by Lora Leigh
Rory picked at a blade of grass as Noah went back to watching the house.
Sykes was still in the kitchen, probing around, looking through drawers. The bastard straightened a cup on a hook and paced to the far window to look down on the garage. There was a look of pending ownership on Sykes’s face, as if he were already imagining exactly what he intended to change in Bella’s life.
Yeah, Noah knew him, well. Duncan hid his strong will from most people, but he was no one’s fool. He’d been seeing Sabella for a year, then he was serious about it. He had every intention of owning everything Noah had once possessed as Nathan Malone.
“You left her,” Rory stated with a hint of anger. “It wouldn’t be any of your business if she had fucked half the town, anyway.”
He didn’t say anything, because Rory was right. He had left her. He had taken that mission knowing there was a chance of failure. He had failed and he hadn’t come back.
“What happened with Grant?” he asked Rory. “He tried to take the garage and the house after promising he would take care of her if anything happened to me. Why?”
“Same reason he ended up with Grandpop’s stuff, I guess.” Rory sighed. “Because that’s just how he is. Grandpop still excuses him. Says Grant is doing what he thinks will protect her. Grandpop always excuses him though. Calls it layers.”
Layers upon layers, he had always told Noah a lifetime ago. Nothing is as it seems. With Grant, Noah couldn’t imagine how it could be anything less than total selfishness.
“And Mike Conrad?”
Rory snorted. “That pig. He’s pissed off because Sabella wouldn’t screw him or sell him the garage. He seemed to want both. He chased after her for over a year until she had to threaten to sue him for harassment. Then he started getting ugly. He wanted the garage worse than he wanted her though. Tried to turn the town against her for a while, but that didn’t work out too well. You had too many friends. Once she pulled her ass out of grieving for a man that just didn’t want to come home, she threw herself into the business and pulled it back up. She does good now.”
“Keep sniping at me, Rory, and you’re not going to be able to walk for a while.”
Rory snorted. He was quiet for long minutes before saying, “Grandpop went to your grave today. Usually he just walks out and talks to Grandma. But today, he went to your headstone and just stood looking down at it.”
Noah didn’t want to hear this. He pushed the rage and pain back inside himself and continued to watch Duncan prowl the kitchen.
“Strange thing about Grandpop, I just never figured it out until now.”
“He didn’t grieve,” Noah answered for him.
Hell, he should have known better than to think he could fool the old man. Jordan should have known better. Grandpop had always known what was going on before it ever happened.
“That’s true.” Rory nodded. “Not even once. And not like Sabella did. I used to stay up at the house some. She would wake me up every night screaming your name, swearing there was blood on her hands, or swearing you were hurt. Begging me to save you.”
Rory jumped to his feet. “Screw this. I’m going home.”
“She was right.”
He felt Rory still.
“What?” his brother asked carefully.
“She was right. I was hurt, Rory. Damned bad. And by the time I was rescued, I was barely alive.” He watched Sabella walk into the room and smile at Duncan.
The other man finished his wine, kissed her cheek, and they headed for the door. Duncan’s hand was at the small of her back, touching her, leading her. Damn, Noah was going to enjoy killing him.
He pulled the binoculars away from his face and stared at the house silently for long minutes before turning back to Rory.
“Grandpop should have grieved,” he told him, his voice low. “Because the man I was died in a cell in a rotting jungle. Her husband, your brother. Son and grandson. It all died inside me, Rory. I’m not the man I was, and I never will be.”
Rory gazed back at him for long moments. “That’s not what happened,” he finally said. “All of you didn’t die, Noah. Trust me. All that stupid, testosterone-driven, arrogant-bastard pride of yours that you always hid from Sabella is still alive and breathing.” Rory shot him a scornful look. “That part survived just fine.”
Noah’s lips quirked at that. Maybe, in a way, Rory was right there. He’d always hid parts of himself from those he loved, but Rory was a Malone, he knew that side of himself just as he knew the side Nathan had held back. Until now. That dark inner core, the dominant arrogance and powerful will had always been kept hidden, toned down. He had been civilized. Noah wasn’t civilized.
“Follow them,” he ordered Rory.
“Do what?” Rory exclaimed, outraged shock in his eyes. “What, you want her to kill me or something?”
“Do you want me to kill you?” Noah was in his face, his voice low, demanding. “Which one of us can hurt you more?”
He wouldn’t really hurt Rory. Hell, that was his kid brother. He almost grinned at the man his brother had grown into. He felt affection. Fondness. Where Noah had felt next to nothing emotionally, for years, he now felt flooded with emotions. Emotions that tore at his control, that made a mockery of the years behind him.
Rory shook his head, his hands propped on his hips, as he lifted his gaze to the heavens. “I pray. I go to mass. I even remember to respect my elders and help little old ladies across the street. What the hell did I do to deserve this?”
Noah clapped his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You breathe, Rory. Remember that. When Malones breathe, shit happens. It’s cosmic. It’s their fate.”
“You suck, man.” Rory grimaced. “Bella’s gonna kill me.”
“Beats me killing you,” Noah grunted. “I can make it hurt worse.”
Rory glared at him. “Man, you are so clueless. You don’t know Belle at all, do you?” Then he grinned rakishly. Noah remembered that smile. A smile he had once had himself and it didn’t bode well for Noah. “You are in for such a surprise.”
Jordan watched as Noah stalked into the briefing room, nearly half an hour late, but the vision that met Jordan’s gaze had his eyes narrowing.
Dangerous. Powerful. Like a big jungle cat, all smooth moves and predatory awareness. This wasn’t a cold-blooded shark. His eyes weren’t icy. They would never again be that Malone blue, laser surgery had darkened the color to a navy blue rather than that neon sapphire blue they had once been. The color of Jordan’s, and his brother Rory’s.
Those eyes had been hard, cold for five years now. Until tonight. Tonight, they were wild, fierce, as Noah paused and stared back at him.
“We need to talk.” There was a snarl, an animal quality to the tone that had Jordan’s brow lifting.
“Hey there, wild card.” Tehya chose that moment to move behind Noah and pat his butt.
Jordan knew what the other woman had done, but he didn’t expect Noah’s reaction. Tehya had been patting Noah’s ass for years, mostly to piss Jordan himself off, and Noah always ignored her. This time, he caught her wrist, loosely, and stared down at her.
“Don’t.” He said the word softly, gently enough, that Jordan came slowly to his feet.
Tehya’s impudent smile was enough to make a man grind his teeth.
“Oh, all that testosterone.” She pretended to shiver. “Watch it, Noah, I’ll start thinking you’re claimed or something.”
Or something. Jordan sat down as the minx carried the stack of files to the briefing table and winked back at him. “The others will be up in a few minutes. Ian and Kira were running late as well.”
As she moved through the door, Noah turned, closed it softly and locked it as Jordan leaned back in his chair, propped his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers in front of him.
“You have a problem, wild card?” Jordan asked.
Noah turned back slowly and those eyes raged.
“You knew she was dating,” Noah stated.
Jordan contained his smile as he nodded. “It was in the report I give you every month. You know, the one you toss in the trash can after simply asking me if she’s safe and if she’s alive?”
Noah paced closer. Danger surrounded him, fury pulsed inside him.
“She’s dating.” His lips pulled back from his teeth furiously.
Jordan tilted his head and stared back at him. “And this is your business how? Nathan Malone is dead, wild card. Remember?”
Noah flinched. He jerked back as though stung, his expression instantly closing.
“Unlock the door,” Jordan ordered him coolly. “We have a briefing and a mission to complete.” He turned his attention to the files Tehya had brought in. “Noah.” Jordan lifted his head, staring back into those furious blue eyes. “Her husband didn’t want her. Did you think she’d wait on him forever?”
Perhaps that was exactly what a part of him had believed.
Noah took his seat slowly, forcing back emotion, forcing back the rage. He’d worked too many years at putting his past behind him, but somehow, in all those years, he’d never imagined Sabella allowing another man to touch her. Likely because Noah had never been able to touch another woman.
He had sworn himself to her. Heart, body, soul. All he was, all he could ever be, belonged to that woman.
The man that had been born from the ashes of hell in no way resembled Nathan Malone. He had known that the day he found some clarity in his mind, months after his rescue. He was no longer the man Sabella had married. But the man he had become still claimed that one part of Nathan Malone’s life. Noah Blake claimed Nathan’s wife.
As the others filtered into the room, Noah stared at Jordan Malone. He’d even forced himself to forget the fact that this was his uncle. That Rory was his brother, that Grandpop had been his base all his life. He’d let go of everything but the wife.
“Okay, here’s what we have.” The lights dimmed as Tehya passed out the files and Ian and Kira Richards stood to the side of the large-screened LCD monitor that hung on the wall across from the briefing table.
Five dead men, American, Russian, Israeli, Australian, and English. They were the Elite Operational Unit, code-named, marked by the sign of rebirth and of death. A black sun and a scarlet sword. Dead men. They had signed their lives away for the chance at vengeance.
Jordan and Ian commanded the group. The rest of Durango team, Reno, Kell, and Macey, were their backup. They knew who he was, what he was, what he had walked away from.
“The Black Collar Militia.” The first of the photos began to flash.
“Angelina Rodriguez, the wife of a Mexican-American Texas Senate hopeful, killed, their brand on her hip. ‘BCM’ was indeed branded on her slender hip. Emilio Rodriguez dropped out of the senatorial race when his wife’s body was found and a message indicating that his twin daughters would be next. The FBI covered the murder to allow an investigation into the BCM. Stated cause of death was accidental, due to the fact that she was found in her vehicle, in the bottom of a ravine not far out of Odessa where she had been visiting.”
The photos glared back at them from the screen. The woman was pretty. Long black hair, dark brown eyes. A generous smile in life, a grimace in death.
“Added to her death.” More photos, these of illegal Mexican aliens found throughout Texas and New Mexico. Victims, Noah knew, of illegal hunts. The BCM brand was buried on the flesh of their backs, some on the buttocks.
“We have a dozen hunts and deaths,” Jordan stated. “We have three dead FBI agents sent to investigate the information that BCM is based in Alpine. Two men, one female. Their bodies were mutilated beyond recognition, teeth pulled, fingers removed. DNA identified the bodies.”
The photos were horrifying. Burned, hacked, faces beaten until the features were obliterated.
“The Black Collar Militia is being coined a white supremacy group; they’re actually closer to a homeland terrorist organization.” Ian stepped forward at that point. “You have all the information in your files. Black Collar is centralized in Texas, but it’s moving swiftly into neighboring states. Rodriguez was only the most public figure they’ve targeted. Several so-called accidents at plants and manufacturing firms that use legal as well as illegal aliens have occurred. Owners have been kidnapped, tortured, their family members have had a variety of suspicious accidents, some fatal, some not.”
“And no one has identified the members?” Travis Caine, formerly British Secret Service, spoke up then, his light bluegray eyes narrowed as he stared back at Ian, then Jordan. “Isn’t that a bit unusual?”
“Each investigation focusing on them has ended in cases abruptly closed, or agents dying. This group has at least one highly placed government informant, perhaps more.”
“Public support of immigration laws is growing,” Nikolas Steele, formerly Russian Special Forces, said then.
“Nothing’s perfect,” Jordan breathed out roughly. “But this.” He pointed to the image of the dead agents. “Has to stop. Our job is to identify and interrogate the commander of the group located here, in Alpine. All signs lead here.”
“We have an Israeli, an Irish immigrant, and a Russian,” Noah said. “We should be able to target interest.”
“We also have this,” Jordan stated, and the screen flipped a satellite view of the garage Rory and Sabella owned.
Noah stared at it silently, aware of the looks directed his way.
“We keep her out of it,” he grated out.
“That’s not possible, Noah.” Jordan sighed. “Her name is already in it, as you know. The garage itself is a target. Profitable, a central point for gossip, and in the past months showing a measure of growth. The last report those field agents sent in was that Malone Service and Repair was a target. Owned by Rory and Sabella Malone. That report stated there were plans to either incorporate Sabella Malone into a marriage with one of the central figures or kill her and Rory. We can’t overlook that report, and we can’t just keep Sabella Malone out of this.”
“Why target a gas station?” the Israeli Mossad, hard-core ice, Micah Sloane, asked the next question. “It’s not busting millions. Why not open their own station and use it for whatever they need Malone’s for?”
“Malone’s is established,” Noah answered the question. “Started by Nathan Malone, a man most people in that town either respected or feared. It would be above suspicion for the movement of arms or the laundering of funds.”
“Bingo.” Ian stared back at him coolly. “Several suspected BCM members have tried establishing relationships with her. The only one to have shown progress is this man.”
Duncan Sykes’s picture showed up on the screen.
“Duncan Sykes. Owner of a profitable electronics business in town. Never hires aliens, illegal or otherwise. Known to have been a close, personal friend of Nathan Malone’s before his death. Sykes as well as Mike Conrad, another friend of Malone’s, were mentioned in that final report, which, I should point out, disappeared within days of transmission to the D.C. office, just before the agents’ disappearance.”
“High level,” John Vincent murmured. Code-named Heat Seeker, the Australian Special Forces soldier had pissed off the wrong group in Australia.
“Very high level.” Jordan nodded. “Alpine is a central base, we bust it, gather their head generals, and we can backtrack it straight to D.C. and our leaks. That’s our mission, gentlemen.”
“Nik and I will be in the garage,” Noah stated, still staring at the aerial view of the garage. “Initial information is that two of the mechanics are BCM. If Malone’s is one of their primary targets, and Sykes is a general, then we’ll see how they like being screwed back.”
Sykes was gone. Noah would make certain there wasn’t a chance in hell that Sabella would continue that little friendship.
“First phase, information only,” Jordan ordered them. “We’ll meet back here in a week, see what we have and then go from there. Travis will be at the college as a profe
ssor of English history. John, you and Micah will cover. You’re just drifters out for a good time. Target the bars, the college hangouts where they recruit from, and you’ll also be backup.”
Micah and John nodded to that. They made damned good shadows. All of them did, but Micah was a master at it.
“Durango team is in place to provide backup as well if we encounter trouble. Other than that, we’re on our own,” Ian told them. “We have six weeks to complete this mission, because in six weeks, we have this.”
The screen changed again. The letter was simple, to the point. Addressed to the owner of a manufacturing firm in Dallas that hired legal aliens from around the world. The message was clear. He had six weeks to ensure his firm hired naturally born Americans only, or he’d pay the price.
“The owner of this firm is who?” Micah asked.
“The owner of this firm just happens to be a financial supporter of Helping Hands, an organization that encourages multinational growth and harmony.” Jordan smiled tightly. “Boys, meet one of your employers.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Three days later, Noah forced himself away from the garage as he watched Sabella roll herself beneath another vehicle. One of the vehicles he’d completed. She was going over his work as though he hadn’t spent the better part of thirty-five years working on vehicles.
Top to bottom, she was spending the day going over every move he made.
He grimaced as he shoved a wrench in his back pocket, threw another look at her over his shoulder, and pushed into the office.
And stopped.
“Excuse me.” He turned to walk right back out.
“Ah, Noah Blake.” Grandpop Malone rose up from where he had been sitting next to the desk he’d had Rory blocked in at. “Don’t leave so soon, son. I hear we have something in common.”
Noah grimaced, gritted his teeth, then turned back and let the door reclose behind him and faced the man who had been the base of his entire life.
Grandpop. He was wrinkled, stooped, his dark face was still imposing, his eyes were still that bright sapphire blue that Noah had opted to have changed.