That level of cutting-edge tech wasn’t obtainable outside clandestine groups like NSA and black ops. He’d been retired from the activity for so long he wasn’t up to speed on the latest tech. Hell, he didn’t even know how the bug functioned until he’d taken it apart.
What he did know was that this tiny piece of tech was the key that would lead him to the threat.
Or rather, it would lead the threat to him.
“Where are you going?” he asked Rylee, following the script he’d rehearsed with her.
“I’m sick of hiding, Cole.” She stared at the listening device, answering exactly as he’d coached her. “We’ve been moving around, running for months, and you still don’t know who planted those bugs in my house. Now you expect me to sit here in the damn desert and wait for something to happen? You don’t even know if they’re listening to us now.”
While holed up in Missouri for the past four months, he and his team spent that time investigating and planning. Now they were back in Texas, ready to finish this, and she’d just given the enemy their location. On purpose.
“This house is the safest place for us,” he said.
“This house holds too many haunting memories for Tommy. We’re leaving.”
“Where the hell are you going to go?”
“Out of the country. Doesn’t matter.” She moved toward the door, deliberately distancing her voice from the listening device. “I came here for Tommy. I didn’t sign up for this, whatever this is.”
“Rylee, wait.” He followed her out of the house and shut the door behind him, loud enough to be detected by the bug.
The plan was set.
Outside, Tomas sat in a doorless, topless Jeep Wrangler, his arm draped over the steering wheel and his golden stare locked on Rylee. “How did it go?”
“Noticeably contrived.” She climbed into the passenger seat and kissed his rigid jaw. “I should’ve studied acting instead of psychology.”
“You did fine.” Cole stopped beside the Jeep, sweating in the evening heat. “Doesn’t matter if it sounded hokey. They now know where I am, and when they arrive, they’ll believe you’re gone.”
The last part was paramount. Someone tried to kill her once. He couldn’t risk her or anyone else getting captured and used as a hostage to control him.
A glance at the Jeep’s cargo confirmed Tomas had packed everything they needed to camp in the desert for a few nights. He also had enough artillery to take out an army. Van, Liv, Luke, and Tiago were already in position, far enough away to not be seen, yet close enough to be here at a moment’s notice with guns blazing.
Cole turned toward the house and spotted Tate and Lucia sitting in the dark on the flat roof. The instant they heard an approaching car, they would alert the team, aim their rifles, and lie low enough to be undetected from the ground.
If the threat arrived by helicopter, they were all fucked. A view from the sky would mark the positions of his entire team in the desert.
“Get out of here.” He tapped the hood and stepped back, watching Tomas drive off.
As the taillights faded into the shadows of sand and desert buttes, he switched on the transmitter in his pocket. “We’re live. Do you copy?”
“Loud and clear” came through his earpiece eight times, once for each of his teammates.
They all carried receivers with sensitive microphones and wireless nano earphones that operated over a radio frequency like walkie-talkies. They would sleep in shifts, check in every hour, and wear the earpieces at all times.
“Out.” He muted his mic.
Now, they waited.
Cole returned to the house, keyed up and primed for battle.
He lived for this shit—the tremor of looming danger, the rush of adrenaline, and the thrill in fighting for something meaningful. That was the reason he’d enlisted to become a Navy SEAL all those years ago—a decision that had hurdled him through the ranks and landed him in a unit so covert and off the record that it didn’t exist. At least, not to those who didn’t have the clearance.
In the kitchen, he holstered a 9mm in the waistband of his jeans. A blade went into his boot. The rifles he set by the door. He left the listening device on the table to record his movements around the house.
It could be days before someone showed up, depending on how far they had to travel. While he was in Missouri for the past few months, he assumed his pursuers had stayed in Texas, waiting for him to reemerge. They wouldn’t be far.
He lowered onto the couch and measured his breathing, taking on the cold, competitive mindset that had accompanied him on every mission over the past fifteen years. He was nothing if not a soldier rooted in grit, preparation, and confidence.
Grit rose from a place of deep purpose. Preparation came only through patience and tenacity. And confidence? That had been drilled into him through experience, training, and resilience.
Kill or be killed. Didn’t matter what he faced or how badly the odds stacked against him. He believed in his ability to overcome.
In most missions, he knew his enemies inside and out. But not this one. From this point on, anything could happen.
A retrieval team would likely be sent for him. A few armed men. Maybe a dozen or more. That was the best-case scenario. If an army of thugs tried to take him by gunfire or physical force, the Freedom Fighters would rush in and wipe them out, save one. One breathing man was all they needed to torture for information.
But if only one man showed up, that would mean his enemy wielded something more powerful than bullets. If he had any fear, it lay in that unknown variable, a potential misstep he hadn’t calculated, like an unforeseen hostage.
Everyone he cared about was accounted for. Trace Savoy had Danni locked up in the tower of his St. Louis casino, claiming his security was as impenetrable as Cole’s safe house in Missouri. It wasn’t. Which was why Cole had demanded they stay at his house. Trace’s refusal to do so was infuriating and unfounded. Evidently, the uptight bastard didn’t trust Cole around his wife.
Was it a valid concern? Maybe. Cole had no idea what he would do if he saw Danni again. Right now, all he cared about was keeping her safe.
As for the rest of his friends, he’d spoken with Matias an hour ago. The cartel boss affirmed they were safely on his plane and on their way to Texas. When they arrived, they would wait at an undisclosed location until Cole gave them the go-ahead to approach.
He hoped he wouldn’t need Matias’ assistance, but he wouldn’t reject it. Give help and get help. It was a crucial motto in his line of work.
An hour rolled by, and radio check-ins were made. Then another hour, another check-in.
With the use of a dedicated frequency and encrypted communication, their conversations transmitted over secure lines. As an added layer of protection, everyone used nicknames.
Just before the third hour, Tate’s voice came through the earpiece. “Come in, chief.”
Cole lurched from the couch and closed himself into the bathroom, where the bug couldn’t hear him. “Go ahead.”
“Eyes on incoming movement. A single light approaching from the east. Looks like a headlight.”
“A motorcycle?”
“Affirmative.”
“On it.” His pulse kicked up. “Stand by.”