Page 5 of Untamed Sinner

Only it's not my life on the line. For five weeks I’ve been searching for this woman’s identity and I’m no closer to any answers. Time is ticking and I don't have the luxury of waiting to see if I can figure out this puzzle on my own.

I can't help but wonder if I'm using this as an excuse to see him.

"Fucking Hendricks," I mumble as I toss my bag in the back of my truck and hop in.

And I still don't know his first name. At this point, I'm choosing to believe it's Keith. A small-dicked man with lame oral skills named Keith isn’t attractive.

I picture Hendricks in his gunmetal suit, his shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and I sigh as I turn the key in the ignition.

5

HENDRICKS

The secure room is quiet at 0800. I've been here since 0630, working through the backlog that accumulated during the recovery operation.

Taking a sip of cold coffee, I pull out my phone and check my texts. Most are routine—confirmation codes, encrypted coordinates, payment receipts. Then I see the one from Luke Bennett.

Riot

Haven’t heard from you since we got back. You still alive?

Are you alphabetizing canned soup again?

I roll my eyes and delete it. Bennett thinks he's funny. He's not. If he knew I’d bought a property in Iron Ridge two months ago out of convenience when I started outsourcing work to the Blackthorn boys, he’d be camped out on my doorstep.

Note: they aren’t boys. They aren’t even my team.

The rest of the world sees a ranch, retired ex-soldiers, and three men playing cowboy.

It’s a good cover.

Jake Callahan, Mason Rivera, and Luke Bennett are former Delta Force—the elite of the elite. We crossed paths years ago in the theater, and again a few months ago because our objectives were aligned. Since then, I’ve brought them in to help me on a number of commissions.

Jake leads without ego. Mason is the best sniper I’ve ever met. Luke laughs too easily for a man who can clear a room in thirty seconds.

Different skill sets, same instinct: protect the people behind them.

It’s an expensive way to live, but I respect it. I also don’t hesitate to call on them when I need extra hands. There aren’t many people I trust, but those men are three of them.

Trust is one thing. Unsolicited visitors are another.

Opening my laptop, I navigate to my encrypted email. Two days away means a stack of new messages from my answering service. I work through them. A skip trace in Denver. Background check for a custody case. Asset recovery in Seattle. Standard work. Nothing that requires immediate attention.

Then I get to the fourth message.

Subject: Referral – Whitaker, Crowley & Pierce LLP

I pause. WCP is the kind of law firm that represents governors, billionaires, and people who make problems disappear before they become public. They don't refer small jobs. If they're sending work my way, it means someone with serious money has a serious problem.

I open the message.

Client requests immediate contact. Recovery of a missing person. Referral vetted through Montana AG's office. Fee structure attached.

I open the attachment, and the fee structure makes me pause. A quarter million for a recovery. Double if it goes complicated. Triple if it requires international extraction.

No job pays that well unless it's dirty or dangerous—or both.

Curiosity has me pulling up the provided contact number and dialing.