Devoted Page 4

  “Tracker, you going to stand there all morning?” Rock asked.

  “Seems like a good idea. Unless Wrath has another assignment for us.”

  Rock stood next to him, surveying the wreckage. “Grayson has a construction crew coming up from Phoenix to clear this up and build a new garage. They should be here within the hour. As far as they know, we’re what we appear to be. One more MC with a nefarious purpose.”

  Tracker finished the last of his coffee, not taking his gaze from the rubble. “An outlaw motorcycle gang. I think even if we tried to set the record straight, no one would believe us.”

  “Probably right,” Rock said. “As to your other comment, Grayson has blessed us with another assignment. Are you up for it?”

  “Hell yeah. When do we get briefed?”

  Rock checked his watch. “In fifteen minutes.”

  “Do you have any information on it?”

  “None. My guess is it may have something to do with what happened here. See you at 0900 hours.”

  Tracker watched him leave, not quite ready to follow. His gut told him the meeting had little to do with the attack and more to do with their involvement in the task force. What gnawed at him the most was the idea SEALs were suited for such an activity.

  They were trained for direct action assignments. Small scale raids to seize, destroy, capture, exploit, recover, or damage designated targets. In and out within a limited span of time.

  In Tracker’s opinion, members of Delta Force were more suitable for achieving the goals of the task force. They specialized in areas such as working with indigenous partner nations, reviewing embassy security, or operating outside of their traditional roles involving direct action combat. In short, Tracker thought them to be better suited to task force involvement.

  At this point, it didn’t matter. The Eternal Brethren were committed and had the most to lose if whoever attacked them wasn’t caught. They already had an inside track on drug smuggling from their tenuous association with Demons Blood, as well as the hostility between the Brethren and Night Devils.

  Heading into the clubhouse, he went straight to Wrath’s office, expecting a full house. Instead, Wrath, Ghost, and Rock fell silent and looked up from their conversation. Taking a seat, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad, muscled chest.

  “Should I assume whatever you’ve got to say isn’t going to be something I want to hear?”

  Wrath leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the top of his desk. “I got a call from Delphine. He’s going to push for you to renew your relationship with Juliana.”

  Tracker worked to keep his voice level. “Not going to happen.”

  “That’s what I told him. Still, he made a good argument for the request.”

  “With all due respect, Prez, there is no good reason to restart something that died six years ago.”

  “I hear you, Tracker. However, you need to listen for a couple minutes.”

  Feeling the blood rush to his head, chest constrict, he gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “Someone has to get close to the Nuevo León Cartel. There’s no better way than to renew your relationship with her. Cara says Julia and her sister, Victoria, both purchased houses in Black Ridge Estates. She told Cara her father and brother, Diego, will be visiting as soon as the deals close, which is projected to be fifteen days.” Wrath glanced at his men. “All cash on both homes. Julia said the money came from their father.”

  Throat working, jaw clenching, Tracker slowly shook his head. “As I said, it’s not going to happen. I won’t do anything to hurt her again, no matter the reason.” Uncrossing his arms, he fisted his hands at his sides. “If Delphine hadn’t fucked up our agreement, Julia and I would be married with a couple kids by now. I’m sorry, Wrath. I can’t do it a second time.” Standing, he headed toward the door.

  “You aren’t dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  Whirling around, Tracker glared at him but returned to his seat.

  “All of us understand and aren’t surprised at your decision. That said, someone has to get close to her. If you won’t do it, I’m going to recommend Fuse.”

  Stiffening in his chair, he fought the urge to jump over Wrath’s desk and silence him. “The hell you say. Fuse may not be a fucking man whore, but he won’t care what he must do to make the mission work, even if it means destroying Julia.”

  Wrath had to glance down so Tracker wouldn’t see his lips twitch. “Noted. The other option is Gunner.”

  “Hell no. Besides, he’s got his heart set on Sage Montero,” Tracker said.

  Brow lifting, a small smile appeared on Wrath’s face. “Lieutenant Commander Sage Montero?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Wrath’s expression was unreadable. “If not Gunner, it’s going to be Fuse.”

  Jumping to his feet, Tracker took the few steps to stop in front of the desk. Slamming his hands on the top, he leaned toward Wrath. “Over my dead body.”

  “You aren’t making the decisions here. I’m the one in charge, and Fuse will be ordered to take the mission. Ghost, would you mind finding him?”

  “No problem, Prez.”

  Shoving away from the desk, Tracker ran a hand through his thick, black hair. “Sonofabitch,” he growled, his voice hard and rough. “Fine, I’ll do it. But it’s going to happen my way.”

  “Agreed.”

  Heading to the door, Tracker stopped once more at Wrath’s next words. “You need to know, Moses will be doing the same with Tori. You might want to coordinate your approach.”

  “Dammit, Wrath. Isn’t me going after Julia enough? Do we have to drag Tori down, as well?”

  Standing, Wrath walked up to Tracker, placing a hand on his shoulder. “No one needs to get hurt. Moses is a good guy. He’ll do everything in his power not to hurt Tori.”

  “And me?”

  “Your feelings for Julia are obvious. You’re a smart man. I’m certain you’ll figure out a way to get what we need.”

  Shaking his head, he pulled open the door. “Sonofabitch.”

  Chapter Five

  Monterrey, Mexico

  Diego Quintero and his younger brother, Antonio, hurried toward their father’s office, waves of anger rolling off each. Approaching the two bodyguards stationed outside two ornately carved doors, he nodded for them to step aside.

  One of the men turned the knob, shoving the door open before stepping away to allow the Quintero brothers to pass. The mid-morning sun speared through the bulletproof windows, pooling in the middle of the room. Their father sat behind his desk, phone to his ear. Motioning for them to sit down, he finished the call, not missing the grave expressions on both faces.

  “What has happened?”

  “El Oso,” Diego said. “The Torero Cartel stole our shipment of cocaine this morning, killing five of our men. An hour later, his men seized our shipment of meth headed to Texas. They killed three of our men that time.”

  “Millions of dollars lost, Father,” Antonio said. “Hector must be stopped.”

  Hector “El Oso” Alcado led the Torero Cartel in the neighboring state of Coahuila de Zaragoza. He earned his nickname, El Oso, or “bear”, due to his large size and surly manner. Known for his impatience and erratic behavior, he inspired fear more than respect.

  “That’s four shipments stolen in the last month. Two meth and two cocaine. We’ve lost sixteen men.” Antonio’s voice rose with each word.

  Leaning back in his leather chair, Armando steepled his fingers under his chin. “The men are of no concern to me. The shipments are.”

  Diego and Antonio decided silence would be best until their father had time to make a decision. He never took long ordering reprisals against those who attacked the Nuevo León Cartel.

  “Do you have a current location for his family?”

  Diego shot Antonio an uneasy glance. If he was correct, their father was considering going after Hector’s wife, children, or both. Whether kidnapping or eliminating, those actio
ns would trigger a war claiming many lives and disrupting shipments for weeks or months.

  “Yes, Father,” Diego said.

  Across the room, hands clasped behind his back, one of the bodyguards, Ernesto Ramirez, stayed silent. The undercover DEA agent had already activated the recorder in what appeared to be a standard smartwatch. Each bodyguard wore one, but only his had a recorder which transmitted data to the divisional office in Dallas.

  “Where are they?”

  “At their home in Saltillo,” Antonio answered.

  “A foolish move to keep his family less than sixty miles from us after stealing our merchandise.” Armando leaned forward, his gaze narrowing on Antonio. “Go on.”

  “There are at least ten guards inside and out. The house is more a fortress than a home. If you are considering taking someone, they always alter their schedule. The women sometimes shop on Tuesday. Other weeks, Thursday or Friday. Never on Monday.”

  “The women have lunch at either Casa Dorado or Tour de France Bistro,” Diego said. “They always eat at two o’clock and leave at four.”

  Armando’s face remained a mask. “Then it should be no problem for us.”

  “What would you have us do, Father?” Diego asked.

  Armando lifted his gaze to Ernesto, motioning him to leave. Giving a curt nod, he stepped into the hall, not letting his disappointment show. He’d been so close to obtaining one more incriminating bit of information needed to bring Armando and his sons down. It was a long shot, but he hovered only inches beyond the door, hoping the recorder would pick up some of their conversation. Even a few words might help them figure out Armando’s plan. One Ernesto feared meant the abduction or death of the women.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t understand Armando’s need for retaliation. Ernesto expected it. What he hadn’t expected was him going after the family and not Hector. The knowledge didn’t sit well with him. His family may benefit from El Oso’s chosen profession, but that didn’t mean they should be pawns in Armando’s desire to exact revenge.

  The door opened moments later. He stepped aside to let Diego and Antonio walk past. Several feet down the hall, Diego stopped and turned to face him.

  “You’ll be with me today, Ernesto.” He didn’t wait for a response, knowing the bodyguard would follow.

  Taking long strides, it took only a few steps to catch up to the Quintero brothers. A small smile tipped the corners of his mouth. As controlled as Diego seemed, Ernesto found it easier to gain scraps of information from him than his father. He hoped it would be the same this time.

  Liberty Lake

  Julia and Tori finished their meeting with the inspector, satisfied with the short list of items he recommended the seller correct. They’d hire someone to fix the rest after escrow closed on the two properties.

  Julia checked the time, a grin tugging at her mouth. “How about lunch before I stop by the clinic to complete the rest of the partnership documents?”

  “Sounds great. Maybe you can drop me off at the hotel after lunch so I can start checking job openings at local vet offices.”

  “No problem.”

  Julia drove down the center of town, both of them looking for a place to eat.

  “What about St. Jean’s Bistro?” Tori asked, continuing to glance around.

  “Sounds good to me.” Circling the block, Julia found a spot in front of the restaurant.

  Tori looked up, admiring the architecture that had to be close to a hundred years old. The entire town appealed to her. It reminded her of the small communities she’d seen on TV. The ones with perfect families and white picket fences.

  Finding a table near the front window, they didn’t waste time reading the menu and selecting what they wanted, including a couple craft beers. Resting her elbows on the table, Julia’s gaze moved to the people walking along the sidewalk. Picking up her water glass, she took a large swallow.

  “Have you heard from Nate since you saw him at that ranch?”

  Tori’s question surprised her so much she slapped a hand over her mouth, choking on the water. Coughing a couple more times, Julia lifted her napkin, dabbing at her mouth.

  “Why would I have any reason to speak with Nate?”

  Tori hid her amusement at what she considered a ridiculous question. “As badly as he hurt you, we both know you never gave him a chance to explain. Maybe there was a reason it all happened the way it did.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  She felt a prick of remorse at bringing it up. “Always yours, Julia. I’m just saying he may have had an explanation for his actions. Even you’ve said the same several times over the years.”

  “Yeah, after at least one too many glasses of wine.” The words came out, but Julia knew it wasn’t the truth.

  Over the years, she’d often thought of how she’d snubbed Nate when leaving the DEA offices and Agent Delphine’s interrogation. He’d been standing across the street, hands in his pockets, his expression pained. When he’d seen her, Nate had held up a hand. Stopping, she’d stared at him with a combination of hurt and anger, then stepped into the waiting taxi. They hadn’t spoken again until seeing each other at Freedom Meadow.

  Since then, she couldn’t get Nate out of her head, but she refused to let her sister know. “Look, Tori, Nate and I are over. Have been for six years. I’m sure he’s moved on, the same as me.”

  They quieted when the waitress brought their food. Picking up a french fry, Julia popped it into her mouth, ready for a change of topic. Lifting her sandwich, she made the mistake of looking out the large front window and froze.

  Nate and another man crossed the street, heading straight for St. Jean’s. As they approached, her chest seized, lungs refusing to take a breath. Grabbing the beer, she took several gulps, setting the glass down as they entered the bistro.

  Lowering her gaze, she sent up a quick prayer that he wouldn’t spot her. Either God hadn’t heard or she’d uttered the words too late because an instant later, she felt Nate’s presence inches away.

  Noting Julia’s decision not to make eye contact, he shifted his gaze. “Hello, Tori.”

  Setting down her sandwich, she glanced at Julia, then stood. Holding out her hand, she eyed the cuts each man wore, seeing patches and what she supposed were their road names. A puzzled expression crossed her face, but she didn’t voice her questions.

  “It’s been a long time, Nate.”

  Not letting Julia’s presence less than a foot away affect him, he clasped her hand. “Yes, it has. This is Moses, a friend of mine. Moses, Victoria Quintero.”

  “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Same here, Moses.” At five-foot-five, she had to look way up to meet his gaze. Sitting down, Tori continued to study his cut, doing her best to ignore the way the handsome, broad-shouldered man affected her.

  Shifting, Tracker stared down at Julia, waiting for her to lift her head. When she did, a tentative smile appeared on his face.

  “So you decided to accept the job at the clinic.”

  Julia’s lips drew into a thin line. “Yes.” She wished Nate and Moses would find a table and leave them alone.

  “And we’ve already found houses,” Victoria added. “We had the inspections today. This will be my first real home since leaving Monterrey after high school.”

  “I’m sure you’ll like it here. Liberty Lake is a great town,” Moses said to Tori. “If you ever need someone to show you the area, let me know.”

  “Really? That would be wonderful.” She ignored the sharp glare from her sister. “Julia starts her new job next week, and I haven’t found anything yet, so I have some free time.”

  Pulling out a pen, he grabbed a small flyer advertising Music on the Green and turned it over. Jotting down his number, Moses handed it to her. “Call me whenever it’s convenient and we’ll set something up.”

  Staring down at it, Tori had her first pang of unease. She didn’t know Moses and was certain he was a member of a local motorcycle club. Even
if he was Nate’s friend, that didn’t lessen her discomfort.

  “Wonderful, Moses. I’ll give you a call.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She’d make up her mind after talking with Julia and researching the MC. Maybe ask their realtor about the club.

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Tracker kept his attention on Julia a moment longer, wishing he had the right to pull up a chair and join them. But he didn’t. Not for a long time.

  Pulling out a business card, Tracker jotted down his number on the back. “This is the shop number, my mobile on the back. Call me if you need anything.” He held it out to Julia. When she just stared at him, he handed it to Tori.

  Without another word, both men left, making their way around the tables toward an empty spot in the back.

  “That went better than expected.” Moses grabbed a menu, ignoring the curious stares of other diners. “I’d guess Victoria’s going to call one of us. Of course, I prefer it be me.”

  Tracker flashed another look toward the front of the restaurant, seeing the women leaning forward in conversation. “Yeah.”

  Setting the menu down, Moses settled an arm over the back of the chair next to him. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on between you and Julia?”

  “No.”

  Chuckling, Moses didn’t take offense. “Don’t you think it would be useful if I had some idea of your story?”

  His teammate was right. If they were to make this work, sharing information was critical. “We used to be close when I was stationed in Coronado. I was going to ask her to marry me, but shit happened.”

  The grin left Moses’s face. “Sorry, man.”

  “It was my fault, not Julia’s. We’d been seeing each other about a year when I was ordered to join a task force digging up information on the Quintero family.” Continuing to watch the front, he gave a disgruntled snort. “The DEA found out I was close to one of the daughters. I told them she wasn’t part of it, but hell, you know how those bullshit agencies roll.”