by April Hunt
Granted they had the right.
Roman’s Special Forces career wasn’t exactly spent behind a desk. No one knew what he actually did in SF, but considering his perpetual grumpiness, it wasn’t hunting for leprechauns at the end of rainbow. And Ryder and Liam, a Marine and a Navy intelligence officer, saw more action than a movie director. Cade, like her oldest cousin, Knox, had spent his service years in the 75th Ranger Regiment—high demand, high stakes, and high bragging rights.
Cade Wright and all of her cousins were heroes without the glittery capes and skin-hugging tights.
Grace ripped her gaze away from her ex and turned to Brandt. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to politely decline Steele Ops’s request. I can’t help you.”
Brandt’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “I haven’t even told you what the job entails.”
“You obviously need a criminal profiler, right? I’ll happily give you the names of a few colleagues who would do a fantastic job.”
“I’m afraid you don’t understand. Your name is the one that’s been recommended—not only by Steele Ops, but by the director herself.” The vice president’s tone didn’t leave room for debate. “I’m not taking any chances with my daughter’s life, Special Agent Steele.”
Grace didn’t read social magazines, and when the news programs ventured into gossip territory, she turned them off. But she would have heard about a threat against the politician’s daughter. “Isn’t your daughter studying art abroad? In Europe?”
“That’s the public excuse we gave to explain her absence.”
“Absence? If she’s not in DC and she’s not in Europe, then where is she?”
“With a group I believe that you’re familiar with.” Brandt squared his shoulders and looked her dead in the eye. “The Order of the New Dawn.”
Grace’s blood froze.
Making a living diving into the disturbed minds of criminals, her shock factor was practically zilch. But that name. That group.
No wonder the vice president wanted her working alongside Steele Ops. No one knew the OND like she did, but she hadn’t studied them at Quantico or used them as her dissertation topic.
Grace knew the organization intimately because from the age of five to thirteen, Grace Steele had been considered a Child of the New Dawn.
She’d spent most of her childhood in a cult.
* * *
No matter how badly Cade wanted to intervene, he couldn’t for two reasons—and they stood less than six feet away in an epic stare-down. They were both confident, both stubborn. Brandt, a former Army General, had been trained never to retreat, and yet if Cade had to bet money on who the winner would be, he’d choose Grace.
Hands down.
Grace was a Steele, through and through, and like her cousins—his best friends—no one could talk her into something she didn’t want to do. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she didn’t want to do this.
It was why he’d been volunteered to represent Steele Ops at this meeting. Grace already hated him, and his presence kept her cousins in her somewhat amiable good graces.
She straightened her spine. “Mr. Vice President…sir. I’m sorry about your daughter, but—”
“Then help me. You know New Dawn better than anyone. Steele Ops has been working tirelessly to get into Teague Rossbach’s inner circle, but it’s proven more difficult than expected. You’re the missing link. Both your training and your history with the group could help bring my daughter home.”
Jake Corelli stepped up to Brandt, clearing his throat. “Sir, we need to be moving along.”
The vice president locked Grace in his sights. “I’m not going to lie, Special Agent Steele. My daughter isn’t perfect. She’s made some personal choices in her life that I don’t particularly care for, but until now, they’ve been her choices. And like any self-respecting parent, I want to support her. New Dawn wasn’t a choice. They preyed on her weakness and used it to their advantage.”
“I’m flattered that you and my cousins have so much faith in me, sir, but it’s been seventeen years since I’ve lived with the OND. There’s no way that they’re the same organization I remember.”
“You’re right. They’ve had time to grow, to damage more lives.” He gestured to a manila envelope on the table. “That’s everything we have on Sarah’s activities leading up to her disappearance, including intelligence on the man we believed recruited her. All I’m asking is that you try.”
Grace remained statue-still. Hell, even Cade temporarily stopped breathing, waiting for her response. As close as they’d gotten after she’d come to live with her father’s family, Grace still hadn’t told Cade everything about her time in New Dawn. He’d respected that privacy. Taking the little snippets she did share, he’d listened and hadn’t pushed.
Much.
But I’m fine had been her mantra, and the only way he’d been able to tell if it was true or an automatic response reserved for her family was by looking into her eyes.
That was the real reason he’d agreed to trek to New York.
He needed to look her in her pretty golden-brown eyes and make sure she was okay with what they were asking her to do.
Grace picked up the file, her fingers slightly trembling. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Thank you. From both myself and my wife.” Brandt shook her hand before doing the same to Cade. “I trust you’ll keep me updated?”
“Yes, sir.”
When Cade looked back to Grace, she’d already retrieved her firearm from Corelli and snapped it back into her holster. He waited until Brandt and his security detail left and braced for impact. “Grace—”
“Not. One. Word.” She tucked the manila folder under her arm and stalked angrily toward the exit.
Cade followed from a distance, although judging by her silence, he wasn’t sure if the next county would be far enough to be considered safe. Quiet Grace was more dangerous than her fly-off-the-handles counterpart. Quiet Grace meant time to dwell and stew. Quiet Grace plotted retributions that made grown men cry and call out for their mamas.
They’d barely cleared the front door when Grace whirled around, no longer quiet. “An ambush, Cade? Seriously?”
“Ambush is going a little too far, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. DC is the capital of the free world. They don’t have working telephones? Or hell, email? You let me walk into this freakin’ blind!”
Cade’s hackles rose. He crossed his arms over his chest, going on the defensive. “It’s not like we didn’t try to get hold of you. Knox, Roman, and Ryder. Liam was five seconds away from attempting carrier pigeon. We even roped Zoey into the coordinated effort, but surprise, surprise, all voice mails, texts, and emails went unreturned.”
“If I didn’t get back to you, then there was a good reason. Oh, say, my job!”
“That’s your go-to excuse these days, isn’t it?”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Pretty sure I meant it how it sounded. You don’t exactly make regular appearances home. You probably wouldn’t have come to town six months ago if the Bureau hadn’t sent you there for the BCK case.”
“I’d really like to not discuss six months ago with you.” With a low growl, she stalked away, even the clack of her heels telling him to fuck himself.
Cade couldn’t help but watch. Tall and curvy, she filled out her suit in a way that was meant to be business-smart, but instead fueled every naughty-librarian fantasy he’d had as a horny teenager.
Hell, he didn’t need the suit to fire up a Grace-inspired fantasy reel. He needed the woman herself—which was exactly what had happened earlier that year. Stress and a little Jack had lowered their inhibitions, and they’d fallen back on old habits.
Sex—the one thing during their nine years together that they never once argued about—except when he’d told her that he wasn’t taking her virginity after her senior prom. Hell had no fury like Grace Steele being co
ck-blocked.
The flash of headlights ripped his attention away from Grace’s ass and onto the approaching sedan. She flagged it down, and it slowed.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Home. Which is where you should go.”
Cade spotted the Lyft sticker on the car window. “There’s no reason for you to pay for a ride. I’m parked around the corner.”
Grace stopped cold, aiming her glare his way. “Why would you think that I’d get in a car with you?”
“Because I’m your ticket to the Steele Ops jet. Or has your love of commercial flying changed? I bet on this short of notice, there’s a nice middle seat within toilet-sniffing distance. Or we can drive down to DC. Five long hours. You and me. Side by side.”
Her nose wrinkled as if smelling something bad, but he wasn’t sure if it was at the mention of commercial seating or close quarters with him.
“Or”—Grace smiled sweetly and opened the Lyft door—“I can drive my own damn self. See you in DC.”
Without another glance, she slipped into the back seat of the waiting car, leaving him to stare after her like some kind of abandoned lover…which, coincidentally, was pretty damn close to what he’d done to her nine years earlier.
Chapter
Two
Nestled in the heart of Old Town Alexandria, the once notorious Keaton Jailhouse loomed over the Potomac riverside, its four castle-like turrets giving it a gothic feel. The Steele brothers had bought it almost a year ago and poured a hell of a lot of blood, sweat, and money into its renovation so it would serve their needs—and the needs of their two businesses.
Iron Bars Distillery and Beer Garden, located on the three aboveground levels, had quickly become a riverside hotspot. They hosted community events and company functions. Last week, they’d held their first wedding reception and were written up in some kind of event magazine.
But tucked deep in the underbelly, beneath the unsuspecting feet of the Iron Bar patrons, Steele Ops ran its operations, doing what the government couldn’t do thanks to red tape and bureaucracy. It sure as hell wasn’t for the faint of heart, but despite Cade’s original uncertainty about leaving the DCPD Special Crimes Task Force, he knew he’d made the right decision in teaming up with his best friends.
Not only did he get to keep his family and country safe, but he did it using the skills he’d acquired during his time with the 75th Ranger Regiment. And yeah, there were additional perks, like individual living quarters for times they had to work round-the-clock and a training facility that made his community center’s gym look like a high school locker room. And Liam had outfitted their ops center with all the latest tech, which he boasted would make NASA cry.
Going topside wasn’t necessary unless they chose to be around people—which the man currently boring annoyed holes into Cade seldom did.
Roman Steele, one quarter of the Steele brother quartet, kicked his boots up on the desk and followed Cade’s trek around ops with a critical eye. “You’re making me motion-sick. Either sit and wait, or go punch the hell out of the sparring bag until they get here, but if you don’t pick one, I’m diving into Ryder’s medic kit and dosing your ass with a sedative.”
Cade stopped pacing and threw his friend a glare. The former Special Forces soldier didn’t flinch…or bluff. Not before the IED explosion that took the lower third of his left leg, and not now, years later.
Disgusted with himself, Cade tossed his now ice-cold coffee in the trash. “I should’ve made her come with me on the jet. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”
“That you valued your life.” Roman stood, stretching his back and then his legs. He winced, but erased the grimace as quickly as it had appeared. “The only reason she would’ve agreed to go with you was so she could toss your ass out the emergency exit the second you reached thirty thousand feet. Count yourself lucky.”
“If I had any kind of luck we wouldn’t be talking about New-fucking-Dawn.” He scraped his palm over his face. “Sarah Brandt couldn’t go and pick those nature worshipers out in California? It had to be the OND?”
“I don’t like this any more than you do, but I wouldn’t have agreed with Knox to bring Grace in if I didn’t think she could handle it.”
“Just because she handles shit well doesn’t mean she should have to.”
Grace was one of the strongest women he knew, right up with his mom and his sister, Zoey. She dealt with things head-on regardless if it was the easy route or not. Hell, he remembered clear as day the morning a thirteen-year-old Grace Steele showed up on the Steeles’ front porch.
He and Knox had been sucked into whatever video game had just come out when the doorbell rang. Thinking Liam was fucking with them again, Cade had flung the door open in full tirade mode, and by the time he’d realized it wasn’t the youngest Steele brother on the front stoop, it was too late. He’d already cussed out the rail-thin young girl in front of him.
She’d beaten him to an apology when she’d thrown his attitude right back in his face, not the least deterred by his extra seventy pounds and twelve or more inches.
That spunk had served her well through the years, so Cade got why Roman wasn’t more worried. Sometimes even he forgot that the strong woman she’d become was also the one who he’d held through countless night terrors.
Roman and the others hadn’t seen that side of Grace.
She wouldn’t let them. She’d barely let him, and they’d been inseparable as teenagers. But now, after years clawing her way out from that darkness, they all expected her to dive right back in.
“Grace will be behind the scenes,” Roman said, as if reading his thoughts. “We just need her to make Tank and Jaz’s backgrounds look attractive to the New Dawn recruiters. Once they get their invite into the Order, her part’s over. Relax. Decaffeinate. Grace’ll be here. She’ll be fine. And things will run as smooth as they always do.”
“You didn’t see her face after meeting Brandt. If looks could kill, the NYPD would be fishing my dead body out of the Hudson River right now.”
“Like I said, things will be back to normal.” Roman’s lips twitched. “Look, I’m not saying she’ll be all smiles when she shows. I gave some serious thought to breaking out a pair of flak jackets from the pen.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“We both know that the second she left your ass on that dock, she called Zoey, and your sister talked her out of doing anything to spite your dumb ass.”
“That’s how you know she’ll be here, huh?”
Roman flashed his cell phone. “That, and Ryder just texted to say she’s upstairs.”
The words no sooner left Roman’s mouth than Grace’s voice echoed through the compound.
The sound of her throaty chuckle twisted his stomach into knots. Once upon a time, he’d been able to coax that laugh from her better than anyone. They’d spend entire weekends of his R and R holed up in her dorm room doing nothing but talking and stripping each other’s clothes off. On the rare occasion they ventured outside to do something in the real world, they’d always ended up rushing back to get naked—again.
These days all Cade got out of Grace were insults, snide comments, and eat-shit-and-die glares.
Grace stepped into the room.
In well-worn blue jeans and heeled knee-high boots, she looked more like the young woman he’d once pictured himself spending the rest of his life with than the federal agent who’d gladly use him for target practice.
Her dark hair, which complemented her red sweater, fell over her shoulders in soft waves, and her golden-brown eyes damn near twinkled even under Steele Ops’s fluorescent lighting.
FBI Special Agent Grace Steele revved up his libido, but this laid-back version burst it into flames.
Sending a mental scolding to Little Cade for his inopportune half salute, Cade stuffed his hands into his pockets and waited for Grace’s inevitable glare. The second her eyes locked on him, her smile vanished.
&nb
sp; “Guess you decided to walk back to DC rather than take that solo drive.” Cade internally groaned the second he heard his own voice.
Everyone froze. Ryder and Knox, standing on either side of Grace, looked prepped to move if she leaped for him. Roman shook his head, muttering something unflattering under his breath about Cade’s intelligence.
At this point, Cade was ready to agree with him. He wasn’t sure why he’d said what he did, which seemed to be his new modus operandi when it came to Grace. Foot in mouth. Perpetually.
But it put him in her crosshairs.
It might be sadistic on his part, but he preferred her I’m-going-to-skewer-you-alive-with-the-power-of-my-glare to being ignored completely. The little electrical charge that whipped through him each time almost mimicked their good-natured barbs back in the day.
A smile way too sweet to be real formed on Grace’s pink-glossed lips. “Considering I wasn’t given a length of time for my services, I needed to make sure that I brought enough clothes.”
“Because there aren’t washing machines in the world.”
“Pushing it,” Roman mumbled.
Grace’s smile remained despite the ocular javelin spear she heaved his way. “You never told me where we’d be going, so I had to pack for all contingencies. For all I knew, we were headed to a Nepali hilltop—with no washing machines. You shouldn’t be complaining. If it had been Ryder, you’d be twiddling your thumbs for another three hours while he ironed his jeans. And that’s a safe estimate.”
Ryder, former Marine and peacekeeper of Steele Ops, laughed. He took a seat at the conference table and lifted his boots onto the shiny wood surface. “Leave me and my creaseless jeans alone, haters. Just because you lot don’t care about looking like slobs doesn’t mean that the rest of us have to do the same.”
Knox, the oldest of the Steele brothers, glared. “Boots. Off. Now.”
