by Em Petrova
“It’s the last chance I have to spoil one of the babies before she grows up and leaves to have babies of her own.” Altagracia drew a handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing at a tear.
“Well, I’m sure she will appreciate the party so much. Your home is beautiful, but it’s small. Will it fit everyone who’s coming?” Nevaeh’s question sent the woman off into a tizzy about moving furniture back against walls in order to gain more floor space. That led Nevaeh on a whirlwind trip through the house, inspecting furniture and seeing how much more needed to be done in order to make Altagracia happy.
Strange, but even after only a day of knowing the woman, Nevaeh felt as if she’d gained a new friend. They hadn’t yet gotten to a conversation involving the things Altagracia saw from her upper landing where she spent so much time looking out over the neighborhood, but Nevaeh was certain it would come. Surely, the old lady would run out of stories about her family.
Before Nevaeh dropped into the bed she was given to sleep in, she pulled aside the heavy, dusty drapery to see a man standing in the shadows below. Penn.
She lifted her gaze to the city beyond and the buildings in shades of yellow or clay, many aged and needing repairs on walls or roofs. Somewhere out there was her brother. And also Nash.
It was impossible not to linger over thoughts of the rugged special ops captain. Just knowing him lent to the strangeness of her current situation. This felt as far from her life as she could ever imagine. A month ago, if someone had suggested she’d be in Mexico and lusting after a man like Nash, she would have giggled and scoffed it off.
She pressed a palm over her stomach, low where it fluttered with arousal. Did she have to be so attracted to Nash? He was handsome but in a way that grew on her the more she looked at him.
He seemed to break through many of her barriers too—which she’d never realized she needed let alone wanted. But fact was, she had been so strong for so many years that she didn’t know how to shed her armor anymore. Nash had sensed it and stripped it away from her with a single touch, and now she wanted to melt into his arms every day.
She shook herself. This wasn’t permanent. Sure, he’d shown her a new way of living, but she would be taking this knowledge and moving on from here alone. After this was all over—one way or another—she’d return to Texas and try to employ all the things she’d learned on this trip. Maybe in time she’d find another man, though she couldn’t guess who could stand up to Nash’s standard.
A light rap on her door had her scuttling from the window to open it. Altagracia stood there in her nightgown, shadows dipping into the creases of her face. “Everything comfortable, my dear?” the old woman asked, and Nevaeh once again realized how lonesome she must be here rattling around the house all day thinking of her family she missed.
Reaching out, Nevaeh touched her arm. It felt thin but wiry, like a bird’s. A strong old bird, flitting from one thing to another and sometimes landing to watch over the city. The notion brought a smile to Nevaeh’s lips.
“Quite comfortable, thank you. Do you need anything? I could fetch you a drink if you need it,” Nevaeh offered.
“Oh no, no. Thank you. Tomorrow, we’d best start on the dining room. We don’t have much time.”
Nevaeh patted her arm. “No, we don’t.” Her words rang true—their paths would cross for a very brief time. It was unlikely she’d ever see Altagracia again, and she really did enjoy this time with the woman. Simply working to make someone else happy made Nevaeh happy too, and that was unexpected.
“I’ll get up at dawn to begin,” she assured her.
* * * * *
Nash checked his ammunition and pocketed another handful into a cargo pocket on his vest. Then he withdrew his knife and checked the edge against his forearm, shaving off a patch of hair. Satisfied it was sharp enough to gut a whale, he returned it to its hidden spot strapped to his calf and continued on.
Halfway through testing his backup pistol, he looked up to find his brother in the doorway.
“What’re you doing here?” Nash asked.
“Comin’ to see if there’s anything I can do for you.”
Nash arched a brow. “And if there isn’t?”
“Then I head on down the road to the next person in need.”
“Funny how you popped up here in Mexico when we arrived.” It wasn’t coincidence at all that Penn had shown up when they needed him most. That seventh man had really made a world of difference in so many ways. It also meant Nash could focus on what he needed to do as captain. Since he was winging much of it, he needed to center his concentration on the mission.
Penn had rallied a few hundred feet from Altagracia’s home, and they could still keep watch on the entrances while they worked out their plan. Penn gave Nash a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, funny how that worked out.”
Nash checked more of his gear, messing with his comms unit that had been cutting out on occasion. He needed to have Jess, who was best with anything electronic, have a look at it.
He tucked it away for later inspection and looked up at Penn. “There might be something you could do for me.”
Penn leaned against the wall and crossed his arms in a casual manner. “Watch over your girl?”
Nash’s heart did a tuck-and-roll, tumbling end over end for a breathless moment. When he recovered, he said, “She’s not my girl.”
Penn grunted.
“What’s that for?” Nash wasn’t exactly pissed, but he was irritated. Last thing he needed was his kid brother teasing him about his very forbidden—but very real—connection to Nevaeh.
“You can’t fool me. The others, maybe. They don’t know you as well as I do. But Nevaeh has a look about her when you’re not around.”
Nash’s mind zapped to the point. “What look?”
“The look a well-loved woman does when she’s waiting to be loved again.”
He opened his mouth to respond to that with a denial, but suddenly the guys filed into the room.
Penn let the topic drop, thank God, and Nash was able to take charge. “All right, guys, I hope you’ve checked all your gear. We can’t fuck up a single thing tonight.” He reached into his pocket and extracted the comms unit. He handed it to Jess. “Having some trouble with this cutting out. See what you can do.”
“On it, captain.” Jess didn’t look up from the small device on his palm and sank to a chair to mess with it.
“All right, what we’ve got is a third generation dirtbag named Martin Lopez. Grandfather was arrested in the sixties on weapons smuggling. He did thirty years and died in prison. His father was cartel in the eighties, retired and handed over his business to his son, who saw it was a risky way of playing and wised up. He got out and found a more lucrative business in swindling people out of money but soon turned to theft via the internet, which Antonio has played a major role in over the past decade. Thanks to Jess and Linc for their deep digging skills to discover all this.” He looked to the men, who gave him sharp nods.
Nash continued, “We all know the plan. The map’s scorched on your brains too.”
They all nodded.
“We get in, scope the place for Vincent, and get the fuck out. We only fire our weapons if there is a threat, and then we shoot to kill. We can’t leave anybody lingering with vengeance on their minds after this. Got it?”
The clandestine mission in the wee hours of the night was a solidly thought-out plan, yet shit could always go sideways.
Nash looked from man to man, each as skilled and hardened in tactical training and counterterrorism. If anybody could get in that building, find their mark and slip out without too much bloodshed, it was them.
“We may be new to this game, men, but even the Knight brothers started somewhere.” Nash held out his fist, and five others dropped into the center of their circle, bumping knuckles. “Guts and glory one mission at a time, right?”
Penn chuckled. “Man, are you seriously gonna steal Knight Ops’ motto now?”
Nash looked up at h
is brother standing on the outside of their circle and straightened. “Brother, you deserve to be standing here right now. Life dealt you a bum hand, but you have made the most of it and continued with what you’re passionate about. If that isn’t guts and glory, I don’t know what the fuck is.”
His brother dropped his gaze, and Nash knew it was because he was overcome with emotion at Nash’s praise. Cavanagh walked up to Penn and punched him on the shoulder. “Dude.”
Penn took a swing as if he was going to punch Cavanagh, but instead he clasped hands with the man. The others moved up to Penn to do the same, an offer of respect. Then Nash gave his brother a hug. Penn brought his arms around him in a hard embrace that would have made their momma tear up.
“You know the plan,” Nash told him.
“Yup. Get her out whether or not you rescue Vincent.”
“That’s right.” Nash stepped back.
Penn eyed him. “Don’t forget what I said about a well-loved woman. Who knows how long she’ll wait.” With that, he gave Nash a salute and headed for the door.
Nash didn’t watch him go—only God knew when he’d see his brother again, but Penn always had a way of turning up when most needed. Turning toward his men, Nash met their gazes. “Time to do this thing.”
* * * * *
“Spread out. Get in your positions.” Nash’s order even had him on high alert, his senses pinging around the perimeter of the building they were about to invade. Going back three generations had given them the exact location of Lopez, and they’d had eyes on this place for two days now. Antonio Vincent was definitely inside.
Whether or not the man wanted to be rescued was another thing. They were about to find out.
He shot a look toward the corner, but Woody wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving?
“I said spread out, goddammit!”
His second on the team didn’t budge from his position. It took Nash all of two seconds to understand what was happening—his comms unit still wasn’t fucking working. Of all the times.
He made a sound with his boot on the ground that had Woody turning his way. Nash pointed to his ear and shook his head to indicate he didn’t have communication. Woody’s lips hardened, and then they moved slightly as he informed his other teammates.
Shit. Nash was cut off from the others, but he still had to lead them. There was only one way to go about it.
Lifting a hand, he gestured. Woody gave a nod and spoke to the others. Hell, it wasn’t ideal, but it had worked, and Nash was certain he could still keep his guys safe and raining hell on this place with or without a way to tell them.
A noise from inside had him straining to hear. Leaning forward, he listened hard even as he held up a hand to his ear for Woody to see. Nash indicated he could hear somebody talking inside.
That meant not all were asleep despite the hour. They’d expected as much—Lopez wasn’t stupid enough to leave his headquarters unguarded. By Ranger Ops’ educated guess, there were at least three men guarding this place. The one on the roof was their first target to take down. Jess had asked for that job specifically, saying he was good at sneaking up on people and a good knock over the head could incapacitate him while they got in and got out again.
Nash’s heart thumped as he made out a spotty word here and there. Fuck—the guys inside were talking about moving the operation. That could mean they’d all be awake and on the go, in positions Ranger Ops hadn’t expected.
Woody was looking to Nash when he relayed this by using a series of hand gestures. Hell, he hoped his teammate got all that. For all he knew, Woody had just told the team to disburse and go grab a bucket of chicken.
He tried his comms device one more time, but it was clear he wasn’t engaged. No time to lament the fact now—he had to use what resources he had, and that was his wits.
A few seconds later, the talking inside the building droned off.
He looked to Woody. Time to move.
Now that Woody got. He nodded and headed off, running in a crouch. Nash rounded the corner and set eyes on Cavanagh. He pointed up at the roof, and Nash nodded. Jess had done his job—there were only two other guards to take down.
Time seemed to pass in a blink, and Nash was damn proud of his men, who’d managed to make all the right moves even without their captain’s direct communication. They converged on a back door, and Nash gestured to take it out.
Inside, they followed the sound of voices. Lennon, nearest to Nash, gave a series of hand gestures, telling him what he thought they should do.
Take them all, get Vincent and go.
Nash gestured back. Get eyes in that room and find out if Vincent is among them.
Lennon gave a nod, and then they were splitting off again, Jess providing the surveillance they needed by way of a tiny camera aimed under the crack in the door. Jess turned to them and gave a head shake.
He wasn’t inside.
Minutes later, they were separated again, Nash communicating with whoever was nearest and relying on them to convey the commands to the others. But since they were trying to remain as silent as possible, the hand signals were more efficient anyhow.
By now, Penn would have Nevaeh well on the way to the border—he wouldn’t have wasted any time getting her out. One method or another, they were ending this today. Enough fucking around. Nash wasn’t a man to sit and twiddle his thumbs, and all the surveillance and posing as drunk tourists had tried his patience. It was time for action.
Gun raised against any threat he might encounter, he threw out his sense of hearing into the house. A low hum met his ears—to the right. He turned and followed it. Jess stood just outside a door, listening too. He and Nash exchanged a few signals, and Nash’s adrenaline spiked.
He was inside. Vincent was right within reach.
Nash gestured that they were going to subdue the man and then drag him out. If they didn’t silence him first, Vincent was sure to raise an alarm and bring all the firepower of the household down on Ranger Ops.
Nash held up three fingers. Jess gave a nod, counting down with him. Then they burst into the room.
* * * * *
When Nash first spoke in English to Antonio Vincent, the man stared at him as though he didn’t understand his first language. Then his eyes cleared, and he nodded.
“Come with us. We’re here to get you home.” Nash could already see the hesitation creeping over Vincent’s face. Fuck, what if he wouldn’t leave? Over a decade, he would have formed some sick version of a brotherhood with these men who had first been his captors.
Seeing he was about to refuse to leave with them, Nash added, “I have your sister waiting for you.”
“Nevaeh.” The name came off his lips as a rough, gritty series of syllables. And no wonder. He probably hadn’t spoken her name aloud in ten years.
The name effected Nash as well, but he wasn’t acknowledging that right now. He nodded and pointed to the door.
For a moment, Vincent didn’t follow him. Jess waved at Nash, indicating they were running out of time.
Nash looked to Vincent. “Your call. Live in slavery with these guys forever or come home and take up your life again. Make the choice, man.”
Vincent stood. Now that Nash was up close to him, he saw that outwardly, he was changed from the photo of the youthful man he’d been. He was in his thirties now, a lifetime behind him.
But a lifetime ahead of him too, if he chose to take it.
Jess was losing his shit in the doorway, and Nash knew time was not on their side. He pointed to the door and surged forward, through it. Whether or not Vincent would follow was on him.
Cavanagh appeared from around a corner. Suddenly, he jerked his weapon upward, at someone standing behind Nash.
He lurched to the side even as he knew who it was—Vincent had decided to come after all.
Cavanagh lowered his weapon and the three of them, along with Vincent, made a break for it. A heavy thud sounded from their left, and Nash started off that way, waving
for the other two to get Vincent to safety.
With his weapon raised, Nash hurried toward the noise. Just then Woody appeared and then a pair of boots, followed by the legs of a man he was dragging out.
Nash jolted to a halt as he saw what had happened—during some hand-to-hand combat, Linc had been knocked unconscious. A glance back into the room showed Nash that the curtains were up in flames and a man lay face down in a pool of blood.
Fuck! Nash made a grab for Linc’s shoulders, and between him and Woody, they heaved him up and over Nash’s shoulder. Shit, the guy weighed a ton, but Nash couldn’t move slowly. That fire would bring everyone running their way in a hurry.
Woody cleared the path, head swinging left and right as they converged on the exit. The others were out, including Vincent. Nash could feel Linc stirring and grabbed the back of his thigh to keep him still. Then Woody launched out the back door with Nash and Linc right on his tail.
A shot exploded by Nash’s head—and another as Woody spun, aimed and fired.
The man crumpled, jaw skidding across the sparse grass of the yard.
Another man appeared, and Nash’s fury rose up, hot and bright. That motherfucker he’d bungeed to a chair and left wounded was on his feet and had his sights on them.
So much for keeping his anger in check. It didn’t help in this case, Lang, you old son of a bitch.
“Get the fuck outta here,” Nash ordered, firing off a shot as he booked it. Something darted by his peripheral vision, and he choked off a cuss.
He didn’t want to say what he’d seen—it was exactly what he had feared.
They hoofed it fast, with Woody hurling bullets through the night and Cavanaugh backing him up. Over Nash’s shoulder, Linc groaned. “I got ya, man. Hold on,” Nash ground out.
Lennon made it to the vehicle first, throwing open a door. The men piled in, and Jess jumped behind the wheel. Cavanagh helped Nash get Linc inside, and Nash slammed the door, yelling, “Drive!” though his instinct was to go back and level the fucking place.
