Can we really risk it all for one woman?
No.
No, we can’t…
But, fucking hell, I want to.
He scrubbed his hand down over his face and finally glanced toward Gael. He could read his twin like a damn book and recognized the same thought sitting behind his eyes. They’d both heard this kind of plea before. They’d turned them down every time before, too.
So why is this one different?
Maybe it’s the horse we sold them, and the connection to our folks.
That had to be it, he decided. The Moore family owning an SHR-bred horse made them family. Horse family.
If Gael says no. It’s no. If he says yes, I’ll agree to it.
As if his brother read his mind, Gael broke the silence first. “We can at least run the name through our channels, see what comes back.”
Yes!
Even as every instinct he had warned him that nothing good came from breaking the rules, he did an internal fist pump at Gael’s agreement to edge right on the line of the agreement they’d signed with the President of the United States.
I knew he’d say that.
“Come on, Mr. Moore.” He got to his feet. “Gael will take you back to your truck.”
“You’ll look for her?”
“We’ll run some searches.” Rowan dumped what was left of his coffee down the sink. “Make no mistake, though. We’re not promising anything more than we’ll look and see if there is something there to find.”
“It’s more than I had an hour ago.” Moore got to his feet. “Thank you. Thank you, both.”
“Do you have copies of her IDs, photos, or any police report you filed with you?”
“They’re in my truck.”
They’d probably have been able to find all the intel Moore had pretty easily. But having them already would save them some time. Rowan glanced at the clock and figured Former Green Beret, Theo “Cross” Madden, might be just about done with the morning feed routine in the barn. If he wasn’t, he would be by the time Gael came back with the intel packet they needed to start their search. He’d call him as soon as Moore had left.
“We might find nothing,” Gael warned. “Come with me, and I’ll take all the information and printouts you have. “We’ll call you later today.”
Moore fished his phone out of his pocket. “My number—I gotta look it up?—”
“I have your number from when you messaged at the gate.” Rowan grabbed his keys from the counter, tossed them to Gael, and walked them to the door. He waited for the door to close behind them before he unlocked his phone, tapped their secure app, double checked he’d pulled up the correct number, and hit call. “Cross, Rowan. Can you come up to the main house when you’re done with feeding?”
The reply came almost instantly. Theo’s voice sounded low and amused. “Sure thing, boss. But if you’re pranking Gael again, and I get caught in the crossfire, I’m gonna be pissed.”
“Nope.” As amusing as it would be to make Gael lose his dang mind over glitter in the house for the second time in less than a week, he had learned his lesson. Itching powder in his sock drawer had cured him of the need to do another round of tit-for-tat-make-my-twin-batshit. “We want your opinion on a potential job.”
“Roger that, boss. I’ll be right up.”
While he waited for Gael and Theo, Rowan went into the pantry and scooped two bowls of dog food. Opening the back door, he yelled for Gael’s farm dogs to come get breakfast,
“Trident, Frog, come and get it, boys.” He placed one bowl at either side of the porch just in time for the two cattle dogs to come barreling around the corner of the house from the direction of the barn. He pointed Trident to the bowl on the left and Frog to the right, “No fucking fighting this morning, assholes.” He warned them both as they sat in front of their bowls, waiting for the command. “I’m not in the mood.” He clicked his fingers, “Essen.Eat.” Neither needed to be told twice and dived right in as if they hadn’t been fed in a month. “All y’all are liars, because I know you had two dinners last night. Yoursandmine.” If Gael didn’t put manners on these two soon, he was going to ban them from coming into the house at all, because losing his chicken-fried steak more than once was not something he wanted to deal with.
“Morning.” Theo unzipped his padded Carhartt jacket as he walked up the steps. “Tell me you have the good coffee on and aren’t on a mushroom coffee kick like fucking Edge.”
“Edge made what now?” Trust Edge to be stuck in the middle of whatever drama was going on in the Bunkhouse. The former SEAL had a nose for trouble; if it could be caused, he’d figure out how to make it freaking epic. “Mushroom coffee is a bit much, even for him.”
