Page 97 of Ruthless Enforcer

"We don't use the front gate." Mason points to the narrow logging spur that cuts along the western boundary of the Turner property. "This old timber road was decommissioned six years ago. It’s overgrown, but the base is solid crushed rock. We take two trucks. We run blacked-out comms until we reach the tree line four hundred yards west of the barn."

"Split the team into two elements," Jake suggests, pulling three tactical plate carriers from the safe and laying them on the long table. "Element One cuts off the south egress to ensure that 4Runner doesn't make it to the county highway. Element Two takes the direct breach on the structure."

"Mason," I say, looking at the scout. "Can you get back on that north ridge with your rifle before we go in?"

"Give me eight minutes ahead of the trucks," Mason replies, already checking the elevation dials on his optic. "I can take the high timber above the cistern. From there, I have clean line-of-sight on the front porch, the rear lean-to, and the entire barn turnaround. If anyone tries to sprint for the woods, I drop them."

"Nobody gets past the tree line," I tell him. "If the runner reaches for a weapon, take him out immediately. But Turner is mine."

"Understood."

"Luke, Harper," I continue, looking at both of them. "You take the south cutoff in the second truck. Drop behind the old irrigation ditch two hundred yards out. If that 4Runner starts rolling, you spike the tires or put an engine block through the radiator. Nothing with wheels leaves that driveway."

"Consider it parked," Luke says, sliding a fresh magazine into his .45 with a crisp, lethal snap. "I'll make sure he doesn't even get the chance to put it in reverse."

"Jake and I take point on the main house," I finish, looking at the big man. "Direct front breach through the mudroom and the porch. We move fast, we suppress whatever resistance he has left, and we corner him inside the structure."

"Two men inside, maybe three if he has another driver in the house." Jake pulls heavy ceramic plates into his vest. "Close quarters. Fast and violent."

"The only way Turner understands," I murmur.

“Boo-yah,” Luke exclaims with a grin. “Finally, I get some.”

"And if he sets off another bomb?" I hear Clara ask.

I glance toward the corner of the table.

She stands up and crosses the room with quiet, steady grace, coming to stand just outside the immediate circle of men. Her arms are crossed over her chest, the soft cashmere bunched around her wrists, her green eyes fixed entirely on me.

There is no panic in her expression. No tears. No desperate pleas for caution.

"Clara," I say softly.

"You just said he has explosives stockpiled in there. He's a coward, Gabriel," she says, her voice clear and level, carrying easily through the quiet great room. " If he realizes he's trapped in that house, he won't try to outshoot you. He'll try to blow you up."

Luke lets out a low whistle. "She’s not wrong. He’s crafty, and he likes his bombs."

"Then we don't give him the time to reach for a match," I say, holding Clara's gaze. "We hit the doors before he realizes the perimeter is breached."

"Just don't assume he's going to stand in the parlor waiting for a duel," Clara adds, stepping half an inch closer to the table. "He wants to survive. That makes him more dangerous than someone who wants to win."

"I know what he is, Duchess," I murmur. "And I know what he’s capable of."

Jake zips the side straps on his vest, looking between the two of us with quiet respect. "Five minutes to gear up. Mason, take the lead truck now so you have the ridge established before we roll."

"Moving," Mason says. He grabs his rifle case, racks the charging handle on his sidearm, and heads straight out the side door into the cold.

"I'll bring the second truck around to the front turnaround," Luke tells Harper, giving her a kiss. "Grab the shotgun from the rack, Garrett. Let's make sure our friends don't get any bright ideas about off-roading."

"Right behind you," Harper replies, grabbing her tactical vest and heading toward the entryway.

The room clears out with swift, mechanical efficiency, leaving only the low crackle of the fireplace. Emma steps over to Jake, pressing her forehead against his chest for a long, silent second before he presses a kiss to the crown of her head and leads her away too.

Then it’s just the two of us.

Clara stands beside the heavy timber table, her hands resting on the edge of the wood, watching me pull my tactical harness over my shoulders.

I adjust the straps across my ribs, checking the retention on the magazine pouches and the heavy Kydex holster resting at my right hip. Every piece of gear feels familiar, heavy, and cold. This is the skin I’ve worn for fifteen years—the enforcer, the weapon, the man Alessandro sends when diplomacy fails.