* * *
The last raysof the sun vanish from the horizon and I can’t sit still. Ry wants to wait until midnight to breach, and all I can do is stare at the fuzzy images from the drone’s camera. Q has barely stirred, while the other two have been living it up—or at least moving around normally.
Now, their heat signatures are practically right on top of one another and have been for more than ten minutes. And they’re getting hotter. As thankful as I am that Alec isn’t trying to use sex to get what he wants out of Q, the idea that these two shit stains are going at it after locking the man I love in a fucking basement is too much to handle.
Jerking to my feet, I stalk into the RV’s small kitchen, intending to get a bottle of water, but I’m so angry, when the cabinet door sticks, I let out a roar and plow my fist through the flimsy wood.
A second later, West grabs the collar of my t-shirt and propels me into the back corner of the vehicle. “Put a fucking lid on it or you’re off the mission.”
I start to protest, until Ryker comes up behind the SEAL. “He gave me the same goddamn order when we were in Russia. Told me to ‘fucking listen’ to him. After we got Wren back, when I wedged my favorite stick up my ass a second time, he punched me and laid me out flat.”
Staring between the two men, I can almost picture it. Ryker’s massive in every way. It’s not just his height or his muscles, but his presence. His attitude. The absolute conviction and seriousness that infuses everything he does.
West can pass for a regular guy. When he wants to. A guy who looks like he’d be fun to have a beer with. Or a good addition to your paintball team. And he is. Both of those things. As long as he’s not on mission. Right now? I think he could fight every single one of us—and win—without breaking a sweat.
Sitting up straighter, I nod. “Lid on and locked.” I’d apologize, but this is my family. There’s no need. They understand.
The comms receiver West hooked up so we don’t have to wear our earbuds in the RV beeps, and Wren’s voice spills from the speaker. “Base to Alpha Team. We got an update from…Stars and Bars.”
“He needs a new code name,” I say with a chuckle that’s only partially forced. Austin Pritchard—Stars and Bars to Ryker—used to be the head of JSOC until he helped us rescue Trevor in Venezuela. His superiors frowned on someone with his rank and position engaging with hostiles on foreign soil. Even worse, we basically aided in overthrowing the entire Venezuelan government.
Just a few weeks ago, he came to Ry for help when his girlfriend was being threatened and from what I gathered, the man finally realized he was a part of our family too.
“Spill it, Base,” Inara replies.
“Search and rescue is en route to Flash Flood Alley. And we found the accomplice. Dennis Marklin. Forty-six years old, retired from the Dallas Police Department two months ago.”
West frowns. “The hell? Harrow hooked up with a cop?”
“There’s more,” Wren says. “Sending the intel to your tablets now.”
“More is an understatement, Base,” I say as I scan through pages and pages of data she and Ripper compiled over the past couple of hours.
“Harrow is a fucking one-man black hole.” Inara shakes her head and pulls a pair of camo pants out of her ruck. She’ll be perched in the tree at the edge of Alec’s property while the rest of us storm the house in case the asshole tries to run.
She’s not wrong. After Q filed the restraining order against him, Alec hooked up with another cop. Billy Blumenthal. Six months later, Billy threw himself off a roof. “So Billy dies, and Alec hooks up with Dennis?”
“He probably realized having a cop in his back pocket was helpful,” West mutters. “That ends tonight.Heends tonight.”
* * *
Ten minutes before midnight,we slip out the RV door and scatter. West, Ry, Raelynn, and I will each approach from a different side of the house. Minimizes the chance Alec will see us coming. A group of four is easy to spot. A single man—or woman—trained in stealth? A hell of a lot harder.
The wind picks up speed as it rolls across the plains, and it’s a damn good thing we’re all wearing our night-vision goggles. Otherwise the swirling sands would be almost blinding. As soon as Ryker says “go,” we’re breaking down the door of that goddamn house and getting Q back.
Earlier, West planted small charges at the electrical junction box along the old dirt road, and in a few seconds, he’ll arm the detonator. Blowing the power to the main house won’t give us much cover. Not with the generator Alec has behind the structure. But we should get at least fifteen or twenty seconds before backup power comes on.
“A guy like this,” Ry says, so quietly only the bone-conduction mics in our ears could possibly pick up the sound, “I wouldn’t put it past him to have buried land mines in his yard. So we follow the tire tracks and flagstones.Onlythe tire tracks and flagstones.”
“You didn’t think to tell me that before I drove up there earlier?” Raelynn hisses.
“You followed the tire tracks, didn’t you?”
Raelynn snorts softly. “Fucker.”
“Damn straight. Once we breach, it’s two by two. Whiskey and Golf in the front, Lima and me in the back. Q’s still in the basement. Harrow and Marklin are in the master bedroom and haven’t moved much for two hours. Probably sleeping. Don’t underestimate them. Especially Marklin. He’s trained. Spent five years on the DPD SWAT Team. Priority one is the target. Priority two is putting an end to Harrow once and for all. Whiskey? On your mark.”
West replies, “Roger. Blowing the power in three, two, one...”
