“How?”
“Old girlfriend used to live there. I snuck into her window more times than I could count, until her daddy caught me.” He pointed. “Window’s still there, but the tree’s been pruned away from it.”
“What if this guy’s the father of the old girlfriend?”
“He owes me an ass full of buckshot. Let’s move.” He was out of the car, moving around the back of the house in a wide enough arc to not get spotted. She followed closely, her own weapon drawn. Her adrenaline raced again, although her entire body suffered from the fatigue of the day’s earlier events.
It was so dark out here. She didn’t dare look away from Jem for fear of losing him. He walked carefully, exaggerating each step. He’d warned her of the possibility of tripwires.
She was slightly more worried about snakes.
When she got close enough to be able to see the outline of the porch clearly through the low-lying fog, she paused. Took another couple of steps and realized she’d lost track of Jem. She couldn’t call for him, so instead kept going forward.
Minutes later, someone wrapped a strong arm around her neck. Her arms were pinned in place before she could do anything. The grip was python-strong. She wanted to call out for Jem, but a rag was stuffed into her mouth. A pinch on her neck and everything went black.
When she woke, she stared drowsily at the man standing in front of her. He was massive—at least six foot six and broad as a door.
He didn’t look happy to see her awake in the least.
She swallowed around the gag and he said, “I’ll give you a sip of water. Don’t make a goddamned sound. We’ve got your friend here, so there’s no one coming to save you.”
She nodded. Let him take the gag out and took a sip of water and then gulped it while he held the bottle. Whatever he’d shot her up with was wearing off and she hoped there was nothing in the water. But she couldn’t have stopped herself from drinking it.
After a few minutes and more water, her head cleared considerably. “Who are you?”
He laughed, but there was no mirth there. “You come sneaking around my house with guns and you want to know who I am? Who the fuck are you?”
He leaned into her and his military roots were definitely showing. Just being around Key, Dare and Gunner gave her insight into what to look for. “I heard you were looking for me earlier—at Dove’s bar.”
His brows rose. He muttered something to himself and then stared at the ceiling. When he looked back at her, he said, “You’ve been asking questions you shouldn’t be asking.”
“So have you. And you hurt one of my friends,” she snapped back.
“I haven’t hurt anyone. Yet.”
“You don’t know who you’re fucking with,” Jem said, and she turned to see him several feet from her. He’d obviously just woken up and his eyes were dark with anger.
“I think it’s a guy who’s all tied up and should be shutting his mouth,” another broad man said. He was shorter than the guy in front of her, but no less intimidating. Obviously, not to Jem, the way he goaded the man.
“Nice anchor, Popeye.”
Popeye. Navy. Gunner. Okay. She blew out a breath. Maybe this could still be okay.
Maybe. “You know Gunner.”
“Why are you asking questions about him?”
Oddly protective. And Avery suddenly knew who these men had lost.
“The story’s true, isn’t it? Your daughter was married to . . . James.”
“Why does this interest you?”
There were so many things she could say, professional things. What came out was “I love him.”
The men looked at her. Jem groaned and then suddenly he was free and slamming one of the men to the desk, pointing a gun at the other one. “Untie her.”
“Do it, Mike,” the man on the desk grunted. Mike moved forward and undid the bindings on her wrists and then her ankles. Jem didn’t take the gun off the guy on the table, told Mike, “Move to the corner and sit your ass down. I’m asking questions now.”
Avery stood and Jem motioned for her to grab a weapon. She did, but kept the gun down at her side. “We love Gunner. He left without warning and I think he’s doing something bad. Billie said you were asking about me . . . and then an hour later, someone nearly killed her.”
Mike shook his head and Andy cursed softly, then said, “It wasn’t us. James was our family.”
Mike looked at Andy and smiled and Avery knew two things then—these men loved each other, and they’d welcomed Gunner into their home, despite everything. Despite everything, they still wanted to protect him.
Mike cleared his throat and looked at her. “Josie was my daughter. Her mom, Amie, was my best friend. I grew up here.”
“And I grew up in Texas,” Andy said, his drawl thick and definitely not from Louisiana. His head was still pressed to the table by Jem, who was intent on listening.
“Amie wanted a baby, but she’d been pretty burned in the past by love. She decided she could raise a baby herself, asked me if I was okay with that. I knew I’d be away a lot with the Navy, and I knew she’d be a damned good mom. So I was always a part of Josie’s life—she grew up knowing I was her dad and that I was gay and everything was fine. But then Amie got cancer—damn, it was so quick. And rather than relocate Josie, who was twelve at the time, or make her travel with me and Andy, which would’ve been damned near impossible with our jobs as SEALs, we moved here. I was willing to come alone, but Andy wouldn’t let me.”
“Best decision I ever made,” Andy said. “We don’t typically trade information on family, but you seem to want to help him, not use him. And you seem like you’re in as much danger as Billie.”
“Why’d you go to see her?” Avery asked.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Mike said. “I knew James—Gunner—left New Orleans last month. What I don’t know is why. Or at least I didn’t. Now I think I know.”
“He’s in a bad place, isn’t he?” she whispered.
“If he’s back doing what I think he’s doing, yes.” Mike sighed, stared at the ceiling. “He’s been in close proximity for years, but he never got in touch. For our safety, more so than his. He’s got to be ruthless about cutting ties to his past.”
Avery rubbed her wrists where the rope bit into them.
“Sorry about that. We’re suspicious types.”
“Jem, you could probably let Andy up now,” Avery said.
Jem grumbled but did so. Andy got up slowly, moved away from Gunner. Avery put the gun back into its case then and Mike motioned for all of them to follow him farther into the deceptively worn house.
It was obvious these two men had a more than fleeting concern for security and privacy, especially once they were led through the living room, with the TV and the old couch into a room behind a locked door.
Andy sat in front of the large computer and began typing.
“Please, sit,” Mike told them. There were several comfortable chairs and Jem collapsed into one while Avery stayed on the edge of her own leather recliner. Accepted a soda and turned it in her hands until they went numb from the cold and then the drink got warm, all in the space of the five minutes it took Andy and Mike to confer, wordlessly, about something on the iPad.
The men started slow, waiting to see if they could trust Avery and Jem. She appreciated that, even though she was frustrated with the pace.
They’d handed her and Jem a file folder marked CIA and confidential and branded with a red stamp that stated .
“Someone didn’t do their job,” Jem muttered. He opened the file, since he was the best one to interpret the legalese and covertness of the CIA’s writings.
He explained that, according to the agents who were working this case—one of whom had been Richard Powell himself—James Connor had fallen off the map completely at the age of nineteen. From the ages of sixteen until nineteen, he had a long list of crimes that he was implicated in but never captured for.
He appeared to have been working for a mysterious smuggler known only by the initials DL. The CIA had been watching him for ten years and only had a trail of bodies, explosions and money.
