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  “She found out.” It wasn’t a question.

  Tracker nodded. “Yeah. I hadn’t seen her again until she showed up at Freedom Meadow a few weeks ago.”

  “Damn, Tracker. Now they’ve drawn you back in.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Tracker stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah. Different day, same fuckin’ story.”

  Chapter Six

  “I know you’re unhappy with me, Julia, but I see no reason to be rude to Nate or Moses.”

  “Nate isn’t the same as when we were together, Tori. Isn’t it obvious? He’s a member of a local outlaw motorcycle gang. So is his friend. We know nothing about the Eternal Brethren.”

  Sitting down in the living room of their hotel suite, Tori’s irritation showed. “That’s not exactly true. You told me your friends, Tessa and Cara, are married to members of the Eternal Brethren. And you met several of them at the ranch. Did you get the impression they were dangerous?”

  Lowering herself into a chair, Julia rubbed a spot between her eyes. “No. It doesn’t mean much.”

  “Do you really believe Nate has changed enough to join an outlaw club?” Tori reached into her pocket, pulling out the card Nate gave her. “He works at a motorcycle repair and customization shop. He’s a mechanic, Julia.” Reaching out, she handed the card to her sister, who stared at it, making no comment. “The man I knew was a decorated Navy SEAL, and as much as I don’t like what he did to you, he was part of a task force investigating drug shipments into the U.S. Try not to think of how it all ended and remember the man you knew.”

  Snuggling deeper into the chair, Julia felt her stomach clench, nausea roiling. The same had happened many times the first couple years after she left Nate standing on the sidewalk. Over time, thoughts of him had reduced to a dull ache.

  Running into him at the ranch had brought back the sting of what he’d done. Thoughts of him now were as powerful and unwelcome as when everything had fallen apart.

  “The man I thought I knew was honorable and on the right side of the law. I’m not so certain that’s the case now. Don’t you understand? Being his friend is no longer an option for me. Still having feelings for him isn’t the same as being able to trust him again.”

  Expelling a breath, Tori thrummed her fingers on the armrest, regret coursing through her. “I’m sorry, Julia. Although you haven’t spoken of Nate in a long time, I know how much you loved him.”

  Swallowing a sharp ball of pain, she couldn’t manage even a small smile. Seeing him today had been another shock to her orderly life.

  She was slow to embrace the slightest change, while Nate had always been spontaneous, able to switch plans in seconds. They’d both thrived on structure, but each handled it in different ways.

  He’d been an adrenaline junkie, while she’d balked at anything outside her comfort zone. It had taken him weeks to convince Julia to take a short ride on his Harley. He’d gone slow, doing nothing to scare her. Afterward, they’d gone on many rides. She’d even considered buying her own bike. Nate had overruled her, saying he felt much better with her riding behind him, her arms tight around his waist.

  “My feelings toward Nate shouldn’t stop you from calling Moses. Maybe you’ll be able to learn about the MC.” Julia sent her a piercing look. “Whatever you do, don’t ride on the back of his bike.”

  Tori’s lips twitched. “Why is that?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll like it too much.”

  Eternal Brethren Clubhouse

  Wrath bent over the map, pointing to a spot at least an hour away. Ghost, Rock, Wrangler, Tracker, Moses, Gunner, and Raider stood around the table, their intense expressions giving nothing away. They’d received another order from Grayson, this one alleged to be triple verified. Not one of the men in the room believed it.

  Someone on Grayson’s team in Coronado, the DEA, or with the FBI was sabotaging their missions. Neither the admiral nor FBI Director had been able to identify anyone who would betray them. The SECNAV had been brought in, but the same as the others, came up with nothing. Nobody was giving up, but missions couldn’t be halted because of their suspicions.

  The one exception with the intel provided in this assignment was it came from an undercover DEA agent positioned inside the Night Devils. Every bit of information he’d ever provided was accurate.

  Wrath glanced behind him at a knock on the door. “Come.”

  Ichabod “Iggy” Jones, a SEAL of average height with a thick neck and muscled arms, walked in, followed by Brian “Boomer” Reyes, who was taller with an olive complexion. Their gazes moved around the table, settling on Wrath.

  “About time you two got here.” Wrath introduced their newest Eternal Brethren members. Most of the guys had met or heard about them at some point in their SEAL career. Nobody reacted as he reacquainted everyone.

  “Iggy and Boomer, this is your first mission.” Wrath’s finger stabbed at the map. “You’ll be executing with the rest of the men here. There’s a shipment moving up from Mexico and into Arizona. The Night Devils are working with the Nuevo León Cartel to transport fentanyl to one of their buyers in Nevada.”

  “Means of transport?” Ghost asked.

  “They plan to cross into the U.S. through the tiny border station at Sasabe.”

  “That’s east of the reservation, right, Prez?” Rock asked.

  “Correct. It’s west of the Nogales border crossing. According to Grayson, Quintero has men posted at Sasabe. At least one is a border agent.”

  “Damn traitors,” Tracker muttered.

  “Amen,” Moses said, which was echoed by a couple others.

  “The Night Devils will be waiting with three vans a couple miles north of Sasabe. The cartel will transport the fentanyl over the border, then divide the drugs between the three vehicles. Each will be taking a different route north.” Lifting his head, Wrath glanced around the table. “Your job is follow but not intercept.”

  Raider grabbed a chair, turned it around and sat down, resting his arms on the back. “I’m glad to go on this long road trip, Prez, but don’t you want me or Wrangler to stay in the comm center on this mission?”

  “I requested another communications operator. She should be arriving any minute.”

  “Hell, Wrath. Tell us it’s not Glory.” Wrangler followed Raider’s lead, grabbing a chair and sitting down. “She may be great with intel and analysis, but the woman is toxic. Besides, Cara will skin you alive if she knows Glory is anywhere near you.”

  Several of the men chuckled, then sobered at Wrath’s incredulous expression. Years before, Wrath had thought himself in love with Gloria Levitt, and he thought she loved him. What he learned was she cared more for her career than him. The future he’d envisioned crumbled with a few razor-sharp words from her. A couple years ago, he’d met Cara and fallen in love. They were expecting their first child.

  “Glory is hell and gone from here, and I don’t know or care where. Our addition is from the East Coast, but has served overseas with other SEAL teams, coordinating their missions. She knows how we operate and comes with a strong recommendation from Grayson.”

  “Does that mean Raider and I are off duty in the dungeon?” Wrangler cocked a brow at Raider.

  “What it means is both of you have more opportunities to participate in direct action missions and scheduled training. In fact, as soon as this mission is over, Raider and a few others will be heading to White Eagle Training Center.”

  Stiffening, Raider shook his head. “I already did my time there with Ghost and Rock, Prez.”

  “We can take this offline if you want, but let me remind you of the injury you incurred at the center. You’re a week away from completing the course.” Wrath lifted a brow, his features daring Raider to argue.

  “No problem, Prez. Whatever’s needed.”

  “Good, because you’ll be there for two more weeks.” He ignored Raider’s groan. “All right, gentlemen. Your job is to track the shipments, monitor the buyers at the final drop point. The Ni
ght Devils have mixed up their routes so often that usual methods aren’t working.”

  Ghost stared down at the map. “What about our contact? He’s on most of the runs.”

  “Burn has been on the last few, leaving him behind. We have to be ready for either one to show up.”

  “What contact?” Iggy asked.

  “I’ll catch you and Boomer up on what’s been going on another time.” Even as he said the words, Wrath knew it would be a while before he and the rest of the Posse trusted the new guys with information on the undercover DEA agent. “You’ll be split into teams of three men using three vehicles to follow the vans. Since there’ll be separate routes, such a small number shouldn’t garner any attention.”

  Tracker looked up from the map, crossing his arms. “To confirm, we’ll be on a no engagement run.”

  “Affirmative,” Wrath said. “Intelligence only. If they make you, back off and return here. When they reach their destination, keep a good distance away, observe and take photos. Our targets are the buyers, not the Night Devils. Ghost, Rock, and Tracker will lead the three teams.”

  “If they fire on us?” Tracker asked.

  “Do not engage unless there’s imminent danger to your lives. As you men know, our vehicles have bulletproof glass and reinforced frames. Under no circumstances are they to identify you.”

  Tracker nodded, Wrath’s meaning clear. They’d use false IDs, eliminating anything which could lead the Devils or the buyers back to the Brethren.

  Wrath looked at each man. “Questions?”

  When no one responded, he checked his watch. “Wheels up at 1700 hours. You’re dismissed.”

  To his surprise, no one lingered. Most times, Ghost, Rock, or Wrangler waited until the others left to ask their questions. Usually a question sensitive enough Wrath wouldn’t respond in front of the others. Not this time.

  Tracker understood. The same as Wrath, those three had found good women to go home to, share their lives. Before any of them left the clubhouse on a mission, they’d be found on their phones, letting the women know they’d be heading out and would call when they could.

  Such messages couldn’t be helped. They felt lucky their women understood enough about their work not to ask questions. It didn’t mean much when they all knew every assignment included danger, the possibility the men wouldn’t return.

  Wrath sat behind his desk, staring down at the current roster. When the Brethren started, the club was made up of SEALs, Delta Force, Air Force Pararescuers or PJs, and members of Marine Force Recon.

  Over the last couple years, all but the SEALs had transferred out, wishing to return to their regular units. Wrath understood why and took full responsibility. They were warriors, men used to frequent direct action missions. All were the elite of their military branches, decorated fighters, and dedicated to protecting their country.

  One of them, Deke Caldwell, had left the service, hooking up with Sully Sullivan and Kell Kirkland at White Eagle Security. Wrath wished he’d gotten to know the man better.

  His gaze moved down the list, a hand rubbing unconsciously over his stubbled jaw. Along with their departure, most of the non-combatant support staff had turned over, all the women leaving. Not because of issues with their post or members of the Brethren.

  They were ready for a change of duty station and the opportunity to gain more skills. For no particular reason, certainly not because Wrath requested it, the replacements were all men. Well, that would soon change.

  He lifted his head at a sharp knock. “Come.”

  When the door opened, a woman walked in, ramrod straight, her features impassive. Lifting her hand in a salute, she drew back her shoulders. “Petty Officer Second Class Penelope Lane reporting for duty, sir.”

  Wrath’s lips twitched at the stark formality. Returning her salute, he motioned to a chair. “Sit down Petty Officer Lane.”

  Opening her file, he scanned the contents. “You’re from Louisiana.”

  “New Orleans, sir.”

  “Joined the Navy after a couple years in college.” He looked up, a brow lifting.

  “I found it boring, sir.”

  Looking back down to hide a grin, he continued reading. “No family?”

  Her rigid form didn’t waver, although he saw a slight flash of pain cross her face. “Yes, sir. Died in a fire while I was at college. I enlisted a few months later.”

  Expression somber, he continued reviewing the file. “You have an excellent record. You’re a Cryptologic Technician.”

  “That’s a pleasant way of saying I’m an expert hacker.”

  “Explain.”

  Clearing her throat, her lips drew into a slim line. “It’s the best career path they could identify for someone with my skills. I speak several languages, can build computer and communication systems, and decode and analyze messages. But what I do best is hack, sir. I understand you have another excellent hacker on the team.”

  “And you know that how, Petty Officer Lane?”

  For the first time, she shifted under his hard gaze. “I hacked your system…sir.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tracker stretched out as best as possible in the passenger seat of the truck, watching the miles flash past. Raider drove while Moses took up the entire back seat, already snoring. Reaching behind him, Tracker slapped his teammate’s thigh.

  Mumbling a low curse, Moses shook his head, glaring at him. “Can’t a guy catch a few z’s?”

  “Not if we can’t do the same, airhead.” Tracker kept his gaze locked on the road ahead, watching for their rendezvous point.

  Scrubbing a hand down his face, Moses blew out a slow breath. “Haven’t been called an airhead since BUD/S. Brings back real fond memories.”

  “Told you he was a strange one, Tracker. Between his Bible reading, praying, and loving BUD/S, I’m not sure he should be a part of the Posse.”

  “Shut it, Raider.” Moses sat up, his long legs barely fitting the tight quarters. “I’ve got skills you can only dream about.” Team medic, sniper, weapons specialist, and one of the best cooks in the MC, it would be hard to refute the claim.

  “Did you guys see the slip of a girl who showed up to help out the comm team?”

  “She’s not a girl, idiot. She’s a Petty Officer Second Class.” Tracker crossed his arms, casting an irritated look at Raider.

  “Petty Officer or not, she’s no bigger than my thumb.”

  Moses clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you know size doesn’t count when it comes to being a Cryptologic Tech.”

  “Rock said she speaks several languages and is a top-rated CTR.” Tracker smirked, knowing it would grate on Raider. “Her specialty is hacking.”

  “You’re shitting me,” Raider ground out.

  “Nope. Just a warning. She’s no lightweight. You’d do best to remember that since you’ll be working alongside her.” Tracker’s lips twitched, but he turned away before Raider could see.

  “I don’t want to ruin your fun, but we’re five minutes from rendezvous, gentlemen,” Moses said.

  The mood sobered, each going on high alert. They passed a van, knowing Rock, Wrangler, and Boomer were inside. Ahead of them, Ghost, Gunner, and Iggy were in the new truck, the one they’d driven to the warehouse on the bogus mission. They adjusted their earpieces, going rigid at a woman’s voice.

  “Red Team, you’re to continue past Blue Team. Green Team will stay behind. Repeat. Continue past Blue Team. Repeat. Red, you are in the lead position.”

  “Sonofabitch,” Raider bit out. They were the Red Team, Ghost and his men the Blue Team, while Rock led the Green Team. For this mission, Wrath’s command center was Big Bird, the name Rock’s son, Travis, had called him on one of the trips to Freedom Meadow.

  “Seems the Petty Officer has already taken a seat in your dungeon.”

  Raider shot an agitated glance at Tracker before returning his attention to the road ahead.

  “She’s got a nice voice,” Moses said.
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br />   “Stuff it.” Raider glared at him in the mirror, reaching up to touch his earpiece. “Target ahead, Big Bird.” Several chuckles came through the comm units before going silent.

  “Roger that, Red.” It wasn’t Wrath who responded, but Petty Officer Lane.

  Something about sharing his dungeon with a woman chafed Raider. He didn’t mind any of the Posse visiting, but a woman…

  Hell no.

  “Target vehicles located,” Tracker said through the comm. “Red Team in position.”

  “Roger that, Red. Green and Blue, report.” Lane’s voice was crisp, clear, and in control.

  “Blue in position,” Ghost responded.

  “Green in position,” Rock said.

  “Red Team, confirm number of hostile vehicles.”

  “Confirm three identical black vans, Big Bird. All parked in a vacant lot half a mile from the border. Two suspected tangos in the front of each. Cannot confirm tangos in the back. Assume to be the Devils.”

  “Roger that, Red.”

  Tracker looked at Raider. “Can you get us a little closer? I want to read the plates.”

  Inching forward, Raider moved deeper into the shadows. “That’s it. Any closer and we’ll be in their line of sight.”

  Holding his night vision binoculars steady, Tracker leaned as far forward as possible. A large white truck with the Mexican flag painted on the front and sides waited in line at the border crossing. The identification exactly as Grayson provided.

  “Transport with merchandise crossing the border, Big Bird.”

  Several minutes passed before the truck pulled into the same vacant lot as where the Devils’ vans waited.

  “Truck has arrived at rendezvous point.”

  Again, it wasn’t Wrath who responded. “Roger that, Red. Continue surveillance.”

  Tracker watched as the men exited, all hurrying to the back of the truck to begin the transfer of fentanyl when a sound drew his attention.

  Back stiffening, Tracker cocked his head to the side, lifting a hand to touch his ear. Rolling down the window a couple inches, he closed his eyes, concentrating on a low rumble in the distance.