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  “I agree,” Mike—Cowboy—a former Air Force Pararescueman or PJ, added.

  “What about the brothers and Kate and Rylee?” Franks asked.

  “They’ll be more administrative. That’s not to say they won’t augment an op like this one, but the teams are it for the most part.” He didn’t add, because they’d all seen the change, Kate and Rylee—former FBI agents and Hamilton brother wives—had already slowly been pulling back on ops.

  “Who decides who goes?” Sugar asked with that light Southern accent that sounded like music to his soul. The team had quickly dubbed her with a callsign of Sugar because her accent was “sweet as sugar.”

  Ken smiled. “That’s one of those administrative things. Old Man will ultimately decide, but the plan is for rotation.”

  “Hell, I’m gonna miss Rylee out there. She’s damn good.” Joe Stone, former FBI and called by his last name, must’ve realized how that sounded when Sugar gave him the evil eye. “Now wait a minute,” he begged off. “I’m not saying just because she’s a woman. I’m saying it because she was FBI and we stick together.”

  While they all knew he was joking, a small argument broke out where Franks stood his ground for the DEA. When he disparaged the SEALs, Ken stepped in to keep a full-out war from happening.

  “All right. We all know the Army Rangers are the best and anyone who argues can sit out the next op.”

  Completely ignoring him, they all talked at once. He fought not to smile. This group was predictable.

  “So what do we do when Bravo team is on an op?” Rodney, a former Navy SEAL and medic who they referred to as Doc, asked quietly.

  “We’ll be on downtime, out on an op of our own, or we’ll be on standby to support them however we can. We’ll also train. Lots of training.” Ken’s experience had been when the topic of training was spoken, several groans sounded. Not from this group. They wanted to stay on top of their game.

  “All right, I need to debrief with those who just came back and do the quick turnaround. I’ve read the police reports, but I need to hear from you why bullets were flying.” Some police departments who either weren’t equipped to handle some situations or needed the help the government wouldn’t provide loved their assistance, especially with a successful resolution. But they always hated it when bullets flew. Even if HIS didn’t fire first.

  “Hell, Boss, you know they don’t fly unless we have to,” Stone said belligerently, taking up for his old teammates.

  Ken sighed heavily. “Yes, but when they do, they don’t usually hit an off-duty police officer.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute,” Franks said. “I understood our attorney already said it was a clear case of self-defense. We couldn’t help it that the cop tried to kill Romeo.”

  It didn’t surprise him Grits had called their attorney while returning. None of them wanted jail time for doing their job. “I’m not saying the team did anything wrong. Everyone needs to be informed of what happened before, during, and after so we can learn from it. We know that different states react to us differently, so banking the knowledge of each state can only help us. Knowing how the police react to every incident can help us improve our responses. Revisiting what occurred before the incident can only make us stronger in lessons learned.”

  Franks, Stone, and Doc nodded. Sugar and Cowboy just watched him, not in disagreement, but more as if they wanted him to continue or add more.

  “After we debrief, you’re released for the day. We’ll meet back here tomorrow for training. Remember you’re on standby to back up the team. If we need you, Devon’ll send out the alert.” Every agent, by requirement, carried a cell phone, and if the emergency text pushed through, it required only one thing—get your ass to HQ on the double.

  “When are you back on ops?” Doc asked.

  “Not soon enough.” And no way in hell would he allow Sam to go on one without him.

  4

  In her Baltimore apartment, Sam woke from a catnap to a pounding on the door and automatically reached for her weapon. Not finding it, she bolted upright, and in a split second, she had her bearing. Tossing her legs over the side of the sofa, she wiped a hand down her face to remove the remains of another dream featuring Lance. This time, however, it morphed into Lance’s final moments where he told her all she’d learned from the information Bev had overnighted. In her dream, she’d vowed to him to avenge him. Then, when Jesse and Ken visited her after Lance’s death, she’d reacted differently than the first time they’d arrived. Later, her and Ken’s kiss had them on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall. That was the point she woke.

  With a quick glance at her watch, she swiveled her head to peer outside the window where dusk had fallen. Glowing streetlights broke through the darkness, brightening their small part of the sidewalk. Her thirty-minute nap had turned into a couple hours.

  Three knocks came again. Not actually knocks. Someone pounded a fist on her door, aggravating her. She had a feeling she knew who that might be, and although her pulse leapt at the possibility, she planned to be cautious since she didn’t expect company. A quick thought jolted her heart. Had they been called for backup and she’d missed the call? She snagged her cell phone on the side table and noted there’d been no alerts or phone calls. A relieved sigh slipped through her. Thank goodness.

  Looking down at her clothing, she shrugged, deciding her cut-off jean shorts and navy crop top, with the words Don’t Even Think It stretched across her breasts, would have to do because she planned for this to be a short visit. The top fell a few inches above the waistband of her shorts. Heck, if she reached her hands above her head, she’d probably provide a nice bra shot of her ample chest.

  With a chuckle at her doing that for company, she checked the peephole and had guessed right. Ken Patrick. Unexpected heat crept through her body.

  Before joining HIS, one of her more imprinted memories of Ken—and Jesse—had been when they’d arrived after the Ranger team returned stateside and completed their lengthy op debrief, including the interviews, the statements, and all that went with the success of their op but also the loss of two special operators. Sam had listened to the two men offer support from the team, actually all Ranger teams, but her grief had been too strong to grasp what they’d selfishly offered. Ken hadn’t given up.

  Ken and Lance had been best friends and before she lost her husband, and she and Ken had a close relationship. Although she’d never forgotten, to be fair to her husband and marriage, she’d put their first kiss to the back of her mind. After her husband’s death, they’d remained friends, but she’d drifted in mourning. About a year after Lance’s death, Ken kissed her, asking to become a bigger part of her life. When she’d been too numb to give him more, he’d finally given up and moved to Baltimore. After that, she’d felt abandoned, which she knew was ridiculous as she’d had no hold on him.

  When Jesse had sought her out for an opening at HIS, she’d accepted knowing Ken was an agent. She’d missed their friendship and maybe him even more. Even with Bev as her best friend, she’d felt lonely.

  Knowing now what she’d just learned about Lance’s death, the job offering had been fortuitous.

  When she’d walked into her interview to the five Hamilton brothers, their sister, and their foster brother, she’d almost freaked out at the intimidating interview panel. The atmosphere in the room had changed when Ken—dressed in all black to include a snug T-shirt with his hair pulled back at the base of his neck—slid quietly into the room. Leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed over his massive chest, a calm had settled inside her at Ken’s reassuring presence.

  Once she’d joined HIS, Ken’s agenda confused her, keeping her a little off-balance. Outside HQ, their friendship had started afresh, but it had a different feel. With Lance no longer a barrier, the possibility of what could be excited her. The attraction had zinged between them either on or off duty. The only thing holdin
g her back now was whether to go down that road from friends to lovers.

  On the flip side, at HQ, he’d done everything to hold her back from doing what she loved. He’d even hovered and informed Jesse she wasn’t ready for an assignment for what seemed the longest time, when she’d been more than ready. When she’d finally deployed, he’d again hovered.

  Warring over her growing feelings for Ken and the new intel she’d received, her stomach revolted knowing she had a difficult decision to make. She wished she’d never heard or seen the official information Bev had acquired. Her life had been moving forward on a positive note. She didn’t know what she’d do to reconcile all she’d been told with all she’d read.

  Damn that report. She’d felt alive again and now this…. Betrayal buried its way into her heart. Had Ken really lied to her about what happened when Lance had died?

  While regaining her calm, she peeked in the small mirror on the wall by the door to check herself. Boy, how she wished she’d had time to down a few of her chocolate-covered mini-donuts. She’d never admit to the unhealthy indulgence that she usually fell to in times of stress or deep thought. She’d probably need an entire bag after this visit because she couldn’t bring herself to share what she’d learned. What he already knew and kept secret.

  Even as a flash of Bev reminding her of her loss and convincing her the men should pay, her commitment wavered. Not only did she think she couldn’t kill anyone except those on a mission who deserved it, but Ken…? Her heart lurched to her stomach. She couldn’t believe she promised Bev she’d consider the idea.

  After a quick tug to tighten her blonde ponytail, she swung open the door to a frowning man.

  She couldn’t handle being in close proximity to him, especially now. It was too difficult to be around him. Once again she felt in mourning. This time it was the loss of what could’ve been. With the hope she’d piss him off enough that he’d leave before entering her apartment, she pasted on her best fake smile and, in a syrupy voice, stated, “I don’t recall inviting you.”

  It didn’t work. He narrowed his eyes, and if she hadn’t been trying to repel him, she might’ve laughed at a glare she didn’t find at all intimidating. That was until he briskly pushed his way past her into the living room, motorcycle helmet in hand.

  As he passed, he left behind the scent of a rugged man who wore a woodsy cologne she didn’t recognize—not that she was an expert there. The familiar scents reminded her of the time they’d spent together and their passionate kisses. Time had changed for them. Seething at his brisk manner and all she’d learned, she closed the door and followed him into her living room.

  When she confronted him, his eyes bulged out and jaw clenched.

  “Wha—What the hell are you wearing?”

  His harsh tone surprised her. While they’d been professional at work—keeping an obvious distance that she always respected—at home, they let their guard down as friends. She had reason enough to be angry, but he shouldn’t. He’d never spoken to her thus.

  Knowing what he meant by his question, but not allowing him to goad her, she looked down at her clothing, then back at him. “Clothes?” Typically at work, and most of the time she’d seen him off-duty, he dressed in a black T-shirt and black cargo pants, or camo if the op deemed it appropriate. But today, he’d tossed that for those damn snug jeans again that made her body crave him. It didn’t help that his gray T-shirt with the HIS logo was probably a size too small. Or so it appeared.

  She wanted to go back to before she’d spoken with Bev and her world had changed. Only she and Bev knew it had, but that didn’t change how her moving forward could weigh heavily on her conscience.

  “Dammit, Sam, that shirt is too short. You shouldn’t be wearing that in public.”

  His absurd commanding arrogance may work when battling an enemy, but she refused to take it from him.

  “First”—she pointed her finger at him to emphasize her point—“I’m not in public, and second, I didn’t make you my fashion police.”

  He blustered, and that brought a pleasing sensation in her chest. The way he got tongue-tied around her made what she had to do all the harder.

  “What do you want?” Realizing she’d balled her hands into fists knowing what he’d done, she slowly relaxed them at her side so he wouldn’t notice.

  “We need to talk,” he answered gruffly. Gruff. That personified the man.

  “Well then, let’s have a seat.” She gestured to the sofa.

  Ken waited for her to sit.

  She wanted to blurt what she’d learned and toss the reports at him and demand that he tell her the truth, but the impact of the intel was still too raw, and Bev promised more information soon. Instead, she focused on his curious visit. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked like a prim and proper Southern hostess.

  “I’m sure you can, but will you?”

  To keep from lunging at him, she bit her tongue—hard enough she probably had blood flowing. He constantly corrected her on the proper usage of “can” and “may” along with “could” and “would.” While aggravating, she understood that things like that—wordplay—on an op could make a big difference in the execution of their mission. But she wasn’t on an op. She was in her friggin’ apartment.

  Instead of responding, she headed into the kitchen and yanked two bottles of water from the refrigerator. Hands full, she strode back into the living room and handed him a bottle on her way to sink into the sofa. After she settled, he dropped into the armchair.

  She waited for Ken to open his bottle and drink. Her emotions were in turmoil almost every time she was alone with him. How could he have done such things as the army said? Could he have been so incompetent? It kept her head, her heart, and her body constantly at odds and always battling out her next move.

  Waiting for the reason for his visit, she continued to sit quietly until he decided to speak. When he did, his words left her speechless.

  “Would you like to grab a bite with me?”

  Not only did she stare, but her mouth also dropped open at the question. Normally, she’d immediately grab her purse and have dinner with him. Now? Could she?

  “Whatever night is good for you,” he added. As he tilted the bottle to his lips, Sam noticed a slight shaking of his hand.

  How could this tough man be nervous? That’s what it had to be unless he had a medical condition she didn’t know about where trembling or shaking was a side effect. She couldn’t imagine that. He had to truly be nervous. Intriguing.

  A vision of the two of them at a table covered with a white tablecloth and a rose in a vase in the middle sprang to mind. The romantic atmosphere seeped through her imagination. Then it came to a screeching halt. In no way could that happen. She reminded herself she had to reconsider where she went from here, no matter how much her body craved his touch.

  She cleared her throat to keep away her true thoughts. “I don’t think that’s wise. You’re my… my team leader.” My friend had been her first thought, but it made her feel ill that she could’ve trusted him with not only her life but Lance’s.

  He didn’t appear to realize her change in acceptance of his previous dinner invitation from “Sure” to this time “No.” “I wouldn’t be if you’d do some sort of desk work or quit.”

  He did not just say that. Indignation flared up, rousing an inferno burning through every cell in her body. After all she’d done to get here and prove herself, she could choke him for being such an obstinate man. “Why are you so set on my no longer being a part of the team?”

  “Because—”

  Something inside her knew he’d made a promise to her husband and that must be his goal. Although being a sniper was tougher than being a police officer on the streets or SWAT. She grumbled, “Sexist bullshit,” under her breath. When he chuckled, she pointed a finger at him and narrowed her eyes. “Lance would’ve support
ed me no matter what.”

  Ken sobered and shook his head. “No, Sam. Lance didn’t like you being a police officer.”

  With that blow to the stomach, she wanted to curl up into a ball. She could’ve gone to her grave without knowing the truth of it. If Ken, her husband’s best friend, knew that, why hadn’t her husband told her the truth?

  That same hurt, plus a bucket load of humiliation, kept her from conceding the point. She jumped up from her seat to emphasize the strength of her response. “Bullshit. He never would’ve married me.”

  Ken rose as she did but remained silent and still.

  She raised her brows in victory. “What, nothing to say?”

  Ken closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he rushed ahead with words he would have known would tear at her very being. “I’m telling the truth. It isn’t sexist like you think. Lance never approved of your profession because he feared you’d never come home one day, but he loved you too much to let you go.” He stopped for a moment as if in conflict. Eventually, he sighed and continued. “His plan was to get you pregnant as soon as possible so you’d give it up. He wanted you safe.”

  All her bluster rushed from her and she dropped back on the sofa, fighting the anger welling inside her. “You say it’s not sexist, but it sounds like moronic and sexist ideals to me.” In the next moment, before he could respond, her mood flashed and she turned on him, pissed off. She couldn’t believe he’d make this story up to bolster his own standing with her. This change in his behavior reiterated what she’d read. “You’re lying.” Lance had wanted to get her pregnant to keep her from her job instead of for the normal reasons—family, etc. He wasn’t that type of man.

  Ken dropped down on one knee in front of her and took her hands in his. “I’m sorry, Sam. I really am. I didn’t need to be so blunt. Who knows? Maybe Lance would’ve changed his tune and been your biggest supporter on this job. I promise I’m not sexist. I know you can do the job, but I also know you can die on the job.”