“Jock Strap?” One-Mile asked.
Instantly, the guy started laughing. “Serial Killer?”
“Yeah.”
The colonel scowled in confusion. “You know each other?”
He let Trevor answer since the guy had always liked hearing himself talk. “We, um…went to the same high school.”
Jack smirked. “I’m guessing you didn’t like each other much, based on your nicknames.”
One-Mile looked at Forsythe and shrugged. “We didn’t actually know each other well. It was more that I didn’t appreciate arrogant jocks like him plowing through all the best pussy at school.”
“And Walker seemed like an antisocial loner fixated on guns. I worried he’d pull a Columbine. In fact, he was probably the only guy in the whole school who scared me. Didn’t you end up screwing my senior prom date?”
Hell, he’d nearly forgotten about her. “Hillary? Yeah. Twice. Once right before you picked her up for the dance.”
“See?” Forsythe gestured to him with a chuckle. “Asshole.”
The colonel slapped him on the back. “Most will tell you not much has changed except that his fixation with guns paid off. He’s one of the best snipers the Marines ever trained.”
That was high praise coming from the colonel.
One-Mile smiled. “A few things are different, though. I won’t try to mack on your girl. I’ve got one of my own.”
“So I heard. Good for you. I don’t have one and I don’t want one.”
As soon as Forsythe unloaded that verbal turd in the conversational punchbowl, everyone fell silent. Since he’d made the mistake of saying the too-honest thing many times before, One-Mile nodded. “I get you, man.” Then he turned to the colonel. “So what’s up? Why are we wherever the hell we are?”
“We’ve got trouble. I’ve kept this place because my wife’s ex owned it. Long story, but it makes me happy that I’ve turned his personal porn hub into my soldier cave. But I didn’t bring you here for a tour. It’s Valeria Montilla.”
“Is she mad I offed her husband?” Honestly, One-Mile thought she’d be relieved as hell.
Forsythe swiveled a stunned glance at him. “That was your kill shot? It had to be a thousand yards.”
“A little less, actually.”
The colonel clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a reason everyone calls him One-Mile.”
“That’s amazing, man. Seriously. I need lessons.”
Bullshit. The FBI had a gun culture. Any agent had to be pretty fucking good with his firearms to make it, and Forsythe had never been a slouch at anything. “What brings you here from San Diego?”
“Change of pace.”
Closed subject. One-Mile recognized that instantly.
“You?” Forsythe asked.
“Working for this guy.” One-Mile gestured to the colonel. “Until he decided to go soft and retire on me.”
“Well, you can’t say your life has been dull since I left,” Caleb pointed out.
“Nope. But I’m glad to be home now.”
“Don’t get too comfortable.”
Oh, hell. “What’s going on? Valeria Montilla really shouldn’t be pissed that I shot the asshole she married.”
“Hell no.” The colonel shook his head. “She seemed far more upset by the sudden move to Florida. She hates it and she’s clammed up. Her sister has been cooperating with the DEA and other agencies, telling them all she knows about the cartel, and Laila’s information is a lot fresher, but…”
Good for Laila. It wouldn’t change anything those motherfucking misogynists and rapists had done to her, but if she could get any measure of revenge, One-Mile applauded it. “What’s the problem?”
Caleb sighed. “I think Valeria is afraid. Someone in the Tierra Caliente cartel is threatening us if we don’t hand her over.”
Yeah, drug cartels didn’t like their secrets spilled. But if they wanted to stop hemorrhaging information, why weren’t they interested in Laila? Maybe they just didn’t know yet.
One-Mile snorted. “Bring it on. I’ve been fighting them for months, and so far the body count is them zero, me one.”
“That was my attitude until this turned up at my house this morning.” The colonel dug into his pocket and pulled out a tube of lipstick, of all things, then reached across the table to open a large envelope. He withdrew a piece of paper and a photo, then slid both under his nose.
Return Valeria or we will take the woman this belongs to.
A glance at the photo showed the original team who had smuggled Emilo Montilla’s wife out of Mexico. Caleb, Hunter, Logan, Joaquin, and a guy he didn’t recognize.
“Who’s this?”
“Blaze Beckham. Mercenary. Best at what he does, so I hired him for this extraction. A month later, he went to Africa to fight with some insurgents. I haven’t heard from him since. And as far as I know, he has no woman to target.”
“What do you think all this means?” Jack asked him, expression carefully blank.
One-Mile hated to say it, but at this point wasn’t he stating the obvious? “Someone higher up the Tierra Caliente food chain than dear departed Emilo wants Valeria back. If we don’t surrender her, they won’t come after us; they’ll come after one of our women.”
“That was my takeaway, too.” The colonel’s voice said that confirmation gave him no thrill.
“But why?”
The colonel shrugged. “I don’t know. None of this makes any sense. Not this note. Not this tube of lipstick… It’s not their usual way of doing business.”
It wasn’t. “Any idea who it belongs to?”
The older man shook his head. “It’s not Carlotta’s. That’s all I know. I hate to ask around and scare the shit out of everyone. Maybe it’s strictly symbolic?”
Of a woman in general? Drug cartels weren’t the figurative type. “I doubt that.”
“We need to figure this out so I can start locking people down. That’s why you’re here. We don’t know exactly which asshole in the cartel sent this message or why they want Valeria back so badly. That already puts us at a disadvantage. But it worries me a lot more that we can’t pinpoint which of our women they’re gunning for.”
“Kata, Tara, or Bailey, you mean?
Caleb winced. “One of them is my best guess, yeah. Which is why I haven’t told Hunter, Logan, or Joaquin yet.”
They would all lose their shit. “Understood.”
“Since it seems the
