Targeted

will give your men enough time to get into position.” He’d been able to track the woman when she called Weller at SBMS. Luckily she’d stayed on the phone long enough.

“What am I paying you for?”

He gritted his teeth. To say Vargas grated on his nerves would be a serious understatement. The drug lord expected to snap his fingers and have things happen. Ironic coming from a man who could barely check his e-mail. What he lacked in brains he made up for in firepower. “Do you understand where I work? I only have so much access. If you can find someone else to do my work for a better price, feel free to let me go.”

A long moment of silence followed. “Call me when you have the exact location.”

“Why do you even want this woman?”

“She poses a possible threat.”

“Possible?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. It didn’t seem as if the woman knew anything. At least not according to the notes from her file. Going after her was a waste of resources and a waste of his time. Worse, it put him in danger of being discovered.

“She’s been sticking her nose in places she does not belong,” Vargas snapped.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered at the man’s vague response. Vargas was making him jump through hoops for something that might not even be a problem? He was risking his life for this shit? Idiot.

“You’ve got your money. The rest will be wired to you when this job is over. I don’t expect anyone to question me, so if you have a problem, explain yourself now.” There was a razor-sharp edge to Vargas’s order.

It reminded him that even though he was smarter than Vargas, the other man was a hell of a lot more ruthless. “There’s no problem.”

“Good,” Vargas snapped.

As soon as they disconnected, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He wasn’t supposed to have a personal phone at work, but so far security hadn’t noticed it. He just hoped his luck would hold out a couple more days. That was all he asked for. Then he’d be sipping margaritas on a beach and free of this pathetic job.

•   •   •

Levi Lazaro bit back his disgust as Vargas snapped his phone shut. Working with this piece of shit went against every fiber of his being, but it was the way things had to be. He needed the man to solidify his new cover, and he was willing to do whatever it took. If that meant selling a small part of his soul, so be it.

“That your contact at the NSA?” Levi kept his expression a mask, his voice monotone. As if he were simply asking for the time. If Vargas thought he actually cared, he’d wonder why.

Someone in the NSA had sold Levi out, and it might be the individual Vargas was currently working with to hunt the Moreno woman. If it was the last thing Levi did, he was going to find out the mole’s name, kill him, and destroy the men who had murdered his wife. He would rip their lives apart the same way they’d done to him.

“Yes. He’s closing in on the woman and the man she’s with.”

Levi glanced out over the veranda and watched the palm trees sway in the wind. He contemplated how much he could—or should—tell Vargas. One of Vargas’s men had managed to snap a brief picture of the man the Moreno woman was with. Levi had nearly choked when he saw Jack Stone’s face. At least Vargas hadn’t noticed his reaction. Whoever had taken the picture had gotten damn lucky. Stone was like a fucking ghost. Whatever Vargas was getting into, Levi wanted to tell him to walk away and cut his losses. If he crossed a man like Jack, he’d make a very resourceful and brutal enemy.

Unfortunately Levi was about to make an enemy of Jack too. It burned a crater-sized hole in his gut that he would have to work against a man he considered a friend—one of the few he had—but Levi had little choice in the matter. He needed Vargas for the time being. Hated it, but there was no way around it.

While Levi knew the identity of the man the Moreno woman was with, he couldn’t reveal that information to Vargas. He owed Jack that much. And it was clear Vargas’s contact with the NSA didn’t know who Jack was either. That usually happened when Burkhart sent one of his guys into the field on a solo mission. Levi knew because at one time he’d been on his fair share of those exact missions.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t tell Vargas their location. He knew Jack, and if he was a betting man, he knew exactly where he was going if the mole had tracked the Moreno woman to the Keys. Unfortunately Jack would realize Levi had given up the location since he was the only person Jack had taken there. “What city does your guy think they’re in?”

Vargas’s shoulders lifted casually. “Somewhere in Marathon.”

Oh yeah, he knew where they were going. “I might know how to locate them.” Wordlessly, Levi strode across the perfectly manicured lawn, toward the small gazebo, and pretended to dial a number on his cell. Ignoring Vargas’s penetrating gaze, he had a conversation with himself. This would go a long way in establishing his credentials. Once he’d stayed on the phone long enough, he returned to the covered veranda. “I know where they are. Give me some of your men. If we leave soon, we’ll be able to avoid the Coast Guard and make it by midnight.” They were in Cuba, barely a stone’s throw from the Keys. By boat, it would take a few hours depending on how fast they drove, but it would be easy enough to avoid detection.

Vargas’s dark eyes narrowed. “You’re sure your information is good?”

Levi scoffed. “I wouldn’t waste your time or my time if it wasn’t.”

He paused for a moment. “Very well. Take who you need.”

If at all possible, Levi planned to signal to Jack that he was coming and hope he got out alive with the Moreno woman. If not, that was life. No one had given a shit when his wife was tortured and killed. If his boss had, he’d have let him track her murderers down. Instead Wesley had told him to “take some time off.” He’d taken time off all right. And he wasn’t ever going back. If the U.S. government didn’t think it was important enough to hunt down the fuckers who’d stolen his wife and unborn child, he’d do it himself.

This time, he didn’t have to play by the rules.

Chapter 8

Traitor: one who betrays one’s country, a cause, or a trust.

Sam sat against the tree in his backyard, embracing the feel of the rough bark scratching him through his shirt. Anything to erase that image of Sophie coming out her bedroom earlier. She’d been wearing long pink pajama pants and a tank top. He’d seen the outline of her nipples through it and hadn’t been able to stop staring. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then froze at the sound of soft footfalls moving over the grass behind him.

Swiveling, he glanced around the tree. Sophie gave him a tentative smile when she saw him and wrapped her arms around herself in that defensive way she often did. He didn’t want her to be like that with him.

“What are you doing out here?” she whispered as she sat directly next to him.

Holy shit, she was so close and smelled so good. Everything about her got him hard and he felt like a jerk because she looked at him with such innocent trust and gratitude. As if no one had ever been nice to her before except him. Swallowing hard, he lifted his arm and motioned for her to lean in.

Smiling, she scooted closer and laid her head on his shoulder as she tucked her body against his. He fought a groan. She was so compact, but with the right amount of curves. And she was soft and warm. God, what he wouldn’t give to—nope, not going there. He shifted uncomfortably, cursing his hard-on, and was thankful for the relative darkness of Ms. Bigsby’s backyard.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he finally whispered back. He wasn’t really sure why they were whispering in the first place, but decided to go with it.

“Me neither. It’s so quiet.”

He nodded, his chin brushing the top of her head. Her shampoo had a tropical scent to it, and it