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  “Ah, yes. I forgot about Nathan’s childhood. If I recall correctly, your father was the foreman on a ranch in New Mexico and your mother was the cook.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He was white and she was Latina.”

  Tracker worked to keep his expression neutral. “My father died from an accident on the ranch, but my mother is very much alive. She lives with my younger brother and his wife.”

  “Near Albuquerque, I believe,” Diego said, showing an unusual interest in his family.

  “Not any longer.” Dropping his arm from her shoulders, he walked to the refrigerator, having no intention of letting the Quinteros learn the location of his family. “Would anyone care for something to drink?” He opened the door to peer inside. “Water, soda, juice, beer, or wine.”

  When her father and brother didn’t respond, both continuing to glower at Nate, Julia answered. “I’ll have cranberry juice. Diego, Father, what would you like to drink?”

  Her question pulled Armando’s attention away from Nate. “Do you have coffee?”

  “Of course. Diego?”

  He didn’t take his eyes off Nate. “A beer.”

  Grabbing one for himself and Diego, he handed a bottle to Julia’s brother before pouring her juice into a glass. “Here you are, sweetheart.” Nate hid a grin at the way Diego winced at the endearment. He received the opposite reaction from Julia.

  A broad smile preceded her going up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Taking a swallow, she set the glass down to retrieve her father’s coffee.

  “You are no longer in the Navy?” Diego’s question didn’t surprise him.

  “No. Not for a few years.” The lie slid easily from his lips.

  “How do you make a living these days?”

  When Julia opened her mouth, Nate held up a hand, stopping her. “I own a restaurant and a couple bars. In fact, I’d like to invite all of you to Hawthorn’s for dinner.”

  “Oh, that would be lovely. Father, I’ve eaten there and it’s wonderful.”

  A doubtful expression appeared on Armando’s face before he hid it. “A gracious invitation, Nathan. Thank you.”

  Slipping his arm around her waist, Nate drew her against his side. “Would eight o’clock tonight be convenient?”

  “That would be fine.” Armando sipped his coffee. “If you’ll provide the address, we will meet you there.”

  “They’re staying at a small hotel downtown,” Julia explained. “If it would be more convenient, I can meet you there.”

  “Not a chance, sweetheart. I’ll pick you up.” Leaning down, he whispered against her ear. “Plan on seeing me at six.”

  Knowing his meaning, a flash of heat warmed her face as a slow smile curved her lips. They’d made love many times over the last thirty-six hours and still had years of love to recapture.

  The newfound joy in her life almost made Julia forget what she’d learned about her family. What Nate planned to accomplish during their visit, and her part in it, should’ve caused some sense of regret. She didn’t want to analyze why it didn’t.

  After the interrogation by Agent Delphine six years ago, she’d spent weeks coming to terms with what his questions implied about her family. Denial had consumed her. Between intense doubt and the loss of Nate, her appetite had become non-existent and sleep came only with the assistance of OTC drugs.

  After a couple months of internal grieving, Julia had been sitting in her kitchen, sipping coffee, staring at the laptop on the counter. Until then, she’d avoided doing what she believed might provide some answers. It had taken several hours of searching and cross-checking before she closed the computer, heart heavy.

  What she discovered sickened and confused her. Her family had been accused of running one of the most vicious cartels in Mexico. The crimes they were suspected of committing were heinous, indicating a pattern of merciless terror in order to grow their illegal businesses. And she’d never once suspected.

  Using her birth parents’ last name had shielded her from talk of the cartel. No one suspected Dr. Juliana Stanifer had any connection to the Quintero family of Monterrey, Mexico. Growing up, she’d never spent much time watching TV or listening to the news, carrying the habit into adulthood. Then medical school and residency had taken all her time.

  The last years seemed surreal. There’d been days she refused to believe the accusations, her heart denying what news reports called hard facts. Other times, her continued research forced her to accept the possibility of their guilt. As a doctor, a woman who lived by solid proof, what she’d discovered was damning. The ache in her chest never left, growing with each passing day.

  The results had inspired her to start the futile attempt to locate Nate. They’d also been the reason Julia hadn’t been shocked when Nate showed her the file a couple nights before. She had already accepted much of what he’d presented.

  Noting the way her father and brother watched her, she finished the juice, shaking off the ache in her heart about the alleged Quintero crimes. Unproven crimes, no matter the mass of circumstantial evidence.

  “Do you have plans for the rest of the day, Father?”

  “Diego and I are meeting an associate this afternoon.”

  Her throat tightened at what might be the reason for the meeting, hoping it had nothing to do with what the DEA suspected. “I didn’t know you conducted business in Liberty Lake.”

  “I have alliances with numerous people all over the world, querida. This is one of many. Will you be returning to the clinic today?”

  “Since you and Diego have plans, yes, I will.”

  “Do you need directions to your meeting, Armando?” Tracker placed his hand on the small of Julia’s back. He’d noticed her tense when learning of her father’s meeting, imagining the questions racing through her mind.

  “Thank you, Nathan, but no. Diego has already identified the location.” He glanced at his son. “We should be leaving now.”

  Diego forced his attention away from Nate. “Yes, Father. Julia, we will see you at the restaurant at eight.”

  “And Nate,” she added, irritated at her brother’s undisguised dismissal of him. “He is our host, after all.”

  A muscle ticked in Diego’s jaw. Julia could almost see his internal struggle. He’d hated what happened between her and Nate, been there for her in the months afterward.

  She believed his behavior today had much more to do with Nate’s role in the investigation into the Quintero family than a past where she’d been hurt.

  The realization provided her no comfort and an abundance of new questions.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Driving three non-descript vehicles, Ghost, Rock, and Wrangler canvassed separate sections of land. Dressed in street clothes common for many locals, anybody spotting the three wouldn’t spare them more than a few seconds before forgetting their existence.

  They’d searched for almost two hours, finding no trace of Jason Ortiz. The agent had missed another check-in with headquarters. Two missed in the same number of days.

  Deciding Ortiz would head toward the closest town, they confined their search to the area west of the Night Devils clubhouse. Driving close to the side of the road, each stopped every few minutes to search on foot. There’d been nothing to indicate the agent had ventured this way. No shreds of clothing, tracks, or obvious signs of blood.

  In hindsight, they should’ve contacted Ethan about using the blood-detection dog he’d purchased from a police department in Southern California. The coonhound had an excellent record, but was tagged for retirement. The animal had been a great acquisition for Ethan, even if he had to buy it using personal funds.

  Wrangler checked the time, noting the darkening sky. There’d been a long discussion about searching during the day or holding off until night. Advantages and disadvantages existed for each. Concern over the agent’s fate had been the deciding factor. If he were still alive, they needed to find him without delay.

  Again, he glanced around. The
re’d be no natural light in another couple hours, forcing them to use their night vision goggles or return tomorrow. The second wasn’t an option.

  Wrangler grabbed the secure, tactical, handheld radio with SATCOM capability. Each member of the Brethren had been provided with one. He liked nothing better than new toys, and this one was a beauty.

  “Wrangler to Ghost and Rock. Come in.”

  Both answered immediately.

  “You boys find anything?”

  Ghost was the first to respond. “Negative, Wrangler.”

  “Same here,” Rock responded. “It may be time to break out our NVGs and contact Wrath about using Ethan’s dog.”

  “Roger that,” Ghost replied. “Rendezvous at the Boltville Junction in fifteen minutes.”

  “Affirmative,” Rock and Wrangler responded at once.

  The Night Devils bought land and built their clubhouse two miles northwest of what locals called Boltville Junction. At one time, the area contained a gas station, grocery, three diners, a five-and-dime, an auto repair shop, two bars, motel, museum, and school. It had become a favorite destination of civilian motorcycle groups out for a weekend ride.

  The arrival of the Devils brought a lot of changes. Ethan and his deputies had been called to break up skirmishes between peaceful tourists and the Devils much too often. One afternoon, a husband and wife had been run off the road, their Harley careening down a steep drop-off. The husband lived. The wife didn’t. Tourist traffic had dropped significantly afterward.

  Within a few years, the legitimate clubs stopped coming and almost every business had been forced to close down. Abandoned buildings riddled the roads. A miserable ending to what had been a thriving community.

  Wrangler pulled into what had once been the train station. The building stood at the intersection of two county highways. A T-bone shape with the station at the top of the T. It gave them a good view straight down the main highway. Moments later, Rock and Ghost joined him.

  Slipping his secure SAT phone from his back pocket, Ghost called Wrath. “We need the coonhound.” Ready to end the call a minute later, he stilled, as did Rock and Wrangler.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah, Ghost.” Rock took a slow look around, hardly breathing as he waited for the noise to sound again.

  “Hold up calling Ethan, Wrath. I’ll have to get back to you.” Pocketing the phone, Ghost stood rigidly still.

  They didn’t have to wait long before a low, strangled groan broke through the calm, late afternoon air. Drawing their weapons, focused on finding the source, Ghost moved around the station in one direction while Rock and Wrangler took the other. Slow and methodical, they crept along well-worn paths without a sound, as if they wore leather moccasins instead of sturdy boots.

  A suppressed moan sounded again, drawing them to the back of the station. Hidden between a grouping of broken water barrels, an almost naked form hovered against the station’s back wall, arms covering his head.

  Crouching next to him, Ghost studied the welts on the man’s back, torn flesh on his feet. Touching a finger to the pulse point on his neck, he placed a hand on his forehead. “He’s alive but unconscious. And burning up.”

  “I’ll get the medic kit.” Wrangler hurried to his car, returning a moment later with the thick case packed with blood pressure cuff, stethoscope, sutures, antiseptics, bandages, safety pins, and antibiotics. Moses, the team medic, had prepared a modified version of what he carried for each team member.

  “We need to clean his wounds and get antibiotics down him.” Ghost slipped into gloves and got to work. After fifteen minutes, Ortiz hadn’t regained consciousness. “He needs a doctor. Rock, help me get him into Wrangler’s car. You two go with Ortiz. I’ll follow. We can send a couple men back later to get the last car.”

  Rock crawled into the back seat with Ortiz. “Sonsofbitches really fucked him up. I’ve gotta wonder what the hell happened for Burn to order this type of beating.”

  Pulling onto the highway, Wrangler watched Ghost climb into his car, the SAT phone to his ear. No doubt updating Wrath.

  “Burn doesn’t need a reason. Fucker’s as vile as Poison.”

  “Yeah.” Rock remembered when Burn had gone after Tessa and Travis. Over the years, he’d faced down terrorists, insurgents, his own death, but nothing ever approached the terror he felt over Tessa’s safety. The stark fear had never truly left him.

  Six men stared at each other around the circular table, weapons left at the door. Armando and Diego Quintero had arrived early to make certain the private home on the outskirts of Liberty Lake had been secured.

  Not desiring any unwanted attention, this was one of a handful of trips where bodyguards had been left behind. As far as Armando knew, they had few enemies in this part of Arizona. Four sat close by, all here for the same reason.

  Burn and Mario were greedy, vicious men with simple minds. They ran the Night Devils with little regard for a future longer than a year.

  Abdul-Bari Zahir and his companion, Kamal Durrani Rasul, were the opposite. As venomous as the Devils, their minds were clear and complicated, the plans they made focused on the future of their cause. Of the two sets of men, the latter were by far the more dangerous.

  “We are agreed?” Diego rested his clasped hands on the tabletop in a show of deference.

  “I don’t like it.” Burn’s gruff voice broke across the small space, catching everyone’s attention. “We’re doing the dangerous work but getting the same split. We deserve a bigger piece.”

  Diego spoke as if to a petulant child. “The split was agreed on before today’s meeting. We came here in good faith to work on details, not revisit the division of funds.”

  “The deal isn’t done until we all agree.” Burn leaned forward for emphasis. “And the Devils don’t agree with the split.”

  No one spoke for several long moments, their eyes giving away nothing.

  His serene expression belying the churning sensation in his gut, Abdul-Bari Zahir’s obsidian eyes pierced the others around the table. “Perhaps the Devils are not the right partner for this deal.”

  Armando watched deep red creep up Burn’s face, sweat forming on his brow. He was a dangerous amateur, unworthy of respect.

  “Perhaps. Although the arrangement is quite lucrative, I have no interest in changing the agreement.” Armando placed his hands on the arms of the chair, intending to stand.

  “Wait.” Burn’s forceful voice was neither pleading nor placating. “We aren’t finished here.”

  “I believe we are.” Armando switched his attention to Zahir. “Apologies, my friend. We shall talk soon.”

  Burn’s hand slapping the table had the men turning toward him. “You will regret walking away from us.”

  Impatience mixed with anger had Armando shifting, grim features glaring at the man who dared argue with him. He was Armando Fonseca Quintero, president of Grupo Quintero, leader of the Nuevo León Cartel. No man disputed his decisions, especially one of such inferior status.

  “Do not consider threatening me.”

  A smirk played across Burn’s face. “It isn’t a threat, Armando. It’s my promise to you and Zahir.”

  Standing, the leader of the New Mexico terrorist cell motioned for Kamal Durrani Rasul to do the same. “Mr. Quintero is right. We are at an impasse. Perhaps when you’ve had time to reconsider the benefits of working with us, Mr. Burn, you’ll have a different decision about the terms we’ve already agreed to. In the meantime, my associate and I have other business to complete.”

  “As do my son and I.” Armando kept a wary gaze on Burn and Mario. He wouldn’t be surprised if either man tried something stupid.

  Although they’d all made a show of placing weapons by the door, he didn’t believe the others weren’t still armed. He and Diego had pistols tucked into ankle holsters, knives strapped to their calves. The Quinteros trusted few outside their family.

  Approaching the door, the four stopped, turning at Burn’s strai
ned voice.

  “It would be dishonorable to back out of the agreement at this late date.”

  “Does that mean you no longer wish to change the terms?” Armando asked.

  “Yes.”

  He narrowed his gaze on Burn. “It seems we have business to conduct, gentlemen.”

  Capturing her mouth in a sweltering kiss, Tracker slid into her moist folds, groaning at the way the muscles tightened around him. His actions were slow, deliberate, and achingly tender.

  “Nate…” Julia whispered against his lips.

  His hand snaked between them, touching her already sensitive nub. “Hmmm…”

  She arched against him, breasts abrading the silken hairs of his chest. Stretched out under him, she gasped at the sensations consuming her. His tongue invading her mouth, finger and thumb gently rolling her aching clit, the way he drove in and out, pace increasing with every beat of their hearts.

  His mouth trailed damp kisses down her neck to capture a peaked breast, his thrusts increasing to a frantic tempo. Gasping, she arched beneath him, finding release in a passionate moan of pleasure.

  Sucking her nipple hard, hammering in and out, he threw his head back, roaring out his own release before collapsing and rolling her onto his chest.

  Long minutes later, her fingers brushing the soft hairs of his goatee, she nipped at his ear. Broad fingers gripped her hip, the other hand rubbing slow circles on her back.

  “Careful with those lush lips, darlin’. I’m ready for another go, but we’re going to be late meeting your father.”

  Sitting up, Julia flashed a look at the clock on her nightstand. “My gosh. We only have thirty minutes to get there.” Rolling off him, she stood, ignoring his soft chuckles as she ran into the bathroom.

  Untangling himself from the sheets, Tracker rose slowly, stretching his arms over his head. It would’ve been an easy matter to stay in bed, but he had a job to do and Julia was part of it.

  No matter how much his body still ached for her, dinner with the Quinteros couldn’t be put off.