“Oh, thank fuck, kitten.” Her husband rattled the door, sounding ready to tear the whole building down to reach her.

  “Deke!” she whispered emphatically.

  “The door is fucking locked. Search the guard for keys,” her insistent husband said.

  “I can’t. I’m tied to a chair.”

  Hunter turned to his father and brother. “We can’t shoot this lock.”

  Logan nodded. “It’ll bring attention.”

  Trees frowned. Had he been the only one with a less-than-glowing youth? “I can pick it.”

  He retrieved his survival multitool and went to work. The lock was designed to keep thoroughbreds in more than to keep trained operatives out. He’d picked it in thirty seconds.

  “Thanks.” Deke shoved him aside and dashed into the stable after his wife.

  Hunter, Logan, and Caleb all filed around, watching their six as Deke bent to cut Kimber free, then scooped her up in his arms, holding her tight against his chest. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. Just get me home.”

  He turned to the colonel. “Relay to the other team that we’re out and tell them to head to the meet point.”

  Caleb nodded. “I’ll go with you and keep your six safe. Hunter, Logan, Zy, and Trees, get us out clean. Make sure we’re not followed. Mop up any messes. We’ve taken out most of the guards around the stables, but when they don’t report in…”

  More would flood in from other parts of the estate and all hell would break loose. Something kept itching at the back of Trees’s neck that their time was running out.

  “Roger that,” he affirmed.

  The others did the same.

  By a flash of moonlight, Trees caught the stark emotion in Deke and Kimber’s shared glance. Tears spilled down her dirty cheeks. His barely controlled fury said he’d give anything to erase what she’d endured, but he was so fucking grateful to have her back, as if someone had stolen the stars from the sky and finally given them back when he’d lifted her into his embrace.

  That gaze was like a kick in the gut. They had each other and the eternal, binding love they shared. Trees had never thought he wanted that—until Laila. But the last twenty-four hours had proven that his heart couldn’t be trusted. He’d fallen for a temptress who used him for her own gain. And her lover’s. He couldn’t forget that.

  But Laila had done one decent thing in helping to reunite two people who lived and breathed each other. In returning a loving mother to her young children. Sure, she had probably done that for some selfish reason he could only begin to guess at. But that didn’t matter in this moment. Kimber and Deke were back together.

  Trees blinked, then the couple was gone, melting into the shadows together, her father right behind them.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Hunter insisted as he plastered himself to the shadows.

  The boss didn’t have to tell him twice.

  The four men crept through the dark spaces around the buildings until they reached the end of the row of stalls. They were feet away from a clean escape.

  Suddenly, a man’s shout split the air north of them, something in rapid-fire Spanish he didn’t understand. But he’d bet someone had discovered the bodies they’d tucked away. Which meant he and the other three operatives were in a world of shit.

  The voices coming from the north started blending with those of the reinforcements pouring in from the main house to the south.

  “They’re about to cut off our fastest fucking way out,” Hunter growled.

  He was right. That meant shit was the least of their problems. They were fucked. They had a split second to flee.

  Trees scanned his surroundings. He needed perspective. The roof of the stables was accessible to someone of his height. “Stay hidden.”

  “What are you doing?” Logan hissed.

  Trees didn’t respond, just jumped up to grab the overhang, hoisted himself up, then slithered onto his belly. Lights flashed on. Two goons were hoofing it from the north end of the stables. A dozen reinforcements were charging from the south.

  Geraldo Montilla was in the thick of the pack, gun in hand.

  “Run north,” he growled into his comm. “Two tangos at three o’clock. A shitload at ten. Take out the pair to the north and keep running. You’ll be home free.”

  “Get off the roof,” Hunter barked.

  “Allí!” a reinforcement from the south shouted, pointing at Trees.

  “They’ve seen me. Get out of here.”

  “Without you? Fuck that,” Logan growled.

  Trees pulled his gun from his holster. “Your father just got his daughter back. He doesn’t need to lose his two sons. You have wives and children. Go.”

  Then Trees focused on the assholes surrounding the stables, aiming their guns his way. If he was going down, he was going to take as many motherfuckers with him as he could.

  As the first shots rang out, he lifted his SIG, wishing he had Walker’s crazy accuracy. There was a reason everyone called him One-Mile. But Trees took out the closest thug. As the criminal’s head exploded, he turned his attention to the next guy, giving him the same treatment.

  A bullet whizzed past his ear. He rolled to avoid another asshole’s line of fire and narrowly missed that shot, too.

  Fuck, he was outnumbered and about to get tagged by a dozen different guns. If he bailed, they would come after him—unless he gave them a reason not to.

  He gave it one last Hail Mary effort and took a shot at Geraldo Montilla. If the drug lord was going to make himself a target, Trees was going to aim for him.

  His first shot missed. His second hit, ripping somewhere into the kingpin’s chest. Montilla went down where he stood.

  Pandemonium erupted. Shouting ensued. Half the suits rushed to help their jefe.

  The other half turned their weapons on him.

  Trees thanked God for his long fucking legs as he jumped from the roof of one stable to the row north, crouching across shingles and tossing back potshots. If he could get to the last row, he stood a chance of escaping.

  Just before he leaped, two guards climbed onto the next roof ahead and stood directly in his path, balancing on the pitched surface with sinister grins.

  Trees’s gut dropped to his toes. He could take one guy out, no sweat. But the other one would blow his head off before he could fire again. Goddamn it.

  But he didn’t have any other options.

  He feinted and crouched, then zeroed in on the suit on the right, taking him out with a shot to the forehead. He moved as rapidly as he could, but by the time he aimed at the other guard, the goon had already locked him in his sights.

  Fuck. He was a dead man.

  As the thought zipped through his brain, another shot resounded. The gunman jerked and stumbled back. Blood splattered as he fell off the roof and plummeted to the ground, dead.

  Who the fuck had killed him?

  Trees didn’t waste time figuring it out. He jumped to the final roof. The rest of the guards swarmed in his direction, but the path between the hacienda and the open desert was clear. Moonlight dipped back behind the clouds, giving him some cover. He just might make it…

  He leapt to the ground beside the body. Zy appeared out of the shadows and pressed a finger to his lips. Trees was grateful but not surprised that his buddy had bailed him out. He and Zy had kept each other alive in more than one awful scrape.

  Zy tipped his head toward what looked like a garage around fifty yards in the distance, then disappeared behind some brush. Trees followed. They looped around the far side of the building, easing away from additional guards now coming in from the east corner of the estate. Pounding footsteps and heated shouts told Trees the guards had lost their trail.

  Less than two minutes later, they approached the garage and Zy spoke into his comm. “We’re coming in hot.”

  To his shock, no one was guarding the building. It wasn’t even locked.

  Zy rushed in, weapon drawn. But Hunter and Logan had already dispensed with a quartet of guards inside and now sat behind the wheel of a souped-up Jeep—with a mounted fifty cal on the back.

  It was a sweet fucking sight.

  Hunter turned the engine over, and Zy pressed the button on the wall to open the garage door. The second the vehicle was clear, the elder Edgington floored it. Zy got behind the gun, blasting away anyone who gave chase. Then the desert swallowed them up and they headed straight to the meet point—and safety.

  But Laila was still out there…somewhere, probably hunkering down with Victor. Warming his bed. Sucking his cock. Giving him her body. Trees wasn’t resting until he had her back.

  February 17

  Lafayette, Louisiana

  Trees paced his living room with restless energy. Barney watched from the sofa with confusion. And he probably wanted more food, since he was a typical dog.

  It had been ten long, fucking empty days since he’d returned from Mexico. Deke and Kimber were together with their children again. The family remained in hiding until they got some solid intel about whether Montilla had died by his gun.

  The colonel had come to visit him at the office more than once to express his gratitude. So had Jack Cole, who co-owned Oracle with Deke. The crafty Cajun had jokingly offered him a job, then insisted he wouldn’t dream of poaching from Hunter, Logan, and Joaquin. But he hadn’t sounded like he was kidding at all.

  Trees wasn’t interested in jumping ship.

  One-Mile and Brea had tied the knot in a small ceremony this past weekend. Trees hadn’t attended. Pictures had been nice, but he hadn’t felt like he could watch two people in love tie their lives together without snarling. Apparently, he’d been surly since their return from Mexico and his inability to find Laila had dragged on. Go figure.

  Zy and Tessa had moved in together. They were planning a wedding, too. Trees was thrilled for his buddy. Those two had endured a long, hard road to their happily ever after. They were great people with big hearts who deserved happiness. Which was exactly why the same would never happen for him.

  Besides, he still hadn’t seen or heard a single peep out of Laila since he’d left Mexico. Every attempt to trace her had come up empty. Victor Ramos was missing, too, so that fit. They’d holed up together somewhere, fucking their brains out. As much as Trees told himself that he didn’t miss Laila, he’d give anything to be the lucky guy between her legs.

  After he found out how and why she’d played him and he paid her back.

  Since returning from Mexico, he’d been on a couple of short missions, bodyguarded a TV personality’s son during his drunken Mardi Gras weekend, and spent the rest of the time preparing for the moment he got his hands on his pretty backstabbing Latina.

  Madison had called more than once. He hadn’t responded with more than a vague text to say he was drowning in work and would call when he could. He wasn’t fit to keep someone so kind and well-meaning company.

  He glanced at the clock. Almost ten. He couldn’t take another fucking sleepless night, burning for Laila as much as he seethed to shake her and fuck her so bad he could almost taste it. He didn’t want to dream about her again. He didn’t want to fixate on her anymore. All the polite ways of locating her weren’t working.

  Now he was going to get ruthless.

  Grabbing his gear and his keys, Trees gave Barney a pet on the head, set the house alarm he’d had painstakingly rebuilt once the plate glass window in his living room had been replaced, then hopped into his Hummer and headed to Lafayette.

  When he arrived at Zy’s apartment complex, he buzzed himself through the gate, using the guest code his buddy had given him. But he didn’t stop in front of Zy’s unit. Instead, he rolled two buildings down and parked, then made his way to the second floor, stopping in front of the door of Valeria’s safe house.

  Trees weighed the possibility that Kane would let him in to see Laila’s sister. Since everyone, especially the bosses, had refused to let him even speak to her on the phone, he figured his odds sucked. He’d been nothing short of a growling son of a bitch for the past week and a half. With every day that passed, his temper only got shorter, his mood snarlier. On the one hand, he understood their point. His personal shit wasn’t their client’s problem. On the other hand, Laila clearly thought they were done.

  She was fucking wrong.

  He crept up the stairs to the second-floor apartment and hopped onto the railing. Six feet away was a little balcony that led to the main bedroom. He knew the schematic of the unit; he’d looked it up online. He’d also bet that Kane was bunking down on the sofa or in the unit’s tiny office. The bedroom would be Valeria’s.

  Trees used the railing as a springboard and leapt to the balcony. He caught it with his hands, cursing under his breath. The wood needed a good sanding. Then he hoisted himself up and over.

  Once on his feet, the balcony groaned in protest. Yeah, it probably wasn’t used to anyone hanging out here in the shitty Louisiana humidity, especially someone his size. But with any luck, he wouldn’t be stuck outside for long.

  He yanked his multitool from his pocket. The lock was a little more difficult than expected. Someone had probably replaced it recently. But a few minutes and a handful of curses later, he peeked in, glimpsing Valeria dressed in black yoga pants and an overlarge T-shirt, leaning over a playpen, patting her son’s back.

  As he pushed the door open wide, it squeaked. She whirled around, her eyes widening when she caught sight of him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You know exactly why I’ve come. I want to see your sister.”

  “She does not want to see you.” Valeria crossed her arms as if that was the end of the conversation.

  Wrong.

  “So you’ve talked to her?”

  The woman didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. Trees knew. That meant Laila was alive and well. The relief that filled him pissed him off. He shouldn’t give a shit; she’d tossed her lot in with Victor Ramos, who had never wanted to love, honor, and cherish Laila for the rest of her life.

  He was even more pissed that she was still able to communicate…and had simply chosen not to contact him.

  Too bad. They were going to talk, even if he had to go to the ends of the earth to find her.

  First, he had to get through her protective older sister.

  “We have unfinished business,” he said.

  Valeria sniffed. “You merely want to get her into bed, as you always did. From the first moment you saw her, I knew. It was all over your face.”

  Trees didn’t bother denying the truth, merely opted for another tactic. “Aren’t you worried about her cozied up with Victor Ramos? He’s hardly a nice man.”

  “Neither are you.”

  “The difference is, I would never hurt her.” Maybe make her beg for orgasm until she screamed her throat raw, then withhold pleasure for the evil thrill of watching her twist and writhe for him, sure. But he would never truly hurt her.

  Trees sensed Valeria thinking and pressed his point home. “She’s your little sister, and she’s playing with big criminals, warming the bed of a cartel bigwig. Aren’t you fucking worried about her? About what Victor will do if he decides he’s done using her?”

  The small brunette crossed her arms over her chest, lifted her cleft chin, and paced to the other side of the room, licking her lips nervously.

  Like Laila, Valeria was his “type.” Little thing with curves and attitude. But he wasn’t remotely attracted to the woman. There was something about her that seemed hard, her exterior shell almost impenetrable. He didn’t sense any hint of vulnerability, the way he had in Laila. He didn’t see pain or uncertainty in her eyes.

  Instead, she sized him up and measured his worth.

  “She is…no longer with Victor. She has not been for over a week.”

  That shocked Trees to the core. He hadn’t expected Valeria to answer, much less to tell him anything useful.

  “Because?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Valeria shrugged. “What do you want with my sister?”

  Trees got the distinct impression Valeria would smell bullshit. “She owes me answers.”

  “Do you deny that you want her in your bed again?”

  So Laila had told her sister they’d had sex? “No.”

  The little boy in the playpen grunted and rolled over. The single mother glanced her son’s way, watching until he settled again. It was the only hint Trees had that Valeria had feelings at all.

  Finally, she faced him. “I overheard Zyron and Kane talking. Your friend seems to think my sister broke your heart.”

  Fuck.

  But her obvious bullshit meter, along with her arched brow, warned him not to be dishonest. “She did.”

  “Do you still have feelings for her?”

  Jesus, she wanted him to open his chest so she could inspect all the cuts her sister left? “Would I be here if I didn’t give a shit?”

  Valeria shrugged. “Revenge is a powerful motive.”

  It was, and he wanted it. But he couldn’t deny that some part of him wanted to make sure Laila was whole and safe—wanted to see it with his own two eyes—and protect her from the violent drug lords she continued to foolishly bait and taunt. “If you’re asking whether I’m in love with your sister, I am. But if you tell her that, I’ll deny it with my last breath.”

  Valeria was quiet another long moment. “All right. I will keep your secret and I will tell you where to find her, if you promise me that you will stop her from playing dangerous games with the cutthroats of Tierra Caliente.”

  There was nothing he wanted more. “Done. You call my bosses and demand that I retrieve her, and I’ll have Laila back in twenty-four hours.”

  Mexico

  Dawn painted the beach ethereal shades of pink, orange, and yellow. The water lapped at her toes. The coming Mexican spring had warmed the surf a bit since she’d arrived, but it still felt too cold.

  Like her heart.

  Day eleven without Trees. She still couldn’t decide what to do. Everything inside her wanted to rush back to him and throw herself into his arms, confess the video had been a lie, admit her feelings, and pray he forgave her. But that was impossible. She’d burned that bridge. Now she could only move forward.