Even so, when she arrived, she braided her long hair, wound it on top of her head, then plucked one of Daddy’s discarded ball caps from her backseat and pulled it low over her eyes.

  It took her less than five minutes to purchase a pregnancy test. The bored forty-something woman behind the register didn’t blink, just counted out her change and looked to the next customer in line.

  Bag in hand, Brea froze in indecision near the door. Drive the twenty minutes home to take the test? What if Daddy’s first day back at the church had proven overwhelming and he cut his day short to come home? Or what if she messed this test up and needed another one?

  She couldn’t risk it. Besides, she didn’t want to wait any longer than necessary to learn the truth.

  Head down, she slinked to the back of the store and found the ladies’ room. Thankfully, it was a restroom for one. She shut and locked the door, then tore into the box and scanned the instructions.

  As she washed her hands, they shook. Then she sat on the toilet with the test strip.

  A wave of nausea swamped her again—a combination of her nerves and the sharp scent of the antiseptic cleanser. She swallowed back another urge to vomit as she finished administering the test. Then she set the strip on her plastic bag strewn across the counter and bent to wash her hands again.

  She had to wait three minutes. It would be the longest one hundred eighty seconds of her life.

  But as soon as she rinsed the soap and dried her hands, she glanced at the test strip.

  Less than a minute had passed, and the result window was already displaying two solid pink lines.

  Pregnant.

  On a gut level, Brea had expected it, but she still found herself stunned. She looked at herself in the drugstore’s grimy, water-splotched mirror. “What am I going to do?”

  Her reflection had no reply.

  She broke down and sobbed.

  Everything in her life was about to change.

  Why hadn’t she insisted on a condom? Why hadn’t he ever used one?

  Maybe he just hadn’t cared. After all, he wasn’t the one pregnant now… He didn’t have to pick up the pieces or face his community or raise his child alone.

  The handle jiggled, then a light tap sounded at the door. “Someone in there?”

  “Just a minute,” she answered automatically, then gathered up the bag, box, and test before throwing them all in the garbage. Then she swiped away her tears, tried to plaster on a fake smile, and opened the door.

  As she walked out, a woman with a baby on her shoulder and a diaper bag in hand gave her a little smile. “Thanks.”

  Then the door closed. Brea was alone, with the rest of her life stretching out, endless and terrifying, in front of her.

  What was she going to do?

  She slid her hand over her still-flat belly and exhaled. Apparently, she was going to have a baby.

  But without hurting her father, jeopardizing her career, and tearing apart her community, how? And how would Pierce feel about this?

  Mechanically, Brea eased into her car and headed back to Sunset. Traffic was light. She didn’t remember the drive.

  When she reached home, she parked and ran into the house. She tore off her clothes and slid back into her pajamas. The house was so quiet. She felt utterly alone—shocked and scared. Eventually, she’d have to get up and face her problems like an adult, and she knew her tears were pointless. But right now she needed to shed them, just like she needed reassurance that somehow, someway, everything would be all right.

  She needed Cutter.

  He was in Dallas, working. Normally, she would never call while he was on the job. But he would hear and understand her like no one else.

  Brea grabbed her phone from the purse she’d discarded at the foot of her bed and dialed her best friend. Before he even answered, more tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Hey, Bre-bee.”

  “C-Cutter, hi. I hate to call you…but I could use an ear.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This is probably a bad time, and I’m sorry. Really. But I don’t know where else to turn.”

  “Slow down. It’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I woke up this morning and I felt horrible. I didn’t know what was wrong and then I… Ugh. I’m talking too much. But I’m afraid to just blurt everything. You’re going to be mad. Everyone will be shocked. Daddy will be disappointed. I just”—her breaths came so quick and shallow that she feared hyperventilating—“don’t know how to say this but…I think I’m pregnant.”

  “What?” he growled. “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “No. I bought a test at a drugstore in Lafayette and took it in their bathroom. I’m still in shock. B-but I’m shaking and I can’t stop crying. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Make an appointment today. Find out for sure. If you’re right, this isn’t going to go away.”

  “I can’t see Dr. Rawson. The first thing he’ll do is tell my dad. I know he’s not supposed to but…” She shook her head and tried to think of solutions instead of continuing to dump problems on him. “What about that clinic near your apartment?”

  “Fine. Call there. But you need to see a doctor before you make any decisions. I’ll go with you if you want. I’m home in a week. I promise not to confront Walker until then. But if you’re right—”

  “You can’t say or do anything to him.”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “He doesn’t know yet. He left on a mission last night, and I don’t know when he’ll be back. He’s gone after the guy who held him captive in Mexico, so I don’t even know if he’ll return in one piece. I’m worried.” She clutched the phone. “You have to promise me—”

  “That when he shows his ugly face I won’t kill him? I can’t promise that.”

  “Cutter, you aren’t helping.”

  “All right.” His voice took a gentle turn. “I promise we’ll figure this out. I’ll take care of you. I always have. I always will. And I hate to do this to you now, but I have to go.”

  “Are you in a situation?”

  “Client meeting.”

  She winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m glad you called me. As soon as I’m free, we’ll talk, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  The sudden silence in her ear told her that Cutter had ended the call. The sound was lonely and terrifying. And when she darkened her own device and tossed it on the bed, she lowered her head in her hands and started to cry again.

  Wednesday, October 29

  Orlando, Florida

  “You realize this is the work of our internal mole,” Hunter Edgington said over the phone.

  “I’d come to the same conclusion.” One-Mile paced the small bedroom in the thoroughly average house located in Orlando, itching to get out. “Who else knew you’d stashed Valeria Montilla on the outskirts of St. Louis?”

  “While she and her son lived there alone? Only Logan, Joaquin, and me. After we pulled Laila out of Montilla’s Mexican compound when we rescued you? We had to make all those last-minute arrangements to get her to Valeria’s, so the whole damn team knew.”

  “Which means we’re back to square one trying to figure out who the fucking traitor is.”

  “For now,” Hunter admitted. “But it appears you’ve relocated Valeria and her family to Florida without Montilla being any wiser.”

  At least something good had come out of this shit show. “Who on our team knows Valeria’s new location?”

  “Besides Logan and Joaquin? Just you.”

  “I suggest we keep it that way.”

  “That’s the consensus here. The fewer people who know, the better.”

  “Yep.” But it was bugging the shit out of One-Mile not to know who had tipped off Montilla about Valeria’s St. Louis safe house. Which asshole on his team couldn’t be trusted?

  It was also bugging the shit out of him to be away from Brea.

  When Hunter had called and said it was imperative he get to St. Louis and relocate Montilla’s estranged wife from her no-longer-safe house before sunrise, One-Mile had just asked Brea to move in with him. The timing of the mission had sucked. He’d hated leaving her so abruptly, especially right after dumping his daddy bullshit on her with no explanation. But she loved him, and he loved her. Lives had been on the line.

  So he’d left and caught a charter flight to St. Louis. By three thirty a.m., he’d been pounding on Valeria’s door. Telling her that the feds had spotted her estranged husband in the area hadn’t gone over well. Insisting the terrified woman pack up her infant son and her sister, along with whatever they could fit in his rented van so they could be gone before sunrise had been met with rants and tears. But she’d done it.

  For the next two days, he’d driven two tense women and a fussy baby halfway across the country to this rental in Orlando—and safety. But One-Mile was still on edge.

  He hadn’t talked much to Brea in almost a week. He hadn’t been worried at first. He’d been busy as hell until Sunday, and he’d known she spent that day with her dad and the church. But he’d only heard snippets from her on Monday and Tuesday. Yes, she’d locked his house up behind her. No, she wasn’t angry that he’d had to leave. Of course she wanted to talk when he got home.

  But there was something she wasn’t saying. Something bothering her. He was itching to get home and address it.

  “You haven’t seen any sign of Montilla since you arrived, right?” Hunter asked.

  “No.” He’d been in Orlando over seventy-two hours. And he knew damn well they hadn’t been followed. “I think the coast is clear. Do we have any idea where Montilla is now or if he’s figured out his wife has relocated?”

  “A few hours after you pulled out of St. Louis, he was spotted less than two miles from her safe house.”

  Closer than in previous sightings. But the asshole obviously hadn’t known his estranged wife’s location or he would have already torn the place apart. “But nothing since then?”

  “No.”

  That gave One-Mile an idea. “Did he come with his entourage?”

  “Since this is a personal thing, we think he’s alone. He has been every time he’s been spotted, according to the feds.”

  Perfect. “I want to go back to St. Louis and find him.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. You need to stay with the client. If we were going to send you after him, we’d have someone watching your back.”

  One-Mile scoffed. “You sent me in with Trees last time. Look how well that worked out.”

  “Without a heads-up from him, we wouldn’t have known you’d been captured for days.”

  “But how do you know he wasn’t the one who set me up? I won’t say his escape was convenient but…”

  Hunter didn’t have a comeback for that, which told One-Mile that possibility had crossed his mind.

  “Let me try,” he pressed again.

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Risk is what we do. Once Montilla figures out that Valeria and his son are gone, he might slink back over the border and it will be a shitload harder to reach him. She will never be safe until that fucker is dead or behind bars. We can make that happen. I can take care of him. Just give me a green light.”

  “No. You want revenge, and that’s not your mission. I won’t have you going off on some crusade. You’ll get your ass killed. You’ve barely been cleared to be back at work, and—”

  “This is bullshit,” One-Mile growled. “Why leave this son of a bitch on the loose?”

  “Because it’s the feds’ responsibility to hunt Montilla and kill him like the animal he is—not yours. And because I said to stay there another few days to make sure Valeria is settled and safe. We were hired to transition her, period.”

  “I’ve done that.”

  “So finish the fucking job before you haul off on your own agenda.”

  One-Mile didn’t like his pile-of-shit reasoning or his attitude.

  “When can I come home? I have more doctors’ appointments,” he lied.

  “Sunday.”

  That gave him four days to catch Montilla. If he succeeded, he’d be taking one more scumbag off his cartel throne and keeping Valeria’s family safe. If he died…well, no one at EM Security Management would care.

  But he hated leaving Brea behind.

  He’d compartmentalized his concerns, but pacing his ten-by-ten cookie-cutter cage with nothing to do… It was hard not to wonder what was running through her head. Was she upset? Shocked? Or just swamped?

  “Before you hang up, I got a question. Is Bryant in town?” And doing his best to smooth-talk Brea away from him?

  “Cutter is still in Dallas. I expect him home Friday. This morning, he got a goddamn concussion. Someone whacked him in the back of the head while he was peeing.”

  It was so ridiculous, One-Mile would have laughed except he knew it would annoy Hunter. The good news was, Cutter horning in on his woman wasn’t the reason for her distance. “Thanks. I’ll be home Sunday.”

  “Call me if you spot Montilla anywhere in Orlando.”

  “Sure.” But One-Mile’s gut said the drug lord was still sniffing around St. Louis, trying to pick up his wife’s scent. He wasn’t letting that fucker go.

  Hunter hung up. And One-Mile went back to pacing. How could he draw Montilla out? How could he get a jump on the sadistic asshole and stop his reign of violence? If One-Mile could get word to the drug lord about Valeria’s former safe house, he would be waiting… But they weren’t exactly pals, and he didn’t know who Montilla might be connected to in St. Louis.

  But they apparently had a mutual contact inside EM Security Management. Why not kill two motherfuckers with one missile?

  Question was, who on his own team should he take aim at? He was only going to get one shot at this…

  As much as One-Mile loathed the fucking Boy Scout, Cutter was too forthright and upstanding for this turncoat shit. That left Josiah, Zy, and Trees. Gut feeling? This wasn’t Josiah’s speed. He kept his nose clean and kept to himself. Zy seemed too busy chasing their receptionist’s skirt to pay attention to much else. Not that it had done him much good. Sure, Tessa stared at him like she might be interested in more than a friendly handshake, but they’d likely respected EM’s zero-tolerance policy with regard to fraternization—at least so far.

  One-Mile’s money was on Trees. But he needed a test…and after a few minutes of scheming, he came up with a plan.

  He dashed off an email asking Tessa to pass an attachment with the exact address and schematic of the St. Louis safe house to Trees. As a professional courtesy, of course, since they’d gone to Acapulco together. Naturally, he left out the part about it being abandoned. He’d also included a note that he’d debrief everyone else when he got back into town.

  Like hell.

  The communication would look more official going through the office, so Trees was more likely to take it at face value. Their efficient little receptionist would do as requested without asking questions. And Hunter wouldn’t find out until later…if he found out at all.

  This was a win-win. If Montilla turned up at Valeria’s former address in the next few days, then he’d have a fucker to mete justice to and a two-timing rat to expose.

  He’d deal accordingly.

  But he had to jet back to St. Louis now. Tessa wouldn’t forward that email until she came into the office at eight tomorrow morning. Which meant he’d likely see Montilla in twenty-four hours or less.

  One-Mile intended to be ready.

  After throwing all his belongings back into his duffel, he opened the door and prowled through the dusky shadows. Laila sat in front of the TV.

  She glanced over at him, then down at the bag in his hand. “You’re leaving.”

  He nodded. “Where’s your sister?”

  “Napping with the baby.”

  “I need you to listen to me. I’m going to St. Louis to track this motherfucker down.”

  Laila nodded solemnly, but he saw her relief. “Thank you. Will you kill him?”

  “I’d like to.” But the US government wanted Montilla. If he offed the drug lord on US soil for any reason other than self-defense, they’d crucify him and haul him off to jail. “At the very least, I’m going to get him off your back. Here’s my number. If he turns up here, get out and call me immediately. Do you have a gun?”

  “I am not supposed to.”

  Because she wasn’t in the country legally. He shook his head. “That isn’t what I asked. Do you have one?”

  Finally, she nodded. “I keep it loaded. Because of the baby in the house, my sister is against it…”

  “Keep it up high and keep the safety on. He hasn’t started walking yet, so he shouldn’t be able to find it and hurt himself. But never put it more than five feet from you. Never let the battery on your phone die. Watch everyone around you everywhere you go. Sleep with one eye open.”

  “I already do.”

  One-Mile wasn’t surprised. After all the abuse she’d endured at Montilla’s compound, she probably trusted no one.

  His face softened. “You should start seeing a counselor.”

  She recoiled. “I would rather forget.”

  “You’re not going to without help. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that.” He didn’t press any more. He wasn’t here to harp on her. “If anything happens, especially if you see Montilla, call me. Day or night.”

  Laila nodded. “Thank you. I am glad you are the one who came to move us. It made me feel safe.”

  Because he’d had her naked and chosen not to touch her? Probably. He wished he could erase what those assholes had done to her.

  “Take care.”

  Then he was gone. Once they had unpacked the rental, he’d returned the van, so he took a taxi straight to the airport and finagled a seat on the next flight, which left in less than two hours. After a layover, he would arrive in St. Louis in the wee hours of the morning.