragging the zip-tied kidnapper down into the dirt beside the vehicle. “What’d you give her, you piece of shit?”
“Lawyer,” he snarled back.
In Colt’s mind, that confirmed the label he’d just given the guy. Then again, he hadn’t needed any confirmation since this asshole was Cassandra’s kidnapper. Doyle Mercer.
“And I ain’t no piece of shit,” Doyle whined.
“Right,” Colt snapped. “Former security guard at Cassandra’s family estate. Fired for assault, sued for harassment. You’re practically a model citizen.”
