He and his unit crossed the open space without incident. Brent crouched in front of the door and quickly picked the lock.
“Alpha team, you’re clear,” Jon murmured through his ear piece.
“Copy,” Brent whispered and opened the door to slip into the darkened corridor. At just past one o’clock in the morning, most of the household was asleep. Guards roamed inside the hacienda. Fortress would deal with Garcia’s security detail as they encountered them. “EOD.”
His order was acknowledged as he and his unit worked their way toward Rowan and Alexa.
“One incoming,” Jon murmured.
A muffled footstep confirmed Jon’s warning. Brent signaled his unit. They scattered, melting into the shadows of alcoves, furniture, or an unoccupied room.
A lone guard walked into view. Brent sized him up in seconds. Lazy, arrogant, careless, his stride more of a strut. The man’s gaze swept over the corridor without noticing anything amiss, his face registering boredom and fatigue. Based on the puffiness, Brent guessed the man to be a heavy drinker.
Brent palmed his Ka-bar, slipped behind the man, and slammed the hilt of his knife on the back of his neck. The guard’s knees gave way. Brent caught him before he hit the ground. He and Eli dragged the man into the nearest room, cinched his wrists and ankles with zip ties, and slapped duct tape on his mouth to keep him from alerting Garcia or another guard too soon.
“Jon?”
“Clear.”
Brent and his unit moved into the corridor and resumed the journey toward the east corner room on the second floor. At prearranged intervals, Eli stopped and attached C-4. The EOD men in the other units did the same as they progressed through the hacienda. By the time Fortress was finished with Garcia and his organization, the Navarro cartel would be decimated.
Brent made his way to the east side staircase with his team following in his wake. He frowned. The staircase twisted at a sharp ninety-degree angle. Blind spot. He signaled his team to wait while he checked to see if the stairwell was clear.
Brent silently traversed the stairs to the landing and peered around the corner. Nothing. Excellent. He motioned for the others to follow and climbed the remaining stairs. When he reached the second floor landing, he held up his fist to signal his unit to stop.
He crouched, checked the hall. One guard sat outside Rowan’s room. This one, however, was alert and watchful, gaze constantly scanning. Great. If Brent’s intel from Veronica was correct, Garcia’s suite was at the end of the hall. Any disturbance by the guard would draw unwanted attention.
Brent eased back and retreated a few steps to stop beside his medic. He whispered in Jake’s ear, “Dart.”
A nod and the medic eased his mike bag from his shoulders. He reached inside and drew out a dart gun, chose a vial, loaded the dart with the drug to knock out the guard. In silence, he moved past Brent, aimed, pulled the trigger. Immediately, he and Brent crossed the thirty feet separating them from the guard. Jake caught the man just as he slumped to the floor. He moved the guard to the opposite doorway.
So far, they’d met little resistance, everything going according to plan. And that made Brent suspicious. Missions never worked without adjustments. Garcia should have had more guards roaming the place. The cartel leader had installed cameras everywhere, but Zane had hacked into the system remotely and put the feed on a loop. Garcia might have a sensor in Rowan’s room. If he’d been this lax over the years, he would be dead.
Brent activated his comm system and whispered into his mic, “Be ready. Too easy.”
Each of his team leaders acknowledged his warning.
His skin crawled. He glanced at Adam, then Jake. “Stairs,” he whispered. If Garcia was indeed watching, he wanted the crime lord lulled into believing Brent was the overly confident one. The two operatives returned to the stairwell where they’d watch and wait.
He knelt in front of the knob and picked the lock, praying Rowan and Alexa didn’t raise an alarm. When the lock gave way, Brent stood and slipped into the room. Eli followed him inside, shut the door.
Rowan paused mid-stroke over the little girl’s hair, tension radiating from her body. She stood, turned. Her gaze locked on Brent’s.
He didn’t say a word, simply opened his arms. Rowan raced across the room and threw herself into his embrace. He inhaled the familiar scent of her shampoo as he wrapped his arms around her. He never wanted to let her go. “Are you okay, baby?”
She pressed her face against his neck. “I was so afraid I lost you,” she whispered.
Brent didn’t miss the fact Rowan avoided answering his question. Had Phillips or Garcia hurt her? He pulled her tighter against his chest. “How is Alexa?”
“Terrified, but unhurt. Phillips is dead. Garcia killed him with us in the room.”
Brent mentally shrugged. Garcia saved him the trouble of taking out the militia leader himself. However, killing Phillips in front of Rowan and Alexa would lead to nightmares for both of them. He made a mental note to contact a child psychologist for Alexa as soon as they returned home. “Did she see the murder?”
Rowan shook her head.
But Rowan had. Nothing like this should have touched her. If Brent had anything to say about it, Rowan would never have to face this again. “Ready to go home, baby?”
“Beyond ready.” She eased away from Brent. “Let me wake Alexa.”
“Hurry. We’re running out of time.”
She returned to the bedside and gently shook her niece’s shoulder. “Lex, wake up.”
A soft groan, then, “Is it morning?”
“Shh. No, sweetheart. Brent is here to take us home.”
The slight figure popped up and the beautiful blue eyes looked at Eli, then Brent. “Which one is your boyfriend?” she whispered.
Brent crouched beside the bed, putting himself on her level. “I am, Alexa.” He nodded at Eli. “That’s Eli.”
“Ready to go home, sugar?” Eli asked, his
