Jeb radioed, “With this, I can patch into their guardhouses and winery buildings, as well. We’re done when you’re ready, boss.”
“Roger that,” Carson replied. Motioning to his men at the rendezvous, they slipped past the lazy guards and into the scrub brush, heading for their hidden vehicle. With a small mountain to traverse to get to the coast where their boat waited, they began their return journey. Staying quiet until they passed the closest town, Carson breathed easier as they used satellite images, knowing there were clear roads ahead. One hour later, they were at the small coastal town, the vehicle wiped down and abandoned, and the signal was given to Jeb.
Their rafts were taken from hiding, and they were soon on board where Jeb met them, piloting the boat back to a safe harbor near San Diego. Once there, they drove to a small airport where Hop, another employee, and their pilot met them. As the wheels lifted and the plane became airborne, the smiles, congratulations, and beer broke out.
Carson settled in for the short flight, staring out the window but not focusing on the lights below. His thoughts were on the mission’s success, and that included getting everyone back to the compound safely. As the others laughed and joked, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, a smile playing about his lips.
They’d recently accomplished the exact same mission at another winery in California, almost the exact duplicate of the one they were just on with a mansion, guesthouses, pool, gardens, winery, and warehouses. The estate in California was owned by the brother of the man who owned the one in Mexico. Alonzo and Vincent Garza. Alonzo, the eldest, had spent his adult life taking the small farm their father had worked and turning it into an award-winning winery. Vincent moved to America, bought an already-established winery, and together, he and his brother produced wines and managed to transport drugs for one of the cartels based in Mexico. But while the DEA had checked trucks traveling between the two wineries, they came up empty, unable to find the exact transportation link. Carson was sure his team could, and they were a lot closer than they had been before they made the security breaches.
By the time he’d analyzed their movements for the evening, they landed and piled into a large SUV. Jeb drove to the Lighthouse Security Investigations - West Coast compound.
Carson had purchased a decommissioned lighthouse on the coast, one that was small, not seen from the closest road. It was tucked into the hillside overlooking the water. Seventy-five acres of undeveloped land adjoined, mostly part of national forests. It afforded privacy, a place to train, and with the house and compound built into the hillside, it gave him the satisfaction of knowing Lighthouse Security Investigations - West Coast actually had a lighthouse. Not that the lack of one would have stopped me.
“No celebrating till the equipment is checked in,” came a rough order from the tall, lean Teddy, his silver hair still cut high and tight. As the group filed into the equipment room, laying down their weapons, radios, goggles, vests, and everything else that they’d checked out, Teddy eagle-eyed the process.
Theodore Bearski had been a true find for Carson. Sixty-three years old, former sniper, never married, and looking for something to do in his retirement, Teddy was now LSI–WC’s weapons and equipment manager as well as a sort of caretaker, looking after the acres of training grounds.
“Good to see you back safe and sound,” Rachel said. Her eyes caught Carson’s, and she smiled. “If there’s nothing else you need tonight, I’ll head home.” Rachel Moore was another bonus that he’d hired. In her late fifties, the former Naval Intelligence officer was their administrative manager. She was widowed with two adult children, both in the Navy. Like Teddy, she was looking to fill her retirement with something more than sitting around with her military memories and waiting for grandchildren. And, thank God, she keeps us straight.
“Jesus, Rachel, you didn’t have to stay through the night,” Carson said, shocked to see her still there.
Teddy shot her a narrow-eyed glare. “If you’ll wait, I’ll make sure you get home safe, Rachel.”
Lifting a brow, she retorted, “I’ve been handling myself for a long time, Theodore. I think I can get myself home, thank you very much.” With a nod toward everyone, she turned and walked out the door, leaving behind a lot of grins and one tight-lipped, crinkled brow.
Carson cast his gaze around the room, a sense of deep satisfaction filling him. When he’d started his bodyguarding business, he hadn’t been as discriminating with his hires. Brawn over brains had been the biggest headache. Well, that, and entitled, rich starlets who acted like bodyguards were there to hold their purses or dog leashes.
When some of his former employees had accepted the job of a bodyguard with hopes that they’d hook their own star to a celebrity, be discovered as the next actor in a breakout role, or hit magazines as a model, he knew he needed to change his focus to what he’d always dreamed of. And knowing his former Special Forces team member, Mace Hanover, had accomplished that very dream gave him hope. Approaching Mace as a potential partner and allowing Mace to expand his business while allowing Carson to manage his own team was the smartest thing he’d done since leaving the military and CIA operations.
Now, thanks to an excellent partner and smart hiring, LSI–WC was a reality. He’d hire more employees as the business grew but could not be happier with the team he’d assembled so far. Richard Rankin came with experience from Mace. Lionel Parker, known as Leo, a former Delta, had been one of his former security employees, worth his weight in gold, and he’d jumped at the offered position with Carson’s new business.
Jeb Torres, a former SEAL, was a communications expert and their computer guru. Hop, call sign for Frank Hopkins, was their pilot, experienced in the field as a former Air Force special operator. Adam Calvin was a former Ranger. Frederick Poole, a former SEAL. Terrance Bennett, a former Ranger sniper. And Jonathan Dolby, Army Special Forces like Carson himself. With these eight special operators, they were already able to handle most job offers coming their way. No more bodyguarding unless it was a special request, usually from the government. Contracts were offered through the FBI and other agencies. And the ability to pick and choose which contract offers they wanted to take.
Continuing to follow Mace’s direction, his staff were known as Keepers after the lighthouse keepers of old, guiding those in need toward the light, offering protection.
The others offered chin lifts and waves as they filed out of the room, each heading home, as well. He’d thought of purchasing a small home not far from the lighthouse, but after looking at several, he knew he’d spend most of his time at work. Using the old house at the base of the lighthouse as his personal home, he still had privacy but proximity, both important to him. Tonight, like so many nights, after everyone had left and the compound was secured, he sat on the deck of his house overlooking the water.
The rocky cliff below led to the water. The churning waves fit his mood. The sun would soon be rising, and while the other Keepers would sleep late after their midnight mission and trip back home, he still wasn’t sleepy. Instead, a strange restlessness moved over him.
Usually during a mission, his mind would roll over the tasks at hand, analyzing, organizing, and calculating the next step. Distractions were not acceptable. Not in the field, and not even back at the compound. But tonight, the image of the nurse continued to push to the forefront of his thoughts. The graceful way she moved. The long column of her throat when her head was thrown back in laughter. The sound of her enjoyment of the other woman’s company.