by Diana Gardin
I pull my sister into my side as we walk toward the locker rooms. She’s the other half of me, and that’s how it’s always been. When our dad came down too hard on me, she was always the one who took me aside afterward. She checked on me to make sure I was okay. And in return, I protected her from anyone and everyone who might want to hurt her.
I drop a kiss on Lil’s head. “I’ll be fine. I always am. You know that.”
She sighs. “Change of subject.”
“I’m game,” I answer. “You headed to the Underground today?”
She nods. “You know how I feel about that place. It’s the kind of job that has you, not the other way around. I live and breathe for these women who have no one else to turn to.” She bumps my shoulder with her own as we pause outside our respective locker room doors. “I appreciate it every time you send one my way. But I’m still waiting for you to tell me how you find them.”
I’d rather die than tell you how dark I can get, how far I can fall. “The less you know, the better. In my line of work, I come across people who need help more often than I’d like. I’m in a position to help them, thanks to my super-talented sister.”
She offers me a smile that lights up her whole face. “Yeah, well.” She bumps me again. “Whatever.”
“See you later.”
“Count on it, little bro,” she calls over her shoulder as she disappears into the locker room.
As I walk up to the plain black building, the plaque with the letters NES right beside the miniscule camera lens catches my eye, and I place my palm on the scanner beside the door. It beeps, and the lock disengages. I push the handle and enter the place that’s become more of a home to me than my actual house.
“Morning, Lawson.” Rayne Teague, wife of a fellow Night Eagle Security member, produces the genuine smile all the guys know and love.
Rayne is a knockout, but she is taken by her now-husband, Jeremy “Brains” Teague—hell, she was taken before she even arrived in town. High school sweethearts and all that.
“Hey, Rayne.”
The NES headquarters houses a three-story office space near Wilmington’s Wrightsville Beach oceanfront. Jacob Owen, founder of NES, owns the building and the surrounding space, which houses a separate warehouse-type area that we call the Chamber, used for interrogations, and a third-floor training facility that we utilize for workouts and maneuvers.
I stop and lean against Rayne’s desk. “So what do you have for me today?”
Rayne checks her computer screen, her brow furrowing as she reads the details of today’s agenda. “Well, you have a meeting at nine with the rest of the Delta Squad. It looks like Jacob has a new assignment pending.”
Interest grabs my attention, causing me to stand up straighter. “Yeah? Know any details?”
Rayne offers me a rueful smile. “Sorry, Sleuth. I’m on a need-to-know basis around here.”
Which we both know is a load of bullshit, because Jacob can’t live without his assistant/office manager, and her husband worships the ground she walks on. She’s probably the first to know anything and everything that happens around here.
“Right.” I continue moving toward the lounge, my first stop when I arrive each morning. “Keep feeding us that line, Rayne.”
Pushing open the door to the lounge, I find Sayward Diaz, the only other woman working at NES. She’s a part of another organized unit, the Rescue Ops team. My fellow SEAL brother and friend, Grisham Abbott, works on that team as well. When Jacob’s little personal security company began to grow, adding a second team to help handle all the personal security business for important foreign diplomats, dignitaries, celebrities, and royals alike, along with the black-ops jobs we receive a few times a year from the government, became necessary.
I was one of the first new members on that team, thanks to Grisham. And then came another member of our SEAL team, Ben McBride, one of the men I call a friend today. NES gave us a home after going through hell to serve our country, and there’s no turning back for either one of us.
“Hey, Sayward,” I greet her as I stride to the counter and open a cabinet. Pulling out a mug, I glance over at her. “How’s it goin’?”
Sayward doesn’t meet my gaze as she answers. I don’t know her very well, but at one time I thought that maybe there could be something between us. She went through a lot about six months ago when she became the target of a Columbian drug cartel. It was hard for me to read signals from Sayward, since she doesn’t usually make eye contact and social graces aren’t really her thing.
But she’s a beautiful woman—glasses, Converse, and all—and I can’t say the thought of asking her out didn’t cross my mind. But when Bennett Blacke, the blond bomber himself, showed up on the scene, there was no other man in sight for her. I backed off, and she and Bennett turned out to be a pretty solid pair.
“Hey.” Sayward continues stirring her coffee without glancing over. “Heard your team has something exciting going on.”
“Yeah?” I huff out a laugh. “Does everyone know about it except for me?”
Sayward lifts her delicate shoulders in a shrug. “Dunno. Maybe just those of us with vaginas.”
I’ve just taken my first sip of coffee, which almost goes spraying across the granite countertop at her words. But then, why am I ever shocked at the shit that comes out of Sayward’s mouth? She keeps you guessing.
“Yeah. Copy that. I guess I better head up to my meeting, then.”
Taking my leave, still chuckling under my breath, I exit the lounge behind me and head for the stairs. The second-level conference room is just down the hall from the open area every member of the Delta Squad calls our office. We don’t sit down at our desks very often, but when we do it’s in a collaborative manner.
Once upstairs, I head past the Rescue Ops team’s work area, lifting my chin to the guys there before turning a corner and walking into my own office space.
Ben “Cowboy” McBride is already sitting behind his desk, head bent over his phone. His feet are propped up on the desktop, which is typical Cowboy. He’s one of the most laid-back guys I know. His temperament differs so thoroughly from mine it’s a wonder we’re friends at all. But that’s what years serving in the military together will do for people. It forges bonds that last a lifetime, regardless of any differences we might have.
I take one look at him and roll my eyes, heading for my desk. “Didn’t your mama teach you not to put your feet on the furniture?”
Cowboy doesn’t bother looking up from his phone. “My mama taught me and my brothers the fine art of roping a steer on the ranch. Don’t remember a lesson ’bout the furniture.”
Laughing, I pull my laptop out of my bag and plug it in at my desk. My specialty on the Delta Squad is research and recon, so my computer is an extension of my arm. I log on to the NES internal information system and scan through the data attached to the last case we closed: a protection detail for a visiting diamond heir. He was a pain in the ass to protect, but he was so high profile that the job served NES well, cementing our reputation for being the best.
I’m still scrolling through the files when the remaining members of our team stroll in. Thorn Ryder and Bain Foxx.
Thorn, another ex-SEAL, runs a hand over his short blond hair. “You guys hear that we’re getting a new assignment today?”
Ben looks up from his phone. “No. We are?”
I nod, shutting my laptop and standing. I pat Ben on the head as I walk by. “Must suck to be the last one to know everything, huh, Cowboy?”
He shrugs, standing up from his chair in one smooth motion, shouldering me aside to get through the door in front of me. My elbow lands in his ribs, which earns me an expelled huff of air from him. I’m grinning until his answering shove hits me in the back.
“SEALs,” mutters Bain as he brushes past us into the hallway. We all move toward the stairs, because no one at NES uses the elevator. “Bunch of immature pussies.”
Thorn latches himself on to Bain’s nec
k. “Shut the hell up, Bull’s-Eye. We just know how to have fun.”
Kissing his cheek, Thorn releases Bain and we all laugh as we trot down the stairs. Not Bain, though—the ex-Marine sniper is as serious as they come; even when he’s joking he does it with a straight face. His dry humor leaves people who don’t know him guessing, but we’ve all been working together long enough that we get him. We all have our stories; we’ve all been through some shit in our military careers. But I have a feeling Bain keeps something to himself, something so dark and deadly it’d make the rest of us lose our shit. We give him space when he needs it, and his persistent silence tells a story all on its own.
Bain finally offers Thorn a grin. “You might be the White Wolf, but I can put a target on you just as easily as any other predator.”
And a wolf Thorn is. Predatory, cunning, and loyal. His talents as a SEAL were unmatched and elite. The White Wolf is just one of the nicknames circulating around NES. When we’re on a mission, we find it easier and safer to use our code names, names we’ve all earned because of our own sets of special skills in the field.
Jacob Owen waits for us in the conference room, the place where each team gathers in assignment and debriefing meetings. As the head of NES, Jacob’s the definition of the word badass. He’s older than the rest of us, with an ex-wife and three daughters. His oldest daughter, Greta, is married to Grisham Abbott. The wedding was just a couple of weeks ago, and it was something the whole company attended.
Jacob nods at us as we take seats around the long, rectangular wooden table. I sink into the leather chair and lean forward, my forearms landing on the table as my gaze locks on Jacob. My team does the same around me.
“A task force has been formed. And we’ve been asked to be a part of it,” Jacob explains.
My ears prick with interest, my fingers practically twitching with the desire to find out more. “What kind of task force, sir?”
Jacob’s attention lands on me as he continues. “It’s a government contract. The FBI has asked us to work with the Wilmington Police Department on an international car theft ring that’s been taking place in the city over the last year. The police department alone has been unable to end it. I’m bringing the Delta Squad on as a whole, but I’ll be sending one of you in to partner with a detective who’s going undercover within the ring.”
With an interested tilt to his mouth, Ben speaks up. “Who’s going in?”
Jacob’s eyes scan the table before they land on me once again. “Lawson.”
2
INDIGO
The black leather of my jacket rasps against the rough alleyway brick as I shift position, glancing to my left. Taking a long drag on the cigarette hanging from my lips, I let the smoke wisps disappear into the damp spring night.
There are no sounds in this alley. Maybe it’s because living things know better than to get mixed up in the kind of shit that goes on here. But me? Well, I was born to mix things up. I’m exactly where I need to be.
The silence breaks when a door opens about halfway down the alley, metal slamming against brick. Yellow light spills over the wall. I pinch my cigarette between two fingers and step into the light.
A man strides toward me, coming to a halt when he’s only a foot away. He evaluates me, dark eyes flicking up and down my body before landing on the cigarette making its way back toward my mouth. He watches with mild interest, his eyes locking on my red-painted lips in a way that makes me queasy. Swallowing down the unease until it sits heavy in my stomach, I pin him with a bored look.
“So are we doing this?” he asks.
Having only met the man inside the club an hour ago, I’m impressed at how quickly he moved to close the deal. I let the cigarette fall from my fingers and use the spiked heel of my black boot to snuff the flame.
“You move fast,” I remark. “You got all of it?”
He smirks. His brown hair is pulled into a low ponytail, his face not older than mine—he can’t be more than twenty-five or twenty-six. “You seemed like you needed it. And there’s more where this”—he pulls a plastic bag from inside his jacket—“came from.”
Pulling a wad of cash from inside my tank top, I hand it over. My nostrils flare as his fingers close around the money. I snatch the bag from his hand, my mouth curling up in a smile. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
He doesn’t look at me, turning around to most likely finish out his night in the club. But two men appear at the end of the alley and raise their guns. Point them directly at his chest.
“Police. Freeze!”
The dealer whirls to face me. “Bitch!”
I’ve already drawn my piece from the waistband of my jeans. “Thank you.” Holding my revolver with one hand, I reach to turn him around with the other. Pulling his hands behind his back, I holster the weapon and handcuff his wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent, asshole…”
Perching on the edge of the desk, I cross my feet at the ankles and meet my boss’s gaze. There’s affection in his as he watches me, mixed equally with his frustration. Russ opens his mouth twice but closes it again without speaking both times.
Tired of waiting for the words to make their way free of his mouth, I tilt my head to the side, running a hand through my long, dark hair. “So, did he give up his distributor?”
His eyes flare, and he pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip.
Oh.
“What the hell? We got what we needed, right?” I lift my chin as my voice cuts the air, my own defenses kicking in.
Behind me, Jaden Crowe snorts. “Jesus, Indigo.”
Ignoring him, I continue to stare at Russ. He sighs, finally meeting my gaze.
“Yes, we got what we needed. But I had to work really hard to make sure you didn’t lose your job in the process. Indigo…”
“What?”
He explodes, his words tumbling out of his mouth at a volume that practically rattles the blinds on our third-floor office.
“What in the actual fuck were you thinking? Goddammit, Indigo, we’ve been over this! If I didn’t love you like a daughter, you’d have been fired a long time ago!”
Our special cases unit shares the floor with only one other unit, but I glance toward the outer office window anyway. “I did what I had to do.” I walk toward Russ, the man I owe everything to, and poke a burgundy fingernail into his chest. “You know I did.”
He catches my finger. “You cut off communication with your team. Anything could have happened to you when you were in that club. Anything could have happened to our evidence. You broke all kinds of rules while you were in there, Indigo! Intimate contact with an asset and who the fuck knows what else. There’s a code you’re supposed to follow—”
Throwing my hands up, I turn and stride toward the window. “You know what? I’m so fucking sick of this bullshit. If I were a guy, no one would question the kind of shit I do. Not if it ends up with the perp in handcuffs and the DA’s case made for him. But when I bend rules in order to make that happen? I get reamed out.”
I turn back to face Russ, and he takes two strides that eat up the floor between us. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he bends so that he can look into my eyes. “You are valuable, Indigo. Not just to me, but to this whole department. But one of these days, your rogue attitude and cowboy antics are going to get you hurt—or worse. Do you understand that?”
I shrug. “I know what I’m doing.”
He mutters a curse and backs up a step. Glancing toward Jaden, he jerks a thumb toward the door. “Out. I need to talk to her. Alone.”
Oh, awesome. Here we go. I’m about to get the protective daddy speech from Russ.
“I don’t need this shit today, Indigo.” He grinds out the words as soon as the door closes behind Jaden. “I have news.”
Glancing up at him in surprise, I take up my perch on the desk again. “What kind of news?” Curiosity pricks at my consciousness, making my heart beat faster.
<
br /> “You’re going undercover again. This time it’ll be deep, and I need to know that you’ve got your head on straight before I put you right into the middle of it. You’re the only one who can do this job, but it comes down on my head if it goes up in smoke.”
“Why?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Why what?”
“Why am I the only one who can do this job?”
I don’t doubt my abilities as a cop. I know I’m capable and ready for almost anything. My street smarts alone make me a better candidate than most to go undercover. The way I was brought up is different than most other police officers, and my experiences give me an edge others don’t always have. But why this case?
Russ hesitates. “We’ll get into it more later, but it comes down to your informant maybe having inside information on this one. And you’re the one who will be able to connect with him.”
Nodding, I grip the edge of the desk to keep from clapping my hands together. Excitement rises, bubbling inside me. “What’s the case?”
Russ eyes me silently, like he’s assessing my state of mind. Finally, he moves until he’s standing right in front of me. His tattooed arms fold across his broad chest, and I blink as I remember how often those arms held me when I was just a scared, fucked-up teenager looking to score.
“The FBI’s put a task force together. As you know, there’s a car theft ring based here in Wilmington. It falls under the special cases umbrella, but it’s also a federal crime. We want you on it, but you’ve gotta go in as a thief. Gather the intel we need to take them down and get this dirt out of our city. But I need to know you can do this, Indigo. The smart way.”
The somber tone in his voice puts me on high alert. Instead of just blurting out that I got this, because I know I do, I take a second and find my words. Search them out in my brain and choose them carefully. “Russ, I know I can be impulsive sometimes. You know the reason why. I’m a female cop surrounded by dicks all day long. I have to fight twice as hard as the rest of them, just because I don’t have balls. Yeah, sometimes I modify my actions to fit a certain situation. And hell yes, I use my assets to get what I want. But I’m smart, and I’m capable. You know this about me.” My voice goes lower as a sudden unwelcome lump forms in my throat. “And I learned from the best, Russ. I learned from you.”