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  “I need some action,” I mumble through the communicator, my right index finger set on the trigger, my eye trained on the area where Hawk and Bradley wait. “This wait is killing me.”

  “No, you don’t want action,” Hawk mumbles back. “If the operation doesn’t run smoothly, I will kill you after my woman kills me. She threatened me with bodily harm if I came home with a scratch.”

  “You’re whipped, man,” Tiago says.

  We laugh. Aspen, his fiancée, is a foot shorter than him and looks so sweet. However, she can stand up to the guy and make him do whatever she wants.

  “But he’s right, Everhart. You have to chill. Imagine the nine o’clock headlines,” Tiago paints the tragic picture. “‘Terrorists taking over Manhattan’ or ‘A group of former Rangers lost their shit and terrorized New York.’ My mama isn’t gonna like that.”

  Tiago kicks me with his heavy boots in the ribs. “If you upset my mama, I’ll have to bury you alive. You get me?”

  I gasp. “Got it.” I rub the side of my body. “Not that you can take me down, fucker.”

  I try to settle, but it’s fucking impossible. I wouldn’t care to wait in the middle of the Khash Desert in Afghanistan surrounded by terrorists—or to go through caves searching for the Taliban leaders. We’ve lived through danger. If we are careful, this could be nothing. I’m sure that’s going to be the result. This isn’t our first job together. They know that I hate lying on the ground watching the action play out from afar. They also know I will wait for as long as it’s needed without saying shit. I understand that not every mission means jumping out of an airplane in the middle of a jungle shooting up shit and killing the enemy. Sometimes, like today, I come along to watch the backs of other security details.

  What neither one took into consideration when they set up this mission is that, unlike the rest of our operations, this one is at home. My home. Today, I’m only a few blocks from my family. My loved ones are within a thirty-mile radius. What if something goes wrong? I can’t lose any of them. Shit, I swore to protect them just as I protected my country for years.

  My friends, partners, and brothers in blood weren’t here on that tragic Tuesday when the sky lit up, and the towers burned to the ground. Nine-eleven is a day that we all remember. I not only remember it, but I also relive it. The scenes are ingrained in my mind, seared with pain and tears. I saw the flames from the street corner as I was on my way to meet my dad. I wanted to discuss my plans to change duties within his company. My life had been set up for me. I would work for him. One day, when he retired, I would take over Everhart Enterprises.

  “Son, we’re trapped,” he told me over the phone. My chest constricted with his words. My stomach churned. It felt as if an entire battalion had punched me in the gut and left me breathless. He gave me so many instructions at once. I still remember each word, each plea, each piece of advice.

  “Take care of your brothers, Harry.” Mom implored.

  Completely numb, I assured my parents I’d take care of my brothers. I sounded the same way I did when Hunter was only two years old, and Fitz was five; and Scott and I were assigned to babysit them by ourselves. I had no fucking idea what I would do without my parents, but I pretended that everything would work out without them by my side.

  “We’ll be okay,” I promised as I watched from the buildings only a few miles away as the raging fire continued to consume the lives of so many people. “I’ll always look after them.”

  They ordered me to call Scott and help him come back from Boston. They reminded me that Fitz had a weekly appointment with the allergist on Thursdays. That Hunter would need me more than anyone else.

  “We will always watch over you and your brothers,” Mom promised.

  “We love you,” they said in unison before hanging up.

  “I love you” were the last words I ever heard from them.

  “Are we there yet, boss?” I joke, trying to erase those memories and breaking the fucking tension. I regret not sending my family out of town. Everything would be easier to handle if I knew they were safe.

  “It’s almost over,” Tiago informs me as I clean the sweat from my forehead.

  We’re on top of one of the tallest buildings in front of Central Park in the middle of August at noon watching, waiting. I’m sweating like a fucking pig.

  “Can I complain about the fucking weather?”

  “Tiago, you have permission to shoot him if he talks again,” Mason Bradley, our fearless leader, barks. My ear buzzes after his loud voice comes through. I pull out the communicator for a second, moving the binoculars toward him. His trademark scowl is directed at where he knows I hide. His mouth continues to move.

  I place the earpiece back, and I hear shit that makes no sense. “. . . fucking, Everhart, I swear I’d make the rest of your life miserable.”

  “The asphalt is melting,” I complain waiting for his comeback. However, that’s when I spot him. My eyes move to the guy with cropped dark hair and a dark camouflage jacket. He marches to Hawk. “Our informant is approaching, Hawk.”

  Hawk nods once, training his eyes on the man. The moment that they shake hands, I set the timer.

  “We have three minutes,” I call through the communicator. “Bradley, do your hacker thing. According to your intel, Kassi’s people might be onto us. Though I was bitching earlier about the lack of action, honestly, I would like to avoid Armageddon.”

  Camo-boy sets a black portfolio in front of him. Moving my sight to the left, I spot Bradley tapping his computer urgently.

  “Two minutes left,” I warn him. “Can you fucking rush it, geek?”

  Bradley’s eyes fixate on his work but the corner of his lip tugs. He tilts his head, his black hair shining against the glare of the sun, and I almost miss the red fucking dot on his shoulder.

  “Fuck!” I move my sight, searching for whoever is pointing a laser at his head.

  “What are you doing?” Tiago asks as I stand up and pull out my binoculars, searching for the man who might kill the boss.

  “Got you fuckers.” I pick up my M24, point at his head, and pull the trigger. Then move the gun, shooting at the guy aiming at Hawk.

  “Tiago, send a few men to the building right across the street to clean the area. Bradley, hurry. They are onto us.”

  “Done.” Bradley jumps out of the seat nodding our way.

  Tiago and I wait a few minutes, keeping an eye on Hawk and Bradley while they disappear through the crowd without leaving a trace.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. This was another successful mission,” Bradley announces through the communicator. “The plane is waiting for us. Everhart, are you coming with us? You don’t have to be in Seattle until Wednesday. Everything else can be handled remotely. The Brussels project starts mid-September.”

  Adjusting my jaw, I rotate my neck to loosen the tension. What the fuck happened to “I will buy part of the company so I could do whatever the fuck I wanted?” But I get it. There are jobs that we have to do ourselves. “I’ll take the offer of staying home for a few days. Call me if you need me though.”

  While I gather my equipment, Tiago speaks. “I’ll take Brussels and any other shitty job you have for the next couple of months.”

  I secure my gun, close the case, and stand up glaring at him. “What do you want?”

  He takes a deep breath and looks at me. “My sister needs help.”

  Wiping my forehead, I take a few seconds to think about that sentence. “Wait, fucker. You have a sister?” Wiggling my eyebrows, I grin. “Is she hot?”

  “What part of she’s my sister, and you don’t mess with her, don’t you get?”

  “Just a minute. I’ve known you for almost twenty years, and just now you happen to mention a sister?”

  He nods once. “Half-sister.” His brows furrow as his eyes divert toward the horizon. “I love my mama, but the family shit is a mess, and I keep it as far as possible from my life.”

  “Is it safe to assume that your
father is alive?” He nods at my question. “So, you have a sister that you just learned about?”

  “Look, I’m not going to give you the dirt. Luna . . .” He rolls his eyes. “That’s my sister’s name, is moving to New York. This is the first time she’s working undercover outside the DC area. We just don’t feel—”

  “Wait a minute.” I lift my index finger. “Undercover? What is she? CIA, FBI . . .”

  He exhales heavily. “She’s an FBI agent in the human trafficking department. My sister is a chameleon and can blend in easily. However, she could use a well-known guy to help her navigate the social life in the Big Apple while keeping her safe.”

  I let out a guffaw. Shaking my head, I crouch to finish picking up my shit. “I get you, brother. If Hazel, who is like a sister to me, were in her shoes, I’d call you to give me a hand. But are you fucking serious? You want me to babysit?”

  “Human fucking trafficking,” Tiago growls at me. “It’s my understanding that she’s trying to find the root. The main fucking guy of one of those cells. You know what’s going to happen to her if she gets caught?”

  I run a hand through my hair, let out a breath, and nod. They’ll torture her until they break her and then they might kill her . . . Or they might let her live, and she’ll be reliving the hell they put her through for the rest of her life.

  “My old man and I don’t see eye to eye,” he continues. “But I care for my sister.” He stops, closing his eyes as he breathes a couple of times, his rough expression is drawn in agony. His eyes open, staring at me in a pleading way I’ve never seen before today. “I trust her. But if I can help to keep her safe…we can’t lose Luna. You get me?”

  Placing my hand on top of his shoulder, I squeeze it. “Luna will be safe, brother. I’ll be whatever she needs and make sure she’s safe. As long as you’re my bitch for the next one hundred years.” I laugh, moving toward the elevator. “Gotta meet the family for lunch, you want to join?”

  “Nah, I’m flying to Florida to check on my momma. I’ll contact you when I get more intel on Luna’s assignment.”

  Harrison: On my way to Juanes.

  Hazel: You’re joining us for lunch? What happened to the job?

  Harrison: I told you it’d be quick.

  Hazel: Hooray, you didn’t die today!

  Harrison: Order me a shot of Patron if you arrive first, bumble bee.

  Hazel: I won’t be the first. I’m in the middle of a meeting. Your brother is slaving me. We need help!

  Scott: I’ll order a bottle of Don Julio to celebrate. Jensen is waiting for us in the car. We’ll be there before you.

  Scott: And we are in the process of hiring a few new employees. Stop complaining, buttercup.

  Three

  Harrison

  The beauty of my job—what seems like a fucked-up day can change within minutes, and no one around me would know what could’ve happened if the operation was unsuccessful. That’s part of what I do. I make sure the world doesn’t know about potential threats. In some cases, ignorance is bliss. Now, I’m just a civilian walking through a typical New York day. The streets are humming. Blue skies, no wind, and despite the traffic fumes, it feels like a fine summer day. I swerve to the left to avoid the delivery guy while crossing the street. I pass the street musician and nod at him. I drop some change in the violin case and salute him while enjoying the chords of what sounds like Vivaldi’s, “Four Seasons.” That piece was one of Mom’s favorites and the one she’d set on our CD-player before she went to bed. My chest loosens with the crescendo coming out of the violin. It reminds me of my mother’s sweet voice and sunshine. The magical chords erase the two men I just killed. I’ve watched death before—seen the rivers of blood and desperate screams during battle. It doesn’t get easier with time, but I’ve learned to cope and accept that by taking one life, I’m saving hundreds or even thousands of others.

  The day I enlisted in the Army I wanted revenge. These days I pull the trigger to avoid another attack like the one that took away my parents and changed my family forever.

  “Everhart!” The excited female voice comes from the other side of the street.

  Turning to my left, I spot her. Hazel is across the street. She’s waving at me, her chestnut hair pulled back from her face, wearing a dress and Converse sneakers. I cross the street. Once I am right in front of her, I smirk and hug her.

  “Why don’t you just buy normal shoes, shorty?” I twirl her twice, being careful with the crowd walking around us. “You look ridiculous wearing formal clothing and sneakers.”

  “That’s a nice hug,” she says with an unusually nasal voice. She kisses my cheek as I set her down.

  “Where are Fitz and Hunter?”

  She rolls her eyes. “They decided to hop on a plane and go to Boston.”

  I smile at her and tilt my head toward the entrance of the restaurant. “What’s with you and that voice? You sick?”

  “A vicious ear infection and strep.” Hazel waves hello to the hostess and continues her way to the end of the room.

  Pulling out my phone, I text Fitz.

  Harrison: What happened with the contingency plan? I never said go to Boston.

  Fitz: Hunter was too tense to stay at home waiting for your call. He’s doing much better. But shit, you dropped a text saying get the helicopter ready because all hell might break loose, and you can’t expect for him to stay cool.

  Harrison: Well, it’s safe to come back whenever.

  Fitz: We’re working, don’t worry about us. But next time keep your shit away from us, please. The contingency shit doesn’t fly well with Hunt.

  I scowl at my phone as I continue following Hazel. Does he think I wouldn’t keep him safe? Ungrateful fucker. He has to trust me. We had a contingency plan in case something went wrong with my mission. There’s a helicopter waiting for my family above the building where the offices of Everhart Enterprises are. That’s the reason why Scott had Hazel in his office. She’s more than a family friend; she’s the little sister we never had and love to annoy. We’re also very protective of her.

  Hazel dashes through the tables. I follow her looking around the restaurant, getting a head count. The place seems to be at full capacity. Thankfully, Scott sits by the left-hand corner of the room close to the emergency exit. Next to him, there’s a group of businessmen wearing gray suits like his. When he spots me, I tilt my head, arching my brow toward the men.

  “Who wears it best?” I ask, squeezing his shoulder and taking the shot of tequila in front of him.

  He laughs, standing up to meet me with a hug and a pat on the shoulder. “Shut up, asshole. I’m glad you’re back.”

  “To our favorite hero,” Hazel proposes a toast, “and tacos.” She sets the shot glass on the table, close to Scott, without drinking any of it.

  My eyes widen. What the fuck? “Who knocked you up?”

  “You,” she answers with a straight face.

  “Bumblebee?” I cross my arms, drinking two more shots of tequila.

  Who am I going to kill?

  “I’m serious.”

  She smirks, smacking her lips. “No one that I know of.”

  “Then why aren’t you celebrating with us?”

  “I have to abstain for two reasons. One, I’m taking antibiotics and two, Grandpa will kill me. He’s a hard-ass boss, unlike him,” she points at Scott, “who loves me so much he’d let me drink at my office.”

  “Drinking while working is not allowed.” Scott’s jaw hardens, and he hands her a glass of water. “Or while you’re sick. Once you recover, I’ll take you on vacations, and you can drink your weight in alcohol.”

  “She’s still working for you?” I glare at him. “Aren’t you hiring a new person?”

  “He thinks he owns me,” Hazel says, laughing at him. “Scotty doesn’t understand that I own his ass.”

  Scott lifts his hand, signaling the waiter to come over. “You can say whatever you want. The deal was you’d work for me for as long
as I need you, buttercup. Technically, I own you.” He smirks at her. “Because I’ll always make sure to need you.”

  “Ugh.” She rolls her eyes.

  Hazel transferred from Duke University to Columbia. Scott helped with the transition under the condition that she’d work for our company. He needs help and someone who he can trust when he’s absent.

  “Okay, enough about work.” She turns her palm up and wiggles her fingers. “You have to pay your debt.”

  My brother pulls out a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and hands it to her.

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “What did you bet?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “That you’d assume I was pregnant.”

  “Well, I don’t see another valid reason to avoid alcohol while celebrating.” Hazel always celebrates with me.

  She takes a chip out of the basket, dips it in guacamole, and stares at me. “To get knocked up, I need a boyfriend—or to get laid.” She shakes her head. “I’d have to find a man first and fall in love.” She bites her chip smirking at me as she chews.

  “Well, you do that.” I dust my arms pretending I’m repelling something—love. “I think you should save the money you won today.”

  Hazel and I have our own bet going on—to see which one of us avoids falling in love the longest. “In fact, I’ll find you a man. And it won’t be Anderson. He’s getting married soon.”

  “If I wanted, I’d find myself a man, thank you very much.” Her snarky tone is replaced by annoyance. She rolls her eyes and grabs her purse, but my brother hands her a tissue and then hand sanitizer.

  Thank you, she mouths at him.

  “Today I’m not in the mood, Harry.” Her voice is dry. The humor disappears.

  “Too bad.” I try to lighten up her mood. “I was thinking about starting a manhunt this weekend.”

  She glares at me.

  “Stop this childish shit, Harrison. No one is falling in love and leave her the fuck alone. She’s not feeling well.” Scott who behaves like a sixty-year-old man sometimes uses his badass voice to warn me.