Page 221 of Vicious Temptation

Rafe may be dead, but the men who worked for him are still out there, hiding behind the facade of a legitimate business. As long as they’re free, Remi is still in danger.

The shootout on the highway gave us the break we needed. Between the bodies recovered, the weapons left behind, and an anonymous tip linking the gunmen to Los Blancos, we finally had enough to start digging.

It took nearly two weeks to follow the evidence, work through the proper channels, and secure a warrant. Now I’m hoping they were arrogant enough to leave behind the guns, drugs, or anything else we can use to shut this operation down and put everyone involved behind bars.

“Same as always,” Ryan says, knocking his fist lightly against my helmet.

I nod. “Fast and clean.”

“Fast and clean.” Leaning closer, he raises his voice over the howl of the wind. “Drinks are on me tonight. Frank’s. Eight o’clock.”

“Can’t. Busy.”

He chuckles. “Of course you are. That girl’s got you reeled in tight, doesn’t she?”

I don’t answer because the grin hidden beneath my helmet says enough.

The last couple of weeks with Remi have been the closest thing to normal I’ve had since this assignment began. I’ve been able to spend my nights with her without checking my phone every five minutes or wondering when another order will come through and ruin whatever we’re building.

A big part of that is Elena.

What was supposed to be a few days overseas has somehow turned into weeks, and I haven’t received a single call or text from her since she left. Whatever assignment pulled her away remains classified, so I have no idea where she is or when she’ll be back.

For now, I’m taking full advantage of her absence.

The guilt is still there, but with Elena gone, I can finally breathe. I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder or waiting for the next order that will force me to choose between my mission and the woman who has become the best part of my day.

The BearCat slows as Los Blancos Warehouse and Parts comes into view. Ryan slaps the side of the armored vehicle.

“Game time, Braga.”

I grip my rifle. “Let’s do this.”

“Stack up!” our team leader barks as the vehicle grinds to a stop.

We jump down and move, boots pounding against the pavement as we fan out and fall into formation beside the bay door. Ryan takes his place behind the breacher while I cover our sector, my rifle tracking the windows above the shop.

“Perimeter set,” a voice crackles over the radio.

“Copy.”

The breacher plants himself in front of the steel door and hoists the ram onto his shoulder.

“Police! Search warrant!” he shouts. “Open the door!”

No one answers. Our team leader gives the breacher the signal.

“Breach.”

The ram slams into the steel with a deafening crash. Again. On the third strike, the lock gives way.

“Go! Go! Go!”

The door flies inward, and we pour into the shop. Half a dozen mechanics freeze where they stand, their eyes widening at the sight of armored officers flooding the garage.

“Police! Hands where I can see them!”

“Get on the ground!”