HOMEGROWN

True Colors: Book Thirteen

Carolina Mac & D.K. Mac

Copyright © 2025 by Carolina Mac & D.K. Mac

HOMEGROWN  - 1st ed.

ISBN – 978-1-990882-78-4

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Homegrown: Grown or produced in one’s own country.

― OXFORD DICTIONARIES

CONTENTS

Cast of Characters

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Cast of Characters

President of the United States

Lee Armstrong

Chief of Staff

Carter Levalley

Head of Secret Service for the President

Dan Black

Vice President of the United States

Yvonne Harrison

Chief Advisor to the Vice President

Chet Kamps

Vice President’s Chief of Staff

Audry Lingosi

Head of Secret Service for the Vice President

Jerry Jeff Hubbard

Secretary of State

Jesse Quantrall

Director of the NSA

Blaine Dunnett

Director of the CIA

Benjamin Vipond

Senator from Florida

Johnathan Hoffman

DOJ Asset Attached to the White House

Marshal Thomas Donovan

DOJ Asset Undercover

Marshal Rob Dakota

President of the White Trash Prison Gang

Cletus Donovan

Vice President of White Trash Prison Gang

Crazy Kenny Hughes

Chapter One

Saturday, May 3rd.

Hoffman Residence. Naples. Florida.

The beer tray rattled as Melanie Hoffman placed it on the table, her hands trembling.

“Jesus, Melanie. Why’d you take so long with our drinks?” Senator John Hoffman growled, leaning back in his chair. “We’re working up one hell of a thirst talking about that bitch of a vice president we’re saddled with.”

Melanie’s breath hitched. “Sorry, John. There was someone at the door.”

The Senator stilled. The air shifted.

He flicked a glance at his guests—then stood.

Melanie took a step back.

Hoffman grabbed her arm, jerking her forward.

“How many fuckin’ times do I have to tell you, Mel?” His fingers dug into her skin, bruising. “Answering the door is Frieda’s job. You’re the lady of the house. She’s the hired help. That’s why we pay her.”

Melanie shook like a leaf.

“I’m sorry, John.” Her voice wavered. “It won’t happen again.”

He let her go—only to slap her ass so hard she stumbled forward.

“It better not.” He chuckled as she all but fled through the garden doors.

Silence.

The Senator turned back to his guests and smirked.

“Where were we, Trent?”

Trent Wilde set his beer down, slow and deliberate. His scarred knuckles curled around the glass.

“You were about to reveal your master plan to get rid of the vice president.”

Hoffman leaned back, cigar dangling from his lips. “Ah, yes. Major Harrison. We’ll deal with Vice President Harrison when the time is right.”

Smoke curled in the night air.

“If everything goes to plan, her days in the West Wing will be short.”

Trent’s teeth—the ones he still had—flashed in a grin. “Won’t she be surprised.”

Hoffman exhaled, watching the smoke coil. “She will be. But we’re not there yet. We need to keep working on the Glade River project.”

Trent nodded, shifting in his chair.

“What’s our headcount so far?”

“Seventy-five men.” Trent cracked his knuckles. “And our recruiters are zig-zagging across the country. In the South, we’re signing up recruits by the dozens.”

Hoffman’s eyes glinted with something cold. Calculated.

“Once our training camp is up and running, that number will explode. My goal? Five hundred loyal soldiers.”

Trent’s grin widened. “Loyal’s the key word, Senator. We’re building an army that won’t hesitate.”

“Optimism is a valuable trait, Trent. Helps you breeze through setbacks.”

Trent grunted, running a hand under his sweat-stained cap. “Ain’t had any of those yet, boss.”

Hoffman flicked ash into the wind. “No, we haven’t. But that doesn’t guarantee we won’t.”

He smiled, cold and knowing.

“And when setbacks come? We crush them. Nothing will stop us. Nothing.”

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

Nice warm Saturday morning and I was at home on the farm with my kids. We were building a pen for their sheep so Wooly and Polly could be outside for the summer.

Lincoln had turned four years old on April first and Simka celebrated her birthday on the same day. My baby girl was kinda tiny and Ellis didn’t think she was quite four, but we had no way of knowing her exact birthday, so the two of us decided Simka was four on the same day as Linc and we had a two-fer party.

I hadn’t worked for a couple of months, and I was into staying home with the kids and being a farmer. It was the cat’s ass.

I worked some and so did Lukas. We rode with Farrell on the squad when they were short or if they were doing any big raids on clubhouses we pitched in and busted heads. Like that.

Made Farrell and Blacky happy to have us along, and it was something for us to do to keep our hands in the game and stay sharp.

Three nights a week I sang. Thursday and Saturday at Boots and Friday nights at T ‘n T in downtown Austin.

Annie and I were at a standstill. We’d been through so much. I’d stepped back for Mateo, then that didn’t work out for Annie when Mateo discovered an entire side of her that he wasn’t aware of—the political Annie. He didn’t know her at all and decided to go back home to Panama and the MC that he had worked all his life for.

Annie was in limbo. She had no idea if Mateo was ever coming back.

She didn’t cry much, not out loud anyway, but you could see it in her—how she moved slower and smiled less. She said she needed to figure things out on her own this time. She even encouraged me to start dating again.

I wasn’t sure I had it in me. The idea felt strange, like trying on someone else’s boots—too stiff, not broken in. Still, sometimes, when the house was quiet and the night stretched long, I’d catch myself wondering what it’d be like to start over. Not just with anyone. But with someone who already understood the mess of it all. Someone who didn’t flinch when things got real.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Yvonne and Kamps shared the large office in the vice president’s official residence. A testament to how well they’d been getting along. Both of them had been making significant strides both in their political and personal lives.

She had become the heavy in the West Wing and everybody knew it. Decisions had to be made and when it came down to the wire, Lee looked to her.

The vice president was in the news almost every day—articles and pictures—overshadowing Armstrong, but he preferred staying in the background and didn’t mind saying so.

Yvonne had taken over in the press room for Number One and become the new darling of the Washington media. The vice president was accessible and free with comments, and the press ate it up.

The attention coming Yvonne’s way wasn’t all favorable. It never was with a public figure. Threats began showing up on her email almost daily, and she handed them over to her Secret Service detail.

Agent in charge was a good old southern boy named Jerry Jeff Hubbard, and he took every threat and tore it apart with Kamps watching over his shoulder.

With every threat showing up, Kamps got more antsy. “You need a personal bodyguard, Yvonne.”

“I have four of them. Jerry Jeff is very protective.”

Kamps scowled. “If something were to happen, I’m not sure he’d be enough.”

“Nothing is going to happen, Chet. I’m well protected and most of the time I’m inside the White House working. My number of public appearances are few and far between.”

“Have you mentioned the threats to the president?”

“No, and I’m not going to. Just another thing for him to worry about and we both know it’s going to be touch and go for him to make it to the end of his term.”

“He’ll make it. He has to.”

“You see him every day like I do, and you must notice things. He’s in a lot of pain from all of his injuries and the prescribed medication makes him a little wonky some days.”

“Of course, but it could also be pressure. How can one person withstand the immense pressure the top office puts on you for four fuckin’ years? It’s just too long.”

“Are you counting the days until we’re finished?”

“No,” said Kamps. “I’m enjoying my job, and I never thought I’d say those words when I first said I’d try it. Thanks for making me do it, Vonnie.” He flashed her a rare smile.

“No thanks needed. I did it more for me than for you. Selfish reasons. You’re the one holding me up there like Lady Liberty. They think it’s me, but it’s you, honey. We both know that. All those brilliant decisions I make every day of the week, those are decisions made by the great brain on this team and that ain’t me.”

“You have input in every decision we make, Yvonne. There wasn’t one decision we’ve made that you weren’t part of.”

“Okay. We’re a team.” She laughed. “I can live with that.”

Everglades Parkway. South Florida.

Trent was glad he was behind the wheel of his own Jeep and not some soulless rental. He’d modified it for off-roading, and that was exactly what they needed for this run into the Everglades.

Garth and Randy rode in the back. Senator Hoffman rode shotgun.

“This’ll be the only time I’ll be with y’all at Glade River, boys,” the senator said, peering ahead through the humid windshield. “Wanted one last look before I handed everything over to Trent.” He grinned across the console. “I’m sure he’ll rely heavily on you boys to help him with this historic undertaking.”

Wilde—Trent—was just shy of forty, and more than half his life had been spent in the military. Training men, breaking them down, building them back up. Hoffman didn’t dance around why he recruited him. He expected results. And he was paying triple what the U.S. Army ever had.

Trent didn’t ask too many questions. He’d signed the NDA without reading it. People like Hoffman didn’t waste time explaining their motives. And Trent didn’t waste time worrying about them.

“The land I bought has no formal address, Trent, so this will be the only time I’ll be here to show y’all how to get to our property. If I were you, I’d record the directions in detail, or you might never find your way back here again to the place where you’ll be spending the next six months to a year.”

“You think it will take us that long to get ready?” asked Garth from the back seat.

“I’m sure it will,” said the senator, “and even if you are ready before that, the time may not be right for us to make our move. If it’s not a good time, y’all may be on hold for a period of time until we can make our biggest impact.”

“Timing is everything.”

“Whatever you say, sir. You’re the boss,” Garth said.

Glade River Road. Everglades. Florida.

Hoffman pointed ahead. “Hard right at mile marker fifty-seven, Trent. It’s coming up.”

Trent made the turn off the Everglades Parkway. The road—if you could call it that—was hidden in the dense swamp. Overgrown cypress trees loomed overhead, filtering the sun into hazy green light.

The path ahead wasn’t on any map. In fact, they were already deep enough that the GPS was just a blank screen.

“Not even the satellites can find us,” muttered Trent. “Guess the map lady ain’t been down here either, boss.”

Hoffman chuckled. “No need for her to be, Trent. No sane person would ever venture off the highway as far as we’re going to go.”

Randy piped up from the back seat, “When you bought the property, boss, you come across any of the big snakes? I heard there’s a mean fuckin’ mess of them out here.”

“I didn’t see any, Randy, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I’ve been influential obtaining money for Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation in their ongoing battle against the pythons.”

“They the people in charge of the snakes, boss?”

“In charge of maintaining the natural balance in the swamp—the ecosystem—and sadly that entails removing the Burmese Pythons because they are not indigenous to Florida. They have to be removed and there are only so many that can be placed in zoos and aquariums across the country. The rest have to be eliminated.”

“I’d just as soon eliminate the fuckers,” said Randy.

“Slow down,” Hoffman said, scanning the trees. “Turn is up ahead.”

Trent eased off the gas. “How can you tell? All of these Cypress trees look the same.”

“That’s the point. I took every precaution. But if you know where to look, you’ll find the marker I put at the base of a cypress,” Hoffman said.

Trent frowned at the senator. “But how can you tell, sir?”

“We’re about six miles in, right?”

Trent looked at his odometer, a trick he learned from the army. “Five point one miles in, sir. Is six our target?”

Senator Hoffman flipped over the scrap of paper he was holding in his hand. “I was sure I wrote the mileage down so this wouldn’t happen.”

Trent stopped the Jeep and threw it into park. “Let me have a look at your map.” Hoffman handed it to him over the console and Trent stared for a minute.

“Yep you did make a note of the mileage, boss. It’s right here on the edge of the map. Six point two miles before a right turn. I don’t think we’ve gone far enough.”

“As long as we haven’t passed it.”

Before he could say anything else, Garth opened the door and hopped out.

“Where the hell are you going?” Trent barked, instinctive command in his voice.

Garth waved a hand over his shoulder. “Gotta take a leak. Been holding it since the turnoff.”

“Stay close to the Jeep,” Hoffman warned. “This swamp isn’t a goddamn park trail.”

“Relax,” Garth laughed. “I’ll water one of these pretty cypress trees.”

Trent leaned out the window. “Piss on the dirt, not the water. You don’t want to rile something up out here.”

But Garth just laughed again, stepped over a tree root, and unzipped by the water’s edge. “As if a gator’s gonna come flying out and snatch me. That’s only in the movies.”

He threw his head back and laughed harder.

That’s when the water erupted.

A massive gator surged from the algae-covered shallows like a torpedo—silent, fast, prehistoric fury and muscle. Garth had time to scream once before hungry jaws clamped onto his thigh and flipped him effortlessly into the swamp.

Splash.

“Garth.” Randy shouted, scrambling toward the door.

“Stay in the Jeep,” Trent snapped. His voice had the sharp edge of a drill sergeant barking through live rounds. He reached for his sidearm, but the surface of the swamp had already stilled.

Trent jammed the Jeep into gear and drove off.

“You can’t just leave him,” Randy yelled.

“He’s gone. The water’s already calm. That gator took him deep, did his death roll and tucked him away for a late-night snack.”

“You don’t know that. Back up. We have to try.”

“Are you questioning me, soldier?”

“No, sir,” Randy mumbled.

“There’s the marker,” Hoffman said, calm as ever, pointing through the windshield. “Turn right on that two-track.”

Trent slowed the Jeep to a crawl as he turned, trying not to slide into the swamp.

Randy jumped out before Trent could stop him, boots thudding as he sprinted back to the spot where Garth had disappeared.

Trent didn’t even slow down. He made the turn and continued along, tires crunching over soft muck and twigs. “He’ll see for himself. Kid’s dead.”

Fifteen minutes later, Randy reappeared. He jogged slowly, panting, his face pale and wet with sweat. Trent stopped, and Randy climbed into the Jeep without a word.

“It’s like he was never there,” he muttered.

“Garth was a good man,” Hoffman said. “But that’s a lesson: this place is unforgiving. Use caution.”

“If it’s so fuckin’ dangerous,” Randy growled, “why would anyone sign up to train here?”

Hoffman grinned deviously. “If you pay them enough, they’ll go anywhere. Even a swamp.”

“We’ll build it right,” Trent said. “Barracks, patrols, fires. Keep the gators away. It’ll be a fortress.”

Randy didn’t answer. Just stared out the window.

“How far in on this trail?” Trent asked.

Hoffman handed him the scrap of paper again.

“Four point three miles,” Trent announced as they bounced along. 

Hoffman smiled, looking ahead. “Once we hit the clearing, you’ll see.”

“I hope you didn’t pay too much for this land, boss,” Randy muttered.

Hoffman chuckled. “Didn’t pay much at all. Practically got it for free.”

Branches scraped the sides of the Jeep as they moved deeper into the swamp. The trail was mostly washed out—at times, little more than a muddy trench filled with stagnant water.

Finally, they broke into a clearing, bright and dry under the brutal sun.

Trent exhaled and parked. “We made it.” He jumped out, did a quick three-sixty and took in all of the flat, dry acreage in the clearing. “You’re right, Senator—this will work.”

Hoffman nodded.

Birds shrieked overhead—bright, exotic, and loud enough to drown out thought.

Randy peeled his shirt off and tossed it inside. “Must be over a hundred degrees in this swamp.”

“Try again, soldier,” Trent said, his voice clipped. “From this moment on, there will be no guessing. You’re either accurate or silent, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Randy pulled out his phone. “Temperature is one hundred-thirteen-degrees Fahrenheit, sir.”

Trent grinned. “Much better. Thank you, private.”

This will work just fine, indeed.

Chapter Two

Sunday, May 4th.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

First ray of light through my bedroom window and my eyes opened. I lay there and listened. Not a sound in the house. Perfect.

I pulled on my barn clothes, tip-toed downstairs and sneaked outside with Alfie.

He wasn’t as quiet as me, but he tried.

I tied up my trainers on the porch steps with Alfie sitting beside me.

“Let’s go, boy.”

We jogged down the lane all the way to the back of my forty acres and back to the barn. I’d been thinking of buying more land, but the ranch next to me wasn’t for sale.

Maybe I’d wander over and have a chat to that guy.

The barn door squeaked when I pushed it open, and I put oiling the hinges on my mental list. Inside, I unlocked my gun room and sat down at my cleaning table to catch my breath.

Alfie lapped up a lot of water from his bowl, then laid on his mat.

“Good run, boy.”

When I started spending more time in the gun room, I bought another coffee maker and this morning it came in handy. I fired it up and while waiting for the brew, I pulled out my secret notebook to go over the names once more.

During the many times I’d worked at the Cap, I’d had a lot of wait time in the West Wing and I got to know a few people working there. I watched them, and kept track of which ones were the liars and which ones were the cheaters—siphoning off government money for their own use. They were robbing the people they were supposed to be serving.

I considered them worse than home invaders and carjackers because at least a carjacker was upfront about what he was doing. Not these fuckers.

Slipperier than snot on a chicken’s lip.

I started making notes.

Now that Yvonne was VP, she was in a position to do something about the people on my list. As soon as I prioritized the names, she’d get her chance.

Step one: Activate Kamps’s people and see what they can come up with. He has listeners everywhere, and we already started this stage a while ago. Kamps had been compiling the information and waiting for me to give the go-ahead on someone.

Step two:  Give Kamps the go-ahead to do a deep dive into one person at a time. His role was to verify what his people had heard or seen. We started this before he became Vonnie’s advisor, but he confirmed he was still in.

Step three: Put the evidence in front of Yvonne. Leave it up to her to remove that person from their lofty government position, call the FBI and send them to jail.

 Yvonne and I had talked about it in the past, but the time wasn’t right then. She would’ve had to go through Lee to spearhead the investigation, and nothing would’ve happened. Time was right now.

It was go-time.

I picked the name I figured was one of the worst—one that offended me for personal reasons—and called Kamps. He’d be up if I was up. He was ahead of me. I was on Texas time.

“Kamps.”

“Hey, did the boss give you the day off?”

“Not a day off, Thomas, but a day I don’t have to wear a fuckin’ tie and go to the West Wing. Always a good day when I can stay home and work here.”

“Going over my liars and cheaters list this morning, Kamps, and I think you should start on this guy—Ron Ryerson.”

“What’s he been doing to piss you off and get on your exclusive list?”

“He’s living off the taxpayers money he’s stealing from the government.”

“I’m sure there are dozens of men in D.C. doing that.”

“There are, and we have to rout them out for Yvonne. We talked about it.”

The clicking of Kamps’s keyboard indicated he was checking his notes on Ron Ryerson.

“I have Mister Ryerson’s file open. Based on my information, there are a few things that might be questionable. What have you learned on your side?”

“I know for sure he’s doing it. Emily’s been watching him, and she told me. All I want you to do is find some solid evidence to prove it. Something worthy of an arrest. When you get that, take it to Yvonne and roll the ball.”

“Sounds like it might take a bit of time. What department does Ron work for? You mentioned Emily, so he must be near the kitchen. Did you meet him? You must have or he wouldn’t be on your list.”

“He works downstairs and he’s in charge of the budget and the ordering for the kitchen and for the Navy Mess.”

Kamps hummed as he thought. “And what does Emily think he’s doing? According to the notes my people provided, he’s a family man who lives in Georgetown and drives a Lexus. Nothing is popping out at me, although his lifestyle might be a smidge high for his pay grade. Maybe he’s a good investor.”

“He hit on Emily more than once and she doesn’t like him or trust him. She told me she thought he was putting in false orders and wasting a lot of money.  I started watching him a bit and Emily is right. The guy is a sleaze and he’s getting rich on kickbacks from the suppliers.”

“That just a guess—about the payoffs?”

“Yeah, for now I’m guessing, but Emily isn’t. She said it was the gospel.”

“We’ll start our crusade with Ron Ryerson then and see where it takes us. I’ll start my investigation by listing every company that supplies Emily and the Navy Mess and work from there.”

“Thanks, Kamps. I know this ain’t a fat cat, but Emily was pissed, and she’s a friend. I don’t like seeing her upset like that. We just need some evidence to prove it. Something worthy of an arrest.”

“This guy sounds like a good place to start.” Kamps chuckled. “This is gonna be fun and a nice break from my usual boring stuff.”

I laughed. “That’s always my goal, Kamps, to keep you having fun.”

Huntsville Prison. Huntsville. Texas.

Big John Mackie, captain of the guards at Huntsville Prison, stood a foot back from the bars and grinned. He had released hundreds of prisoners in his day, and if he was a betting man—and he was—he’d put a grand down on Cletus winding up back in jail within a few months.

“It’s your big day, Cletus,” Captain John said. “I know I should wish you luck and tell you how much we’re gonna miss your ugly fuckin’ face, but that would be a waste of air. Anyone who’s met you knows you’ll be back here in a few weeks, raising hell and stirring up shit like you were never gone.”

“Fuck off, John.”

The guard laughed. “Such harsh words. Maybe I should report you for assaulting me and we’d be blessed with your company for another nickel.”

“Got to hell, pencil-dick. You try any of that and you’re a dead man.”

“There we go.” The guard gave a big belly laugh. “A death threat. That’s what I was looking for.”

Cletus realized, too late, that he needed to shut up if he wanted to get out of prison today. He stepped back and lowered his voice. “Just give me my clothes, John, would ya? All I wanna do is get out of here.”

The guard shoved the bag of clothes through the slot and Cletus didn’t bother thanking him.

“You’ve got twenty minutes until I come back for you.”

The inmates in block four were already chanting like they did when one of their own was being set free.

His clothes had been freshly laundered and smelled better than his prison clothes. Maybe that was a perk when they released you. Springtime fresh.

Twenty minutes later, the guard returned with the Deputy Warden. Cletus heard them at the door, and he tossed his butt into the toilet. The steel door clicked and then opened. Cletus picked up his bag.

“All set, Cletus?” asked Warden Finnegan.

“Yep.”

A big cheer went up as Cletus strode through the run and passed by his buddies. Some of them he’d known for twenty years, most not that long. A lot of guys weren’t made of the right stuff to last inside, but Cletus was. Every last one of the guys in this cell block belonged to his gang—White Trash.

From this moment forward, he’d be running the gang from the outside and his VP, Crazy Kenny Hughes would be his eyes and ears inside the Red Wall.

He slapped a few hands sticking through the food tray slots of their cells and shouted out his goodbyes. They all knew their jobs.

A five-minute stop at the warden’s office to sign the release papers and he was done.

He stepped out the front door and the Texas sun almost fuckin’ blinded him. Hot already too. Something to get used to for more than an hour a day.

Maybe it was the fact that he was free, but everything seemed more intense.

A guard escorted him to the gate. With a keening sound, the gate opened slowly, and Cletus couldn’t wait for it to open all the way. He squeezed through as soon as there was enough room for him to get out.

Glanced around for his ride and spotted the Brotherhood six-pack parked on the road. Cletus grinned and jogged towards them.

“What ya say, Bear?”

“Welcome back, Cletus. Get the fuck on, and let’s get gone.”

Cletus hopped on behind him.

Six Harley engines revved up, and they were gone.

Private Residence. White House. D.C.

Lee Armstrong valued his Sundays. The only day he had a chance of having time to himself. The stress of his position and the physical injuries that went hand in hand with multiple assassination attempts had taken a huge toll on him.

I don’t feel young enough to do this job anymore. How did the older presidents in the past do it? Am I being a whiner?

Ted sat down at the dining room table and smiled at his brother. “I’m all packed, Lee.”

“I don’t want you and Stretch to go. First time in my life I’ve been dreading the arrival of spring.”

“I stayed over the winter like you wanted me to Lee, and now it’s May. We agreed I’d leave at the first of May.”

“We agreed way back in the winter, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for you to leave, Ted. I’m used to you and Stretch living with me, and I don’t think I can go it alone. In fact, I’m sure I can’t.”

“You did it before and you can get used to it again. When you’re able to take a few days off, come and stay with me on the mountain. It will be restorative for your body and your soul.”

“I’m not sure anything would help me get back to feeling good again. There are too many scars and too many aches and pains.”

“Now that the good weather is here, you should start a walking program. That would help a lot with the stiffness in your legs.”

Lee nodded. “I can talk to the physio lady about that. She may think it’s a good idea.”

“I’m sure she’s in favor of at least moderate exercise for you.”

“With Tommy at home in Texas and not working, I feel like I’ve lost half my family.”

“You can always go to Tommy’s farm for a few days. How many times has he invited you?”

“Too many to count. I just can’t seem to find the time.”

“Give more of your workload to Yvonne. She’s doing a great job, isn’t she?”

Lee smiled. “She is amazing, and now that Chet Kamps has joined her team, she’s dynamite. The two of them together are a force to be reckoned with. They’re both intelligent and self-assured, making quick decisions and accomplishing more in a day than I do in a week. They’re shouldering the motherload right now, and I can’t unload any more on them.”

“Do you think Yvonne and Kamps are back together…as a couple?”

Lee paused to think about it. “I don’t think so, Ted. It didn’t work out for them two or three times already. They work well together, and I don’t think there’s any more. Why do you ask? Are you interested in Yvonne?”

Ted chuckled. “I like her, but there’s no point in me being interested in anyone. Who would give up their way of life to live with me on Purple Mountain?”

“I’m sure someone would.” Lee laughed and waved the Post at Ted. “You could put an ad in the paper for a mountain girl.”

“Yeah, like I’d do that.”

Elgin Feeds and Supply. Texas.

We needed a few things from the feed store and the kids loved going there so I took them with me for a Sunday outing. Simka rode in the baby seat at the front of the cart because she was much smaller and Linc rode in the cart itself.

He laughed every time I put something in the cart beside him. The big bag of dog food cut down on his space by about half.

I was stopped in the middle of an aisle reading my feed order and adding to it when a pretty girl turned the corner and crashed her cart into ours.

“Crash, Daddy,” hollered Linc.

“Oh, so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I didn’t hurt your children did I?”

“Nope. Didn’t bother them at all.”

“You’re Tommy Donovan, aren’t you? I’ve seen you sing at Boots and Saddles. Love your music.”

“Thanks.”

“I think I heard you say a while ago you were working on your second CD. Will it be out soon?”

“Yeah, it will be. I’ve been off work for a month and managed to get it finished.”

“Wonderful. Will it be for sale at Boots when it comes out?”

“Yep. Boots and T ‘n T downtown. Those are the two places I sing locally.”

She held out her hand. “I’m Mary Micanovic.”

“Nice to meet you, Mary. This is Lincoln and this beautiful girl is Simka.”

“Are these your kids?”

“Yep. Two four-year-olds keep me busy.” I could see the question in her eyes. She wanted to ask me if I had a wife and how I could have two four-year-olds who obviously weren’t twins.

Wait for it…

“I’d better finish my shopping and get home. Nice to meet you in person, Tommy.”

“Same.”

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler.

The kids were worn out when we got home from our shopping trip. Ellis gave them a snack and put them down for a nap.

I helped myself to a Shiners and sat in my office to think about the girl I’d met at the feed store. She was pretty enough, but I wasn’t attracted to her in any way.

Is this the way it’s going to be for me from now on?

Farrell came for Sunday dinner like he’d been doing ever since he and Ellis made up. Lincoln told him a long story about the girl who crashed into us at the feed store. He was so excited that you could only understand every couple of words but watching him flail around like he got hit by a semi was hilarious. Even Simka joined in, failing about like a dancing inflatable tube man at a used car dealership.

Lincoln’s stories always sent Farrell into fits of laughter.

“Great story, buddy.” Farrell turned to me and said, “That’s the way women on the make do it these days. Mostly at the supermarket, but they could crash you at the feedstore, too.”

“I don’t think she did it on purpose.”

Farrell gave me the are-you-stupid look. “Tell me the first thing she said…after sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“After that, she said, aren’t you Tommy Donovan?”

“See. Told you.”

Ellis laughed.

“Did you ask for her number?” asked Farrell.

“No. I didn’t want her number.”

“Why not? She obviously wanted yours.”

I shrugged. “I’m not looking right now. Dating is too fuckin’ stressful.”

“It’s not stressful if you’re with the right person.” He turned and beamed a simpy smile at Ellis.

“Before I take somebody out, I want to have at least a tiny bit of interest in them.”

“Of course you do, honey,” said Ellis. “You’ll meet the right person, and it will all feel natural.”

“I hope you’re right, Ellis.”

Thinking that Farrell might have been right about the girl at the feedstore, I thought a bit more about Annie saying I should start dating again.

Not keen on putting myself out there after all the mistakes I’d made. I thought I was in love and wanted to marry Doctor Marla McMahon and look how that turned out. I didn’t know a thing about her and when I found out what she was really like, I didn’t like her at all.

I showered and got cleaned up and went for a drive down route ninety-five to Jane’s.

“I’ll drink a beer. Look around and call it a night. Tell Farrell I was out looking for a date. That’ll keep him happy for at least a couple of weeks.”

Calamity Jane’s Roadhouse. Sayersville.

If roadhouses had ratings, Boots would be near the top and Jane’s would be middle to lower. More bikers hung out at Jane’s, and it was rougher than some of the other roadhouses in the area.

Two or three guys sitting at the bar. I grabbed an empty stool and ordered a pitcher of Shiners. No band here except on special occasions, but the recorded music was good enough for the two-steppers.

The dance floor was crowded, and they seemed to be having a time. I wasn’t there to dance and didn’t expect to. Didn’t know too many people from Sayersville. Most of the Predators I used to know when I worked gangs were dead or patched over to the Flatirons. Life goes on.

I picked this place for exactly that reason. I wouldn’t know anybody. Wouldn’t see any girls that interested me but could say I tried.

I’m doing this for you and Annie, Farrell.

I had barely poured my second glass when a mess of hollering and shouting erupted in the middle of the dance floor. Too many people in the way for me to see what was going on from my stool at the bar, so I ignored it.

After my last op, I promised myself no fights. I had to protect what was left of my brain until everything healed.

Assuming it did heal.

Then, I heard a woman screaming somethin’ fierce.

She was in trouble. I could just tell.

Fuck.

“Watch my beer,” I told the bartender.

Against my better judgment, I hopped off my stool and pushed through the crowd.

One of the Flatirons had a handful of some girl’s hair and was tugging her toward his table. Some cowboy had hold of her arm to stop that from happening.

The cowboy was being a good guy, but he was also about to get his Stetson shoved up his ass. Sideways.

Scanned the area quickly and knew I’d be okay.

“Let her go,” I shouted.

The cowboy was fuckin’ drunk and changed his stance to face me, still holding the girl’s arm. “Fuck off. This ain’t your business.”

I grinned. “It is now. Let her go.”

The cowboy’s face screwed up in rage. “Fu—"

Never talk when you should be fightin’. One of Max’s golden rules.

I smashed that cowboy hard. His nose exploded, and he sailed back, collapsing against the half-wall.

Before he hit the floor, my Eagle was out and against the biker’s forehead. “Release her and go sit down. You can either finish your beer, or I can drag your ass to jail.”

The big Flatiron biker hissed, “Make m—”

Max’s rule number one, all over again.

I caved in the bridge of his nose with my gun butt. Blood gushed down his chubby cheeks as he staggered back. I pointed my gun at the biker again and called in my unsuspecting reinforcement.

“Sutton,” I bellowed, “come get control over this asshole. I know he’s one of yours. I’m tryin’ to give him a chance, but he just ain’t listenin’.”

The president of the club took four long strides across the dance floor, took one look at the situation and nodded. “I’ve got him, Donovan. No more trouble. Just a misunderstanding, ain’t it, Tiny?”

Big biker nodded.

“I’ll take you at your word, Denny. This one time. Enjoy your evening.”

Denny Sutton grabbed his guy and shoved him toward their table, whispering threats as they moved.

The girl stood in front of me sobbing and I put my arm around her. “Where’s your table, darlin?”

Tears had messed up her mascara, but that aside I could tell at a glance how beautiful she was. Coppery skin like Sundance and long black hair.

“I’m sitting over there with friends, but I think I’ve had enough fun for one night.”

“You need a ride home? I’m leaving now, and I can drop you.”

She looked at me, frightened. “No thanks. I’ll figure something out.”

I flashed her my creds. “I’m Tommy Donovan. I’m a U.S. Marshal and Texas Ranger. You’re safe now.”

“You’re a cop?”

“I am, indeed,” I said with a smile.

“You look so young to be a cop, but I thought you might be, based on the way you talked to those bikers.” She half-smiled as she looked sideways at me. “I guess I’ll be safe enough with you.”

“Tell your friends I’m taking you home, so they won’t worry.”

“Thanks. I’ll get my purse and my jacket.”

I took her out to my truck and handed her in.

“Thank you, Tommy. My name is Fala.”

“Fala. That’s Cherokee, ain’t it?”

“How did you know that?”

“My son is Comanche. His mother died in childbirth, and I had to look up a lot of names. I wanted to pick one to honor her heritage. His middle name is Quanah, for chief and I named him Lincoln after my dead brother.”

“I’m so sorry about your wife.”

“It’s okay. Linc is four now and we’re doing okay.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Can I ask you a question, Fala?”

She looked at me, eyebrows raised. Attitude. “Is this where you ask me out?”

I chuckled. “No, this is where I ask where you live. That’s kinda important when I’m driving you home.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. You’re being so nice, and I was being a bitch. I live in the trailer park outside of Paige. You know it?”

“Sure do. Have you there in a jiff.”

“Can I ask you a question?” She asked.

“Is this where you ask me out?”

We both laughed, and I could tell she finally relaxed.

“I was thinking about your son and what he might look like with a blond father like you.”

I laughed. “He doesn’t look like me at all. He looks like Sundance.”

“Interesting,” she said. “Maybe when we stop, you could show me a picture of him?”

“Love to, but why?”

“I’m interested in everything, and everybody related to our indigenous people. I work for Indian Affairs in Austin.”

“Then I’m happy to oblige. I’m interested in Indian Affairs because of my son and his heritage. I have to protect his rights for his future.”

She giggled. “We need all the allies we can get.”

I knew it was true. It was a tough go.

Fala pointed out the trailer where she lived with her brother, and I pulled into the driveway behind a ten-year-old Ford pickup.

“You have a long drive into Austin every morning. That must wear you down.”

“It’s brutal, but I can’t afford an apartment in Austin. Besides, I’m not a city person. I work there, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

“Don’t blame you. I live on a little farm outside of Butler, and I love it there.”

She reached for the door handle, and I said, “Just hold on. I’ll come around and help you out. It’s a big step down, and you have heels on.”

“Such a gentleman,” she teased. “I should’ve worn boots, but I didn’t know where my friends were taking me. It was my first visit to Calamity Jane’s.”

I laughed. “Probably your last. I hardly ever go there. Must have been the Fates that sent me there… because I met you.”

As I helped her down, she rested her hands on my arms. “Agreed. The Fates work in mysterious ways, and the fact that both of us were there when we normally wouldn’t be, I think they’re trying to tell us something.”

“Maybe they are, Fala,” I said.

We stood closer than two people who had just met probably should, but there was something there. I could feel it.

“Listen—I swore I wouldn’t rush into anything again, but would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

Her dazzling smile knocked my socks off. “I’d really like that, Marshal Tommy Donovan, but I should tell you that I swore off impulsive dating, too. So, if we’re going out, can we make it simple and casual? No fancy restaurants and fine dining. That isn’t me.”

“Me either. Tell you what—how about dinner at my place? That way, you can meet the kids, and it’s easy for both of us.”

“You have more children than your son?”

“A daughter as well. Same age. Long story that can wait till dinner.”

“I look forward to it. You’re an interesting man, Tommy. Two kids, single dad—wait. Who’s looking after them now?”

“No one,” I said. “I just duct tape them to the wall till I get home.”

Her beautiful eyes grew so wide I thought they’d pop out of her head.

I belly-laughed. “Kidding. My nanny is home with them. She’ll be making dinner when you come over, so don’t go thinking I’m some kinda cook ‘cause I ain’t.”

Fala laughed nervously. “Whew. I thought you were some kind of psycho. It’s always the good-looking sweet talkers, am I right?”

I’m a good-lookin’ sweet talker. Ain’t that somethin’.

“Why don’t we exchange numbers, and I’ll call you?”

She put her number in my phone, and I did the same.

“I’m looking forward to your call,” she said. She lingered for only a moment before she turned and went inside.

Goddamn, I wanted to kiss Fala.

Glad I didn’t, though.

No more rushing into things. Gotta think things through.

I chuckled to myself.

Why change now?

Chapter Three

Monday, May 5th.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

I couldn’t get Fala out of my mind.

I went to sleep thinking about her, and when I woke up, she was still there. She was the first person I’d met in months who I liked right off and actually gave a shit about.

After starting the coffee, I sat at the island in the kitchen thinking about having her over for dinner. She was a quiet person. Serious and mature, like someone who hasn’t had an easy time of it.

I wondered what Jesse knew about Indian Affairs at the Cap in Austin. Probably a bit from his time as governor of Texas.

I’ll call him in D.C. later.

Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

Annie was awake but not out of bed when Jesse called her from his office in the Truman Building. “Hey, cowboy. How are things going at the State Department?”

“Not bad, Ace. Lots of work but things have been moving at a slower pace for me and I’m grateful for that. Let an old man catch his breath.” He laughed.

“When are you coming home for a visit? I miss you and I’m sure the kids do too.”

“I try not to feel guilty about being separated from the kids, but it’s hard not to. I tell myself they would hate living in Washington. I truly believe the ranch is the best place for them to be.”

“Absolutely it is, sugar. Don’t uproot them for the wrong reasons.”

“I should be able to block off a few days around the Memorial Day weekend and come home. Until I get there, I need a favor, Ace.”

“Sure, anything.”

“I realize you’ve been to see Ty and he doesn’t know you, but would you mind going to the ranch and talking to him?”

“Anything special you’re looking for?”

“You know him better than anyone and you’ll be able to tell if he’s making progress or drifting away from us again. My greatest fear is he’ll fade out again and we’ll lose him for good.”

“I’ll go this afternoon and let you know what I think.”

“Appreciate it, Ace. You having your picnic on Memorial Day?”

“Thinking about it, but there is an exhausting amount of work getting ready for it.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“But it’s a Coulter-Ross tradition,” said Annie, “and I hate letting people down.”

“But still a helluva lot of work for you.”

“See how energetic I am when it gets closer. Even if I decide against it, you can still come over for a beer on my porch.”

“I’d like that, Ace. Miss you a lot.”

“Same.”

Oval Office. West Wing. D.C.

Lee sat behind the Resolute desk wallowing in his feelings of abandonment and loneliness. Ted and Stretch had gone to the airport right after breakfast and Lee knew the Residence would be totally empty from this point forward.

He dreaded going upstairs to face the silence when his workday ended.

Yvonne entered the office, and he shook off the sadness he was drowning in. “Morning, Lee. You ready to go over today’s schedule?”

“I’m ready.” He gave her a weak smile.

“You okay?”

Lee’s heavy sigh told Yvonne this would be a lengthy complaint.

For a grown man, he creates so much of his own drama.

“Ted left for Texas right after breakfast and I’m so used to him and Stretch being with me upstairs, I’m not sure I can stand living alone again.”

“Aw, that’s sad. It’s been so wonderful having Ted around. He’s such an upbeat person. We’re all going to miss him.”

Lee tried to change the subject. “Chet didn’t come with you this morning?”

“No. He’s got a lot of research to do today, and he’d rather work at home where it’s quiet. He says he gets more done there than in his office here.”

Lee held his hands up in surrender. “By all means, let the man work. He has accomplished so much already. If a little silence will help him even more, then we should support him.”

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Kamps settled into his home office with his mug of coffee and a snack that Roy brought him from the kitchen. His door was closed so he could focus.

He began a spreadsheet listing every company under contract with the White House, One Observatory Circle, and the U.S. Government buildings in D.C. The list was extensive, but there was a lot of overlap, as well, which made it somewhat easier.

Collating the raw data was a start, but he also had to cross-reference everything with their target individual, Ron Ryerson. If he was using his position for personal gain, then they might be able to use the same process to root out the others on Tommy’s list.

If we’re going to do this right, we need to do everything by the book so that it will pass scrutiny in court.

I’m gonna need a lawyer, but no one attached to the White House.

The legal team attached to the administration was highly qualified and thorough, but Kamps couldn’t risk using any of them.

They needed to remain at arm’s-length until it was time for an arrest. By then, Kamps would have solid evidence that couldn’t be buried, covered up or disputed in any way.

He pondered who he could reach out to, and the answer was there before the question had a chance to steep in his brain.

“Hey, boss. I’m working on something on the side for Tommy, and we could use a bit of help.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need a lawyer.”

Blacky hesitated. “What have you two done this time, Kamps?”

Chet chuckled. “Nothing, yet. We need a lawyer for guidance, to make sure everything we do is legal and above board, so it will stand up in a court of law.”

“Hmm. You’ve piqued my attention. Tell me what you’re up to, and I’ll see how I can help.”

“I’ll tell you what he’s trying to do.” Kamps went into detail on Tommy’s list and gave Blacky the overview of the project.

“Huh. I’m amazed and I continually underestimate Tommy. I’ll send someone to help you.”

“Thanks, boss.”

“Do you have room for her to stay with y’all out of sight?”

“Thirty-three rooms. Text me when she’s coming. I’ll clear it with Yvonne and have Roy pick her up. Housekeeping will get one of the guestrooms ready for her. She have a name?”

“Samantha Whitaker.”

“Jotting it down so I don’t forget.”

“I just hired her for Powell and Associates. Couldn’t pass her up. She’s fuckin’ brilliant and I had to hire her, but at the moment I don’t have an office for her. She’s aggressive, Kamps. This will be a great assignment for her.”

“Let me know when she’s coming my way.”

“I’ll go downtown and talk to her today.”

“Appreciate it, boss.”

Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.

The drive to Jesse’s ranch was usually something that Annie enjoyed. Passing the pasture fields of horses, the well-manicured lawns of ranches and the sweet, fresh Texas air blowing into her truck.

Today, the drive was more difficult and with every passing mile, the dread inside her deepened. She and Tyler had been married for many years in the past before the onset of his brain tumor. She hated seeing him in his current state—barely alive. He didn’t even recognize her when he came out of the coma.

Tyler’s present state broke her heart.

She went to the house first and spoke to Molly, the housekeeper. They caught up a little and Annie asked, “How has Tyler been since he came home from the hospital?”

“Physically, he’s fine, Annie, but he’s not our Tyler.” Tears filled her eyes, and she wiped them away with the tail of her white apron.

“Jesse called from D.C. and asked me to check on Ty and do a little evaluation. He sits in his big office in Washington and does nothing but worry about Tyler and the kids.”

“I miss him so much,” said Molly. “Jesse is the rock that holds this family together.”

Before Molly’s tears made Annie feel any worse, she jogged to the barn and found Tyler in one of the stalls brushing his horse.

She leaned on the door of the stall and smiled at him. “Hi, Tyler.”

“Oh, hi. I didn’t hear you come in. The barn door usually squeaks and gives me a heads up.” He laughed and Annie choked back a sob.

Fumbling for a reason to talk to him, she used the obvious. “Do you have any new foals I can look at?”

Huge smile. “Sure do. I’ll show you our new babies. We’ve got some beauties this spring.”

As he walked her from stall to stall, Tyler talked non-stop about the horses. They were his life.

Annie waited and hoped, but it never happened. Never once did he call her by name.

The tour was over, and Tyler walked Annie out. As they reached the door, Paul returned from the second barn.

Annie spoke quickly before Paul had a chance to grab her in a hug or let on he knew her. “Tyler was kind enough to show me your new foals. Y’all have some with markings to die for. Two in particular that I’m interested in.”

Paul recognized Annie’s business tone and nodded, “We lucked out this season. Drop by again and have another look when they get a little bigger.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

Annie got into her truck and couldn’t hold back the tears.

No new relationships for me. I’ll never stop loving Tyler or Tommy, but I can’t take the emotional stress anymore. Too many broken promises and I don’t want to hurt anyone else.

Powell and Associates. Downtown Austin.

Blaine made a rare appearance at his legal office downtown. Not bothering to dress up, he walked into the high-end reception area wearing torn jeans, a Harley T-shirt and a blue bandana wrapped around his head keeping his long hair out of his eyes. Lexi was on a leash beside him.

“Where did you put Miss Whitaker, Chantal?”

“For the time being, she’s sharing with Miss Thompson, in the paralegal office, Ranger Blackmore.”

“Send her into my office, would you, Chantal?”

“Sure thing. Can I give Lexi a biscuit? I hardly ever see her anymore.”

“Sure. We have time for that, don’t we Lex?”

The huge Newfie sat and held up a big paw for Chantal. “She’s so adorable.”

Blaine walked down the carpeted corridor to his corner office and opened the door. He stopped and gazed around before entering, the space always had such strong reminders of his step-father, Dave Powell, it was hard to bear.

A couple of deep breaths and he sat down at the polished desk. Not a thing on it but a couple of pictures. One of Dave and Annie. One of Misty, Carm and the kids.

The silver letter opener.

Holding the opener in his hand, he stared at the wall of law books on the other side of the room. Didn’t notice Chantal come in with Samantha Whitaker.

“You wanted to see me, Ranger Blackmore-Powell?”

“Have a seat, Miss Whitaker.”

Tall and blond, Samantha Whitaker was worthy of a magazine cover. That’s how most men saw her.

It only took Blacky a few minutes during their initial interview to realize how intelligent she was. As the interview had progressed, she mentioned some of the other careers she had been interested in—brain surgeon, geneticist—and Blacky voiced his thanks that she chose criminal law.

The fact that she’d read and had copies of every publication Blaine had ever written had nothing to do with him hiring her.

“I spoke with a colleague in Washington this morning and I have an assignment there for you, if you’re willing to take it on.”

She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Washington, D.C.?”

“That’s the one.”

“Can you tell me a bit about what I’d be doing if I accepted the job?”

“No, I can’t. A highly classified project that you won’t be read into until your security level is raised.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Could be boring and frustrating as well,” said Blaine. “The very nature of the challenge tells me that.”

“Not too boring, I hope. Would I be working in conjunction with one of the alphabet agencies?”

“No. Directly for Vice President Harrison’s senior advisor.”

Samantha’s eyes widened. “Mister Kamps? I’ve seen his picture with the vice president, and I’ve read some of the interviews he’s given. He seems like a knowledgeable person, although I couldn’t find out what schools he attended when I researched.”

“He’s one in a billion, that guy, and I’ll let him tell you his story. I think you’d get along well with him. Full disclosure—you’ll have to live in D.C. at the VP’s residence, and you’ll have to keep a low profile. Any thoughts or questions so far?”

“I’m intrigued. When would I leave?”

“Giving you time to pack and get ready, I’ll book your flight for tomorrow morning. You’ll be picked up at the airport and as I said, you’ll be staying at the vice-president’s residence and working from there.”

“I’m undercover?”

“Let’s just say no one needs to know why you’re there. If you have to come back to Texas for any reason before the job is completed, I’ll arrange it.” He laughed. “You won’t be a prisoner.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Have you been to the capital before?”

“No. I haven’t traveled much. Concentrated on obtaining my law degree and then getting hands-on experience.”

“Washington in the spring is supposed to be lovely,” said Blaine. “You’ll enjoy the property at One Observatory Circle. Do you run or jog?”

“Yes. I run.”

“The VP’s Residence has a jogging path and a pool.”

“Sounds like a resort.” She laughed.

Blaine stood up. “Take the rest of the day to get ready and I’ll let Mister Kamps know what flight you’ll be on tomorrow. Watch your email and I’ll send you all the particulars as soon as I have them.”

“I can’t imagine why you chose me for this assignment, but I’m grateful you have faith in me, sir. You haven’t known me long enough to evaluate my work.”

“It has always been my belief that the person is more important than what any piece of paper says. Diplomas and degrees are nice, but there are certain things you can’t teach. I know you’re brilliant and driven, just like my friend Chet Kamps. That’s why I think you’ll be exactly what he needs to move this project forward. Enjoy your time at the Cap, Miss Whitaker.”

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler.

When the kids went down for their afternoon nap, I took a break of my own and had coffee and cookies with Ellis in the kitchen.

“Last night I went to Calamity Jane’s for a beer figuring that would be a place where nobody knew me, and I could drink in peace. Partly so Farrell would stop harping on me to go out and find a date and the funny thing was, I met somebody.”

Ellis smiled. “You sound excited about it and that’s progress.”

“I didn’t exactly meet her or pick her up, she was in a bit of trouble, and I helped her. That’s how we met.”

“Damsel in distress meeting.” Ellis beamed a big smile across the table at me.

“Yeah, all of that. She’s kind of shy and quiet, so I was thinking I’d invite her here to have dinner with us. She didn’t seem to want to go out, and I figured I didn’t really, either. Would that be okay with you?”

Ellis laughed. “Of course it’s okay. This is your house. What would you like me to make?”

“Whatever you think is best. Everything you make is great, Ellis.”

“Thanks for that. When were you thinking?”

“Do you think tomorrow night would be too soon?”

“Not at all. I’ll go to the market today and easily be ready for tomorrow night. Why don’t you text your friend and see if that works for her?”

“My friend?”

“Well, you never mentioned her name.”

“Sorry. I was so excited, I musta forgot. Her name is Fala, and she’s Cherokee. We kinda bonded over Linc’s heritage.”

“Excellent. Why don’t you text Fala and find out if tomorrow night works for her?”

I stared at my phone, wondering what to say to a person I didn’t know.

Best just to dive in sometimes.

“Hey. It’s Tommy from last night. Remember?”

It took her a moment to reply back.

“Of course, I remember. What’s up?”

“How about dinner at my place tomorrow night?”

She answered quickly this time.

“I’m not sure I should.”

I wasn’t giving up.

“We can go to a restaurant instead if you want. I just figured you’d like it quiet. Don’t worry. The kids will be here. Ellis and maybe Farrell, my cousin, too”.

“Sounds like a full house. I’ll come. What time?”

“Six-ish?”

“That’ll work.”

“Want me to pick you up? Paige isn’t far.”

“Butler is on my way home from work. I’ll drive. What should I bring?”

“Bring? Nothin’. Just happy you’re comin’. I’ll send you my address for your GPS.”

“Thanks. I want to see your children and get to know you. You seem nice. Thank you for inviting me.”

I knew I was grinning like an idiot, but I couldn’t stop. “She’s gonna come, Ellis. She said I seemed nice.”

“You are an excellent human being, Tommy Donovan. She will be lucky to know you.”

“Do you think so? Nobody ever said that before. Not even once.”

“Well, I said it and I mean it. What time do you want to have dinner?”

I shrugged. “Six, maybe? Does that sound okay?”

“Sure. Let’s decide what we’re going to serve, and I’ll make the grocery list.”

“You can be in charge of that. Do we have enough money in the household account?”

Ellis laughed. “There’s always money in that account, Tommy. You put it in there every month and I never use it all.”

“I put it in because I don’t want you to run out. If that happens, you should mention it.”

“I’ll mention it. Tell me what Fala looks like.”

“She’s beautiful with long black hair and big eyes. Not too tall. Medium height I guess. She works at the Cap in Austin in Indian Affairs.”

“Ooh, that’s interesting.”

“Ain’t it? I’m gonna call Jesse and talk to him about that because he worked at the Cap in Austin when he was Governor of Texas.”

“You’re talking about Jesse Quantrall, the Secretary of State?”

“Uh huh. He’s a good guy and our neighbor when he’s home.”

“I’m sure he is. I’ve seen him on TV and he’s a very handsome man.”

“If Farrell’s ever a dick to you again, I’ll introduce you to Jesse.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Ellis giggled.

Harry S. Truman Building. D.C.

Olivia brought Jesse his morning coffee and slid into the chair across from his desk. She did this often—gave him the daily update while he got his caffeine fix.

Today was mainly about Charlie.

“He’s doing well,” she said, “but he won’t be back for at least another week.”

“That’s fine. We’ll manage.”

“His assistant seems to be handling the workload.”

Jesse nodded, eyes on his coffee. Olivia crossed her legs and sipped from her mug, stylish as ever, calm as a Sunday morning, watching him. Waiting for something more.

Jesse had been carrying a thought for months. A stupid, dangerous idea. And today, for whatever reason, he decided to finally say it out loud.

“Olivia, I have a terrible idea that I want to run past you.”

“Yes, sir?”

He huffed. “I really shouldn’t—”

She grinned. “Just go ahead and say it. Nothing leaves this room.”

He looked up at her. She wasn’t teasing him. Not really. There was something knowing in her eyes—like she’d already guessed what he was going to say.

“Fine,” he said. “I know this is inappropriate and a terrible idea, but… would you consider having dinner with me? At my place.”

She tilted her head. “Your place, sir?”

“I’m sorry—I just… there’s no way I can take you out in public around here without setting off a firestorm. But I thought maybe… dinner. Quiet. Every now and then.” He glanced down at his coffee. “I had a feeling you might be into it. What do you think?”

She laughed softly. “You’re right, sir.”

“I am?”

“You are. This is a horrible idea. We shouldn’t even consider it.”

His heart sank like a stone. For a second, he thought about what it would mean to keep doing this job alone. What it meant to keep pretending he wasn’t tired. That he didn’t miss home. That he didn’t need anyone.

And then she looked at him over her mug, smile tucked behind the rim.

“What night works for you?” she asked quietly, lifting one eyebrow.

Jesse blinked—then grinned like a damn schoolboy. The laugh that came out of him was half nerves, half disbelief.

“How about tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow works perfectly,” she said. “What are you making?”

“I’ll cook one day,” he said, “but if we want something edible and on time, we’re relying on Lynette. She’s a wizard in the kitchen and loves any excuse to feed someone.”

Olivia stood, still smiling. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Jesse's phone buzzed on his desk and the screen lit up. Ace of Hearts.

Olivia saw it, too, and gestured toward the door. “It’s your ex-wife. I’ll leave you be.”

“Just wait—” Jesse started. “I sent her out to the ranch to check on my brother, that’s all.”

Olivia waved a hand. Unbothered. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

And she meant it. That’s what made her dangerous.
Strong women weren’t threatened by ghosts.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Jesse’s chest ached in that slow, quiet way that always showed up after something good.

He could lose his job for this.

He knew it.

The press would eat him alive, and Lee would likely wash his hands of the whole mess.

But if this thing with Olivia was real? If it could grow into something steady, something solid—he’d give up all of it. Go back to Texas. Buy back the quiet and the stars and the freedom to love someone without rules.

He picked up the phone, “Ace, how did it go with Tyler?”

“He was friendly and sweet and showed me all the new foals—and you do have some beauties. He doesn’t recognize me, cowboy, and that’s heart-breaking for me, but other than that, he seems well. I wouldn’t worry too much. This may be as good as he’s going to get, and we have to be thankful to have him back.”

“We do, Ace. You’re right. I’m thankful for small miracles where Ty is concerned. Thanks for driving out to Quantrall.”

“No problem, sugar. I want to keep tabs on Tyler myself.”

Jesse ended the call to Annie and Tommy was on the line. “Hey, Tommy. What’s up in Texas?”

“I met somebody, boss, and I need help.”

Love is in the air.

“How can I help you, son?”

“This girl works at Indian Affairs at the Cap in Austin. Just wondered who you knew there—like for future reference.”

Jesse laughed. “You’re planning on seeing this girl and you’re vetting her?”

“I am. I like her.”

“Let me think about who I knew there when I was governor. I’ll make a list and email it to you, son.”

“Thanks, boss. I’m just trying to find out…like if you know her boss or any shit like that.”

“A fishing expedition?”

“Yeah, one of those.”

“I’ll wrack my brain and try to come up with something for you, kiddo. I’m missing Texas more every day and it makes me wonder if I can make it to the end of my term.”

“You and Lee both. He’s always saying that.”

“Glad I’m not the only one.”

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Yvonne arrived home late to One Observatory Circle, as was too often the case lately.

The staff always had a hot, fresh meal ready upon her return, complete with a glass of her favorite white wine.

As she dined alone and sipped her wine in silence, Chet came down from his office to take advantage of a captive audience.

“Hey, Vonnie. Another late one for you.”

“Yep, and I’m glad I’m home. I can leave all of that behind for a few hours before I have to start over again in the morning.”

Kamps cringed. “Then I hate to ask, but I need to talk to you about a project I’ve been working on for Tommy that’s moved to the forefront.”

Yvonne simply nodded.

“You’re aware of his list and how he plans to clean up where he can.”

“He’s spoken to me several times about it, but he’s never mentioned any specific people he wants to get rid of.”

“Now he has, and he’s starting with waste in the White House and specifically with Ron Ryerson.”

“I don’t know him, but I know who he is,” said Yvonne. “I’ve passed him in the corridor. So many people work at the White House, I only know a few.”

“I’ve done some preliminary digging, got a complete list of suppliers and copies of the contracts,” said Kamps. “I can’t spend all my time on it because most of my focus is on you and what you’re working on, so…I asked Blacky for help.”

“Why Blacky? I’m sure we could find someone nearby that could help you?”

“I wanted someone who isn’t known in D.C. An outsider, who could look at everything with untainted perspective.”

“You must think there is a sound basis for Tommy’s suspicion, or you wouldn’t have done that,” said Yvonne.

“I never doubted Tommy found out something specific—criminally specific—about each person on his list. He watches and listens and gathers information and keeps it to himself. He knows things. It’s not a guess. And now it’s time for the next step.”

Yvonne poured herself another glass of wine. “And are you receiving help?”

“Blacky is sending help in the form of a lawyer from his firm in Austin. He chose her, so I believe she’ll be exactly what I need.”

She grinned as she swirled her glass. “By the way you’re avoiding the obvious question, I’m going to assume you want her to stay here and work out of this residence.”

“She has to be invisible until the arrests are made.”

It could have been the tension of the day, but Yvonne could feel herself building into an argument, which she didn’t want. After several concentrated breaths, she spoke. “I’ll admit that I’m not thrilled with my home becoming the nerve center for this investigation or that we need outside legal advice to achieve our goals, but I believe it’s for the greater good, so I’ll put up with it.”

Kamps let out the breath he was holding. “Thanks, Vonnie. We won’t let you down.”

“Now that I’m involved, I want every name on Tommy’s list thoroughly researched so that we can arrest and expose every guilty person.”

“I’m sure that’s Tommy’s end goal as well. He’s always trying to help Lee’s administration, although Lee doesn’t see it most of the time,” said Kamps with a laugh.

“His intentions always come from the heart,” said Yvonne. “Good or bad, they are things he thinks must be done.”

Kamps nodded. “Agreed.”

An hour later Blacky called with flight details for Samantha Whitaker and Kamps hollered for Roy.

“Do we now know what time your helper is coming, Chet?”

“I just texted you the details, Roy. Her flight is landing at Regan, not Dulles, at noon. One of the drivers will take you.”

“Okay. I already told Martha to prepare a guest room for her. She may want to rest and unpack when she gets here.”

“I’m counting on you to make Samantha Whitaker feel welcome tomorrow. Yvonne won’t be here and I’m not good at shit like that.”

Roy smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be the best welcoming committee she has ever seen.”

Kamps rolled his eyes. “Just try to be normal, okay?”

Roy harrumphed. “You wouldn’t know normal if it bit you in the ass, Chet Kamps.”

Kamps chuckled.

“Shut up, Roy.”

Chapter Four

Tuesday, May 6th.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

I woke up thinking about Fala coming for dinner and my heart beat a little faster. It might turn out to be nothing, and that would be okay. I wasn’t going to get sucked into another Ricki situation. No way I needed a girlfriend that bad.

That made me think about the expensive ring still sitting on my dresser. Forgot to see if I could return it, but I probably couldn’t take it back now. You snooze, you lose.

The kids were still sleeping when I went downstairs to start the coffee and have a smoke out on the porch. Great weather now and I wanted to get the kids outside a lot more.

Ellis had her garden planted and the kids each had a little garden of their own. Flags sticking up in the rows with a picture of what they planted. They couldn’t read yet, but they knew what was in every row. It was going to be a great summer.

Alfie ran around inside the fence, and I didn’t have to worry about him running onto the county road or getting lost. If we wanted to go for a longer run, I had to open the gate to the back lane. Safety precaution. Lots of those.

As I sat on the porch thinking about Fala coming over, I realized Ellis hadn’t mentioned Farrell joining us for dinner and maybe it would be best just the three of us for starters. Fala was shy and Farrell might scare her off. He could be intimidating.

I checked my super watch to see how many hours it would be before she got here. Not soon enough.

Farrington Residence. Georgetown. D.C.

Lynette poured Jesse another cup of coffee as he read the paper. “Will there be anything else, Mister Quantrall?”

Jesse had insisted that Lynette call him by his first name, being the good old country boy that he was. Lynette, however, would have none of it. If he didn’t want to be called by his title in his own home, that was fine, she said, but he still deserved a level of respect, and she would call him Mister Quantrall.

And that was the end of that.

“I finally did it, Lynette. I invited someone over for dinner.”

“When, sir?”

“Tonight. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I panicked in the heat of the moment.”

Lynette giggled. “Is this a female guest, sir?”

Jesse wasn’t sure if he was blushing, but he sure felt like it. “It is.”

“Then your panic is understandable, sir. I’ll dash to the market as soon as you leave for work. Is there anything special you’d like me to make?”

“No. The meals you serve are always stellar, Lynette. Make anything you’d like.”

Lynette smiled. “I’ll use Mister Farrington’s good china when I set the table. He liked to save it for special occasions.”

“I’m sure he would approve, Lynette, and I think Olivia would appreciate it, as well. She’s a classy lady.”

Lynette stopped what she was doing. “Olivia, your assistant, sir?”

“I know it’s not appropriate to date a subordinate, Lynette, but we seem to have a connection. I think she feels it, too. Frankly, I’d be willing to let all of this go if this is the real thing.”

Lynette listened, then grinned. “That’s quite a bold statement, sir, and quite romantic. I suppose that as long as you like her, that’s what matters most.”

“I hope that’s enough.”

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Yvonne sat across from Chet at the breakfast table, her nails drumming an uneven rhythm against the wood. The sound was soft, but insistent—like a clock ticking down before a bomb went off.

Kamps kept glancing up at her over his coffee, waiting. She stayed quiet, staring past him, lips pressed tight. “I’m a bit nervous about our guest arriving today, Chet.”

“I thought you were in favor of Tommy’s cleanup.”

“Definitely in favor. I want every person on his list investigated and if proven to be guilty, I want them fired and criminal charges laid. It’s the best way to set an example and demonstrate that cheating the public will not be tolerated by this administration.”

“Then you’re aligned with Tommy’s goal.”

She nodded, but it was a weak, reluctant gesture.

“On the other hand,” she murmured, “I don’t want Lee to find out we’re doing this behind his back. He’s already stretched thin, and he hates being kept in the dark.”

Kamps leaned back in his chair. “We could tell him… but let’s be honest—if this unfolds at a snail’s pace, he’ll lose his mind waiting for results. That’s why I’ve kept it off the books. I’ll only work on it when I’ve got a spare minute.”

Yvonne gave a short laugh. “And you have so few of those to begin with.”

“Exactly. Hence the help arriving today.”

She looked away, then back at him, slower this time. She understood the logic. That wasn’t the problem. It was the weight of carrying secrets, of wondering how long before Lee found out—and whether he'd see this as a betrayal or a benefit.

“Fine,” she said finally. “I see her value. But as soon as you’re close to nailing someone, we need to tell Lee. He cannot learn about this through the news cycle.”

“I agree.” Kamps gave her a measured look. “Until then—” He paused and let the moment settle. “It’s just us.”

Yvonne nodded, but a knot still sat in her chest. "Just us," she echoed softly.

Ronald Regan Airport. Virginia.

Yvonne was in her office at the White House and Chet was working in his office at home when it was time for Roy to go to the airport and pick up their guest.

The driver parked at the front entrance of the terminal in a restricted zone—flags flying—while Roy ran inside in search of Samantha Whitaker. He had no idea what the woman looked like, so he self-consciously held up the sign Kamps had printed off.

All the passengers from the Texas flight hurried through the doors into the arrivals’ lounge and none of them acknowledged the name on his card.

Roy waited another ten minutes, and he was ready to give up when a beautiful blonde woman came rushing towards him.

“So, sorry. I’m Samantha Whitaker. They lost my luggage, and I had to send them looking for it.”

This woman was not what Roy expected. She was too pretty and too put together to fit into his pre-conceived notion of what lady lawyers looked like.

“I’m glad they found your suitcases for you. I’m Roy, your welcoming committee.”

“Nice to meet you, Roy.” She laughed as they shook hands like old friends. “You know who I am.”

“I have a car out front waiting for us. Let me push that cart for you.”

“Thank you, Roy. Do you work for the vice president too?”

“I don’t consider it work. I love taking care of Yvonne. We’re best friends.”

Waiting with the trunk up, the driver stowed Samantha’s luggage and smiled at her. “Welcome to Washington, Miss Whitaker.”

“Thank you so much.” She climbed into the back seat with Roy and let go of a lot of tension.

Roy patted her arm. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of you. It’s what I’m good at.”

“Thank you for that, Roy, but I can’t help worrying a little. I’ve been told nothing about the job I’m expected to do for the vice president.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. I’m just the welcoming committee.”

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

Thoughts about Fala coming for dinner were in my head most of the day. When it was time for her to be finished work and on her way here, I worried she’d have trouble with the gate.

“Come on, Alfie. Want to go wait at the gate for Fala?”

She got off work at five and was coming for dinner at six, but Austin traffic could be brutal at rush hour, and she’d never make it to my farm in an hour.

At ten after six, she turned into my lane, and I opened the gate for her and hopped into the passenger seat. “Hi, Fala. I’m glad you could make it.”

“I never imagined you would have such security, Tommy. Big gate, iron fence and security cameras. Should I be worried?”

I chuckled nervously. “Not at all. I’m just protecting my family. Call me paranoid.”

She laughed. “No worries. I suppose more people should be thinking like that. By the way, I’m sorry I’m a little late.”

“It’s only a few minutes after six. Ellis will get the kids started on their dinner first anyway.”

She didn’t seem too steady behind the wheel. I pointed and Fala parked next to my truck.

Alfie beat us back to the house and waited on the porch. “Your dog beat us here. He’s beautiful.”

“Thanks. His name is Alfie.” I took Fala’s hand and walked her inside. “This is my home and I’m happy you decided to come for dinner.”

“You have a beautiful place, Tommy.”

“We’re happy here.”

Linc and Simka were in their high chairs eating and Ellis was busy putting our food into bowls and bringing everything to the table.

“Ellis, this is Fala. Ellis takes care of me and the kids. This is Linc and his sister Simka.”

Fala smiled. “It’s lovely to meet all of you.”

“Kids, can you say hi to Fala?”

“Hi, Fala.” Linc often spoke for the two of them.

“I’m happy you could join us for dinner, Fala,” said Ellis. “Please sit down.”

Fala sat down next to me. “I wasn’t sure I should come for dinner. Tommy and I only met recently and I’m a little shy meeting new people. I didn’t want to impose.”

Ellis smiled. “Never an imposition around this table. We’re just an ordinary family and happy to have the company.”

Fala snorted. “I’m not sure ‘ordinary’ is the right word. I’ve never seen this much security, except at certain government buildings. Tommy mentioned he was a US Marshal, but I know other Marshals, and I’m sure they don’t have this level of security.”

So much for a casual dinner.

I sighed. “I hear what you’re sayin’. Because of my work, sometimes things happen. I can take care of myself, but now that I have people I’m responsible for, I need to take precautions. For instance, someone tried to snatch Lincoln once. We were in the mall, and Ellis was pushing the stroller, and some lowlife scooped him up, stroller and all.”

Fala’s beautiful eyes were wide with fear. “That sounds terrifying.”

“It was,” said Ellis. “There are some things you don’t easily forget. And it’s unbelievable how fast it can happen.”

“Obviously, you caught the guy.”

“We did.”

“Is he in jail now?”

“Sure. Let’s go with that. After that, I installed these systems. We’re a lot more careful now.”

“I understand.”

The rest of our dinner conversation was relaxed and after custard pie and coffee, Fala and I played with the kids on the rug in the family room until it was time for them to go to bed.

She came upstairs with me while I read them a story and tucked them in. She took the ribbon out of Simka’s long, black hair and brushed it before Simka laid down for the story.

We walked down the stairs together and Fala said, “Your children are so beautiful, Tommy. Obvious why you would want to protect them in every way possible.”

“I still worry when I’m away working. Wanting to get home to Texas sometimes makes it harder to focus on the job.”

“Your job takes you far away?”

“Sometimes. Often to D.C. Not one of my favorite places.”

“I’ve never been there although I do talk to people there about work-related things.”

“Uh huh, you would.”

Fala checked her watch, and I didn’t want her to leave. Not yet.

“One more cup of coffee before you go?” I asked.

She smiled. “One more, then I have to get going. I have a few things to do before the day is over.”

When it was time for Fala to leave, I walked her to her car. We held hands, although I wasn’t sure she was entirely into that.

She made small talk and asked about Simka. “Your family is lovely, Tommy, but I can’t stop thinking about your beautiful little girl. I know how Linc came into your life, but how did that sweet little angel come to be yours?”

“It’s a long story, and most of it is classified.”

Fala chuckled and continued looking at me, waiting. “You’re serious?”

“I am, but she’s legally mine, according to the government of the United States. I’m her father, and Linc is her brother. She doesn’t know any different, and I hope that never changes.”

Fala grinned, staring into my eyes. “You seem like such an average guy, but so many things about you are anything but. Tell me—how old was Simka when you got her?”

“She was in diapers. She hadn’t started talking, so she only learned English, though she don’t talk much.”

“I watched the two of them playing, and they interacted like any other siblings. They are so sweet together, Tommy.”

“Thanks.”

Fala pressed the fob to unlock her car.

I wasn’t sure if I should kiss her.

I held her hand, and she seemed hesitant about that.

I gently pulled her closer. Her perfume made my head spin. “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

She let go of my hand and rested both of hers gently on my chest. I wasn’t sure if she was getting closer or getting ready to run. Didn’t think she did, either. “You have a presence, Tommy. You’re more than you seem, which makes me nervous.”

Everything she said and did confused me, so I took a chance and pulled Fala closer.

She didn’t push away.

We kissed, long and passionate. Damn, that girl could kiss.

I chuckled. “Now you don’t have to be nervous of me no more.”

She stayed close for a moment, then gently backed away, sliding into her car. “Thanks for a wonderful evening, Tommy. You are a sweet and gentle person, and I love your family.”

I closed her car door and watched her drive down the lane.

The date wasn’t quite what I expected.

Wasn’t a barnburner, but it didn’t go too badly either.

I lit up a smoke and sat on the porch, lookin’ at the starry sky.

I hate first dates.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Sam and Roy returned from the airport and were met at the front door by a member of the household staff. Roy introduced Samantha to Maisie, the head housekeeper.

“Lovely to meet you, Maisie.”

“When you’re settled in, come down and I’ll take you to the office,” said Roy. “Mister Kamps is anxious to meet you.”

“I’ll be right down. Give me ten minutes.”

Maisie escorted Sam to her room and one of the men on staff carried her luggage up for her.

Ten minutes later when she came downstairs, she found Roy in the kitchen. “I’m ready, Roy. Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Roy laughed. “No one is ever truly ready to meet Chet Kamps, but it won’t be that bad. Come on, let’s get it over with. The vice president’s home office is at the back of the house, and Chet’s is down the hall from that. It’s very private and quiet.”

“The entire house is beautiful,” said Samantha. “I’m going to enjoy staying here.”

“Later, I’ll show you the pool, the garden and the running path. It’s a lovely place to live and we’re guarded ‘round the clock by the Navy. This house is on their property.”

“Comforting to know we’re safe.”

Roy knocked on the office door and opened it without waiting for an invitation. “Chet, Miss Whitaker is here.”

Kamps stood up, walked around the desk and shook her hand. “Welcome to D.C., Miss Whitaker. I’m Chet Kamps.”

“I’ve seen you on TV a couple of times when the vice president was speaking from the press room. It’s nice to meet you in person.”

“Would you like coffee before we talk?”

“I would, thank you.”

Kamps pointed to the tray on the sideboard. “Roy keeps me in coffee. The household staff would do it, but there are some things Roy excels at. One is making coffee, and the other is taking care of me.”

Roy was speechless as Chet actually chuckled at his own joke. “Kind of you to say, Chet. I’ll leave you two to get to business, then. Call me if you need anything.”

Roy left and closed the door.

“He’s a lovely person,” Samantha said as she sat in a chair by Chet’s desk, coffee in hand. “He said he looks after the vice president, but I’m sure she has a sizeable staff for that.”

“Roy has taken the best care of me for ages, and when Yvonne needed it, he took care of her, as well. They became close friends. Basically—family.”

Samantha took a sip of her coffee and smiled. “I’m ready for it. Not quite sure why I’m here, but I’m ready to start.”

“This is not a simple legal task. It’s very involved. We’ll be peeling back fetid layers of bureaucracy to get to the heart of what’s ailing the capital.”

She chuckled. “Descriptive, but what exactly is it?”

“As a broad-brush overview—there are people working in this administration who have ill-used their positions of trust for personal gain.”

Samantha nodded. “Is this a witch hunt or a legitimate investigation? If it’s legit, why is the FBI not conducting it?”

“A fair question and part of the reason you’re here. If we were to enlist the FBI right away, people would be notified, either directly or through back channels—colleagues, old college buddies, and so on—which would jeopardize the investigation. That would make our job more difficult. If we keep the circle tight, we can operate in the shadows, which will glean better intel.”

Sam laughed. “Sounds like you’ve done this a time or two.”

Chet sighed as if he were releasing a lifetime of stress. “Seems like forever.”

Samatha studied Chet Kamps, recognizing the weariness he carried. “Shall I get started, then?”

He presented a document that was several pages long. “I’ll need you to read and sign this NDA before we go any further. Because of the people we’re investigating, this needs to be a highly confidential undertaking. I’m unsure what we might uncover, and we have to be ready for anything.”

Sam read the NDA as she spoke. “This sounds like a monumental undertaking, Mister Kamps. Are you sure the two of us can handle it?”

Chet snickered. “There are a few more of us, but for now, you and I are the team that’s assigned to weed an otherwise healthy garden.”

Samantha signed it with a flourish.

“You will only work here, out of the residence.”

“Understood.”

“You’ll have your own office. It’s next door to mine and when I’m not at my office in the West Wing, we’ll work together here. I’m hands-on and have done much of the preliminary digging on this project already. But if Yvonne needs me, I’m gone, and you’re on your own.”

“How many people are coming under scrutiny?”

“We have a list, but we’ll only focus on one person at a time. Once we have validated and solidified the evidence against them, and they’ve been charged and removed from their position, we’ll move to the next name.”

Samantha smiled. “I’m liking this assignment more and more.”

“Glad to hear it. Our first suspect is Roy Ryerson. He’s the man in charge of ordering supplies for the White House, and he deals directly with all the companies under contract to the US government.”

“A perfect position for white-collar fraud,” said Samantha.

“Exactly. I’ve been gathering copies of the current contracts, so we know who we’re dealing with on the outside, and I’ve also been accumulating purchase orders and invoices and Ryerson’s bank statements going back for the past twelve years—his start date.”

“If he’s being paid in cash, there would be no paper trail.”

“Exactly, but after twelve years, there will be signs, assuming he’s doing something wrong. My next step is to check his accounts for bank credits coming from external accounts, most likely offshore or overseas. Trust me—they always trip up, eventually. It’ll be arduous but worth it.”

“Arduous is an apt description,” Samatha said.

“All we need is one blatant discrepancy that we can prove is illegal. Then, we can remove him from his position and lay charges.”

“What if the people paying him don’t want you to ruin their good thing? People who bribe others are notorious for being violent.”

Kamps chuckled. “We’re safe here, don’t worry.”

Sam nodded. “I understand that we’re protected by the Navy here, but what if we leave? It sounds like we might be going after some influential people who typically have unsavory friends in case things go south. Do we have a plan for that?”

“We do, but I can’t go into that right now. Shall we dive into what I’ve found thus far?”

Sam nodded. “Let’s get going. I’m anxious to get started.”

“I’ve sent everything I’ve done so far to your desktop, along with notes. You can start by reading those.” Kamps stood up. “I’ll show you your office so you can settle in. Feel free to add personal touches and make it your own. You’re going to spend a lot of time in there, so you might as well be comfortable.”

“Thanks.” She smiled.

“Meals are in the dining room, and you’ll eat with Vonnie, Roy, and me. We’re a family in this house, even though you might not feel it sometimes.” He chuckled.

“No family is happy all the time,” said Samantha.

Kamps showed her to her office, “We’re delighted you could join us.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Yvonne arrived home at the end of her day and Roy, Kamps and Samantha Whitaker were having drinks in the living room. “I have a glass of wine for you, Yvonne,” said Roy.

“Thanks, sweetheart. You always know what I need, and I could certainly use one.”

“This is Samantha Whitaker,” said Kamps. “She’s settled in and already started on her task.”

Samantha jumped to her feet and crossed the room to shake Yvonne’s hand. “I’m thrilled to meet you, ma’am, and a little overwhelmed by my call to Washington.”

“Happy to have you join us, Miss Whitaker. When we’re here at home, we’ll just be Yvonne and Samantha, Chet and Roy. I drown in formality all day long at the White House.”

“That’s fine with me. Sam is fine. I’m used to my family calling me that.”

Sam sat back down on the couch, with Chet in the middle. Surprisingly, Yvonne sat on Chet’s other side.

As the women spoke about how overwhelming D.C. can be for a newcomer, Chet noticed that as Yvonne relaxed and enjoyed her glass of wine, she edged a little closer to him on the sofa than she usually did.

Is she jealous of Sam?

Is Sam giving off signs she likes me?

Is Yvonne? Am I missing something?

What the hell? I just wanna do my job.

Women are crazy.

Chapter Five

Wednesday, May 7th.

Florida Fish & Wildlife Conservation.

Everglades Wildlife Management Area.

Fisheries game warden Wayne Mount headed out for his morning patrol through the Big Swamp. He worked out of the Cypress Glade office deep in southern Florida. His life was regulated and ordinary—and he liked it that way.

He loved having an outdoor job where he was his own boss most of the time. No one breathing down his neck, no office walls. Just the swamp, the wildlife, and his truck. Predictable, peaceful.

Cruising along the Everglades Parkway, he turned south onto Glade River Road, easing onto the narrow single lane that pushed deeper into the green hell of sawgrass and cypress.

Several two-tracks branched off to old fishing camps. Wayne didn’t bother checking them—most of those shacks hadn’t seen a human in months. The guys who owned them usually showed up once a year, drank too much, and left nature to clean up the mess.

Rodents and snakes probably had squatter’s rights by now.

The sun shone brightly as the unique scent of the swamp tickled Wayne’s nose. He had The James Barker Band blaring on the radio as he bumped and bounced his way slowly along the main road.

A flock of ibis were startled into flight by…something up ahead. Other species joined the white cloud of elegant birds as it rose effortlessly into the sky.

A gator attack wouldn’t cause that many birds to take wing, Wayne thought. Maybe poachers, taking potshots at something.

He eased off the gas, turned off his radio and eventually came to a complete stop. He even shut off his truck.

He sat silently, enjoying the sounds around him, and suddenly, the scream of a table saw tearing through wood drowned everything else out.

Construction in the swamp was rare but not unheard of. Someone had to build the fishing shacks, after all.

Better take a look. Maybe check their permits.

Wayne fired up his Ford Ranger and slowly rolled along, watching for a break in the trees.

There it was. Bushes hacked in half, saplings severed off, low to the ground, and the path was newly worn, freshly chewed up.

Tracks. Deep ones. Lots of them.

That ain’t right.

Didn’t look like that last month.

He cranked the wheel of his fisheries truck and headed through the dense undergrowth ahead. He’d gone about a quarter mile from the main road when two guys with rifles stepped out of the trees and startled him.

They wore mud-smeared tactical gear, rifles in hand. One raised his palm, signaling Wayne to stop. The other raised his weapon and leveled it at the windshield.

Wayne stood on the brakes. “What the hell?”

He reached for his radio to request backup.

The guy pointing the gun was grinning and shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have come here, man.”

Wayne opened his mouth…

Bang.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

I was up at the crack of dawn, full of energy and glad for the sunny day. No one was up, so I took Alfie for a run down the back lane. We ran hard, and we were both panting by the time we flopped onto the porch to catch our breath.

Quick look at my super watch. Fala must be up by now.

I’ll test the waters.

“Morning. Thanks for coming for dinner.”

“Thanks for inviting me. I had a good time.”

Smiley face emoji.

Guess that’s a good sign.

“Wanna go out again?”

“Love to. Maybe on the weekend?”

“Sounds good. Friday night?”

“That’ll work. Have to drive now, so text me later and let me know what you’re thinking.”

“Great. Looking forward to it.”

“Same.”

I went into the house to get coffee, and Ellis noticed my happy mood. “I thought it went well with Fala, Tommy.”

“Yep, it did. I just texted her and she said she’d go out with me on Friday night.”

Big smile from Ellis. “Wonderful. Friday night will be a T ‘n T night, won’t it?”

“Yep, I’m a regular on Fridays. We’ll go early and have dinner. Hope that suits her.”

“It will. I was watching her and I’m fairly sure she likes you a lot.”

“Think so? I was pretty nervous because I only met her the once at Jane’s.”

“She seemed to love the kids too. That’s a good sign. I’m happy you’re interested in someone new, Tommy. It’s been so hard on you getting over the other thing.”

“Yeah. As long as I live, I’ll never be over the other thing but all I can do is work around it and try to hold on.” I touched the ring on my finger and felt my head start to ache.

Ellis shook her head in sympathy. She was still pissed at Farrell for his part in the breakup of my marriage.

My cell rang and I welcomed the diversion. The less I thought about the ruined part of my life, the better. I took my coffee into my office to talk to Jesse. “Hey, boss. It must be early in D.C.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever converted to east coast time, Tommy. Maybe I never will.”

“Love being at home here on my farm. Hope it lasts.”

“I have the name of the man in charge of Indian Affairs in Austin for you, son.”

“Thanks, Jesse. I’ll write it in my notebook in case I need him for Linc anytime in the future.”

“How’s it going with the new girl you’re seeing?”

“Okay. Slow start. She’s not sure of me and I’m being cautious. Too many bad experiences.”

“Sounds like you’re maturing.”

I laughed. “Whoa, that’s crazy talk.”

Jesse laughed, too. “Fair enough, but slow can be better in the long run.”

“I guess so.”

“Anyway, the man in charge at the Cap is Cameron Hilliard. If you need him for anything in particular for Linc or for your girl, I’ll put in a call for you.”

“Thanks, boss. Appreciate it.”

“You saved my life more than once, Tommy. It’s the least I can do to repay you.”

“No need to repay me, boss. My job is to protect people. My honor to do it.”

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

“Good morning, Sam,” Roy said with a little too much brightness as Samantha entered the dining room, dressed sharply in a tailored charcoal suit that respectfully showed off her assets.

Roy saw that Chet noticed, that’s for sure.

“Did you sleep well?” Roy asked.

“Yes, of course,” she replied with a polite smile, smoothing a hand down the front of her jacket. “I’m thrilled to be staying here. Thank you again, Yvonne.”

Yvonne didn’t look up from her coffee. “Chet’s side project requires discretion,” she said, voice crisp as frost. “Having you here simplifies that.”

Roy’s eyes bounced from Yvonne to Chet. Then to Sam, who lowered her gaze and adjusted the cuff on her jacket, avoiding Yvonne’s eyes.

Kamps gripped his mug with both hands, his jaw tight. He focused on a spot on the far wall as he slowly slurped his coffee. He wouldn’t look at either of the women. There was only one woman he was comfortable enough to be himself with and she lived in Texas.

Roy furrowed his brow.

What the hell happened while I was sleeping?

Maisie and her team swept in with trays, plates, and polished service. The clink of cutlery and the aroma of bacon gave the scene something to focus on besides the unspoken heat rising off the table.

No one spoke much. Even the cat was quiet.

When breakfast ended, Yvonne stood with careful precision, picked up her linen napkin, and tossed it neatly onto her chair. Her eyes flicked toward Chet, unreadable.

“I may need you this afternoon, Chet,” she said, tone perfectly neutral.

He looked up too quickly. “Let me know. I can be there in less than an hour.”

“I’ll text you,” she said as she touched his arm, then walked out of the room, her heels sharp on the tile, her exit as smooth and swift as a tactical retreat.

Chet lingered a second longer than he should have, watching the door.

Roy suppressed a giggle.

Samantha stood next. “Shall we?” she asked softly, and Chet nodded. The two of them disappeared down the hall, the door to the office clicking shut behind them.

Roy stayed in his seat. He reached down and picked up Punkin from his usual perch and held him to his chest.

“Are you feeling that tension, Punky?” he whispered into the cat’s fur. “Because I feel it, too.”

The cat purred quietly.

Roy scratched behind the cat’s ears. “Yvonne still has feelings for our Chet. Maybe more than she wants to admit. And maybe he still loves her, too.”

Oval Office. West Wing. D.C.

“Good morning, Lee. Ready to go over today’s lineup of appointments?”

Lee sighed and shook his head. “Not sure that I am ready, Yvonne. I used to come down here every morning full of piss and vinegar and after the last attempt on my life, any enthusiasm I had left has flown out the window. I don’t have the physical strength or the energy for this job any longer.”

Concerned, Yvonne moved closer to the Resolute Desk. “Are you thinking of giving up?”

His blue eyes looked glassy and sad. “Yes. Seriously thinking about it.”

As a former military leader, Yvonne had seen similar situations. Some required a firm hand, others a soft touch. Lee was the latter. “Less than two years to go, Lee. You don’t have to run for your second term if you’re not up to it, but you should try to finish.”

“I know what I should do, Yvonne. The question is, can my body last for two more years? Can I physically make it to the end of my term?”

“If you’re feeling that unhealthy, maybe a checkup is in order. Do you want me to set up an appointment so no one will know? Only the two of us?”

“I’m not sure if I’m not just missing Ted.”

“Perhaps, but you’re the president of the most powerful nation on this planet. The stress is intense, and frankly, you were blown up. If an outside observer can’t put all of that together and realize you need constant medical attention, then they’re just trying to be contrary.”

“You might be right, Yvonne. I haven’t told anyone, but I can barely get out of bed in the morning anymore. It’s a terrible feeling and I realize I’m still healing from the bomb explosion, but the pain obliterates my focus on the proper running of this country.”

“This is what we’re going to do. Carter and I and Chet will take all of the appointments for the next two days. Dan will take you to the hospital for an overnight stay and you’ll have a complete checkup—top to bottom.”

Lee laughed. “Top to bottom.”

“Then I’ll have Carter quietly arrange for someone to visit you to help with your PTSD.”

“I don’t have PTSD—”

Yvonne chuckled. “I know you said you were fine and declined any help, but this is non-negotiable. There is more than just a physical ailment going on, and you need to address everything.”

Lee huffed as he flopped back in his chair. “Fine.”

“Then we’ll meet with the doctors. First, we’ll review your physical checkup to get a clear picture of what is going on with your body. If they say you need to exercise, then that’s what you’re going to do. Agreed?”

Lee was not amused. “Agreed.”

“You’ll probably need a few sessions with the head doc to get an idea of what’s happening, but I should be involved in that, as well, because making decisions for yourself isn’t always your strong point, Lee. And at the end of the day, you want all of this to be kept confidential. The fewer people involved, the better.”

Lee nodded. “You’re right, Yvonne. I just wish Ted didn’t have to leave. The Residence was so much homier with him and Stretch around.”

“And kicking Tommy out probably didn’t help, either,” Yvonne said.

“Yes, that was another error on my part,” Lee said with melancholy.

“It’s settled. You take your first appointment of the day and fake your way through it.”

Lee chuckled.

“I’ll bring Dan and Carter into our confidence and make the necessary arrangements.”

“Thanks, Yvonne. You always have my back.”

“Lee, you should never forget that, first and foremost, we’re friends. And as your friend, I worry about you. As your vice president, it’s my duty to support you. I take both of those responsibilities seriously.”

“We need more people like you, Tommy and Jesse Quantrall in this administration. Chet, too. He is a true patriot, as well.” Lee chuckled. “An angry, aggressive patriot, but unshakeable in his convictions nonetheless.”

Yvonne chuckled.

He’s not wrong about Chet.

The vice president walked toward the door. “I’ll have Tara send in Senator Birch. Hold tight, Lee, and I’ll try to have you out of here before lunch.”

“Thanks so much, Yvonne.”

Harry S. Truman Building. D.C.

Jesse stepped into his outer office, the click of his cowboy boots on the polished floor echoing louder than usual.

He wasn’t sure what kind of morning this would be. Dinner had gone better than expected, a delicious meal filled with easy laughter and honest conversation—but now came the part neither of them had planned for.

Olivia looked up from her desk and smiled. “Good morning, Mister Secretary. I’ll bring your coffee to you in five, sir.”

Mister Secretary. It sounded forced. He read between the lines of her smile and watched her gaze dart away from him.

Jesse paused in front of her desk and glanced around. They were alone. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Are you feeling some awkwardness after our clandestine dinner last night?”

“Perhaps a little,” she admitted, giggling, her fingers brushing a paperclip that didn’t need moving.

“I don’t want you to feel that way, Olivia. The last thing I want is to ruin the best working relationship I’ve ever had.”

She looked up, a little slower this time. “I don’t know how I feel yet. I guess I’m feeling… guilty? I’ve never crossed that line before. Not even close.”

Jesse gave a quiet laugh. “Same. I’m about as conservative as they come. Look how long it took me to ask you over.”

Olivia laughed softly, the last bit of tension melting from her shoulders.

“Maybe I liked breaking the rules,” she said, almost to herself.

Jesse tilted his head, eyeing her lustfully. “Maybe I did, too.”

She smoothed her skirt and blazer as she stood. Rounding her desk, she stepped close to Jesse, her perfume causing him to swoon. “We should get to work before we’re tempted to break more of those rules.”

Jesse took a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

Vice President’s Office. West Wing. D.C.

Yvonne closed the door to her office and locked it so she wouldn’t be interrupted. “Everyone have a seat.” She pointed to the lounge area of her expansive office.

Lee’s Chief of Staff, Carter Levalley, started to ask a question and Yvonne held up her hand. She personally didn’t care for the man, but he was excellent at his job and that’s what counted—especially in an emergency situation like this was.

“This meeting is extremely confidential, and I trust the two of you to keep it strictly between the three of us.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Dan Black, head of the president’s security detail.

“The president isn’t feeling well. He’s having lingering physical symptoms from multiple assassination attempts, all of which have taken their toll on his mental health. Now that his brother, Ted, has left the Residence, the president feels despondent. We’ll deal with the physical first and then the mental. I can’t tell you how critical it is that this information isn’t leaked. Our enemies abroad would have a field day if they knew.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Carter, you and I will put our own work on hold. We will tag-team the presidential meetings and appointments on today’s schedule. My advisor, Chet Kamps, will take care of mine, as needed. Expect more of the same for tomorrow. If you know of any appointments that can be bumped for a few days, Carter, please make it happen.”

“Understood, Ma’am.”

“Dan, once we leave here, you’ll take the president across to the Eisenhower building. We’ll say it’s a follow-up after the explosion, which it is, but we’ll downplay the importance. Strictly a check-up.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“As far as his mental health goes, I’ll arrange to have a dinner guest in the Residence tonight. A psychiatrist or whomever they recommend. Nice and casual. We’ll arrange the sessions once the doctor has a conversation with Lee. Questions?”

Carter spoke up. “Can we have the sessions in the evening, to keep it under the radar?”

“Good call. I’ll recommend that. Anything else?”

“What time is the president expected?” asked Dan.

“They are on alert, so whenever he gets there.”

  Carter looked at his watch. “The president’s current meeting is almost over. Shall I take the next one while you get the president ready, Madam Vice President?”

“Please do that, Carter. I’ll pitch in as soon as I’m free.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Carter. “And if there are questions as to the president’s whereabouts?”

“He has a stomach bug and is working upstairs in his home office,” said Yvonne. “That’s the answer we’ll give across the board. No exceptions.”

Carter nodded.

“Works for me,” Dan replied.

“We have a plan. You’re up, Carter. Talk to Bethany. Rearrange the appointments. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to help.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as Carter left, Dan asked, “How bad is he?”

Yvonne pursed her lips. “He’s suffering, Dan. The pain from his recent injuries is destroying his concentration. Add in the fact that his brother just left, and he kicked Tommy out of the Residence, and we are left with one lonely president. I’ve never seen him so depressed.”

Dan nodded. “I’ve watched him deteriorate. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Escort him to the Eisenhower Building and keep him chatting. Leave the back way. More discreet.”

“I’ll leave now,” said Dan. “Is he expecting me?”

“He is. I promised I’d have him out of the Oval Office before lunch.”

“Copy that.”

Private Residence. White House. D.C.

Yvonne ran upstairs and filled Daniel in on the plan.

“It’s been difficult to watch, Major Harrison. He seems to deteriorate with each passing day. I’ll speak to Emily and have her make something special for the president’s dinner guest tonight.”

Shortly thereafter, Dan and Lee joined them in the living room.

“Dan explained the plan,” Lee said. “Is there anything I need to do?”

“Nothing at all,” said Yvonne. “Dan will get you poked and prodded, and then someone will come by tonight to have a chat over dinner.”

Lee stepped closer to Yvonne. “I’m still not sure I need a shrink to check me out.”

“Well, I am. Trust me, Lee. This is for the best. You’ve had to deal with so much, and you haven’t had any help in dealing with any of it. From the attack in the Colonnade to the abduction, you’ve weathered it all alone. No one is that strong.”

“Tommy is, I bet,” Lee said quietly.

“I’ll give him a call, so he knows how you’re doing.”

“Do you think he’ll even care after how I treated him?”

Yvonne hugged Lee. “You don’t give that boy enough credit, Lee. All he ever wants is what’s best for you. And every time you treat him badly, he just keeps coming back. He loves you. So, next time you speak, say you’re sorry and move past this, okay?”

Lee was crying as he nodded, stepping away and following Dan.

Yvonne walked into her office and closed her door.

“Hey, Vonnie. How’s life in D.C.?”

“Lee’s not doing well, Tommy.”

Tommy immediately became serious. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“He’s still carrying a lot of pain from the assassination attempts, and his mental state is eroding quickly. He’s depressed that he’s alone in the Residence, and that Ted has gone home, and upset over how he treated you. It’s wearing him down so much that he can’t function.”

“What’s the plan? Do you need me there?”

“Not yet, but possibly soon. Dan is taking him to the Eisenhower Building for a complete physical, and we’re inviting a psychiatrist to talk to him later. No one knows the full extent except me, Dan and Carter.”

“Will you give me the scoop from the doctors?”

“As soon as I get it.”

“I’ll do my part. You know that, Vonnie. I’m guessing you’re making this happen. Because he probably wouldn’t bother for himself.”

“I am. He was really rough this morning. He told me he could hardly get out of bed from the pain, which is one thing. But his eyes, Tommy. He looks so sad and depressed lately.”

“He’s been through a lot. No wonder he’s falling apart. Call if you need me, and I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Appreciate that. You’re always a good friend to him.”

“Gotta take care of family, Vonnie. No matter what.”

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Kamps and Sam were immersed in their project when Kamps’ phone rang. He glanced at it, planning on ignoring it, until he saw the seal. “Hey, Yvonne. Need me to come to the White House?”

“I’m afraid it’s bigger than that, Chet. Lee’s not doing well. Everything’s coming to the surface, and he needs our help.”

“What does that mean, Vonnie?”

“It means all hands on deck for the next few days. This is confidential, but Lee’s off the playing field for a few days. Anyone asks—he has the stomach flu.”

“Got it. How can I help?”

“Dan’s taking him for a checkup. Carter and I are splitting his daily workload, which means I need you to support Audrey and attend my meetings. She’ll postpone as many as she can, but some are critical.”

“Done. What else?”

Yvonne breathed deeply and sighed. “That’s it for now, Chet. Times like these really make me realize how wonderful you are. I truly appreciate you.”

Yvonne’s emotional praise left Kamps stunned. “Uh, thanks. Glad to help, Vonnie. I’ll get on it right away.”

“Perfect. We’ll talk more when I get home.”

Chet set his phone down, quietly staring at it, oblivious to his office mate staring at him.

“Is everything okay with the vice president?” Sam asked.

Chet tensed in surprise. “She’s fine. She’s just having a difficult day. Life of a vice president, you know?”

“Sorry to hear that. If I can help, let me know.”

Chet was already out of his seat and heading to the door. “Actually, can you take over? I need to talk to Audrey about a few things.”

Without waiting for an answer, Chet was gone and closed the door, leaving Sam to sit and wonder what the hell just happened.

Eisenhower Building. D.C.

Kamps found Dan Black sitting outside the door of Lee’s executive suite. He tapped twice and let himself in. Yvonne was in the guest chair next to the bed, her laptop open and she was typing.

“Chet, how nice of you to come,” said Lee. “You’re one of the few who knows where I am.”

“I wanted to see for myself how you two were doing. How did the tests go today?”

“They haven’t told me anything yet. Tomorrow will be a long day, but that should wrap it all up. I’ll be back at work the following day, hopefully rested and ready to take on the world.”

“There are no media people out front,” said Kamps. “You dodged the bullet there.”

Lee laughed. “Dan helped me sneak out and it felt like I was playing hooky.”

Yvonne finished what she was doing, then got up to leave. “You rest tonight and don’t worry about the Oval Office tomorrow. Carter, Chet and I have it covered.”

“Thanks for everything, Yvonne. This may sound stupid because the doctors haven’t done anything yet, but I do feel better.”

“The stress has been temporarily lifted,” said Kamps. “That can make you feel better immediately. Sleep well, sir.”

“Thank you.”

On the way back to Yvonne’s Residence, she and Kamps rode in the back seat of the SUV. Kamps had his arms wrapped around her and Yvonne’s head rested on his shoulder.

One Observatory Circle, D.C.

The day had been a blur for Kamps and Yvonne—another marathon of careful wording, silent signals, and the constant pressure of heavy secrets.

If anyone found out about the president’s current state, all hell could break loose.

At dinner, the chatter stayed deliberately light. The stakes were too high to risk even a hint of what the day entailed or why.

Yvonne smiled a lot. For anyone not versed in her emotions, it would seem natural. But Chet and Roy knew it was her political smile. Fake. Forced.

She was always a beat behind on the laughter, her mind wandering elsewhere. But when she asked Roy about his garden, her voice warmed, and Roy, bless him, filled the silence with cheerful details about his heirloom tomatoes and the snapdragons just beginning to bloom.

Chet caught Yvonne’s eye once across the table—a flicker of gratitude passing between them. Keep it light. Keep it safe.

He turned to Sam, who was nursing a glass of wine. “You find anything useful after I ditched you this morning?”

She nodded, brushing hair from her face. “Found a few more invoices. The pricing seemed off in ways that look intentional. I need to cross-reference with the other contracts before I can confirm it’s real, but... it’s promising.”

“Good work,” he said, but his voice was too low, too tired.

Everyone at the table felt the tension, even if no one mentioned it. Like waiting for a storm to break but pretending it’s still sunny out.

Eventually, Chet and Yvonne stood in near-unison, the silent signal exchanged again.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Yvonne said smoothly, placing her linen napkin down.

They didn’t wait for goodnights—just moved down the hall to Yvonne’s private office and quietly shut the door behind them.

The silence in the room wrapped around them like a weighted blanket.

Chet sank onto the couch, groaning quietly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His body was tired, but his mind wouldn’t stop.

It never did.

The meetings. The cover stories. The things they couldn’t say aloud.

To his surprise, Yvonne didn’t retreat to her desk or pour a drink—she joined him on the couch, close enough that her shoulder brushed his.

He was okay with that.

They reviewed the day in clipped phrases: updates, contacts, and the next three days of appointments. It was muscle memory, almost mechanical.

But eventually, the words ran dry.

Yvonne leaned back slightly, her body sagging. Her head lolled toward his shoulder, and she blinked slowly, struggling to stay upright.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured.

She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Not yet. More to talk about.”

But she said nothing more. Within minutes, her breathing slowed, and her body softened against him. Her head came to rest gently on his shoulder.

Chet stayed still.

His chest tightened—not with discomfort, but something quieter. Something deeper. Something remembered.

He should’ve moved. Should’ve stood, gotten water, and pretended not to notice. But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

The scent of her perfume—light, floral, clean—filled his senses, washing away the stress of the day.

She was asleep.

He let his head rest lightly against hers and closed his eyes for a moment.

Just one moment.

And for the first time that day, Chet let himself feel the weight of it all. The secret. The fatigue. The impossible line they were walking. And the fact that, somehow, he didn’t feel alone.

Not tonight.

Chapter Six

Thursday, May 8th.

Florida Fish & Wildlife Conservation.

Everglades Wildlife Management. Cypress Glade.

Murray Wintour ended the call to Wayne Mounts’ wife and left her crying. He walked into the squad room and stared down at Wayne’s desk and his empty chair. “Where the hell is Wayne, guys? He never came back from patrol yesterday and he never went home. His wife is crying, and we’ve got to find him.”

“Shoot, Chief. I know his patrol route like the back of my hand,” Terry said. “Why don’t I take a spin out there and have a look-see?”

Chief Wintour nodded. “Good idea. Probably nothing to worry about. Wayne’s been around long enough to know how to survive in that swamp.”

“He sure does. I’ll take a look and radio back what I find.”

As Terry walked to the door, Chief Wintour shouted, “Take the big truck with the winch in case you have to pull him out of the mud.”

“Wayne would never slip into the mud, boss. He knows the swamp too well.”

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

Terry hooked his truck keys in the key box and grabbed another set. “Will do, boss. Talk soon.”

As Murray watched him leave, he secretly felt overwhelming dread.

“For God’s sake, be careful out there,” he mumbled.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

The breakfast conversation was reserved, and Yvonne made sure to keep it focused on Chet’s project or something other than the events revolving around the president. Although very few people knew exactly what was happening, if you were close enough to the epicenter, you could figure out that something was up.

Kamps looked dapper as he sat at the table dressed in a tailored gray suit and tie. He flipped through the first few pages of The Post, to make sure there was no mention of the president being absent from the Oval Office.

Leaks happened, no matter how hard you tried to stop them.

“You look great, Chet,” Sam said too enthusiastically for Yvonne’s liking. Maybe it was the stress of the situation or the early hour, but Sam was rubbing Yvonne the wrong way this morning.

“You’ll be working alone today, Samantha,” said Yvonne. “Chet will be with me in the West Wing. He’ll be in and out of meetings, but feel free to call and leave a message if you have questions.”

Sensing the tension in Yvonne’s voice, Sam merely smiled and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

Roy sat silently next to Yvonne, watching everything unfold. He could sense the tension but had no idea why Yvonne would be so aggressive to Sam other than because of forgotten feelings toward Chet.

He hated when people were so possessive.

It gave him hives.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

I leaned on the fence to watch Linc and Simka playing in the new outdoor sheep pen with Wooly and Polly. The sheep were used to the kids now and almost played with them.

While I had a free moment, I texted Fala.

“Can I take you to lunch at the Capital Grille?”

“Are you coming to Austin anyway?”

“Yes. I have to talk to my brother.”

“Okay. I take my lunch break from twelve-thirty to one-thirty.”

“I’ll get us a table and be waiting for you.”

“Only takes me a couple of minutes to get to the Grille from my office. Thank you for the invitation.”

“I want to see you.”

“Good news, kids, Fala is going to meet me for lunch.”

They didn’t care. They were too busy running face-first into their sheep and bouncing off them. The howls of laughter were like a healing balm for my soul. We all had our priorities.

George Washington University Hospital. D.C.

Yvonne made time at noon to go to the hospital and sit with Lee while he ate a light lunch. “How did you find the time to come to the hospital, Yvonne?”

“I flaunted my power, and I delegated.” She laughed and Lee laughed too.

He seemed in good spirits. “The tests are going well. The doctors know how limited my time is, so they’re pushing me through.”

“You’re doing the right thing, Lee. Neglecting the problem wasn’t accomplishing anything. Your health and well-being is important to the entire nation and to the world.”

They sat quietly, eating their lunch, when Yvonne broached another subject. “So, how was dinner last night? Did you enjoy talking to your guest? I’m not asking for details. Just curious how it went.”

Lee grinned. “It’s all right, Yvonne. I’m happy to share what I can with you. Doctor Kirkland is an excellent listener. I didn’t think I’d have anything to say, but as it turned out, I rambled for hours while she listened, smiled and nodded. She asked all the right questions and challenged me when I needed it.”

“Are you seeing her again?”

Lee nodded. “We’re setting up an evening schedule for privacy. I thought I was feeling better after one session, but she actually laughed and shook her head. Apparently, we had barely scratched the surface.”

“That’s good news, Lee. It’s always good to have someone to talk things through with.”

“One thing I learned last night is that I need to make more time for myself. I rarely leave the Oval Office, or the White House itself, and it’s poisoning me, she said. I need to be deliberate in my self-care.”

“Sounds like good advice.”

“Have the press trigged into me being missing yet?”

“No,” said Yvonne. “Carter is in charge of damage control. He’s sticking with the flu explanation, telling anyone who asks that you’re working in the residence.”

“I’m sure he’ll spread that around quickly.”

Yvonne laughed. “He’s head of the gossip squad.”

“He sure is.”

Capital Grille. Austin.

I’d called ahead for a lunch reservation and the hostess showed me to my table when I got there. A little early, so I ordered a Shiners and checked the messages on my phone while I waited for Fala to walk over from the Cap.

I’d barely taken a sip when the hostess led Fala across the dining room toward me. She looked incredible—neat and sharp in her work clothes, her smile soft but just distant enough to make me sit up a little straighter.

“Nice of you to ask me to lunch, Tommy.”

“Wouldn’t say it was nice or anything special, but having lunch together is just regular if you’re my girlfriend. How do you feel about that?”

“I have to admit I’m nervous about having a boyfriend, Tommy. I haven’t had a committed relationship ever, and I’m not sure I want one. My life is full and pretty regulated. Work takes up a lot of my time. When I finally get alone time, I like to embrace the quiet. I guess I’m trying to say we might have different ideas on this relationship.”

A pause stretched between us as the server came over. I ordered another Shiner. “You want a drink?”

“Nothing alcoholic. I have to go back to work. I’ll have a coffee.”

The waitress ran through the specials, and we ordered right then. Fala checked her phone once, tapping the screen like she was counting the minutes.

I reached across to hold her hand and give her some comfort, but she pulled it back faster than a lunging rattlesnake, her shoulders tightening and her eyes flaring wide.

“Whoa,” I said, my hand going back to my beer. “Sorry. I won’t touch you.”

Fala’s eyes widened further. “I’m so sorry. That wasn’t about you. Reflex, I guess. I just—”

“It’s fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t.

The silence that followed was thick. We picked at our food without much to say. Every time I looked up, she smiled—tight, polite—but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Afterward, she thanked me like we were coworkers who’d bumped into each other at a deli. Barely enough warmth to be polite and not enough to hang your hat on.

“Well, thanks for comin’,” I said. I knew enough not to even ask for a hug.

She glanced my way, grinned and looked at the floor. “Thanks, Tommy. I enjoyed myself.”

I headed to the truck, the sun too damn bright for how cold I felt.

What the hell did I do wrong?

I sat behind the wheel and stared at the dash for a beat. I hadn’t come on strong. Not really. I just... liked her. That wasn’t a crime.

Still, she’d pulled away like I’d burned her.

With a sigh, I started the engine and turned the truck toward Cherrywood. Aunt Gail always had coffee, and Lukas probably needed a ride or something.

I needed a reason to not drive in circles thinking about Fala.

Glade River. Florida.

Damn.
The big F-350 drove smooth as hell, but Terry barely noticed. His grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, jaw set tight as he left the Cypress Glade office behind and headed for the Big Swamp. He kept his face calm for the other guys in the office, but inside, the dread clawed deep.

Wayne was missing.

And that wasn’t something Wayne did.

Terry had patrolled this stretch for years. He knew every bend, every gator hole, every rotten log before he’d handed the route off as he neared retirement. Now he was back, and he didn’t like what he was feeling.

He switched on the dash cam, just in case, and eased off the pavement onto the narrow dirt lane. He scanned both sides of the trail, eyes sharp for white paint and blue stripes—Wayne’s Fisheries truck would be hard to miss against the green-gray of the cypress.

The truck bounced over ruts and roots, but the ride stayed smooth. Terry hardly felt it.

Then he hit the bend in the trail and froze.

Wayne’s truck was up ahead, half-submerged in swamp water, doors hanging open like broken wings.

He parked fast and climbed out, scanning the waterline. The truck was tilted nose-down, lodged awkwardly in the muck.

No way in hell Wayne went into the water on purpose.

Terry turned on his body cam and began a running commentary of his actions.

Moving quickly and carefully, he hopped across twisting cypress roots until he reached the back bumper of the smaller Ford Ranger. He climbed into the load bed—water lapping at his boots—and braced himself against the cab.

Mud.

At least, that’s what he thought at first—mud smearing the back window. Higher than the waterline. Seemed odd.

He forced open the slider. The inside of the cab was dark.

Then he saw it: a bullet hole, clean through the windshield, the glass a spiderweb of fracture and death.

The thing on the back window wasn’t mud. Not even close.

It was bone and blood and gray matter, sprayed across the glass.

Wayne.

The air reeked of copper and death. Terry’s stomach turned, and his grief twisted into something sharp and hot in his gut.

He climbed back across the roots, faster now, and made for the F-350. Thank God he’d brought his sidearm. And the rifle.

Some bastards had killed Wayne.

And Terry was going to find out who.

He turned onto the next trail, spotting the signs immediately—saplings hacked down, fresh tire tracks, bushes cleaved in half. Someone had made an in-road, and recently.

Wayne would’ve followed it. Of course he would’ve.

Terry took a deep breath, then turned the truck onto the chewed-up trail. Branches scraped the sides. He winced but kept going.

Screw the paint. Wayne was worth more.

The farther he drove, the stranger it got. The vegetation wasn’t reclaiming the path—someone had been using it. Recently. A lot.

About a mile and a half in, the swamp began to steam, mist rising thick from algae-choked water. The insect hum was deafening.

Terry turned off the radio. His ears strained, not for frogs or bugs—but for something that didn’t belong.

And then he saw it.

The clearing opened up ahead, and what he saw was utterly wrong.

“What the hell…” he muttered.

Then they came—two men, armed with ARs, charging from the tree line.

“Holy fuck.” Terry’s heart punched his ribs as he jammed the truck into reverse, slamming the pedal to the floor.

The tires caught, mud spraying past his window as the F-350 lurched backward, trees whipping past in a blur.

Gunfire cracked like thunder.

Glass shattered.

Metal screamed.

The chase was on.

Shots peppered the boss’s big truck, shattering the windshield and hammering the steel.

The engine screamed in protest.

Then a round hit home.

Bang.

The hood exploded, dark gray smoke billowing out.

Terry cursed.

The engine coughed and died, but the truck continued to roll backward.

The dash lights flickered like a heartbeat failing.

“Shit—”

Before the truck stopped rolling, Terry grabbed his sidearm with one hand and slammed the door open with the other. He snagged his rifle from the rack, boots hitting the swamp floor as he dove into the underbrush.

His feet hit muck. Cypress knees stabbed up like daggers from the ground. His breath was short but controlled, his heart pounding. But quickly, his mind calmed. He moved by habit, not panic—his military training, long dormant, kicked in.

Don’t run in a straight line. Zigzag.

Get low and use cover.

Make your profile small.

Keep your gun dry.

The men after him were noisy and clumsy, closing fast. They spoke loudly, almost brazenly.

Overconfidence kills on the battlefield. Take advantage of your enemy’s errors.

He crouched behind a thick trunk, waiting.

They strolled down the middle of the trail, guns raised but hanging lazily downward.

He stood to clear the tangle of low brush and fired his rifle—two quick, tight shots, controlled and centered.

His aim was good. 

First shot caught one guy in the upper chest. Spun him around. He hit the dirt.

His wails of agony cut through the sounds of the swamp and swiftly quieted.

Not dead, but soon.

Second shot—one a few seconds after—grazed his partner. Pissed him off more than wounded him, but a hit was a hit. He dove for cover.

“Fuck you, asshole. I’m gonna blow your head off.”

The bush erupted as automatic gunfire tore through shredding leaves, tree trunks and anything else in its path. Then—silence.

He’s reloading.

Gotta keep moving. I won’t win this one head-on.

He pushed deeper into the swamp, lungs burning. Long grasses curled low around his boots, thick enough to hide roots and pitfalls. Branches tore at his sleeves. Mosquitoes swarmed his face. Somewhere nearby, a bullfrog screamed, deep and guttural.

He ducked under a fallen tree, then—

Wham.

His boot hit a cypress root, slick with damp moss. One leg went north, the other south.

Terry went down hard, smashing chest-first into a knot of half-submerged stone and wood. Things cracked—deep inside his ribcage and outside.

He rolled, gritting his teeth against the blinding flash of pain.

His chest screamed every time he breathed.

“Ribs,” he hissed.

As he steadied himself to stand, the remains of his body cam tumbled into the muck like plastic rain. He swiped at the damaged unit, but his broken body couldn’t react fast enough.

The cam quickly sank out of sight beneath the water’s surface. The slime green blanket closed over the spot and there was no trace.

“Shit. That’s done.”

No time to mourn his dead tech. He had three rounds left in his .308 bolt action rifle and a full clip in his Glock. That would have to be enough.

I need shelter. Fast.

Terry’s mind flipped through old patrol maps, decades of terrain memory flashing like a slideshow.

The shack. The old one. George Hoddy’s camp. Last used in... hell, ’04?

He changed direction, body protesting with each step, but he knew where he was going—mostly.

Behind him, he heard pursuit. Branches snapping.

Sounded like one voice, mumbling to himself.

Left his partner for dead, I guess. Score one for me.

Terry kept moving.

The swamp thickened. Vines dragged across his face.

A small python dropped from a branch and landed on his shoulder—he flinched and batted it away.

A gator slid into the water to his right, vanishing with a low splash.

No time to be afraid.

Keep focused.

Move. Breathe. Move.

A rustle nearby—feral hogs, rooting in the mud, big ones.

Terry stopped in his tracks.

That asshole behind him wasn’t the only way to die out here.

Terry gave the hogs a wide berth, hoping his pursuer didn’t have his level of swamp craft.

He limped forward, drenched in sweat, swatting away clouds of gnats.

Breathing was excruciating. No telling how many ribs were broken.

His shirt was torn and bloody from so many other falls and scrapes.

A wolf spider the size of a coffee mug crawled across his boot as he stepped through a narrow gully.

His lungs ached with every breath, his legs burning from hours of over-exertion.

He couldn’t last much longer.

He knew he was close.

And then—wood.

Warped, blackened with time and rot, but manmade.

He pushed through a curtain of vines and found the shack, all but hidden from the rest of the world.

It was sunken on one side, half-swallowed by the swamp. One window was shattered. The door hung crooked.

But it was shelter.

He moved inside, gun up, eyes scanning. Just mold and dust and the bones of a possum in the corner.

No snakes. No gators.

Good enough.

He kicked aside a crate and slid down the wall, finally letting the pain hit.

His breathing was ragged—shallow and fast.

He closed his eyes.

Outside, the swamp buzzed.

Inside, Terry let himself feel it. The fear. The rage. The loss.

But he wasn’t done yet.

Not by a long shot.

Everglades Wildlife Management. Cypress Glade.

Chief Wintour’s computer let out a soft chime—a familiar one. A bodycam video just finished uploading.

The name on the file was Terry Hayes.

His stomach clenched.

The wardens were required to wear bodycams for precisely this kind of situation, and now, with one of his men already missing... the noise felt like a death knell.

He hesitated, his mouse hovering over the thumbnail. It was no discernible image.

Dark. Blurry. Indistinct.

His heart thumped hard in his chest.

Please be nothing. Be a technical error.

He clicked play.

His screen flickered to life.

The image of a fisheries truck, half submerged, came into view. The chief watched and listened as Terry climbed aboard Wayne’s truck and investigated.

Always charging in.

More shaky footage. Mud on the rear window. Shattered windshield. Back to the mud.

“That’s not mud,” Terry said.

Oh, damn.

Bouncing footage. Terry’s driving. Several turns. Freshly bushwhacked laneway.

What’s that in that clearing ahead? It’s just out of focus.

“Oh, shit,” Chief Wintour whispered as the image of two armed men appeared.

He watched and listened until Terry fell hard, chest-first, smashing his body cam.

“Sweet Baby Jesus. No. No.” He didn’t mean to raise his voice but couldn’t hold back. “What the hell is going on?”

Wintour sat frozen at his desk, elbows on the armrests, hands covering his face. His breathing was shallow and rapid—on the edge of panic.

Barry, the last warden still in the office, knocked on the door. “Hey, Chief. Any news on Wayne? Haven’t seen Terry come back yet, either.”

The chief dropped his hands, revealing eyes full of concern and sadness.

“I’ve got this, Barry,” he said hoarsely. “Go back to your desk.”

Barry lingered, eyes flicking to the screen. “Chief, are you—”

“I said I’ve got it.”

Barry backed out without another word.

Wintour grabbed the phone, a slight tremor in his hand as he dialed.

Head office. Tallahassee.

They needed to know—something terrible was in the swamp.

Florida Game and Fisheries HQ. Tallahassee.

Bert Goodman, Chief Wintour’s boss, set down his copy of this month’s ‘Rod and Gun’ and answered his phone. “Hey, Murray. How’s life in the swamp?”

“Horrible, Bert. Some kind of shit’s going down out there, and I don’t know what it is or what to do.”

Bert focused. “Sounds serious.”

“As a heart attack, Bert. I’m sending you a video from one of my boy’s cams. Just came in a few minutes ago. I’ve lost two men in as many days, boss. This is bigger than poachers, and I don’t think we’re equipped to deal with this.”

“Send it, Murray. I’ll have a look, and I’ll call you back.”

“This needs to be your top priority, Bert. When you see the video, you’ll understand.”

“I’ll get back to you Murray. Try to hold on.”

The video hit Bert Goodman’s computer. He watched it twice. “Jesus Christ. Who are those maniacs, and what are they doing in the Everglades?”

His head spinning, Bert scrolled through his contacts and called his old friend in Washington D.C.

NSA Headquarters. Fort Meade. Maryland.

Blaine Dunnett saw the Florida Fish and Wildlife logo come on his screen and smiled. He hadn’t heard from Bert Goodman in a long time.

“Bert, how are things in the Sunshine State?”

“Sunny, Blaine.”

“You sound distressed. Is there a reason for your call?”

“A very definite reason, Blaine. There’s something going on down in the Big Swamp and I may need help sooner than later.”

“Gang of poachers or drug runners?”

“Worse, I think.”

“Can you give me details or coordinates of the trouble spot?”

“I have almost exact coordinates and plenty of details. I’m sending you some bodycam footage taken earlier today. One of our Fisheries officers went missing yesterday, and we sent another to find him. Thought maybe he had truck trouble and a dead phone or something simple.”

“I assume it was neither of those?”

“Watch the video, Blaine. Once you watch it, we’ll talk again.”

“Understood. Send it. I’ll watch it right now.”

The video arrived a minute later.

Dunnett watched it three times from beginning to end, writing notes as he watched. Then, he picked up his phone.

“Floyd, I need you in my office, please. I have something pressing to show you.”

Floyd Cassidy, Deputy Director of the NSA, heard the urgency. “On my way, sir.”

Dunnett showed the video to Floyd, and they talked it over. After pulling up the coordinates embedded into the video, they both sat silently for a moment.

Cassidy sighed heavily. “Would you look at that. And right under our noses.”

The satellite photos showed a clearing, with buildings in various stages of construction, as well as trucks, tents and other support items someone would need when creating an operation base.

Blaine had seen this too many times to count in other countries. But in Florida?

“This is definitely a trouble spot. Those men are preparing for something.”

“Agreed.”

“Based on how far along they are already, we shouldn’t wait on this one, Blaine.”

Blaine nodded. “I’ll put a plan in motion immediately. For now, I’m classifying this as ‘our eyes only.’ Just the two of us until we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

Cassidy nodded. “What are your first steps?”

“Florida Fish and Wildlife have already lost two men, so the camp is armed and heavily guarded. I’ll call my grandson and get him involved.”

Floyd Cassidy nodded knowingly. “Think it’s that bad?”

“I do, Floyd.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it, Blaine, and trust you’ll reach out when you need me. Shall I put a few techs on this area of the swamp, so we won’t miss anything?”

“Smart idea, Floyd. Let’s keep on top of this one.” Floyd left, and Blaine pressed his grandson’s contact number.

“Hey, Granddad. Good to hear from you.”

“Always good to talk to you, too, son. But today, it’s not good news.”

Blacky switched to business mode. “This is a business call, then?”

“It is. I have a story to share, and I’m hoping that Tommy and Lukas are available.”

“One of those calls.”

Cherrywood. Austin.

After lunch with Fala, I wasn’t giving our new relationship much of a chance. If she didn’t even want me to touch her hand, what was the point of trying? There wasn’t any. She didn’t like me, and I wasn’t going to torture myself over her. Been there. Done that.

Got the scars to prove it.

The porch creaked under my boots as I walked up to Aunt Gail’s. Lukas sat in the shade, one leg draped over the other, nursing a beer. The smell of something frying wafted out the kitchen window—onions, maybe bacon. I slumped into the chair beside him and lit a smoke, watching the first curl of ash twist up into the thick, humid air.

He didn’t look at me right away, just handed me a Shiner’s from his cooler. The can was cold enough to sweat in my grip.

“Heard you met a girl,” he said.

I chugged half the beer. “Yep.”

“Heard she came over for dinner.”

I glanced sideways at him. “Ellis needs to stop tellin’ Farrell my shit.”

Lukas chuckled, low and sharp. “How’d the lunch date go?”

I flicked ash off the porch rail. “Started out fine. Then I reached over to touch her hand—real soft, not pushy—and she jerked away like I’d burned her. After that, she clammed up, and we just ate in silence.”

He blew air through his nose. “That’s not shy, Tommy. That’s trauma.”

“I think she’s just careful. Like—real careful.”

“Careful is one thing. That sounds like she’s still bleeding from something. You sure she’s ready to date anyone, let alone a guy like you?”

I snorted. “We’re not even fuckin’ dating yet.”

“Then let it fade before it even starts. You don’t need bullshit mind games just to hold someone’s hand.”

I laughed bitterly, squinting out across the yard. “She’s making it easy to walk away.”

“Go to Boots tonight,” Lukas said. “Sing your songs. Drink a pitcher. Find somebody who wants to hold your damn hand.”

“Already planned on it.”

“I’ll come, too. Pick someone out for you.”

That made me laugh. “You gonna hold auditions?”

“Only the finest for my brother.”

Then my phone buzzed in my pocket, the sudden vibration cutting through the still heat like a knife.

“Hey, boss.”

“Tommy. Are you in town?”

“Yeah, I’m at Aunt Gail’s.”

“Great, you’re already in the city. Can you give me half an hour? I need to see you. Urgently. Bring Lukas if he’s with you.”

“Give us thirty minutes.”

“That’ll work.”

Click.

I looked at Lukas. His grin was gone.

“Blacky sound stressed?” he asked.

“Completely.”

My brother crushed his beer can and stood up.

“Well, that ain’t a good fuckin’ sign.”

The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

Blacky met me and Lukas at the door. “Come on in, boys. Coffee’s ready in my office.”

No time for small talk, I guess. 

“Sit down, boys.”

Once we had our coffees and were settled, Blacky began. “Granddad called a few minutes ago. He has an urgent situation he’d like us to look into.”

“What kind of situation, boss?” Lukas asked, already narrowing his eyes.

“NSA picked up satellite images of some covert activity in the Everglades.”

“Florida?” I blinked. “Like—Florida, Florida?”

“That’s what he said,” Blacky replied. “It looks like Florida Fish and Wildlife uncovered some sort of camp under construction.”

“Wouldn’t that be zoning or something? It’s probably just a couple of rednecks setting up a huntin’ and fishin’ cabin while tryin’ to avoid permits.”

“That’s what I thought, but Granddad said two game wardens have already gone missing, one presumed dead.”

“That changes things,” I said, “but I still don’t see where our services are warranted. Shouldn’t the locals or Staties get involved?”

“These are all valid points that I don’t know the answers to,” replied Blacky curtly. “All I know is that Granddad asked to send y’all in to have a look-see.”

“Can’t he do that with his satellites?”

Blacky chuckled. “Sorry, I wasn’t clear. He wants you in there. Infiltrate. Get eyes on the inside. Figure out what’s going on.”

Lukas gave me a look. I knew it well. We weren’t thrilled.

“We’re gonna pass, boss,” I said flatly. “We kill people, not schmooze them. If Granddad wants these idiots gone, we’ll take care of it. But I’m not pretending to be a camo-wearing jackass just to figure out where they’re keeping their fertilizer.”

Lukas nodded. “We don’t infiltrate. We eliminate.”

“Granddad never offered that option,” Blacky said. “This could be national security.”

“I don’t see how, boss. A couple of weekend warriors getting’ over-excited about building a boy’s club in the middle of a swamp ain’t too dangerous.”

Blacky’s frustration grew. “All I know is Granddad specifically asked for you two.”

Lukas spoke, quick and quiet. “Sounds like he needs someone who likes sneaking around and me and Tommy, we’re not those guys.”

There was a beat of silence.

Blacky leaned back in his chair, chewing the inside of his cheek. Then he nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll let him know.”

He sounded… off. Not disappointed—confused. Like something didn’t add up.

After Tommy and Lukas left, Blacky sat in the silence of his office, rolling the last conversation around in his head.

Why had Granddad been so urgent about a job that sounded like a backwoods recon? Why send our team?

It didn’t add up.

He picked up the phone and dialed.

“Tommy refused the job, Granddad,” he said.

On the other end, Director Blaine Dunnett, NSA, was quiet for a moment.

Then: “Did you not show him the satellite footage?”

Blacky froze. “What satellite footage?”

“The videos from yesterday morning, showing the militia encampment. There are hundreds of soldiers down there.”

Blacky sat upright. “Sir… you didn’t send me any satellite footage.”

“What about the bodycam files? From the dead warden?”

“No, sir. You never sent those either.”

The silence that followed was longer. Deeper. And when Blaine spoke again, the weight of it hit Blacky like a punch to the gut.

When Blaine Dunnett finally spoke, his voice was smaller. Trembling, even. “Oh… dear Lord. I didn’t.”

“I’ve done you a grave disservice, son,” Blaine said, his voice fraying at the edges. “I’m ashamed to say, I plain forgot. I’ll send everything immediately—satellite, bodycam, incident reports, all of it.”

Blacky swallowed hard. “I’ll look at it now. Then I’ll call Tommy and Lukas. We’ll try again.”

“I’m sorry, son. I don’t know what happened to me.” He caught himself. Cleared his throat.
“We need the Donovans on this. No one else has the skills to do what they do.”

“I’ll do my best,” Blacky said.

Blaine Senior ended the call, but Blacky didn’t move.

The old man’s voice haunted him. The shame. The fear. He’d heard that tone before—but never from him.

Blacky sat for a long time before opening the email that finally came through. He watched the satellite footage unfold frame by frame. He saw the heat signatures. The tents. The guards. The firing range. The vehicles. This was not a few guys building a fishing hut or even some wannabes playing militia. This was a small army.

He sat back, heart thudding.

They had almost walked away from this blind.

And they’d nearly done it because the man who’d always remembered everything... forgot.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler.

I woke up thinkin’ this was goin’ to be a fantastic day, but it turned out to be a colossal pile of shit.

The lunch with Fala went south faster than I could blink, and I hadn’t figured out why.

Then Blacky wanted to send me and Lukas into the fuckin’ swamp to break up a hillbilly Hilton.

No way I was gonna hump it through a swamp, filled with snakes and bugs that give me fuckin’ rashes, just to hang out with some rednecks.

I’ll just go back to the trailer park if I have a redneck deficiency.

The kids were upstairs having their afternoon nap when I got home, and the house was quiet. Ellis was in the family room reading a brand-new paperback.

She looked up and smiled when I came in. “How was lunch with Fala?”

“No good.” I told her about the hand jerking thing that hurt my feelings. “When she did that, it made me feel like Fala thought I was creepy.”

“You are definitely not creepy, Tommy, and I find her behavior a little odd. Why did she accept your lunch invitation if she didn’t want to be with you?”

“I don’t know. Lukas said she wasn’t right for me, but I thought in a lot of ways, she was perfect.”

“Are you giving up, or going for another try?”

“Don’t know what to do, Ellis.”

“Maybe you’ll meet somebody tonight at Boots when you sing.”

I laughed. “Lukas said he was coming to Boots tonight to handpick somebody out for me.”

Ellis giggled. “That should be fun.”

“Don’t think so.”

“Anything else happen? You seem so down.”

“Boss wanted to see me about a job in Florida in the fuckin’ Everglades.”

“Hmm…the Everglades. I bet it’s hot there this time of year.”

“Yeah, hot and overcrowded with snakes and bugs. Reminded me of when I was stuck in the jungle, and I got that fuckin’ rash from the bites.”

“I remember how hard that was for you to get rid of, Tommy.”

“I told the boss I wasn’t going.”

“A wise decision. I like you at home, then I know where you are and that you’re safe.”

“At least somebody likes me.”

Boots & Saddles Roadhouse. Giddings.

I sang a couple of songs with the band, then between sets, I talked to Annie a bit. Told her the Fala story and she cried for some reason.

She was the one who told me to get a girlfriend.

Lukas showed up around ten and I had a beer with him at the band table before I had to sing again.

“I’ll pick out a hot date for you while you’re on the stage.”

“Go for it. Do your worst.”

He chuckled and glanced at the booths closest to us.

Lord have mercy.

Chapter Seven

Friday, May 9th.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

Susie Puckrin.

That was the girl Lukas picked for me, and she was the first thing I thought of when I woke up.

Jesus—I gotta get laid soon.

Susie was similar to Ricki in a lot of ways—tall, blonde, an absolute smoke show, and from the moment Lukas introduced us, I was one hundred percent sure she would cheat on me.

I was damaged goods, and no girl would ever be right for me. I promised him I’d take her out at least once and I had to—for Lukas. Wasn’t looking forward to it. I’d text her and take her to T ‘n T for my Friday night gig. A couple of dances, buy her drinks and take her home. Maybe kiss her. Maybe not. Done.

While Alfie and I did the chores at the barn, I thought about the swamp job. Pictured the gators and snakes and I could almost feel the heat and hear the insects buzzing in my head.

Those little bastards wanted to make me itch again and I still had scars from my time in the fuckin’ jungle. I’m glad I turned it down and I think Lukas was too. May in Florida would be too fuckin’ hot and steamy for us. Not like Texas heat at all.

I cleaned up when I came in from the barn and sat down at the table with a coffee for family breakfast. Ellis had Linc and Simka sitting in their highchairs munching on cereal and eating the little toast wedges they loved.

Seeing the kids laughing and so happy calmed me down a lot and made me feel normal.

“Did you feed Wooly, Daddy?” Linc asked me.

“Sure did, Polly too.”

“And Durango?”

“I didn’t forget him. I gave him a carrot after he ate his oats. He’s a good eater like you, Lincoln.”

Simka ate like a little sparrow and Ellis worried about her, but she seemed healthy enough. Soon be time for their checkups at the doctor’s office in Giddings.

Ellis and I ate scrambled eggs and toast, and she poured me a second cup of coffee while I checked my messages. Barely got started and the buzzer sounded.

Alfie barked at the sound and ran to the door.

“Gate, Daddy,” said Lincoln.

“You’re right, son. Somebody is at the gate, and they want in.”

“Are you expecting someone?” asked Ellis.

“Nope.” I ran to the intercom, and it was Blacky. A surprise for him to be way out here in Butler so early in the morning. Must be important. “It’s Blacky, Ellis. No worries.”

Ellis nodded and the tension left her face. Her shoulders relaxed.

I let Blacky in and met him on the porch when he jumped out of his truck. “What’s up, boss?”

“We need to talk, Tommy.”

Something was up, all right.

“Sure. Come on in. I’ll get you a coffee and we’ll talk in my office.”

“Thanks, I could use a cup.”

“Ellis always has coffee on.”

Blacky said his hellos to Ellis and the kids, then took his coffee and followed me into my office, closing the door behind him. “After you left yesterday, I called Granddad and told him you didn’t want to do the Florida job.”

“How pissed was he?”

“He wasn’t pissed, but he was determined to persuade you otherwise. He sent me the satellite footage of the encampment and a bodycam video from one of the Fisheries officers before he went missing.”

“Okay. Go ahead and show it to me.” I fired up my laptop and entered my password, then turned the machine to him.

Blacky slid a thumb drive into the port and began clicking quickly. “The video is lengthy, but you should watch it all. It’s pretty telling. I’ve also included the satellite photos, which tell a different story than the one we spoke about yesterday.”

“Why wouldn’t Granddad give this to y’all for our meeting yesterday? This seems kinda important.”

Blacky paused. “He said he forgot.”

Blacky’s face said it all.

“Well, that old fella is sharper on his worst day than I am on my best, and he deserves a little understanding,” I said, and that was that.

Blacky nodded as he cued up the footage and hit play. I flopped into a chair and waited.

I watched the bodycam footage roll, leaning back with a lukewarm coffee in my hand and a familiar skepticism on my face.

Some poor Fisheries bastard walking through swamp hell, cypress knees stabbing up from the mud, Spanish moss hangin’ low like the fingers of dead things. The air was so thick you could feel it through the screen. The guy’s breathing was clipped—tension in every frame.

He was narrating, so I knew what I was lookin’ at.

“Brave bastard,” I muttered. “Hoppin’ around on slick roots. One wrong step and the gators get a free lunch.”

“Keep watching,” Blacky said.

I squinted at the screen as he discovered the remains of his buddy on the back window, then got back in his patrol truck and took off in search of the fuckers that killed his friend.

I woulda done the same.

Lots of driving, then dense underbrush parted just enough to reveal a clearing—but this wasn’t no fishing shack. This was a whole damn operation.

Rows of tents. Half-built bunkers. Shipping containers turned into living quarters. Men moving in the background—maybe hundreds of them. Armed. Coordinated.

I sat up a little straighter. “This ain’t a few backwoods yahoos playing soldier.”

Then the camera jittered—just a quick shift as the officer focused on two figures stepping from the tree line, rifles across their chests.

One of them had short, pale blond hair. Stocky. Confident. Even blurry, something about him snagged at my memory like barbed wire.

“Pause it,” I said.

Blacky glanced at me, concerned, but tapped the keyboard.

“Back it up a bit. That guy—stop when he’s walking in from the right.”

The frame jumped, then froze.

“Zoom in.”

The image wasn’t clean—digital grain and swamp glare muddying the details—but something in the posture… the tilt of the head, the way he held the rifle low, like it belonged there. The way he moved, like the world owed him something.

That walk.

That goddamn Donovan walk.

My blood went cold. My hands gripped the arms of my chair so hard my knuckles ached. My gut flipped and I thought I was gonna puke right there on my fuckin’ desk.

“What the fuck?”

“That… can’t be.”

I swallowed hard, but my throat was dry as cotton. I could feel the sweat prickle at the base of my neck.

My body knew before my brain did.

Blacky was watching me now, brow furrowed. “Tommy?”

I nodded, barely, staring at the screen like it might lunge at me. “Enhance it. Best you can.”

He adjusted the image slightly. The face was still half-shadowed, indistinct. But the shoulders, the stance, the smug tilt of the chin…

It all slammed together in my mind like a freight train.

“Oh fuck,” I breathed. I stood up fast, my chair scraping across the hardwood. My busted head pounded out a rhythm and I had to brace myself on the desk.

Blacky’s voice was careful now. “Talk to me.”

I pointed at the screen like it was a crime scene. “That’s Cletus. Cletus Donovan.”

“Donovan?” His eyes widened. “He related?”

“Yeah,” I snapped. “Jett’s brother. My father’s kin. He did twenty years in Huntsville for sex trafficking.”

“Holy shit,” Blacky muttered.

“Looks like he’s out and he don’t look rehabilitated.”

“Jett never got fuckin’ rehabilitated. Did he? My daddy was the same when he came out as the day he went in.”

Blacky nodded and didn’t take his eyes off me.

“The world was a helluva lot safer when Cletus Donovan was a guest of the Texas penal system. And now he’s here. Back in our world again.”

I could feel my pulse pounding in my neck. My skin was clammy. A cold sweat ran down my spine.

I lowered myself back into the chair, trying to breathe. Trying not to puke.

“He’s out,” I said quietly. “And it looks like he didn’t waste any time building his own fuckin’ army.”

Blacky was already typing furiously. “I’m pulling his file now.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off the paused image.

Same hair. Same build. That rotten, cocky gait.

“That walk,” I muttered. “All the Donovans had it. The way they carried themselves. Like they were the last real men in a world of sheep. Every one of ‘em rotten to the fuckin’ core.”

“You okay?” Blacky asked.

I met his eyes. “No. I’m not. That man is evil, Blacky. And I don’t use that word lightly. I’ve seen it. Felt it and lived it. And if he’s setting up shop in the Everglades, it ain’t for Sunday potlucks and wildlife tours.”

“Sorry, Tommy, but I have to ask—are you still passing on this job?”

I stared at the screen for another long moment, then nodded once. Sharp and final. “Call Granddad and tell him we’re in. I’ll get Lukas. We’re takin’ this motherfucker down. It takes a Donovan to catch a Donovan.”

Blacky didn’t say another word. Just reached for his phone as I grabbed mine.

“You arrange the flight, and I’ll call Lukas.”

Blacky called Granddad.

Lukas rode with the squad last night and would just be getting home.

“Hey, what’s up?” He sounded tired and ready to crash.

I knew I sounded panicked, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. “We’re taking the Florida job. No fuckin’ choice. I’ll fill you in on the plane this afternoon. Get some sleep. I’ll text you the details.”

Without hesitation, Lukas replied, “Copy that. I’m crashing now.”

Blacky was on his feet. “Granddad’s happy you’re taking the op and apologized again for forgetting to send the intel. I’ll text you all the details as soon as they’re set up.”

“I’ll start prepping my gear now.”

Good thing I didn’t ask Susie out yet.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Before anyone was up, Kamps worked in his office alone. His concentration was enhanced when the house was silent. He was a bit surprised when Yvonne walked in with a cup of coffee in her hand, closed the door and sat down in front of the desk.

“You’re ready for work early.”

“The doctors are coming to the Residence this morning to give their verdict, and I want to be present.”

Kamps nodded.

Trying to act casual, Yvonne took a sip of her coffee. “What has Samantha found out so far? Is it worth having her here?”

“I think it is. She’s diligent and thorough and a hard worker. She’s already picked up one or two loose ends that she’s following, and we’ll have something on Ryerson soon. Give her more time.”

Chet could feel the difference in their relationship and their interactions, and he didn’t want to lose that.

He didn’t know when it happened but the air between Yvonne and himself had shifted.

Private Residence. White House. D.C.

Daniel let Yvonne into the president’s private quarters and pointed at the dining room. “He’s reading the Post, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Daniel.”

Yvonne rushed in and sat down next to Lee. “Dan got you home from the hospital with no trouble?”

“Yes, we waited until after dark and slunk out the back way like escaped prisoners.” He laughed. “I am feeling better. The tests didn’t tire me out too much at all. I didn’t have to use my brain all day yesterday and that was the same as resting.”

“We’ll find out this morning what they came up with—if anything.”

“I hope it isn’t much at all. One round of tests I managed, but if there’s a lot of follow up appointments, I won’t be pleased, and the scheduling could be tricky.”

Yvonne poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the antique buffet, helped herself to a pastry and sat down again. “What time are they coming?”

“Between eight and nine. I asked them to come early so the scheduling for the Oval Office wouldn’t have to be adjusted again. I’m sure Bethany is going crazy calling people and rearranging everything.”

“She’ll manage. Beth is a very competent person.”

“When I moved into the Oval Office I selected Carter over her and I should’ve kept her on as my Chief of Staff. She’s just as smart and far easier to work with than Carter Levalley.”

“We learn about people as we go along, Lee.”

“So true.”

It wasn’t long before Daniel brought the trio of doctors into the dining room and offered them coffee.

They refused and sat down.

Three serious faces starring at Yvonne and the president.

Yvonne’s heart thumped in her chest as she anticipated the worst news possible.

Are those their doctor faces, or did they find something horrendous?

“What were your findings, gentlemen?”

Doctor Mannington, an orthopedic surgeon, started and got the ball rolling. “Many of the fractures resulting from the bomb are only partially healed and could be the cause of a lot of the pain the president is experiencing.”

“Will the pain ease as the healing progresses?” asked Yvonne.

“It should.”

“Is there any way to speed up the healing?” Lee asked.

“Rest is always the best medicine, but I’m guessing that’s out of the question.”

Everyone chuckled.

“I wrote a prescription for stronger medication, which should alleviate the pain in the interim.”

“Thank you,” said Lee.

Doctor Feng, eminent cardiologist spoke next. “Your heart seems strong, Mister President. If you keep up the diet and exercise regimen you’re currently on, I don’t see any problems for the future.”

“One positive result,” said Lee. “What about you, Doctor Burfield?”

“Sir, your bloodwork wasn’t so positive, I’m afraid.”

“What does that mean?” asked Yvonne.

“It means that you are experiencing the early stages of anemia. A nurse will come once a week—discreetly, of course—to take a blood sample and administer a B-12 injection.”

“Can’t I just take a pill?”

“You could, but you might forget. Besides, these shots are much more effective. They should have you back within normal parameters quicker.”

Lee frowned slightly. “Well, quicker is better, and it doesn’t sound too difficult.”

“Is this something we should be worried about, Doctor?” Yvonne asked.

Doctor Burfield shook his head. “It’s early and highly treatable. I wouldn’t worry. That said, I want to monitor it to rule out any underlying cause. Your dip in red blood cells is adding to your fatigue, making it harder to get through the day.”

“My days have been a drain of late.”

“Once you receive the B-12 shots on a regular basis, I believe you’ll notice the difference.”

Lee smiled. “Excellent. This job requires high energy, and I’ve been lacking that.”

Everyone shook hands, and then Yvonne showed the doctors out.

She returned to the dining room and smiled at Lee. “It sounds like once your blood gets a boost, you will feel more like working.”

Lee laughed. “Hard to imagine, gauged on how I feel this morning, but I hope you’re right.”

“I steeled myself against a worse result,” said Yvonne. “To my way of thinking, that was all good news.”

“Wasn’t too bad at all. I imagined some rare disease that one person in a trillion gets.” Lee chuckled.

“What do you think your psychiatrist will say? That’s the last diagnosis we’re waiting on.”

Lee sighed. “Doctor Katie’s session was tough, but I realized I needed it. I’m guessing she’ll need a few more sessions before she can untangle the mess in my brain.”

“Keeping those appointments is half the battle, Lee.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Austin-Bergstrom Airport.

I parked the truck on the military side of the airport, where the asphalt shimmered under the afternoon Texas sun. We walked across the tarmac, boots echoing on concrete, toward a sleek black transport plane already humming with low, impatient energy.

“Our ride is here,” said Lukas.

The flight crew met us halfway, grabbing our gear bags without a word and stowing them in the rear. We boarded and buckled in, the metal seats cold against our backs.

“Landing in Homestead, Florida, in two hours and twenty minutes, gentlemen,” said the pilot, barely glancing at us.

No waiting. No safety demo. Just the kind of quiet urgency that made my skin itch.

The plane took off fast, and soon, we were above the clouds. The cabin buzzed with low vibration and engine hum, the kind that made your teeth tingle if you held still too long.

Lukas sat across from me, arms folded, boots planted wide. “You’re sure it was him on the video?”

I didn’t answer right away. I stared at the floor, where a bolt had rusted slightly, and felt my throat tighten.

“Yeah,” I said finally. “I’m sure. Looked just like Jett—had that same look in his eyes, like the whole world owed him something, and he was gonna rip what was due from anyone he saw.”

“I never met him.”

“You’re lucky.”

I leaned back, pressing my head to the bulkhead. The metal was cool. Too cool.

“Mama used to talk about him when Jett wasn’t around. Said he was the worst of the Donovan brothers—and that’s sayin’ something. Him, Jett, and Billy Don… all of ’em poison. But Cletus?” I shook my head. “He had something darker inside. More sinister and calculated. He was someone that, once you knew him, you’d wish you had never met.”

Lukas nodded slowly. “Tell me what you remember. If I ever lay eyes on him, I wanna know what kind of devil I’m looking at.”

I looked at my brother, really looked at him. He didn’t grow up in that trailer. Didn’t have to flinch when headlights pulled into the yard. Didn’t know what it was like to see a grown man smile like that right before he did something awful to you.

“I’ll tell you,” I said. “But just the ones that won’t make me throw up my coffee.”

I told him a few things I could never forget. Not the worst ones.

Lukas clenched his jaw somewhere around the second and flexed his fists around the fourth.

He didn’t interrupt.

By the time the pilot’s voice crackled overhead to announce our descent, the air between us had changed. Not words. Just weight.

Lukas leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He ever touches you again, I’ll make sure he never draws another breath.”

I stared out the window at the thick green crawling up toward the horizon.

“Won’t be necessary,” I said. “This time… I’m pulling the trigger.”

And in that moment, we didn’t say it—but we both knew we wanted him dead.

Homestead Air Reserve Base. Florida.

The guys on the base were ready for us when we landed. An airman in uniform shook our hands and handed us keys to an army green Jeep and the crew of the plane loaded our gear bags for us.

We thanked them and they wished us well on our mission. I had no idea how much they knew, but it wouldn’t be much. Only that we were arriving in Florida for a special assignment.

Lukas took the wheel, and I programmed in the address of the hotel Granddad had booked for us. “Our last night before we go into the fuckin’ swamp. Let’s make it a good one, bro.”

“Yeah, we should have us a time in case we don’t come out and get another shot at it.”

Floridian Hotel. Homestead. Florida.

Nice hotel. I checked us in, and we took the elevator up to the fifth floor.

“Saw a bar off the lobby,” said Lukas.

“Good eye. We’ll check it out as soon as we get settled into our room.”

First thing I did was call Granddad and tell him we were in Homestead at the hotel. Landing at that airbase put us about fifty miles south of the Everglades Parkway—an hour out of our way—but Grandad didn’t want us landing at Miami International and risk me being recognized.

Before we headed downstairs to the bar, Lukas and I tossed ideas around about how we’d infiltrate the camp when we found it.

“Why don’t we let ourselves get caught?” Lukas asked. “We say we heard about their cause, and we agree with their mission, and we want to join their little army.”

“What if they shoot us before we get to say that shit, Lukas? Look how fast they shot the game warden, for chrissakes.”

“I didn’t see the video, but I thought about that angle.”

“And?”

Lukas shrugged. “Might happen, I guess. Other than that, all we can do is hide in the trees and watch them train and get a count on how many men they have. I don’t know what good that’s going to do. We need to know their timeline and their first target to do any good.”

“Copy that. Timeline and first target is what we’re going for.”

“Let’s go drink a few cold ones. We’re not going anywhere tonight where we have to drive. No DUIs in our future.”

Chapter Eight

Saturday, May 10th.

Floridian Hotel. Homestead. Florida.

Florida was ahead of Texas time, but not by much. Didn’t bother me, and Lukas worked nights, so his clock was always screwed up.

We were awake and dressed early, even though we tied one on last night. We were the first ones in the dining room for the breakfast buffet. As soon as the hotel staff put the breakfast food out, we ate our fill and then took coffees to our room.

While we packed up and wiped the room down, we figured out it would take us a couple of hours to get to Cypress Glade. Granddad had arranged for The Homestead Airforce base to loan us a civilian-looking Jeep with a GPS to make our travel easier.

Florida Fisheries office was our first stop. The boss of the Swamp Wardens was meeting us on a Saturday to give us the lay of the land.

Finding the camp is the least of our problems.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

Every Saturday morning, Farrell drove over to Tommy’s place to have coffee and catch up with Ellis. He wasn’t happy she was living with Tommy and the kids instead of him, but he was the one who’d caused her to move out of his house. Lucky that’s all she’d done. He’d been such a prick to her, and he deserved much worse.

Every day he thought about asking her to move back, but he was afraid she’d say no and the rift between them on that subject would widen.

He knew the gate code and let himself in. When Ellis unlocked the front door, he stepped into the foyer, pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a lot of pent-up passion. “I missed you so much.”

Ellis laughed. “Since last night?”

“Yes. I can’t live without you, Ellis. You know that. I tell you enough.”

That made her giggle a little. “Come into the kitchen and I’ll pour you a coffee. Have you had breakfast?”

“Yeah, a long time ago.” He glanced at the kids playing on the rug in the family room and hollered to them, “Hey, kids.”

They jumped up and ran to him, hugged his legs, then tore back into the family room and continued playing on the rug.

“Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s working.”

Farrell raised an eyebrow. “He never mentioned an op to me.”

“Sudden,” said Ellis. “It came up suddenly.”

“Huh. Where did he go?”

“I can’t talk about it. Tommy left right after Ranger Blackmore came here in person. You can ask him, and he might tell you more.”

Farrell’s back was up. “You don’t trust me enough to confide in me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m not saying anything at all. It’s a classified op and I don’t know a thing about it. Tommy isn’t allowed to talk about his jobs.”

“But you know where he went,” said Farrell,

“Not exactly.”

“But you have a rough idea, and you won’t tell me.”

Ellis stood, her brow furrowed.  “It’s not my place to say, Farrell. Of all people, you should understand that.”

“Did he take Lukas with him?”

“He did,” Ellis snapped, “and that’s the last question you’ll ask about this, Farrell Donovan.”

They sat quietly, stewing in anger for different reasons.

Florida Fish and Wildlife Office. Cypress Glade.

Even though my dizzy spells were few and far between, Lukas preferred driving to crashing. He drove us along the Everglades Parkway following the GPS until we got to Cypress Glade.

Only one dead snake on the highway, so I was feeling pretty confident when we walked in to meet with Murray Wintour, the boss of the local fisheries and wildlife office.

The squad room was empty, but a short, stocky man in his late fifties came out of his office, smiling warmly. He looked like he could still handle himself if he ever got into a fight.

“Warden Murray Wintour. Thanks for coming, boys.”

“I’m US Marshal Tommy Donovan, and this is my brother, Texas Ranger Lukas Donovan.”

He sized us both up.

“My boss said he called in a favor with an old college buddy at the NSA, and they were sending in the calvary. You sure a Texas Ranger and a Marshal are going to be enough?”

“One riot, one ranger,” Lukas said proudly.

I jumped in. “We’re…specialists. We won’t need the army until it’s time to take the fuckers down.”

Warden Wintour gestured for us to follow him into his office. Not too big, but private. He closed the door behind us. “So, y’all are kinda like scouts?”

I noticed some pictures of the warden in his military uniform and understood where these questions were coming from. “We’re the advanced recon team, sir. Our goal is to embed ourselves with the enemy, to gather intel. The NSA has eyes on us.”

“Good, then y’all have some protection.”

“We’ll be on our own until we make the call,” I said. “What we need from your team is simple—stay away. No more wardens in that area of the swamp for any reason. We have no idea what kind of weaponry these guys have, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s fuckin’ collateral damage because of poor planning.”

“I understand, but I think there’s something terrifying going on down Glade River Road. It’s going to get rough for you boys.”

Lukas and I both nodded.

“It usually gets worse before we make it better,” I said. “But if these rednecks want a war with the US government, then me and Lukas will give them what they want.”

The warden looked at us skeptically. “From what I saw, there’s a ton of them down there, and only two of you.”

I chuckled. “Maybe so, but we’ve done this kinda thing a time or two. Don’t worry. By the time we’re done with them, these fuckers will be sorry they ever messed with a couple of boys from Texas.”

The warden smiled.

“Tell us what you know about the two men you lost,” said Lukas. “Tommy has seen the video, but is there anything else you can add?”

“Not really. The first officer to go missing was Wayne Mount. We didn’t know he was missing until the next day when his wife called in a panic because he never went home. No call, no show. So we sent a veteran of the area, Terry Hayes, to find him. That’s whose bodycam footage you watched, Marshal Donovan. He found Wayne’s truck, figured out roughly what happened to poor Wayne and then went hunting for the culprits.”

Warden Wintour held up his hands and choked up. “These were good men, fellas. I’ve known them for decades. They didn’t deserve this.”

“Who else knows about what happened?”

Warden Wintour collected himself. “My boss in Tallahassee and his buddy in the NSA. And now, you two. The NSA guy told us not to say anything to anyone because it might be bigger than a bunch of rednecks playing soldier. So, we’ve only told their wives that they’re missing.”

“That’s for the best,” Lukas said. “Is there any other info you can give us?”

The warden nodded. “I can show you where each part of the video took place. It won’t be dead-nuts accurate, but it's very close. I know this swamp better than most, which might give you a leg up on those bastards.”

“We’d appreciate that,” I said.

Warden Wintour played the video and plotted each scene out on a massive, laminated map on the wall. He pointed out land markers to watch for so that we wouldn’t end up wandering around lost in the fuckin’ swamp.

After an hour of swamp-class 101, we felt pretty sure we wouldn’t get too far from where we needed to be.

“Much appreciated, Warden. And, once again—keep your wardens as far away as possible. This ain’t your fight, and y’all ain’t equipped to deal with these assholes. A lot of them will be right off their nut.”

“I wish you boys good luck, and rest assured, we will be nowhere near Glade River Road.”

As we shook hands with the warden, the look in his eyes showed the doubt he had in the two of us.

Glade River. Florida.

Lukas took the turnoff when we got to Glade River Road, and we headed south into the heart of the swamp. Sweat trickling down the back of my neck and running down my forehead. Already hotter than the hubs of hell and it would only get worse.

My shirt clung like wet paper. The air was thick, like tryin’ to breathe soup. The bugs were louder than the engine—a full choir of biting bastards singing the devil’s lullaby.

Bandana time. I tied it tight, but it didn’t help much.

The deeper we went, the tighter the trail closed in. Cypress roots tangled up the shoulders, and vines crept low across the dirt path. Some stretches were so narrow, I wasn’t sure we’d stay on solid ground.

I watched for snakes through the windshield and on my side of the road and saw nothing.

Thank Baby Jesus.

“This is about the spot, right?” I asked, pointing to the rutted mud ahead.

Lukas slowed. “Yep. You can see where they dragged the truck out. Look at the gouges—big ones.”

I scanned the brush—hyper-aware, eyes twitching from root to shadow. No movement. No snakes. No gators.

Yet.

“Keep movin’,” I muttered. “Let’s not get cozy.”

Lukas drove slow. When the gator appeared, it wasn’t with drama—it just… was. Big as a fuckin’ canoe, waddling across the trail like it owned the place.

“Jesus,” I breathed. “That thing’s…huge.”

We waited, tense and still, until it slid off the path and disappeared into the algae-choked black water.

“Our first gator,” Lukas grinned.

“Let’s keep it our only one,” I shot back.

“Don’t you want to count how many we see?”

“Hell no, I don’t.”

He chuckled. “Afraid of the swamp, bro?”

“I ain’t afraid,” I said. “I’m just aware it wants me dead.”

Lukas laughed harder, but it faded fast when we reached the turnoff. “We’re here. Wintour said this old lane should hide the truck.”

We backed into the brush, pulling in slowly so we wouldn’t leave obvious tire marks. The overgrowth swallowed us up, but it wasn’t enough.

“Branches,” I said. “Get those palmettos. We need coverage from the air.”

We worked fast and quiet, masking the Jeep with dead limbs and hanging moss. Every crack of a branch made me flinch.

“This thing’s our emergency escape plan,” Lukas muttered, stepping back to assess. “If we lose it, we’re hoofing it along Gator Alley to the highway.”

I nodded. “Let’s pray it don’t come to that.”

We grabbed our gear and rucked up. I doused myself in bug spray, not even pretending to be subtle. I reeked like a chemical factory.

“You sure about that?” Lukas asked, laughing through his teeth. “We’re supposed to be sneaking in. Not gassing the wildlife.”

“Trust me, bro. You’d rather smell like DEET than rot for a week from some jungle rash. I speak from experience.” I slung my rifle. “Let’s move.”

Before going in deeper, I called Blacky. “We’re here and going in. Don’t know when I’ll be able to call y’all again. Let Granddad know we’re in.”

“Copy that, Tommy. I’ll give him a call now. You and Lukas be safe.”

I clicked off.

Just static silence now—no more lifeline.

Blacky knew we were officially here, and it was on him and Granddad to get us out alive.

We moved forward.

Used to hiking through tough country, I watched the GPS on my chest and followed the coordinates. “Glad we didn’t bring Alfie. He wouldn’t be watching for snakes, and he might’ve got a bad bite.”

We pushed through the underbrush. I kept my eyes up, down, all around. Snakes in the trees. Gators underfoot. No such thing as a safe direction in this place.

Lukas tapped my shoulder. “Eyes up, bro.”

I looked up—and there it was.

A big, thick-bodied python hanging from a low branch, its tongue flicking in and out like it had plans.

I backed up fast. “You just had to say it…”

“If one drops on you, you’re gonna scream and give us away.”

“Yeah. And then I’m shooting everything near me—including you.”

Lukas snorted. “Fair.”

The trees thinned. The buzzing got louder.

Saws. Hammers. Voices.

Camp.

We crouched behind a broad-rooted tree. Lukas lit a smoke—steady hands.

“What’s the smart way to do this?” he asked.

“There ain’t one,” I said. “Every way ends in us shot or gator food.”

He grunted. “Good thing we’re geniuses, then.”

“We could wait here ‘til they find us.”

“I mean—it’s a plan.”

“You got a better one?”

Lukas shook his head.

We sat in silence, the weight of it pressing down harder than the humidity.

“Guess we got ourselves a plan, then,” I said.

Lukas nodded, taking a long drag.

We waited.

NSA Headquarters. Fort Meade. Maryland.

Director Blaine Dunnett felt a twinge of relief when his grandson’s number flashed on the secure line. He snatched up the phone.

“Tell me something good,” he said, bypassing formalities.

Blacky’s voice came through, tight and tired. “Tommy just checked in. They’re approaching the camp on foot. Making contact soon.”

Dunnett let out a slow breath. “Do they have an infiltration plan?”

“They didn’t lay it out, but Tommy always has one.” A pause. “He didn’t sound panicked.”

“That doesn’t ease my nerves. This entire operation is a gamble. A single misstep—one wrong look—and they’ll be dead men.”

“Tommy’s been in tighter spots than this,” Blacky said. “We both know that. He’s a ghost when he needs to be.”

Blaine turned from his desk, crossing slowly to the window. The D.C. skyline shimmered beyond the glass, but all he could picture was jungle. Swamp. Muck and rifles and ghosts from the past.

“We’ve sent them in alone,” he said quietly. “All we can do now is wait and hope they stay alive long enough to call for backup.”

“Once they’re inside,” Blacky replied, “they’ll ditch their phones. Tommy’s got an emergency unit fitted into the heel of his boot, but that’s last resort stuff.”

“So we’ll sit. And watch. And wait.” Blaine’s voice was distant now. “I hate this part.”

“The team’s on standby. I’ll have a bird ready within an hour of that call.”

“And if the call never comes?” Blaine asked.

Silence hummed across the line.

Blacky didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Blaine closed his eyes, one hand clenching the edge of his desk.

He used to be the man with all the answers. But now, watching from afar while two boys walked into a storm—they were shadows on a screen, and he couldn’t touch them.

“Waiting,” he murmured, “gets harder the older you get.”

On the screen in front of him, the satellite feed refreshed. A flicker of thermal heat signatures moved at the edge of a clearing—maybe a tent. Maybe men with rifles.

Maybe his grandsons in the mouth of hell.

Militant Camp. Big Swamp. Florida.

We’d been hunkered down in the trees for a couple of hours before the first patrol went by us. The two pretend soldiers—Aryan fuckers with swastika tats on their skulls—were sharing a joint and not looking too hard for intruders.

Passing not four feet from us wearing no shirts, AKs slung around their necks, they talked and laughed and didn’t bother to look into the trees at all.

Guess they figured nobody would be crazy enough to be hiding out in this fuckin’ infested pressure cooker.

We watched them turn and head along the other side of the clearing.

“That went well,” grumbled Lukas. “We forgot to factor in the stupidity level of these assholes.”

“That will work in our favor once we get inside.”

“Yeah, maybe, if we ever get in there. I have to piss. You’re on snake watch.”

“Jesus.”

During the afternoon, the burning ball of hate rose in the sky, making it hotter and hotter until every pore was sweatin’ so bad, my shirt stuck to me like wallpaper, and my balls were floating in my boxers.

The fuckin’ bugs were driving me nuts, but the little demons weren’t even bothering Lukas.

I was busy most of the time, watching the ground around my feet and the branches over my head for snakes. Didn’t hear any gators. We were a ways from any slimy water where they might be hanging out.

Lukas smoked and watched me and grinned. I was his source of entertainment while we waited to get grabbed and either shot or tossed in a black hole someplace.

“It’s taking them long enough,” I whispered. “It’s been two hours since the last patrol went by. How stupid are they?”

“A lot of them are gonna be pretty dense,” said Lukas. “Stupid would be a step up for them. Borderline cases. Living in their own little worlds. Most of them on the fringe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. In order to sign on with this crew they’d be short a few brain cells.”

Our little brotherly chat was interrupted by a huge Harley rumble that neither one of us expected. A dozen bikes rolled into the clearing in single file and parked next to the trucks.

“Shit they got more recruits from the goddamned Brotherhood.”

“Looks like it. What’s your count so far?”

“Around two hundred but another dozen puts them over. Could be more coming.”

“Okay,” said Lukas, “I’m done waiting. When the next two come near us, we’ll take them out and take their places. Bet nobody even notices.”

“Okay. We can try that. With over two hundred men milling around, how will they pick us out? Their level of organization seems bottom rung.”

“No, kidding,” said Lukas. “On the next pass, we take out the patrol.”

With the new batch of recruits arriving, the patrol was late coming around and we had to wait another fuckin’ hour. Lukas saw them coming and alerted me. “Here they come. You ready?”

“Always ready.”

The two-man patrol sauntered around to our side of the clearing as the sun was sinking in the hot Florida sky creating a lot of shadows. Not the best time of day for cracking off accurate shots.

Annie says twilight can trick you.

The guy closest to us wore a plaid shirt that he couldn’t do up over his beer gut. Did the recruits for this little army have to pass a physical? Made me wonder. Come one, come all.

Lukas snatched plaid shirt guy off the path, dragged him a couple of feet into the trees and broke his neck.

I heard the crack, and while Lukas was busy doing that, I grabbed the second guy and did the same. Broken necks were clean and quick. No mess. No fuss…and this was the best part—no noise.

Lukas shouldered his pack, slung his rifle over his head and waited for me to do the same.

We stepped out of the trees and continued the patrol around the edge of the clearing. We kept going until we reached the cluster of wooden shacks and the rows of tents.

We were in and still breathing…for now.

The camp sprawled in chaotic lines across the clearing, half-buried in mud, humidity, and disorganization. Tents sagged under the weight of moisture.

Unskilled labor banged together tin-roofed sheds, cutting warped wood and hammering with no rhythm. Diesel generators coughed behind a wall of overgrown brush.

Guys with rifles practiced shooting on the range.

Rob Dakota crouched beside a half-built barricade, stacking sandbags like any other grunt—but his eyes never stopped moving.

He wasn’t here to build.

He was here to count.

And kill.

He tracked the numbers as they arrived.

Recruits came in packs—ten, twenty, sometimes fifty. Always loud. Always in beat-up trucks or motorbikes.

No one came through the swamp on foot.

No one.

That’s why the two strangers caught his eye.

One minute, they were shadows at the edge of the tree line. The next—they were gone.

A patrol passed right by their position. No alarm. No reaction.

Either the strangers were ghosts, or the patrols were blind.

Probably both.

He kept glancing back, waiting for them to emerge, even as a dozen bikers rolled in, hooting and hollering like it was Friday the Thirteenth at Grand Bend.

Two hundred and thirty recruits now. Maybe more.

Still no sign of the strangers.

Then, the second patrol rounded the bend.

Rob looked away for less than a minute. When his eyes returned to the path—there they were.

The strangers.

Strolling in like they’d always belonged.

Did they kill the patrol? They must have.

Shoulders squared, hands easy on their rifles. Not cocky. Controlled. The tall one—dark shades—lit a cigarette without looking up. Passed another to his partner, the one with long blond hair slicked back under a black bandana.

They didn’t swagger.

They didn’t announce themselves.

They didn’t even blink.

Too quiet. Too smooth.

Rob’s eyes narrowed.

Most new guys played tough. These two? They moved like operators. Like wolves wearing human skin.

Bandana guy glanced at the communications shed—held his gaze just a second too long. Long enough to tell Rob he saw it. Saw what no one else here had. A potential overwatch point.

An Achilles heel if ignored.

They kept walking.

Shades clocked the crowd twenty feet away. Body language, hidden weapons, threat posture—his scan was precise, professional. Bandana swept the rest—armory, patrol rotation, choke points.

And then—Bandana looked his way.

Just a flicker.

Eyes locked.

One second.

No nod. No reaction.

But Rob knew that look.

Recognition.

Bandana broke the gaze first, drifting deeper into the camp like just another sunburnt swamp rat.

Fuck, these guys were good.

A Harley backfired hard, echoing like an AR.

Everyone jumped, then laughed it off.

The strangers hadn’t twitched.

Rob picked up another sandbag.

His assigned mission was clear: eliminate Cletus Donovan.

But it seemed he wasn’t the only one with a motive.

He’d seen enough to know—someone else was here for blood.

Two more shadows in the compound.

Maybe allies. Maybe not.

Rob dropped the sandbag and stood.

“Gotta piss,” he muttered, loud enough for cover.

His leg ached like hell as he limped across the yard—but he moved fast.

He had to reach them before anyone else did.

“Hey now, where did you two come from?” asked one of the enforcers, his hands on his AR. He wasn’t pointing it at us—yet.

“Who, us? We came in earlier,” I said.

The tough guy gave me a shove with his rifle. “Oh yeah? With who?”

I glanced at Lukas, who was ready to get dirty if we had to. The mission would be blown, but at least we’d have a sliver of a chance to make it out alive.

I flexed my fingers, ready to fire.

“They’re with me,” a voice said from behind us.

I exhaled the breath I was holding.

The enforcer looked between Lukas and me as we both glanced over our shoulder.

“Are you fuckin’ with me, Dakota?” The enforcer barked. “You know the rules. You’re a fuckin’ leader here, for chrissakes. All new recruits check-in at the main hall for their group assignment.”

“Yeah,” this guy said, grinning. He had long black hair and a cane. Didn’t completely fit in here. “My fault. I shoulda told my guys. I’ll get ‘em over there to log in. Sorry, Zane. I got this.”

Lukas glanced at me, telling me he’ll follow my lead.

I stepped toward our new savior. “Hey, man, great to see you again. Thanks for the fuckin’ invite. Lookin’ forward to tearing it up with you again.”

We shook hands, then bro hugged, slapping each other’s back.

“You remember my brother?”

Lukas followed suit and greeted our old ‘friend.’

Zane watched it all, scowling. “Don’t let it fuckin’ happen again, Dakota. You know we’re running a tight ship here.”

Zane and his partner stomped off, looking for other heads to crack.

Our new friend motioned for us to follow him. He led us to a small tent, a bit away from the others. “They call it a four-man, but it’ll be a snug three-man, at best. You can bunk with me. Come on in.”

He was right.

The tent was tight, but the three of us would manage.

“Thanks for stepping in back there,” I said, “but we were good.”

“Sure you were, but now you’re better. The name’s Rob Dakota. I’m not a boss around here, but I do have some pull. I can tell by your accents that you’re from Texas, so if anyone asks, tell ‘em we got into some trouble together a while back, and I invited you in. No more info than that. Got it?”

“Understood, but why are you helping us?”

“Because I got good instincts. Let’s leave it at that. We’ll grab some food and talk after.”

We mixed and mingled. Listened and didn’t talk. After we ate—hamburger patties, wieners, beans and bread—all the menu offered, plus Coke or beer—the men separated into groups and sat around their designated campfires.

The three of us moved through the camp like shadows. Rob walked slightly ahead—just close enough to claim us if someone got curious, just far enough not to look too chummy.

Everywhere we passed, eyes followed.

Grimy tents sagged under the swamp heat. Men in half-buttoned camo shirts lounged or cleaned weapons. Some nodded at Rob. A few gave us the kind of look that said they were already imagining shooting us.

Rob kept his voice low. “Each campfire’s a different clique. These here?” He jerked his head toward a circle of sunburnt, bearded men with biker patches and thousand-yard stares. “Motorcycle clubs. They’re loyal to their own, less so to everyone else and always lookin’ for a reason not to be.”

A few of them locked eyes with Lukas. One spat near his boot.

Lukas didn’t blink. Just smiled.

We moved on.

“These two groups share tents,” Rob continued. “Mercs. A mix of former contractors, drifters, and ex-military. Good at violence. Bad at following orders. Sometimes, they fight with the bikers. Not often, but when it happens, it’s bloody.”

We turned past a line of open latrines that stank of overheated shit and rot. A nearby firepit smoked from a burned mess of something—maybe meat, maybe not. A redneck in an NRA ballcap tossed another can into the flames and belched.

“Redneck clique,” Rob muttered. “Smallest group. Most hated. Too drunk to be useful. Too dumb to fear. Avoid ‘em.”

“Copy that,” I said.

Rob slowed his pace, nodding at a generator yard. Thick diesel fumes clung to the humid air, and the low drone of engines made your teeth buzz. The ground vibrated slightly beneath our boots.

“Power runs to the main structures, where the real work happens. Intermittent comms. Makes it harder to trace signals. Someone knew what they were doing when they set that part up.”

“Any idea who that someone is?”

“We’ll talk later,” Rob said.

I gave a slow nod.

This was a lot more organized than a gang of swamp rednecks. Someone was building something substantial here.

We circled back to Rob’s tent, tucked away behind a crooked lean-to and a cluster of empty oil drums.

Inside, the air was worse—thick with body heat, canvas stench, and gun oil.

Rob sat on the cot, his rifle leaning close.

“How many guys now?” Lukas asked, almost casually.

Rob turned, slow. The tension shifted.

“Two-thirty. Maybe more. Why?” His voice was flat. Testing.

Lukas didn’t flinch. “I like to know what kind of crowd I’m runnin’ with.”

Rob smiled—tight and sharp. “And if you don’t like the crowd?”

Lukas looked him dead in the eye. “Then we burn it down.”

A beat.

Then Rob chuckled. “You boys really are something.”

I shifted, subtly angling my body. The grip of my Eagle was within reach if I needed it.

Just in case.

“What do you mean?” I asked, keeping my tone level.

“I mean,” Rob said, lowering his voice, “you took out a patrol without breaking stride. You slipped in unnoticed. You read this camp like a goddamn schematic. You don’t twitch, you don’t ask stupid questions, and now you two are flanking me in my own tent like we’re playing chess.”

He looked at me, then Lukas. “I don’t know who sent you—but you’re not here for the food.”

My fingers touched the grip of the pistol. One breath. Two.

Then—

“Put it away, shooter,” Rob said softly. “If I meant you harm, I’d have told Zane to put a bullet in you already.”

I didn’t relax, but I let my hand drift.

Lukas wasn’t as forgiving. “You’re not militia. You’re no club rat. And you sure as shit ain’t drunk enough to be redneck. So what are you?”

Rob leaned back and exhaled through his nose.

“DOJ. Enforcement arm. Embedded here three weeks.”

“Threat assessment?” I asked.

Rob took a beat. “Termination orders. You?”

I had a gut feeling about this guy. “Infiltrate, threat assessment, terminate as necessary.”

We sat in the stifling heat of the tent, just staring at each other.

“Who’s your target?” I asked.

“Cletus Donovan.”

The name hit like a hammer. I didn’t answer.

He studied my face. “That name means something to you. Relative?”

“Uncle,” I said. “Flesh and blood, unfortunately.”

Rob blinked. “Jesus.”

I nodded. “The only reason I took this NSA contract was to bury that sonofabitch.”

Rob extended a hand like it was loaded.

“Nice to meet a brother in arms.”

I took it. Firm. Measured.

“Tommy Donovan. This here’s Lukas. My brother.”

We didn’t smile. We didn’t even blink.

Rob nodded. “He’s recruiting. Working under a guy named Trent Wilde. Ex-military. Runs the logistics. There’s a third tier—some senator—but I haven’t gotten a name yet.”

“You got eyes on Cletus?”

“Tomorrow,” Rob said. “He likes to make speeches. Motivational bullshit. You’ll see the real hierarchy then. For now, sleep. Eat. Keep quiet.”

Lukas leaned back, resting his hand on the grip of his rifle.

“The work starts tomorrow,” I said.

Chapter Nine

Sunday, May 11th.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

It took time for Yvonne to settle into her new home at One Observatory Circle, but eventually, life fell back into its usual patterns. With life back to normal, she felt she was ready to resume her morning running routine.

Yvonne set her water bottle on the ground as she slipped into her new running shoes and laced them up.

New job, new shoes, new me.

“Morning, Yvone. Great day for a run, isn’t it? See you out there,” Samantha said as she breezed by Yvonne and out the back door.

The vice president watched as the young, hot-shot lawyer strode away like a gazelle.

Dammit, Yvonne thought. She runs better than me and looks better doing it, too. Those leggings hug her butt like teenagers on a first date.

I wish she’d go home.

Yvonne marched back to her room and changed out of her running clothes, then went down the hall to her home office—the office she’d pretty much turned over to Chet when he became her chief advisor.

Chet looked up from his computer and stopped typing when he saw Yvonne’s expression. “Morning, Vonnie. Something going on?”

She flumped into the chair beside his desk, coffee in hand. She was in a full-blown pout. “I was planning to restart my running regimen today, but Sam blew by me and took over the running path.”

Chet tried not to chuckle. “Took over? She’s not that big, Vonnie. There’s plenty of room for everyone.

It’s not like the gang from the fuckin’ Boston Marathon is out there.”

She rolled her eyes at Chet over the rim of her mug. “I realize that, Chet, but I rarely get any personal time at home, and now, everywhere I turn, perky fuckin’ Samantha is there.”

Jealousy is not a good color on you, Vonnie.

“Once you get used to her being around, it won’t bother you so much.”

Vonnie lunged toward Chet. “And why the hell would I want to get used to her?”

Chet threw up his hands in defense and backed away. “Look, Vonnie. I don’t know what the fuck you want. I’m just trying to get some work done.”

“Why are you working so hard on something before breakfast? You have that tense look on your face.”

“Which one is that?”

“The one you get when you’ve almost solved something.”

Bingo.

“Good catch. I’m almost there, and I just want to push through and get it done.”

“What’re you working on?”

“It’s classified. Can’t tell you yet because it’s half-baked.”

“Classified? I’m the fuckin’ vice president.”

Navigating dangerous waters when you have two bosses.

“It’s not officially on the U.S. Government radar yet, although it will be. It’s only Blacky classified. Once I get my part done and it advances, I’ll ask Blacky if I can read you in.”

“What if I demand to know?”

Chet shrugged. “You can, but I have no clue why you’d want more on your plate when it’s not even a thing yet. That’s why I’m here, remember?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. We’ve been working so well together, and I don’t want to mess that up.”

“We’re golden, Vonnie. Seeing as you have some free time, why don’t you take your coffee and sit outside by the pool? Get some sun and relax. You’re wound up too fuckin’ tight.”

“Why don’t you take a break, too, and join me?”

“Can’t right now. Gotta get this done. I’ll be there soon, I swear.”

As she walked out the door, Yvonne turned back. “You know, there was a time when you’d drop everything to be with me.”

Chet looked up from his computer and grinned. “There was a time when we were having loads of great sex. Things change, Vonnie. Not for better or worse. They just change. Let me finish my work, and then I’ll come find you.”

Annoyed with both Chet and Samantha, Yvonne left the office and went in search of Roy.

I can always count on Roy to sit with me.

Private Residence. White House. D.C.

After eating breakfast alone in the dining room—something he didn’t enjoy—Lee took his coffee into the sitting room to take stock of his life and the current administration he was supposed to be running. Things were such a mess, he had no idea what to do next.

Wishing things were in a better place with Tommy and he was staying in the residence with him, Lee did the next best thing and called Ted to have a brotherly chat.

He tried Ted’s number twice and couldn’t reach him. No reception up Purple Mountain.

I should requisition him a sat phone.

Disappointed he couldn’t talk to Ted, Lee considered adding a shot of bourbon to his first coffee of the day.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

Farrell arrived early at Tommy’s place for Sunday morning breakfast. Always looked forward to it because it was pancake day with the kids.

Using his key, Farrell let himself in the front door. He heard the kids playing down the hall in the family room, but he wanted to see Ellis first.

He made a bee-line to the kitchen.

She wasn’t in the kitchen.

Farrell moved on to the family room where Linc and Simka were playing with trucks on the rug. He startled them and they screamed with excitement when they saw him. “Where’s your mama?”

“Talking to Daddy.” Linc pointed to the living room and Farrell headed for the door.

Ellis was sitting on the sofa talking, “Okay. Be safe. We miss you.” She ended the call and tucked her phone away.

“Morning, Farrell. Ready for some pancakes?”

“Love me some pancakes. Was that Tommy?”

Ellis walked toward the kitchen. “Yep. He was just checking in.”

“From where?”

Ellis laughed. “I’d better get the pancake batter started before you tie me to a chair and grill me on Tommy’s whereabouts.”

Farrell wasn’t laughing. “I don’t know why you can know where he is, and I can’t. I’m lookin’ after his family while he’s away, for chrissakes.”

“Anything he tells me in this house—his house—is Tommy’s business only and considered confidential. We’ve had discussions about this, and he feels very strongly that he should be able to speak freely in his own house and on his own property. I’m in charge of his children and his home, so we decided that me knowing his location is a safety thing for both of us.”

Farrell guffawed. “What’re you gonna do? Ride in on Durango to save the day?”

Ellis’s mannerisms turned cold. “I would notify the appropriate people, as we discussed. After the fiasco in Afghanistan and Iran, he chose to never put his faith in certain people again.”

He looked at Ellis with disbelief. “You can’t seriously think you could change the outcome if Tommy was stranded somewhere? Come on, Ellis.”

Ellis had stopped making batter and had squared her shoulders off with Farrell. “Of course I do, else I wouldn’t have agreed to these conditions, Farrell. And frankly, I resent the fact that you think so little of me, and my abilities.”

Farrell stood in the doorway, turned his head and hollered to the kids. “Linc, where’s Daddy?”

“Working.”

“Simka, do you know where Daddy is?”

“Flo-wida.”

“Florida,” Farrell turned towards Ellis. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Why the hell would he be in Florida?”

Ellis was on her feet and headed straight for Farrell. “Get out of this house. I don’t want you here.”

“Come on, Ellis. I was only kidding around. I’m not going to tell anybody where he is for chrissakes. I wouldn’t do that and anyway, who would I tell?”

“I was very clear about Tommy’s house rules, but you chose to use his children against him. What kind of low-life are you?”

“Aw, come on, Ellis. I shoulda known anyway.”

“If he wanted you to know, he would have told you. You are obviously someone he can’t trust with sensitive information, and now I see why. What if someone snuck in a bug into this house? He sweeps the house, but what if he missed it? You could have put my life and the kids’ lives in jeopardy because of your arrogant stupidity, not to mention Tommy’s life. Or don’t you think someone would come here and take shots at us?”

She shoved him towards the door.

“Come on, Ellis, I was just fooling around. I won’t tell anybody where he is.”

Ellis opened the door and pointed at his truck. “Get out. He entrusted the safety of his children to you when he’s away, and yet you ignore his house rules and leverage his four-year-old children—children—to gather top-secret information that you know you are most certainly not privy to.”

“But Ellis—”

“Get out. Your actions disgust me, and I won’t stand for it. Leave now, or I’ll call Blacky.”

Farrell pleaded with her from the top of the porch stairs. “I’m so sorry, Ellis. I shouldn’t have asked them. It was stupid.”

“Stupid. Thoughtless. Wreckless. Dangerous. Take your pick. Now, go home and leave your key.”

Farrell tossed his key on the porch and stomped down the stairs.

Ellis gathered the key and locked the door. As the tears flowed down her face, she ran down the list of things Tommy said she had to do if there was trouble.

Change the gate code.

Have the locks changed.

Call Blacky for help.

She loved Farrell but he could be such an idiot.

Militant Camp. Big Swamp. Florida.

The hollering and yelling outside our tent woke me up before I was ready. Cramped quarters and I had to struggle getting up with Lukas sleeping right next to me. I tried not to touch him because he’d be awake in a fuckin’ Detroit second trying to fuckin’ kill me—and he was.

He had hold of my arm before his eyes opened, then he glared at me. Then I watched his eyes, and he saw me, remembered where we were and nodded.

In seconds, he slipped back into his undercover persona and was calm again.

“I’ve gotta take a piss,” I croaked.

“Same,” growled Lukas.

“Make it quick. Chow line empties fast.” Rob was strapping a brace onto a leg so damaged and scarred, it was hard to look at.

He caught my glance.

“A big rig hit my Harley.”

“Jesus,” said Lukas.

I pointed to my head. “Took a bullet to the skull. Still not over it. Might never be.”

Rob grinned. “We’re the cream of the crop.”

“You know it.”

Tables were set up outside, not far from the wooden shacks. Each table was manned by a guy handing out K-rations from a box.

Four commercial-grade coffee makers churned out gallons of the black gold and had a table all to themselves. Another smaller table was beside it with cardboard cups, powdered cream and sugar packets.

Breakfast of Champions, swamp-style.

We lined up with the other guys while Rob went off to do whatever he was there to do. Nobody gave Lukas and me any notice at all. Both of us were looking for Uncle Cletus, but we hadn’t seen him yet.

We wandered away from the group and found a spot to eat and talk. “So? Do we trust him?” Lukas asked.

“As much as we trust anyone. He picked us out and had us pegged. That’s gotta count for somethin’. Besides, if he was undercover in the prison system, he’d have to be pretty fuckin’ tough. A guy with a bum leg would be fodder to the gen pop. He’s a good ally to have.”

As I lined up for a second cup of coffee, some slab of meat stomped out of one of the main buildings toward the K-ration table.

He stood next to the K-ration table and hollered out orders. Seems the men were in squads of twenty apiece and they rotated from trainer to trainer. Each instructor teaching a different skill.

“Squad four is with Dakota for hand to hand with blades.”

“Huh,” said Lukas.

I glanced at Dakota who was standing apart from the rest and he gave me a nod. “He wants us to go with his group,” I whispered to Lukas.

“Good fuckin’ idea. Otherwise we’d be standing here with our dicks hanging out.”

We blended in with the guys from squad four—a mix of rednecks, mercs and bikers—and headed for Rob.

“Hey, you guys,” someone bellowed.

I casually looked over my shoulder, my heart pounding.

A solidly built guy stood on a wooden crate, pointing our way. Dressed in military greens and looking serious as a heart attack, I was pretty sure he could have taken on half the camp without breaking a sweat.

That guy is a boss in every sense.

I glanced around, and no one knew who he was shouting at.

“You, there. The bikers that rolled in yesterday. Part of The Brotherhood, I think, yeah? Get your asses over here.”

A group of them walked over, and I bent down and pretended to tie my boot so I could listen.

He stood with his arms folded, looking intimidating. “How’d you fuckers happen to find us here?”

One of them shrugged and tried to play tough. “News travels, man.”

Bossman took a step down and was face-to-face with mouthy biker-boy. “Is that so? Nobody knows how to get here, and you rolled right in like it was fuckin’ prom night. So I ask you again—who recruited you?”

Boss guy was a full-on drill sergeant and not someone you fucked with.

“Hoffman.”

“Junior or senior?”

“Dunno. Young guy. He told us about y’all starting up. Sounded good and we wanted to join.”

Drill sergeant stood in silence a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Pete sent you. We can always use more men. Welcome aboard.”

“How much you paying?” hollered another skinhead. “We heard it was decent money to join up and fight for y’all.”

The drill sergeant hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll go over all of that as soon as y’all sign up and get your names on the payroll list. Talk to Randy inside that building. He’ll get y’all fixed up and assigned to a squad.”

Pete is one of the recruiters.

Leaning heavily on his cane, blue bandana wrapped around his long, black hair, Dakota led the way to a secondary clearing about a hundred yards from the main camp. Me and Lukas lagged back waiting to see what we were supposed to be doing.

It kinda felt like grade school.

Rob raised his cane and waited. “Over here, boys.”

Once everyone was in a semi-circle in front of Rob, he began the lesson. “Anybody who didn’t bring their own favorite blade can borrow one from the box under the table.” Dakota pointed to the box. “Watch for snakes.”

Everyone laughed except for Rob.

“Select one that feels right in your hand. Your blade should feel so comfortable when you’re in close combat that it’s an extension of your hand—not something you’re holding.”

Lukas nodded knowingly. He was great with a blade. While some of the recruits were picking out a knife to practice with, Lukas ran back to Dakota’s tent and grabbed our knives out of our gear bags.

Dakota was giving the first demo when a couple of the new bikers joined our squad. Arrogant, snarly faces that spelled trouble.

Why did those assholes join if they didn’t want to participate in the program?

Lukas gave me a look and I figured he was ready for anything. Couldn’t wait for it to happen so he could mess in it. Maybe he’d get one of the assholes for a training partner, if his luck held.

Rob held up the knife he was using to show the class. It was hooked, like a talon, with a ring at the bottom of the grip. His baby finger was through that one. He whipped that matte black and silver hook around like it was nothin’.

“Karambit,” whispered Lukas. “Expensive as hell. Canadian Tier one operators use ‘em.”

“Not K-bars?”

Lukas barely shook his head. “Canadians are fuckin’ scary, dude. They’re the reason we have the Geneva Convention.”

“No shit? Well, I want one of those fuckers.”

Rob kept going with his lesson. “I’m going to show you three moves, and I want you to pick a partner and practice them one at a time until you’ve got them down. Nice and smooth. No hesitation. Has to feel as natural as breathing. The slightest hesitation in combat will get you killed.”

We watched Dakota as he went through the moves in slow-mo, then the recruits picked sparring partners and found spots to work on the moves.

One of the new ‘class assholes’—a huge bald fucker—chose to voice his opinion. “What a waste of my fuckin’ time. You’re showing us something we’ve known for fuckin’ years. Maybe I should teach this class instead of the cripple.”

Very few people chuckled.

Rob was unfazed. He set his cane aside and moved slowly toward the new recruit. “You may have seen the moves, and you know what they are, but the speed and accuracy you need to survive in a life and death situation only comes with practice.”

The biggest bald-headed fucker strode up to Rob and took a stance in front of him. “I challenge you to prove you should be the one teaching this group and not me.”

The big bald guy was an idiot for taking the bait. We all saw it comin’ but him.

Rob grinned.

The biker moved clumsily to grapple Rob, who moved at a speed I never would have thought humanly possible. With a quick duck, sidestep and a blur of a swipe, he carved out the biker’s eyeball.

As the member of the Brotherhood dropped to his knees, screaming in agony, Rob flicked the eyeball off the tip of his knife and into the trees.

Bird food.

Blood gushed down the biker’s face as his brothers helped him up.

Rob pointed with his knife. “Infirmary’s that way. You have five minutes to drop him off and get back here, or the same will happen to you.”

Those bikers were practically running with their buddy leaning on their shoulders.

“Show’s over,” Dakota hollered to the rest of us. I glanced around. Many of our squad stood staring, frozen in their boots. “Practice your moves until I tell you to stop. I’ll come around. Ask if you need help.”

As everyone squared off with their partner, he caught our eye and winked at us.

“Holy fuck,” said Lukas.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Yvonne’s chief of her protection detail, Jerry Jeff Hubbard knocked on the front door and waited in the foyer while Maisie fetched the vice president.

Yvonne left the sitting room and hurried to the foyer, “Jerry, is there something wrong?”

“Is there someplace we can speak in private, ma’am?”

Jerry Jeff Hubbard was a big guy, former linebacker who joined the Secret Service when he left his job in private security.

“Absolutely,” Yvonne said. “Follow me.”

She closed the door of the sitting room and pointed at the coffee tray on the antique sideboard. “Please sit. You look worried, Jerry. What is it?”

“Mrs. Lingosi mentioned something she’d heard, and I’ve been looking into it the past couple of days.”

“My chief of staff likes to gossip,” said Yvonne. “I’ve spoken to her about it more than once.”

“This is past the gossip stage, ma’am. I decided to fact-check it before I brought it to you. In fact, I’ve been looking into it for the past few days.”

“Just tell me what you’re worried about, Jerry. Is it a threat against me?”

“Indirectly.”

“Tell me what you know, and we’ll start from there,” said Yvonne.

“Mrs. Lingosi told me the whip, Congressman Macon, was secretly gathering votes to block any bill you support in the house.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To make you look ineffective, I suppose.”

“Ineffective and useless because I’m a woman? Is that it?”

“I’m not sure of his reasons, ma’am.”

“Let me get Chet and we’ll start again.” Yvonne got to her feet. “Pour yourself a coffee, Jerry. Be right back with a whip of our own.” She laughed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Yvonne returned with Chet Kamps, and he immediately poured himself a cup of caffeine. “What’s going on, Jerry?”

“Like I was telling the vice president,” he repeated what he heard through the grapevine.

“Okay,” said Kamps. “Let’s assume Congressman Macon has a strong reason for doing what he’s doing—spreading rumors and raising questions.”

“What would that be, Chet?” asked Yvonne.

Kamps pulled Tommy’s list out of his pocket, then glanced at Hubbard. “We’re going into confidential territory, Jerry. You good with this?”

Hubbard chuckled. “I put the ‘secret’ in Secret Service, sir.”

“Okay, I get it,” said Yvonne. “That’s the list you mentioned to me when you hired Miss Whitaker.”

Kamps nodded. “The list compiled of liars and cheaters working in the administration.”

“Uh huh,” said Yvonne. “Macon has some scam running and he’s working on discrediting me in advance in case I find out and come at him.”

Kamps nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking. Because he’s on the list, we can’t ignore him. If he’d minded his own, he would’ve been safe a lot longer than he will be now that he’s fuckin’ worried.”

“Can you tell me what the congressman is doing?” asked Jerry Jeff.

“Not yet,” said Kamps. “He made it onto the investigation list, so he’s definitely doing something to scam the government—probably in relation to something or some department he oversees and has easy access to.”

Jerry Jeff nodded. “I didn’t know there was an investigation list.”

“There is,” said Kamps. “It’s a clean-up-the-administration list, and we’re almost finished the first name on the list. He’ll be arrested this week.”

Yvonne’s eyes widened. “Do you want to tell me who that person is?”

“I’ve been keeping you and the president at arms’ length until we found the proof we needed. As soon as I hand you irrefutable evidence,” said Kamps, “you will know, and we’ll nail his ass to the wall.”

“Interesting. I look forward to that day,” said Yvonne. “How soon will that be?”

“I thought we’d be ready today, but Sam said she needed a little more time to polish it up, so you’ll have it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“And when will you start on Macon?” Vonnie asked.

“I’ll hand you the first file by seven a.m., so we’ll start on Macon at seven-fifteen. I’m allotting some time to answer your questions.”

Yvonne sipped her coffee and stared off. “And how many names are on the list?”

“Twenty so far.”

“Will more be added?” asked Jerry.

“I believe so, yes.”

“Who is deciding what names are on the list?” asked Jerry Jeff. “It must be someone with an inside knowledge of how the administration runs—like a White House spy.”

“Or just an astute observer,” said Kamps. “Not necessarily a spy. Someone who is dedicated to protecting the president and watches for the corruption swirling rampant through the administration.”

“A true patriot,” said Yvonne.

Tommy made that list to protect Lee.

Chapter Ten

Monday, May 12th.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Kamps hated the days he had to get dressed up, wear a suit and tie and go to the West Wing with Yvonne, but because of the culmination of the Ryerson case and the new development involving Congressman Macon, he had no choice.

At breakfast, Samantha grinned as Kamps walked into the dining room in his tailor-made suit and silk tie. It was a stark contrast to his usual attire of torn jeans and a black T-shirt. “Well, well. Someone cleans up nicely. I take it you’ll be working out of the West Wing today, Chet?”

Yvonne’s eye roll was anything but subtle.

Chet tried not to blush. “Yvonne and I have some important business today, so if you could finish up the report on subject number one and set up a file on our second suspect, I’d appreciate it. I’ll text you with more information as I get it.”

“Consider it done.”

Yvonne checked messages on her phone and said little during breakfast, but Roy felt the tension in the room and wasn’t comfortable with it. He liked Samantha Whitaker as a person and someone pleasant to talk to, but her presence in Yvonne’s Residence created stress between the two people he loved more than life.

He needed to think about it.

Vice President’s Office. West Wing. D.C.

Coffee waited in Yvonne’s office and Kamps poured himself a cup. First order of the day was the arrest of Ron Ryerson. They had the goods—more than enough evidence against him to prosecute—and Special Agent Mike Campbell, a white-collar crime specialist from the FBI, was arriving at nine a.m. to make the official arrest.

In the meantime, Jerry Jeff Hubbard and Audrey Lingosi entered the office for the regular early morning meeting.

While they waited for the FBI agent to arrive, Yvonne opened the conversation and encouraged Audrey to talk about Congressman Macon.

“What exactly did you hear Congressman Macon saying about me, Audrey?” asked Yvonne. “And in what context? Are you sure you didn’t overhear part of a conversation and jump to the wrong conclusion?”

Audrey was hesitant and slow to answer. A well-put-together woman in her early fifties, she’d served on the vice presidents’ staff through several administrations.

She stared at her hands for a moment before speaking and admitting it was secondhand information. “Umm…I didn’t hear him say anything personally, ma’am, but I was told by Katy Davidson in the commissary that she overheard him talking to Senator Peterson and your name came up.”

“Peterson is on the Ways and Means Committee, isn’t he, Yvonne?” asked Kamps.

“Chairman, I believe,” said Audrey. “A powerful man. Peterson basically controls the purse strings of the nation.”

Kamps rolled his eyes at Yvonne, and she got the message. Audrey was exceptionally nervous about the turn the conversation was taking.

She was temporarily saved from one of Kamps’ high-intensity grilling by the timely arrival of Special Agent Campbell.

Yvonne shook the agent’s hand, and they spoke privately near the door of her office. Kamps joined Yvonne and asked, “You and the DA’s office received the material I sent?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Kamps. A solid, well-documented case and the DA is ready to proceed.”

“Let’s make the arrest,” said Kamps. “Agent Hubbard, would you accompany the vice president and Agent Campbell to Mister Ryerson’s office?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ryerson’s Office. White House. D.C.

Yvonne and her entourage stormed through the outer office without slowing. The assistant—mid-twenties, too well-put-together for a government salary—rose so fast her chair tipped. “Ron?” she blurted, voice catching like it had no business knowing his first name. There was panic in it—personal panic—the kind you couldn’t fake. “Ron, what’s—”

Jerry Jeff moved past her like a battering ram, hand already on the door. Kamps didn’t break stride, but he clocked everything: the way her hand hovered near her phone, how she turned off her computer, the slight tremble in her fingers, the high flush in her throat.

She wasn’t just a gatekeeper.

She was involved.

As the door slammed shut behind them, Kamps made a quiet mental note—add her to the list.

Ron Ryerson looked like he belonged in a fragrance ad—sandy hair perfectly styled, sharp suit, tan just dark enough to suggest he didn’t spend much time actually working. He was mid-sentence on a call, leather chair reclined, when the door burst open without warning.

He blinked—confused, then angry—as the room filled with power.

Vice President Yvonne Harrison. Chet Kamps. Jerry Jeff Hubbard. And one more—an agent Ryerson didn’t recognize.

The stranger stepped forward, flashing credentials. “Special Agent Mike Campbell. Mr. Ryerson, you are under arrest for cybercrime, embezzlement, public corruption, wire fraud, and tax evasion.”

Ryerson sat up sharply. “Excuse me?”

“Stand up,” Campbell said, voice flat. “Hands behind your back.”

“You’ve made a mistake,” Ryerson said, rising slowly. “I’ve done nothing wrong, and you can’t prove otherwise.”

“That’s between you and the federal court,” Campbell replied. “Personally, I think the twenty-seven offshore transfers and dummy corporations say otherwise.”

Campbell cuffed him with practiced ease.

“You bitch,” Ryerson snapped at Yvonne. “You’ll regret this.”

Jerry Jeff stepped between Ron and the VP. “Threatening the vice president. Heard that loud and clear.”

Campbell nodded. “Adding it to the charges.”

As Campbell steered Ryerson toward the door, his assistant rose from her desk like she’d seen a ghost.

“What’s happening?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Your boss is under arrest,” Yvonne said, cool and composed. “I suggest you take the day off.”

She didn’t move.

Then—she turned sharply, walking briskly toward Ryerson’s office. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jerry Jeff barked.

She froze. “I… I was just going to box up his things. Send them to his residence.”

Jerry Jeff closed the distance with two long strides, eyes narrowing. “This is now an active federal crime scene.” To the hallway: “We need the forensics team.”

Within minutes, FBI techs swarmed the office like hornets—snapping photos, tagging hard drives, and collecting files.

The assistant stood still, hands shaking. Tears ran silently down her cheeks.

Kamps stood just behind her, studying her closely.

The panic. The timing. The lie.

She knew something.

“Take her computer as well,” Kamps said. “She’s involved somehow.”

“Should we take her in for questioning, sir?” Asked one of the agents.

Kamps nodded silently as he left the office, watching terror creep into her eyes.

Yep. She’s dirty, too.

Oval Office. West Wing. D.C.

With Ryerson in the capable hands of the FBI, Yvonne and Kamps made a stop into the Oval Office to tell Lee that Ryerson had been arrested.

Yvonne let Kamps take the lead because he knew far more about the investigation than she did.

Kamps explained that they decided to keep Lee out of the loop until they had something concrete.

“I see,” said Lee after he heard the story. “Excellent work, Chet. May I ask what made you suspect Ron Ryerson?”

“I didn’t,” said Kamps. “Ryerson’s name was at the top of an internal corruption suspect list that was given to me, and there are many more names to be investigated.”

“May I ask who compiled the list, Chet?”

“Tommy, sir. He created a list of people he suspected of corruption, with corresponding reasons and why they should be investigated.”

Lee grinned. “Tommy made a list of people who are cheating the administration?”

“He did,” said Kamps. “He entrusted the list to me, and I have my people looking into the names and the departments listed. It will take time and effort, but as we take them down one by one, any others thinking of ripping off the US government will have second thoughts.”

“Even when Tommy isn’t here, he’s watching my back. Always. I find that comforting, don’t you, Yvonne?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

NSA Headquarters. Fort Meade. Maryland.

“How many tents can you count on the satellite photo, Floyd?” asked Director Dunnett.

“Hard to tell from the pictures we’re getting, but I’m guessing six or seven more than yesterday, and two more wooden barracks are under construction. I’m surmising that when each of the barracks are completed, men move inside from the tents.”

“At first estimate we thought the camp held about two hundred men,” said Dunnett. “What would be your current estimate?”

“Has to be close to three hundred now,” said Floyd Cassidy, the Deputy Director. “If they are adding a hundred recruits per week, it won’t take long until there are a thousand of them.”

Dunnett shook his head. “We have to bring them down long before they reach that number, Floyd.”

“I agree. We can’t let them build an army that large. That would be foolhardy on our part.”

As soon as Cassidy went back to his own office, Director Dunnett called his grandson in Austin, Texas.

“Granddad, are there new pictures from the satellite? What can you see happening at the camp in the swamp?”

“Obviously, we can’t see the human activity, but what we can see are more buildings and a lot more tents.”

“They are getting stronger every day.”

“Seems so. Have you heard from Tommy?”

“Only to say they are inside the camp, and Tommy will call whenever he can.”

“It will be harder for he or Lukas to call when they’re being watched. I’m sure there are a lot of eyes on the recruits.”

“A lot harder, Granddad. Tommy will figure it out and be in touch.”

“Call me as soon as you hear anything at all. I’m concerned for the safety of the boys.”

“The minute I hear,” said Blaine. “Try not to stress too much, Granddad. It’s not good for you.”

Militant Camp. Glade River. Florida.

The tent was thick with heat and tension. We huddled close and crouched low, whispering over the scrape of boots and the occasional bark outside.

“What’s their endgame?” I asked.

Rob shook his head. “Unknown. Trent’s playing it close. Wait till we get any hint of a first strike. That’s when we move.”

“Funding?” Lukas asked.

“Heard one name. Hoffman. Senator, I think. His son Peter’s the mule—guns, gear, food. Shows up once a week.”

I nodded. “We’ll run them.”

Rob looked frustrated. “Still haven’t seen Cletus.”

“He’s gotta be around, right?” I asked.

Rob shrugged. “If not, we’re in deep shit. He might be bringing his old prison gang on board.”

This was Lukas’s realm. “How many strong?”

“Call themselves White Trash,” Rob muttered. “Three hundred in Huntsville, more spread across Texas.”

“Donovans,” I muttered. “What a fuckin’ family legacy. Makes me real proud.”

A sudden roar rattled the tent walls.

Engines. A rumble we knew well. Dozens of bikes.

We slipped outside, blinking against the morning sun and the rising cloud of exhaust. A phalanx of Brotherhood bikers thundered in, tires chewing mud, Harleys snarling like beasts. The air stank of oil and ego.

The men already in the camp hollered and applauded, slapping backs like gladiators returned from war.

Trent Wilde burst out of the shack, standing tall with that drill sergeant posture and preacher’s rage. “More Brothers join our cause. Our numbers continue to grow. And when it’s time to rise, Uncle Sam won’t dare ignore us again.”

Cheers exploded around the camp. Fists in the air. The gators in the swamp probably flinched from all the testosterones choking the clearing.

Lukas leaned toward me. “This is spiraling outta control fast.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Too fast.”

Trent barked assignments like a war chief. Lukas and I got tagged for a shooting detail—probably a test. Before we split off, I ducked back into the tent, hands moving quick. Peeled back the lining of my boot and pulled the burner. Hit one button.

“Tommy?” Kamps answered instantly.

“Only got a sec,” I whispered. “Senator Hoffman. Son’s Peter. Guns, gear, trucks. Find ‘em and track movements. Tell Blacky.”

“Copy. You see Cletus?”

“No. Dig up associates. Any known contacts, inside or out. He ran a prison gang named White Trash. Three hundred strong inside the joint, more across Texas. Gotta go.”

“Got it. Stay sharp.”

I killed the line and shoved the burner deep in the boot again, laced up, and stepped into the chaos outside.

Lukas was waiting. Rifle slung, eyes scanning the growing crowd.

“Let’s go meet our fellow patriots,” he muttered.

“Can’t wait.”

The Blackmore Agency. Austin. Texas.

As fast as Tommy disconnected, Kamps called Blacky.

“Kamps. Get something?” Blacky was breathless.

“Heard from Tommy, boss. He thinks Senator Hoffman is the money behind the camp. His son, Peter, is involved, too. Wants surveillance on them both.”

“Done, as soon as I find the addresses.”

“He also asked us to dig up whatever we could on Cletus Donovan, former associates, cellmates, and the gang he runs called White Trash.”

Blacky chuckled. “Helluva name.”

“Maybe so, boss, but they’re three hundred strong inside the prison and have more members spread across Texas.”

“Holy shit. We can’t have that kind of muscle joining this militia force.”

“Exactly. You take the senator, and I’ll dig into White Trash.”

“Copy. Let’s touch base in an hour.”

“Copy that, boss.”

Blacky put all his other work aside and spent an hour researching Senator Hoffman from Florida. He found a home address for the senator in Naples and called Thorne.

“Hey, boss. Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d use you boys again after what Nick pulled in Central America, but it wasn’t your fault. He’s out for insubordination and I’m not calling him again.”

“Not surprised. We were pretty pissed that we got pulled in the middle of an op, boss.”

“Nothing you could do about it at the time. I understand that Thorne.”

“Wasn’t right and we didn’t agree with Nick’s call. Fuckin’ hated leaving Tommy and Lukas like we did.”

“Glad you feel that way because I have an assignment for you guys.”

“Tell me how I can make it up to you, boss.”

“Tommy’s got something going on.”

Thorne laughed. “I’m not surprised. That kid…”

“He’s deep under and just called with a couple of names. The primary is a senator in Florida who’s gathering his own secret army. If you’re free, I’d like you and Aaron to fly to Naples, Florida and stake out the senator in question. He’s a threat to national security.”

“Okay, sure. Send me what you’ve got, and I’ll call Aaron. Far as I know, he’s not working this week.”

“You call the big guy, and I’ll get you on a plane to Florida as soon as you confirm he can go.”

“Copy that, boss.”

Thorne called back and confirmed Aaron’s availability. Blaine booked the boys on the next flight to Florida and got them accommodation in Naples.

Sent it all to Thorne’s phone and then called his grandfather.

“Blaine, you heard from Tommy?”

Blacky heard the weariness in the old man’s voice. “We have, Granddad. He spoke to Kamps briefly and gave us some intel.”

“Excellent news, son. That boy always produces.”

“Always does. We’re moving quickly on several things. First, we’re putting a two-man team on Senator Hoffman from Florida and his son.”

“A sitting senator?”

“According to Tommy, he’s funding this recruitment drive. Anything you can provide on the senator, or his son Peter would be helpful.”

“I’ll start a team on the senator right away, son. Building his own army is definitely a threat to national security, which is right in my wheelhouse.”

“Thanks, Granddad. I’ll be in touch soon.”

“Appreciate it, son.”

Holiday Inn Express. Naples South. Florida.

Thorne Michaels and Aaron Cross, two members of The Creed—an elite group of highly trained ex-military men—landed in Naples, Florida.

At the National Rental counter in the terminal, they picked up the rental waiting for them and headed to the Holiday Inn. That would be their headquarters for the next few days while they carried out their assignment for the Blackmore Agency.

 After stowing their gear in their room, they went downstairs to the hotel bar and had dinner and a couple of beers. Work would begin first thing in the morning.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

After dinner, Kamps leaned toward Yvonne and murmured, “Walk with me?”

Yvonne glanced up, grinning. “That’s vague and mysterious.”

He smiled like he was used to getting his way. “It’s important.”

She opened her mouth to press further, but he just held up a finger and gave her that infuriatingly quiet look—the one that always shut her down when they used to argue.

It still worked.

They walked toward the back doors. Yvonne tried again. “Chet—”

He tapped his finger to her lips again, almost smug this time.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, holding the door for her. “But I need to talk to you. And not in front of the staff, your detail, or Roy and his endless garden updates.”

They stepped into the humid stillness of the backyard. The jogging path glistened in the moonlight, cutting through the property like a private escape route no one ever used.

The only sounds were the faint hiss of sprinklers and the measured footsteps of the Secret Service, keeping a respectful distance.

Chet walked beside her, not touching, not speaking yet. Just… waiting.

Yvonne tried once more. “Are we walking because you need to tell me something or because you want to get me alone?”

He smiled faintly. “Those reasons aren’t mutually exclusive. I can want both, can’t I?”

She smiled, brushing his arm with her hand.

He slowed as they reached the far curve of the trail, away from the lights of the house, and stepped closer. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating, but he pushed that from his mind. “This stays between us, Vonnie. No notes. No aides. No leaks. Understood?”

Yvonne’s smile faded. “Understood.”

Chet took a breath. “We’ve identified a threat. Completely homegrown. One of our own—a sitting U.S. Senator—is building a militia. Quietly. Aggressively. With money and infrastructure.”

She stopped in her tracks. “Jesus. Who?”

He looked her dead in the eye. “Senator Hoffman. We’ve confirmed he’s behind it.”

Her face shifted—shock first, then anger. “He was on the shortlist for the VP position. Do you think it’s about that?”

“No idea,” Chet said. “If it is, then he took losing to you very personally. He’s been recruiting for weeks. The camp’s in the Everglades. It’s well hidden and fully operational.”

“Why am I just hearing this now?”

“Because we’re not ready to move. If we go public or act too soon, we lose the inside men.”

“Tommy and Lukas,” she said flatly.

He nodded. “They’re deep. Undercover. Gathering intel. If anything spooks this operation, they could end up dead.”

She folded her arms, her breath sharp in the night air. “And Dunnett?”

“He’s running the op from the top. Blacky’s coordinating comms. I’m doing research when I can. It’s airtight so far, but fragile.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment, walking again. Slower now. Processing.

“I’ll reach out to Blaine in the morning,” she said finally. “We haven’t spoken in too long. We used to be a hell of a team.”

“You still could be,” Chet said. Then added quietly, “We all used to be something.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks for reading me in.”

“I know you hate being kept in the dark.”

“I hate it even more when it makes me look incompetent.”

They walked again, slower now.

After a minute, she said, “You always do this, you know.”

He looked over. “Do what?”

“Drop a nuke into my lap and then try to lighten the mood like it didn’t just happen.”

He smirked. “Some of us call that charm.”

She gave a short laugh. “Some of us call it deflection.”

They reached the shadowy end of the path where the trees hung lower, and the bugs grew louder. The Secret Service had stopped walking entirely.

Yvonne rubbed her arms to warm up against the sudden chill she felt. “Is there more to this secret briefing, or are you trying to figure out how to make a move on me?”

He removed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“Honestly?” Chet said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just trying not to remember how much I loved spending quality alone time with you.”

She looked away. “That’s not helpful.”

“I know.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then she said teasingly, “You’re not getting me into the bushes, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He barked a surprised laugh. “Jesus, Vonnie. I wasn’t even thinking that—”

“You were a little.”

“A little, maybe.” He scratched at his jaw, suddenly self-conscious. “But I also just told you a sitting senator is committing treason, so maybe I get a pass for being weird tonight.”

She gave him a long, unreadable look. “You get a pass. But only tonight.”

He nodded, grateful for it.

They turned back toward the mansion, walking in silence now, the air between them still charged—just with the wrong kind of electricity.

Chapter Eleven

Tuesday, May 13th.

Holiday Inn Express. Naples South. Florida.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and Thorne and Aaron were already finishing their breakfast in the hotel dining room. They grabbed a coffee to go and headed for the parking lot.

“If he leaves the house early,” said Aaron, “we don’t want to miss him. If we get there early enough, we might even get his car tagged before he leaves.”

“Think he has a security detail?” asked Thorne.

“Let’s hope not. Guys like that think they’re untouchable until someone threatens them. Then, they go overboard with security. Let’s hope he’s still in the ‘untouchable’ stage.”

“His house will have top of the line security,” said Thorne. “We’ve got to get ears inside his residence.”

“We will,” said Aaron. “Piece of cake.”

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Kamps and Samantha headed for the home office after breakfast. “I’m happy you don’t have to go to the West Wing again today, Chet. I feel a bit like a fish out of water the days I work here alone.”

“You’re never alone. There’s a full household staff and Roy is here if you need something they can’t provide.”

“Roy is a darling, but I’m more comfortable when you’re working with me.”

Sounded like a come-on but he let it slide. No screwing around with the hired help. He would never cross that line.

“This morning we’ll research Congressman Macon in conjunction with Congressman Peterson from Arizona. He’s chairman of the Ways and Means Committee and there might be something going on between them. Rumor has it that they may be trying to discredit the vice president, but the reason for their little smear campaign isn’t clear.”

“Huh,” said Samantha. “We’re investigating bigger guns this time around. This one’s going to be fun.” She grinned as she rolled up her sleeves.

“Much bigger, and if there is tampering going on with the budget, it has to be stopped immediately.”

“I’ll do my best not to overlook even the tiniest discrepancy,” said Sam.

A gentle tap on the door and Kamps figured it was Roy with coffee. He hopped up and opened the door and was surprised to see Yvonne standing there.

She motioned him out into the hallway and Kamps closed the door behind him. “I came to say goodbye before I left for Fort Meade.”

Kamps grinned. “You don’t usually come to say goodbye.”

“I know,” she said, smiling faintly, almost embarrassed. “I guess I’m feeling… a little territorial this morning.”

He searched her face. It was a different look than usual—unshielded, a little raw.

“I understand,” he said gently. “I feel the same, but we both know the third time is not the charm for us. We’ve run our race. Now, it’s time to look to the future.”

“I know.” She looked down at her hands, then back up. “But I’ve got a bad habit of screwing things up, so sometimes I need to hear it out loud.”

He stepped closer, resisting the urge to touch her face. Instead, he let his hand rest briefly on her arm—familiar, but not possessive.

“Call me after you talk to Dunnett. I need to know if anything’s changed in the swamp.”

“I will,” she said. Her voice was soft now, almost a whisper. “Be careful with her, Chet.”

He didn’t answer. He just watched her walk away down the hall, heels clicking against the polished floor.

He stood there a moment longer before heading back inside, already unsure of what the hell that just was.

NSA Headquarters. Fort Meade. Maryland.

Vice President Harrison and her security detail exited the elevator and were greeted by Director Dunnett’s personal assistant, Alison.

“Welcome to the top floor, Madam Vice President,” she said, tongue in cheek. “Allow me to show you the way.”

“Stop it, Alison,” Yvonne said, lightly smacking her arm. “How’ve you been? Steve and the kids good?”

“Never better, thanks. I’ll tell them you asked.”

Her Secret Service detail quickly swept the Director’s office before giving Yvonne the ‘all clear’ nod.

“Thanks, boys,” Yvonne said. “I won’t be long.”

The door closed behind the detail, leaving Yvonne and her former boss to chat in private.

“So wonderful to see you, dear,” Dunnett gushed, giving her a hug. “How are you handling the pressure of your new position?”

“I couldn’t do it alone, but with Chet by my side it’s manageable.”

“He’s a brilliant addition to the administration. Lee is lucky to have him in Washington.”

“I agree with you. Nothing gets by him.”

“Have you come to talk to me about anything specific, dear?” He flashed her a wide smile. “Not that you need a reason to drop by. A cup of coffee with an old friend would suffice.”

Yvonne settled into one of the leather club chairs in front of the Director’s desk like she’d done many times before. “Chet confided in me about the situation in the Everglades and I wanted to go over the details with you.”

The old man leaned back in his chair. “I see. I was unaware you knew about that problem. Let me start by saying we’re keeping everything low-key and close-to-vest because we have several assets embedded.”

Yvonne nodded. “Tommy and Lukas are in there, I believe. Why did you select them, by the way? Their specialty isn’t infiltration.”

Blaine Dunnett leaned forward on his desk and exhaled deeply. “Based on the brief video we saw, we were dealing with tattooed biker-types who’d just as soon kill you as talk to you.”

“And you realized that Lukas and Tommy would fit right in.”

Dunnett shrugged. “Like a glove, dear. Bikers and criminality were once their life. It never truly leaves a person. They just learn to mask it.”

“How safe are they?”

Dunnett chuckled. “They’re in a camp filled with ex-cons and hardened career criminals whose sole purpose is to violently assail our government.”

“Of course,” said Yvonne. “And what are we doing on the outside to support our undercover operatives?”

“Tommy and Lukas are tasked with gathering intel about targets, numbers and such. Mister Kamps and I are working on the snippet of intel they’ve already provided, and solid progress has been made in that area. As of this morning, we have Senator Hoffman and his son, Peter, under surveillance. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Wonderful. How long before the threat is permanently removed?”

“Once we’re sure our men are safe, we have sufficient manpower on stand-by to obliterate the threat.”

“Excellent.” Yvonne smiled. “I was sure you’d have it in hand. The only thing I’m nervous about is the safety of Tommy and Lukas.”

“That’s always my greatest concern as well, dear.”

They sat for several minutes, enjoying each other’s company like they had in old times.

“Yvonne, I was wondering if Lee knew about this threat yet?”

The vice president pursed her lips. “He does not, and frankly, I’m not sure if I should read him in or keep him in the dark. When Tommy’s involved, he tends to insinuate himself in the process, which often muddies the waters. I don’t think we can risk that.”

“No one knows how to handle Lee Armstrong better than you, dear, but perhaps you could casually mention the operation while purposely keeping the details vague. Assure Lee we’ll keep him informed as things progress and leave it at that.”

Yvonne nodded as she stood, looking at her watch. “I think that’s our best course of action. I’ll let you know how it turns out. However, I’m afraid I have to run, Director. Duty calls.”

Director Dunnett stood and walked around his desk to give her a hug goodbye. “You can call me Blaine if you’d like, you know. You are the vice president now.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Old habits die hard, sir, and there is no harm in showing respect to someone you admire.”

Yvonne picked up her purse, and Dunnett walked her to the elevator with her security detail in tow.

As the elevator doors opened on the lobby floor, she saw a swarm of reporters pressed against the glass doors and windows, waiting.

“Shall I bring the car around to the side entrance, Ma’am?” Asked Agent Hubbard.

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. If I hide away, they’ll think something is up.”

The Secret Service went through the doors first, scattering the sea of reporters to allow Yvonne to exit.

“A meeting with Director Dunnett wasn’t on your schedule for today, Madam Vice President. Can you tell us why you’re here?”

Another reporter yelled, “Is there a matter of national security we’re not aware of? Are we being kept in the dark by the White House again?”

Keeping her cool, Yvonne smiled. “Nothing alarming, folks. I realize you all delight in sensationalizing every move that President Armstrong or I make, but I assure you all, you’re out of luck this time. I was merely touching base on several mundane matters with an old friend.”

“Could you not have done that over the phone, Madam Vice President?”

Yvonne turned to the reporter and raised an eyebrow. “I could have, but then it wouldn’t have been as enjoyable, would it? Sometimes, we forget that it’s the relationships we create and nurture that genuinely drive the wheels of government.”

“Catching more flies with honey than vinegar, type of thing?” asked a reporter.

“Precisely,” Yvonne replied.

“Is that what you were trying to accomplish when you went to Iran a while ago? Building a relationship?”

She paused. “That was my goal, yes.”

“What happened?”

Yvonne wrinkled her nose. “Pure vinegar, I’m afraid.”

The Press Corps laughed.

As the crowd pushed in closer, shoving mics in Yvonne’s face, Jerry Jeff hollered, “Let the vice president get to her car, people. Thank y’all so much.”

As Jerry Jeff opened the back door of the SUV, Yvonne smiled and gave a wave to the media mob. Jerry jumped in after her and closed the door.

“Get her out of here,” he barked at the driver.

Yvonne patted Jerry’s arm. “It’s okay, Jerry. We made a clean getaway.”

He chuckled and gazed at the vice president with a little more than concern in his eyes.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Kamps was unraveling, and he knew it.

His government inbox was jammed with committee requests and projects for him to scrutinize. His secure Blackmore feed blinked with fresh intelligence on Cletus Donovan. Two worlds—both volatile, both urgent—crashing together with no room to breathe in between.

He pointed Samantha toward the tablet on her side of the table. “Start with Macon and Peterson,” he said—sharper than he meant to. “Follow the money. Campaign donations, shell companies, any dark money linked to PACs they pretend not to control.”

Her stylus froze above the screen for a heartbeat before she nodded. Calm. Professional. But her eyes flinched just slightly.

Kamps ran a hand over his bald head and sighed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean for that to come out sideways.”

“It’s okay,” she said softly, already back at work. “You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

More than she knew.

He crossed to his own desk, hoping to shove himself back into focus, but everything on the screen tugged in different directions. Yvonne’s political flank needed watching—Macon and Peterson were too loud to be clean—but the Blackmore Agency feed in his peripheral vision was louder. Blood-red alerts. Keywords he couldn’t ignore.

Cletus Donovan.

A ghost from Tommy’s past and leader of the White Trash prison gang out of Huntsville. Now he was a national threat. Connected to a senator. Tied to private militias. Operating with enough manpower to cripple a small city.

Cletus had crossed the line into both of his worlds.

And still, Kamps was the only person straddling both tracks. Officially, he was a White House watchdog. Unofficially? A gatherer of intelligence for the Blackmore Agency, the NSA and whoever else enlisted his services.

He rubbed his temples. His pulse throbbed behind his eyes.

Across the room, Samantha murmured something about a weird wire transfer flagged in Peterson’s disclosures, but he couldn’t absorb it yet.

“Send it to me,” he grumbled. “Flag it urgent.”

She didn’t comment on his tone this time. Maybe she was giving him grace. Or maybe she was worried.

Kamps stared at his screens—one showing campaign trail breadcrumbs, the other tracking a growing army in a swamp.

Two different fronts. Same war.

And he was smack in the middle.

Militant Camp. Glade River. Florida.

Hidden under my long hair, I wore an earpiece so I could hear what was going on in Trent’s shack. Lucky for us, Rob had done the prelim work and had tags in almost all of the shacks. He told us the shacks were swept for bugs every day, but so far, the one in Trent’s office hadn’t been detected and removed.

Rob was a goddamn gem.

Said he was one of the first to join the militia with a single mission—track and kill Cletus Donovan. Recognizing the value of intel, he weaseled his way onto the construction crew and got busy.

That’s how he managed to plant the first bug—inside the framing of the officer’s hall.

Fuckin’ brilliant.

Then, one by one, he tagged all the buildings and nobody had found ‘em yet.

Goddamned rockstar.

He even got Lukas and me on patrol rotation after our first week. They were one pair short—and we slid right in.

So there we were, sweeping the perimeter with flashlights. The moon was high—bright enough to throw shadows but not enough to feel safe.

The fuckin’ bugs were goin’ full kamikaze on every inch of my skin they could find. They didn’t care about the gallon of DEET I had sprayed on myself.

Hate those little bastards.

They told us to keep watch for shiny eyes in the dark. They’d be gator eyes, on the hunt.

Yeah, gators—fuck that.

We passed the clearing where we dumped the two guards we took out last week. Just as I started thinkin’ how quiet it was, we heard it—branches cracking. Then a muffled crash. Moaning.

Lukas froze beside me.

We aimed our lights at the sound. Nothing but trees and blackness.

“Cover me,” I said, low.

He nodded and shifted his stance, rifle up.

I crept forward. Mud sucked at my boots and sweat dripped down my neck. Hair on my arms stood up like static.

Ten feet in, my flashlight caught something—half-covered in leaves and muck. A shape.

“Get up slow, or I’ll drop you right here,” I said, gun raised.

A pained rasp. “Just… shoot me. I’m done anyway.”

I stepped closer, flashlight steady.

“Show me your face.”

Slowly, the man lifted his head, brushing away leaves stuck to his face with mud. The beam lit up blood-streaked skin, sunken cheeks, cracked lips. Eyes like hollow glass.

Then I saw the logo on his shirt, and the recognition hit like a punch to the gut.

“Are you Terry?” I hissed.

His breath caught. “You know me?”

“Jesus, Terry. Everyone thought you were dead.”

“Who are you?”

“Can’t say. I’m undercover. But I’m a friend. Warden Wintour sent us.”

I dropped to a knee beside him, already pulling out my canteen. He took the water with shaking hands, sipped slow like every drop might be his last.

“How did you survive?” I asked.

“I know this area better than anyone,” he whispered. “I’ve been hiding in an abandoned fishing shack since I escaped,” he whispered. “Lived off the land, but that won’t fix my chest.”

He pulled back his shirt to reveal the most disgusting bruising I’d ever seen.

“My chest is a mess, and I can barely walk. Pretty sure I’ve got an infection or something. I need a doctor.”

I passed him more water and pulled out a protein bar from my pocket. “Eat this. Are you okay to stay here for a bit?”

He grunted. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. With a little more food and water, and no movement, I should live.”

Lukas appeared beside me, rifle still up. He looked down, eyes widening. “No fuckin’ way.”

“It’s Terry the Fisheries dude. We gotta help him.”

“How the fuck did you end up here?” Lukas asked.

“Figured I had nothing to lose if I stole one of their vehicles and hightailed it. Thought if I moved at night, I could make it into camp, but the journey almost did me in. Ribs are broken, at the very least.”

“Didn’t you come across any gators?” I asked.

He wheezed, laughing. “Of course, but this is my terrain. I fought a few pythons. I shot a gator, but it got away. Took down a few birds. Enough to feed me.”

“You’re lucky we found you.”

“No such thing as luck,” he rasped, grinning. “Just stubbornness.”

“We’ll get you food and something to patch you up. You move, you die. You make noise, they’ll finish the job.”

He nodded weakly. “I’ll go down fighting.” He showed us his Glock and rifle.

“We’ll need Rob,” Lukas said. “And maybe a damn miracle.”

Terry’s eyes closed. “Don’t risk the mission for me.”

“Too late, brother,” I said. “You’re ours now. And we don’t leave our people behind.”

I tucked a shirt under his head, gave him all the food and water we had, and then we hightailed it back to camp.

We made our rounds and then headed to see Rob.

Back at the tent, the canvas flap creaked as I pushed it open. The interior was dark, thick with sweat and mildew. Rob was already in his cot, one arm slung over his eyes.

“Tent’s not a saloon, cowboy,” he muttered. “You walk in like you own the place. Lukas is a ghost. You’re a one-man band.”

I crouched by my cot and whispered, “You awake or just bitchin’ in your sleep?”

He shifted, exhaled hard, and peeled his arm off his face. The fucker actually grinned. “Bit of both.”

“We found him,” Lukas said, voice low. “The Fisheries guy.”

Rob sat up slow, his face folding into a grimace. “No shit?”

I nodded. “Alive, but barely. Been hiding out since he got shot. Looks like hell.”

Rob rubbed his jaw. “Christ. I figured the gators got him. Good for him.”

“Looks like he’s been stitched together with spit and willpower,” I said. “He’s in bad shape.”

Lukas knelt, voice clinical. “Massive hematoma across the left side of his chest. Swelling like a fuckin’ football. Probably extensive internal damage. Can’t breathe right.”

Rob didn’t respond at first. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. Then, a sigh.

“Fuck,” he said. “Boys, you should forget about him. If you bring that kind of heat into camp, you’ll get us all killed.”

“No,” I said flatly. “We’re not leavin’ him out there to die.”

“He’s a dead man anyway,” Rob snapped. “And if you bring him in, we’ll be next.”

“Rob,” Lukas said evenly. “That man survived two weeks with broken ribs and God knows what else. The pain he’s in? It’s not survivable without help.”

Rob cursed under his breath and swung his bum leg over the side of the cot. “Fuck me, you two are a pain in my ass. Fine. Give me ten minutes.”

He stood slowly, rubbing at the stiff limb like it was made of rusted iron. “When I was on the construction crew, they noticed I could push through the pain. Carried more than the others, stayed longer. My leg’s fucked from the inside out, but I didn’t let it stop me. They liked that.”

“They give you meds?” Lukas asked.

Rob nodded. “Good stuff. Strong. Let me work through fire.”

“Think they’ll give it to you now?” I asked.

“Not without a reason,” Rob said. “Most of this camp is junkies and ex-cons. Trent keeps the meds under lock and key, with armed guards at the med shack 24/7.”

“So?” I asked.

He looked at me like I was stupid. “So, I gotta be persuasive.”

He slipped into a black shirt, checked his knife, and vanished into the dark like a ghost of his own. Twenty minutes passed. Lukas paced. I checked my gun three times. The bugs buzzed loud outside like a warning drum.

Then the flap opened, and Rob stepped in, tossing a bundle at my chest.

“MREs and water for a few days. Bottle of aspirin.”

I caught it and looked up. “Where’s the good stuff?”

“They wouldn’t give it to me,” Rob said, voice dry. “Said unless I was bleeding out or caught fire, I could take aspirin and shut the fuck up.”

“You push ‘em?”

“Yeah. And I got told if I came back asking for more, I’d be the one in the med tent—without my teeth.”

I looked at the aspirin, then at Lukas. “It’s not enough.”

“No,” Rob agreed. “It’s not. But it’s something. You want more? Gonna have to take it.”

He dropped back onto his cot, every motion deliberate.

“Your call, cowboy. You want me in on whatever you’re planning next... you just better not make me regret it.”

Lukas pulled one of those shiny reflective blankets from his gear and added it to the growing bag of supplies. “We get this to Terry tonight. If he’s not dead by morning, we’ll find a better way.”

Rob didn’t respond. But I caught the way he watched us under hooded eyes—half wary, half resigned.

The line between survival and suicide was getting real damn blurry.

The camp was quiet but not dead.

Generators growled low in the distance. Somewhere near the cookfires, a couple of drunk bikers argued in slurred grunts. Perfect cover.

Lukas slipped from the tent without a sound.

He moved low and silent, hugging shadows between tents and crates, his footfalls muted on the damp earth. A night owl hooted. Lukas paused, letting the sound mask his next move, then melted into the tree line beyond the camp.

It took him ten minutes to reach the spot.

Terry was exactly where they’d left him—half-buried beneath leaves, slumped against the thick trunk of a cypress, his breath ragged and wet. His eyes fluttered open as Lukas crouched beside him.

“Water,” Terry rasped.

Lukas unscrewed the cap and steadied the bottle to his lips. Terry drank like a man crawling out of hell. When he was done, Lukas ripped open an MRE for Terry and then unwrapped the emergency heat sheet.

“Eat this slow,” Lukas whispered. “Keep your strength. I’ll be back tomorrow if I can.”

Terry nodded weakly, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the packet.

Lukas draped the reflective blanket over his body and began layering damp leaves, moss and clumps of swamp mud over him, shaping a natural cocoon that held warmth and camouflaged his outline.

Once Terry was fully hidden, Lukas gave one final check of the perimeter.

All clear.

He moved out just as he’d come in—slow, silent, shadows wrapping around him like a cloak.

He slipped through the camp unseen, ducked through the back of the tent, and lay down without a word.

Tommy glanced at him from his cot. “He okay?”

Lukas nodded once.

Then they both went quiet.

Tomorrow was going to be hell.

Chapter Twelve

Wednesday, May 14th.

Hoffman Residence. Naples. Florida.

8:00 a.m.

The sun was brutal, beating down through the rented Escalade’s windshield like it meant to cook them alive.

Aaron and Thorne had been on ‘Hoffman watch’ since before dawn, waiting. They took turns napping to keep their minds fresh.

They had taken advantage of the early morning darkness and planted trackers on both cars in the driveway—a Jaguar F-type in pristine condition and an old model Honda Civic with sun damage to its red paint job.

It wasn’t hard to figure out who drove which car.

Aaron started the SUV again, letting the air conditioning pump through. “This ain’t heat. This is punishment. And it’s not even ten in the morning.”

“Florida’s revenge,” Thorne muttered, then he nodded toward the high-end stucco mansion across the street. “Senator’s coming out, heading straight for the Jag. Called it. Gorgeous sports car. Too bad he’s a traitor and a douche.”

Aaron sat up, fully alert. “If we pop him while he’s driving that car, I call dibs to drive it to impound.”

“Assuming he’s guilty.”

Thorne grinned. “If we were sent to watch him, he’s already guilty, and Blacky just needs more proof. When it comes to guys like this, I guarantee he’ll commit a federal crime before lunch.”

The Jag eased onto the street and rolled down the road.

“Tail him or hit the house?” Thorne asked.

“We’ll let the tracker do its thing and check his route later. Let’s tag the house before anyone notices we’re watching.”

Thorne reached into the back seat of the SUV and pulled out two XXL work shirts and two baseball caps, all with Florida Gas logos.

They got dressed quickly and hopped out of the truck.

With commercial-grade natural gas leak detectors in hand, they approached the house.

“Front door or back door?” Aaron asked.

“I’ll sniff around back,” Thorne said. “You hang out here.”

Thorne went through the side gate, waving his sniffer around as if he was searching. When he got to the back patio door, he casually checked the handles and caught a glimpse of someone inside.

He walked back to the front and joined his partner. “No dice, Aaron. Wife is home. Plan B.”

Thorne pulled a small black canister from his cargo pocket. “Old gas utility trick,” he whispered. A spritz of eau de gas leak and a laminated badge and they had a reason to knock.

The senator’s wife answered, tense and pale. Maybe early forties. She had a thin frame—too thin—with fresh makeup that was doing a poor job of hiding the bruises on her throat and jawline. Several others bloomed beneath one eye—the red one, where the blood took over the white.

Subconjunctival hemorrhage, Thorne thought with disgust. Prevalent in boxers, street fighters and abused wives.

Her voice was tight, afraid. “Who—who are you?”

“Gas leak, ma’am,” Thorne said, flashing the fake ID. “Your neighbors reported a smell. I’m sure you can smell it. Just need five minutes to scan your utility closet or your basement. Make sure you’re not in danger.”

Her eyes darted. She didn’t believe them—but she was afraid of something worse.

Aaron caught the bruises on her hands and arms as she held the door partially open.

“Ma’am,” he said gently, “did the Senator do that to you?”

She froze. A crack in her composure.

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Aaron took a half-step forward, voice lowered. “I’ve seen a lot of bruises, and I’ve seen what men like him do. You don’t need to lie to us.”

She looked between the two of them, tears forming despite herself. “You’re not gas men.”

Aaron and Thorne looked at each other, silently communicating. Aaron nodded to his partner.

“No, we’re not, but we can help you.”

Her voice trembled as her tears flowed. “No, you can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Thorne said, stepping in, flashing his Texas Ranger badge. “You help us, and your husband will never hurt anyone again.”

Aaron kept his tone calm but firm. “Take your keys. Go shopping. Go anywhere for an hour. When you come back, we’ll be gone—and you’ll have helped take that bastard down for good.”

She blinked. “You’re serious?”

Aaron nodded. “Dead serious.”

She was still crying. “Do you promise?”

Aaron smiled. “I guarantee it, Mrs. Hoffman.”

There was a long pause. Then, a ghost of a smile flickered at her lips.

“The gas main is in the utility room beside my husband’s home office. I’m going to leave now. For my own safety, of course. Just let me grab my keys.”

She reached behind the door and brushed between them, stopping briefly before she walked to her car.

“Remember—you promised.”

Oval Office. West Wing. D.C.

Lee and Carter were in the middle of their daily morning meeting, reviewing the day’s upcoming appointments, when a news bulletin flashed across the screen, showing the vice president exiting the NSA building.

“Yvonne didn’t mention going to see Director Dunnett,” said Lee. “Is that appointment on her schedule, Carter?”

“No, sir. It’s not. I already checked.”

“Huh. An unscheduled visit,” said Lee. “Interesting. See if she’s back yet, and if she is, send her to me, would you?”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll locate her now.”

Levalley scurried out of the Oval in squirrel-like fashion and less than five minutes later, Yvonne walked in and sat down. “You need me, Lee? Carter seemed to be in a bit of a dither.”

Lee smiled. “I saw on the news that you paid a visit to Dunnett’s domain at Fort Meade this morning. Am I entitled to know the reason or is it none of my business?”

“Everything I do is your business, Lee. That’s the way it works.”

Yvonne paused, and Lee smiled. “That’s nice to hear, Yvonne.”

“It’s the truth, sir. Because you asked, I’ll tell you. I went to visit Director Dunnett about something I heard. I haven’t told you because there’s nothing to talk about yet. Just hearsay and conjecture, which will spark questions in your lawyer brain that I don’t have answers for. Those questions will force you to try to help me by making phone calls and using your position to expedite, all of which takes your focus away from running the country as well as needlessly adding to your stress. Does that sound accurate so far, sir?”

Lee chuckled. “Harsh but accurate.”

“Then, let me do what I’m supposed to—handle the things outside of your purview until they need your influence or approval. Once Chet confirms some details and we have more information, I’ll read you in. Is that fair? If it’s nothing, I’ll tell you that as well, but there’s no use either one of us worrying over something that isn’t true, is there?”

Lee grinned, but it didn’t extend to his eyes. “I feel like you’re handling me, Yvonne.”

“I am, sir. That’s my job. I filter things that don’t deserve your attention until they do. I remind you that you tried to run everything by yourself, sir, and it almost killed you.”

Lee nodded. “Again, true.” He sighed. “You and Tommy both have the habit of trying to protect me. While that’s endearing, it sometimes makes me feel…less.”

“Tommy does it because he loves you, and you should recognize just how much that boy cares for you. For my part, although I care for you too, this is primarily my role in this government. So, I respectfully ask that you let me do my job, and once I know more, I’ll read you in.”

Lee’s brain was working overtime. “That’s fair, but I have a request. My lawyer brain would like daily updates, even if the update is as simple as ‘nothing new.’ Is that fair?”

Yvonne nodded. “I can make that work. I’m not going to schedule an appointment for it. That’s a waste of both our times. I’ll text it to you, shall I?”

“Perfect. We should give this thing a name to ensure clarity.”

Yvonne wanted to roll her eyes, but she held firm as she thought for a moment. “We’ll call it Project Homegrown.”

“Love it. Thanks for the update, Yvonne, and I appreciate all your efforts.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Yvonne left the Oval Office wondering if she did harm or good. With Lee, you never knew for certain.

Only time would tell.

Hoffman Residence. Naples, Florida.

10:30 A.M.

The Jag pulled in—right on time.

Thorne leaned forward. “He’s home.”

Aaron adjusted the gain on the receiver. “Let’s see who he calls first.”

Sounds of Hoffman moving on the main floor.

“Lydia? You home?”

Silence. Then, noise from the office.

Footsteps. Drawer opening. Papers.

“Morning, Petey. What time are you making your delivery today?”

Silence.

“Perfect. Pick me up on the way. It’s time I let my men know where they’re headed and when. It’ll boost morale.”

“He’s making another call,” said Thorne.

“Trent. It’s me. I’m coming this afternoon with Peter. It’s time. I’ll make a speech to my men this afternoon. Have them ready.”

Aaron cursed under his breath. “It’s happening. Today. Call Blacky.”

Thorne already had his phone out. “Boss, we just heard Hoffman talking about heading to the camp today. Making a big announcement, and he said, ‘It’s time.’ Kinda vague. What do you want us to do?”

Blacky’s voice sharpened. “Wasn’t expecting that. Let me contact Dunnett. For now, tail them. If they turn onto Glade River Road, hold at the junction for further direction.”

“Copy.”

The Blackmore Agency. Austin. Texas.

Blacky called Director Dunnett.

“Morning, Granddad. I just got word from my surveillance team that Hoffman will be making an appearance at the camp this afternoon. He said that it was time, and he would make a big announcement in front of his soldiers. Nothing definitive, but it sounded ominous.”

“Things seem to be escalating.”

“Once the Hoffmans leave the camp, what do you want my boys to do? I directed them to tail the Hoffmans to the top of Glade River Road and wait there for further instructions.”

“Do we have enough evidence, based on Mister Kamps’s investigation?”

“We have a money trail linking him to the land, the delivery van, and most of the supplies at the base. Kamps found several money transfers overseas that he’s still working on, and we have him laying claim to ‘his boys.’ We can wait for more evidence or grab them both now.”

“When they come out, take them. The opportunity is too good to miss. We have enough to hold them until Mister Kamps confirms. And he always does.”

“Understood. You want them brought to D.C.?”

“Please. Take them to Homestead. I’ll have a plane waiting for them and your men. Get them here, quietly.”

“Will do.”

Blacky ended the call and redialed his team.

Aaron answered on the first ring. “Boss.”

“Grab ‘em on their way out. Drive straight to Homestead. Granddad’s got transport waiting.”

“Copy, boss. Been itching for this.”

“Make it clean. We don’t want them dead just yet.”

Hoffman Residence. Naples. Florida.

12:30 p.m.

“Looks like little Petey’s picking up his dad,” Aaron muttered, eyes on the driveway.

“Confirmed. That’s junior,” Thorne said, checking the photo on his phone.

The front door slammed. Senator Hoffman jogged out in camo gear and jumped in the passenger seat. The cube van reversed and rolled off.

They trailed the van through Naples traffic. When the van hit the Everglades Parkway, Thorne grinned. “Eastbound and down.”

Forty minutes later, the van slowed and then turned south.

“Bingo,” Thorne said. “Glade River.”

They pulled off and parked in the brush, just out of sight.

“Get comfy,” Aaron muttered. “Could be a long wait.”

Militant Camp. Glade River. Florida.

The day started off hot and steamy. A million percent humidity. Already over a hundred degrees, the cloud of mist rising off the swamp was alive with buzzing insects.

I couldn’t sweat anymore.

My can of repellant was empty, and both my arms and my neck were flaming with bites.

Sweet baby Jesus, just take me now.

Gators grunted as they foraged for food only a few feet away from the camp. I watched for them, but they didn’t bother me as much as the constant threat of snakes dropping down on me from the trees.

That shit is just evil.

Lukas had saved me from a couple of the fuckers already. Three other guys weren’t so lucky. They’d been snake-bit and since there was nothin’ for snake bites in this shit-hole camp, they died and were pushed under the slimy algae blanket for gator food.

After breakfast, Lukas and me were on patrol for the first two hours. We popped in to see Terry and dropped him more food and water. Then we shifted to the training fields, where there were more drills—running, shooting, shoulder roll, shooting. This was a level up from where the training started, but not quite as extensive as what Max taught us.

Just after lunch, Rob brushed by making no eye contact. “It’s Hoffman’s delivery day,” he muttered. “I got you two on the unloading crew, so you can take a look around.”

Fifteen minutes later, a dust trail announced Peter Hoffman’s cube van rolling into camp.

Lukas and me moved to where we were told to unload, but one of the underbosses told us to hang in the central compound.

“The big boss wants to speak to everyone. You’ll have plenty of time to unload after his speech.”

Peter Hoffman stepped out of the driver’s side. His old man was riding shotgun, decked out in camo like he knew how to wear it.

Whispers rippled through the clearing as they stepped out. Someone barked for everyone to gather. We did.

Senator Hoffman smiled wide, hands raised like a revival preacher as he strutted onto the porch in front of the officer’s hall.

“No deliveries today, men. You have everything you need until you leave for D.C. Your time in this beautiful swamp is almost over,” he said, ignoring the eye rolls and muttered curses.

“You’ve endured heat, bugs, and mud and proven yourselves worthy. This is your last full day of training and practice. Tomorrow, you’ll be on your way to the real thing.”

Many manly roars and whooping.

“The buses will arrive tomorrow afternoon to take you to glory. By early Friday morning, you’ll be in Washington, D.C., positioned and ready. And the best part is that no one will see it coming.”

Cheers erupted—raw, wild energy from sunburned men who hadn’t had a win in years.

“Keep the faith, brothers. We can do this. Your team leaders will have your assignments. All you need to do is follow orders. Victory is within reach. Those fucks at the Capitol won’t know what hit them.”

Lukas leaned in and whispered. “What a crock.”

I smirked, nodding.

“And when this is over,” the senator added, “drinks and steaks on me.”

Roaring approval.

“And hookers, too,” someone shouted.

So classy. Idiots.

Lukas and I knew bullshit when we heard it. This wasn’t a celebration. This was a suicide mission with a gold-plated speech, but with steaks and beers at the end instead of seventy-two virgins.

We hollered with the rest of the sheep.

That’s when Rob passed close, slipped an earpiece into each of our palms.

“After his speech, the inner circle meets in the officer’s hall. Bugs can’t hear everything. But we might catch some gold.”

We tucked them under our hair and moved into position outside the hall like we were just loitering.

The signal clicked on. Voices, rough and close, piped into my ear.

“Are my men ready?”

“As ready as they need to be.”

“Any news from Cletus?”

“Says his guys are ready. They’ll break outta Huntsville at the same time as we hit the DOJ…”
Khhhtkk—pop—crackle—

Fuckin’ static.

I moved closer.

“—grab the HVT. They’ll never see it coming.”

Jesus. Who’s the HVT? I mouthed the words to Lukas.

“I know the fuckin’ plan, senator.”

Khhhtkk—shhhhht.

“Okay, okay. I’m just wound up because it’s gotta go off like clockwork. While your boys hit the buildings, our partners snatch the HVT. All the focus will be on the chaos.”

Another player?

 “Completely memorized the plan. Not my first fuckin’ rodeo.”

Hearing all that crazy bullshit made me dizzy and I had to puke up the K-ration I had for breakfast and get to a phone sooner.

They stepped out minutes later. Trent had the look of a guy who’d chew nails and spit blades. Peter, on the other hand, looked like a guy running for homecoming king. Flashy wave, phony grin, and then he was gone in the truck.

Trent marched toward the gathering crowd, barking orders like Patton on a bender.

“Training groups to the south range. All mercs report for assignment briefing. Brotherhood to the pit. Rednecks—you know what the fuck to do.”

It was chaos. Everyone scattered.

Rob appeared behind me, fast. His voice sharp, urgent. “Grab your rifle. Move now. Patrol duty. Make the call while they’re distracted.”

Lukas was already exiting the tent, rifles slung. I joined him and we started heading out.

“Hey. Where you going, kid?”

Fuck. Trent.

I stopped cold. Lukas stiffened beside me like he’d just swallowed a hot poker.

Don’t twitch. Don’t lie bad.

I turned, smile locked in place.

“Patrol duty, sir. That was our assignment.”

Trent’s glare narrowed like a blade.

“Thought you were just a grunt.”

I swallowed, trying to look half-dumb but eager.

“Could be, sir. But they moved us to patrol after seeing us shoot. I guess they figured we’d be better on the perimeter. You want us back on the range, say the word. I’m good with either.”

Lukas just stared, jaw set tight. Ready to snap if this went sideways. I saw his fists clench.

Trent studied us for a beat too long.

Then he grinned.

“That’s right. Your instructor said you could shoot the balls off a squirrel. Off you go but stay sharp. We’re going to need that skillset when we get to D.C.”

“Yes, sir,” we chorused and peeled off fast, hearts hammering.

We reached Terry’s hiding place a few minutes later. Lukas kept lookout while I ducked in.

“Terry?”

From beneath the leaves and mud, his voice rasped.

“Still here.”

I squatted beside him. “Can you hold out another day? Sounds like we’re moving out tomorrow.”

“I think so. Pain’s more manageable now. Don’t forget me, alright?”

“Never, brother.”

Lukas passed me two canteens and another MRE from under his shirt.

We backed out and moved ten feet down the trail. I ducked behind a tree and yanked off my boot.

Pulled the emergency phone from the heel and hit the first number.

“Tommy?”

“Got an update, boss. They’re attacking the DOJ and maybe the Capitol Building, I think, on Friday at dawn. Same time as the prison break from Huntsville. But it’s all a diversion so a third party can snatch a high-value target. They didn’t give a name, but these guys are anti-government, so I’m guessing it’s Lee.”

“Jesus Christ,” Blacky breathed. “There’s another player?”

“Grabbing Lee would be the ultimate wet dream for these anti-government pukes.”

“Exactly. We also found Terry, the Fisheries guy. Alive, but barely. We’re getting him food and water. He’ll need to be medevac’d out. He’s in the swamp on the west side just before you enter the camp.”

“I’ll get Granddad to arrange that.”

“Get him to send some soldiers, too. Munitions experts. This place is loaded for a proper war. I don’t think this attack was their only plan.”

“Are they that serious?”

“These guys ain’t fuckin’ around, boss. They’ve got enough weaponry for a small war. Even anti-tank shit. All Russian, Lukas said.”

“Copy that. I’ll notify Kamps and Dunnett. You just stay alive.”

“That’s the plan.”

I shoved the phone back into the heel, jammed on my boot, and looked at Lukas.

His face said it all.

We were in so fuckin’ deep, we might not make it back.

Glade River Road. Everglades Parkway. Florida.

They saw the dust trail before they saw the van roaring down Glade River Road.

Aaron checked the soft shoulder by the rental. “ETA three minutes. We’ve got four feet of solid before we’re swimming in gator spit.”

“Shame,” said Thorne, cocking his head toward the trees. “Gator chow’s about right for traitors.”

They set the trap—hood up, rental parked sideways at the mouth of the road. Then they vanished into the foliage.

The van crept closer and stopped when it spotted the “broken down” vehicle. Aaron and Thorne moved fast.

The boys ripped the doors open.

Peter barely had time to blink before Aaron dragged him from the driver’s side. Thorne hauled the senator from the shotgun seat and slammed him face-first against the hood.

Cuffs clicked quickly.

“You can’t do this.” Hoffman barked. “I’m a United States Senator.”

Thorne tightened the cuffs until bone ground on metal. “Congratulations. You’re also a suspect in a domestic terror plot. Big day for you.”

Peter squirmed. “I want a phone call. I know my rights.”

Aaron calmly flashed his badge. “Texas Ranger Aaron Cross. We’ll get you a phone call—as soon as you’re not in cuffs and breathing the same air as law-abiding civilians.”

Senator Hoffman twisted furiously as he screamed. “This is illegal. You’re messing with the wrong—”

In his thrashing, his fat head inadvertently knocked into Thorne.

Wham.

Thorne’s massive fist crashed into the senator’s face. Bone cracked, and blood splatted from his flattened nose. The older man crumpled, dazed.

Aaron didn’t blink. “Jesus, Thorne.”

Thorne shrugged, grinning. “I felt threatened.”

Then he leaned in close to Hoffman, who was groaning against the hood. He whispered low, barely audible. “Your wife says goodbye.”

Hoffman froze.

Aaron dragged Peter toward the back seat of the rental while Thorne secured the Senator in front.

Once doors slammed and locks clicked, Aaron fired off a quick text to Blacky.

Targets secured. En route to Homestead. ETA ninety minutes.

Blacky replied quickly. Well done. Hide the van so the buses don’t see it.

Copy, Aaron replied.

Aaron drove the rental with his gun in his hand, aimed at Hoffman, while Thorne followed in the cube van.

Five minutes down the road, they ditched the van down a dirt road and were off to Homestead.

The Blackmore Agency. Austin. Texas.

Blacky set his phone down and took a beat to breathe and think.

Attacks on two federal buildings, a jailbreak and a kidnapping. These guys are overachievers.

His heart pounding in his chest, Blacky quickly jotted down the people he needed to call.

Granddad.

Kamps.

But first, he needed to get Farrell into Huntsville Prison for a visit with someone special.

Huntsville Prison. Huntsville. Texas.

Farrell Donovan hadn’t stepped foot inside Huntsville since his father’s sentencing. Back then, he was a teenager, full of nerves and bad blood. This time, he was a cop—and the man he was about to face was just as dangerous.

He wasn’t exactly sure why Blacky had him rush over to Huntsville to talk to Crazy Kenny. But he was sure it had something to do with Tommy.

I do his fuckin’ legwork and he doesn’t tell me why?

Bullshit.

He drove in silence, Jimmy Russell riding shotgun, tapping his lighter against the dash like a metronome.

“You gonna tell me why we’re heading into the Texas’ version of hell?” Jimmy asked.

Farrell didn’t look away from the road. “Crazy Kenny Hughes. Second in command of the White Trash gang. Word is, there’s a breakout in the works.”

Jimmy let out a low whistle. “That’s not nothin’. Where’d you hear it?”

“Need-to-know. But Blacky says it’s actionable. Which means we rattle a cage and see what comes runnin’.”

“Let me guess—Kamps again?”

Farrell cracked a small grin. “That was my guess, too.”

Close to three hours after leaving Austin, the big red wall loomed into sight.

They cleared the gates in less than ten. Farrell flashed his badge, and the guards didn’t argue. They were shown into the grim visitors’ room—chipped tables, scuffed concrete floors, and the smell of sweat and bleach baked into every inch.

The bleach was for the bloodstains after the fights.

Ten minutes passed.

A guard returned alone, smirking. “Kenny says he won’t talk to no Rangers. Says he’s got nothin’ to say to pigs.”

Farrell leaned in, his voice low and cool. “Go back there and tell him I’m Cletus Donovan’s kin. Tell him it’s family business.”

The guard studied Farrell’s face. “I can see it. You got five minutes. And that’s a courtesy.”

The sound of clanking shackles entered the room long before the man did. Crazy Kenny Hughes was built like a butcher’s block, face pale under a layer of old scars. His lip curled the moment he saw Farrell.

The guard chained him to the table and stepped back, but not far. Farrell didn’t blame him.

“Clock’s ticking,” he growled.

“You look like someone,” Kenny muttered, sizing him up.

“I should. My father was Billy Don Donovan.”

That got a flicker. “Cletus’ brother?”

“Yeah. Makes your boss my uncle. So I figure that kinda makes you… extended family.”

Kenny snorted. “I don’t got pigs climbing up my family tree.”

Farrell leaned in, calm and deadly. “Then you better prune the branches. I’m not here to beg you for trust. I’m here to give you a message.”

Kenny didn’t blink. “Talk.”

“Tell Cletus I know he’s comin’ to pick you up.”

Silence.

Then a twitch. Barely visible. But Farrell caught it. He found that nerve and plucked it like a guitar string.

Kenny’s grin turned feral. “You some kind of comedian?”

“Nope. Just a concerned nephew. I’d love to see my Uncle Cletus again.”

Kenny snorted. “He’d just as soon gut you like a fuckin’ deer as call you kin.”

“Maybe so,” Farrell said. “But when I heard y’all been having a lot of little meetings lately, I figured something’s up.”

“That so,” Kenny growled, his eyes narrowing.

“Rec yard, chapel, laundry room… that’s a lot of meetings. I hear it’s hard organizing all that social time in prison, so I can only assume it’s for somethin’ important—like a going-away party.”

Kenny’s eyes narrowed, and then he laughed. “You’re just fishin’, pig. If you had any proof, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation. I’d be in solitary.”

Farrell shook his head and chuckled. “Don’t need proof against you. You’re too small. You’re only the second chair in this organization. Cletus is still calling the shots, and we know it. He’s making you take all the risk, but you’ll have none of the legacy.”

Kenny tried to lunge, but the chains held him. “Fuck you, pig. I’m running the show in here and doing a fuckin’ better job than Cletus ever did.”

Farrell wasn’t done. “Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. Just make sure you tell your boss I popped by, and I’m lookin’ forward to seeing him. We all are.”

Kenny’s eyes narrowed. “We?”

Farrell shrugged. “People are watching, Kenny. Lots of people. Just thought he’d want to know.”

Kenny yanked on the cuffs again—loud clang against the metal. “You think you’re funny, cop? When Cletus hears this, you’re fuckin’ dead.”

Farrell stood. “Someone might be, but I doubt it’s me. I’m not the one who fucked up his plan and let people know.”

Kenny went ballistic, and Farrell thanked the good Lord that the table was bolted into the concrete.

“Just deliver the message, Kenny. We’ll see how funny it gets.”

The guard came over, settled Kenny down, and then unlocked Kenny’s shackles from the table.

As he was led out, Kenny looked over his shoulder. “You just lit a fuse.”

Farrell didn’t flinch. “Then let’s see what burns.”

Back in the truck, Jimmy blew out a breath. “Well, that was cheerful.”

“Sure was,” said Farrell. “I said what Blacky told me to say. Message delivered. He’ll tell Cletus,”

“You sure?”

“Cletus has eyes and ears everywhere. If Kenny doesn’t tell him, someone else will, and Kenny will be killed.”

“Do you think it’ll spook Cletus?”

Farrell watched the rearview mirror for a long beat. “Cletus don’t spook, but it’ll piss him off, and that’s just as good.”

Jimmy chuckled darkly. “Feel like lunch?”

“Let’s get barbecue. Feels like a day for burning things down.”

Chapter Thirteen

Thursday, May 15th.

The Blackmore Agency. Austin. Texas.

Farrell grumbled as he navigated his Ram through city traffic, mad at the world. Again. His head pounded as he crawled through traffic, making it hard for him to focus.

Shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.

He kept replaying that last day with Ellis and what he should have done instead. His guts flipped when he kept thinking about how he hurt the one person who had always believed in him.

Well, the only person since Laine died.

It had been a shitty morning from the start. Blacky called him at nine-thirty for an in-person debrief, and Farrell had tried—twice—to give it over the phone. But Blacky had insisted. No exceptions.

He parked outside Blacky’s house and stomped up to the front door. Misty opened it with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Morning, Farrell. Blaine’s in his office. Take off your boots and go on through.”

Take off my boots?

What the actual fuck?

Still, he did it, kicking them off harder than necessary. The floor creaked under his steps as he made his way down the hall. He knocked on the partially closed office door.

“Come in.”

Blacky didn’t look up. He was scribbling notes while clicking between documents on his screen.

“Help yourself to coffee and a turnover,” he said, motioning to the sideboard. “Then sit.”

Farrell reluctantly obeyed. He poured himself coffee, grabbed a turnover, and sat down, balancing the plate on his knee.

He had just taken his second bite when Blacky finally turned away from the screen, his eyes like chips of flint.

“Tell me how Huntsville went.”

Farrell bristled. “Boss, like I said on the phone—”

“You said nothing on the phone,” Blacky said quietly. “You tried to phone it in, and that’s not what I asked of you. What you did yesterday was more important than you realize, and it deserves more than five minutes over Bluetooth.”

“This is bullshit,” Farrell muttered.

Blacky leaned back, watching him. “Something on your chest, Ranger?”

Farrell stood, pacing. “I know this has something to do with Tommy in Florida, and I don’t get why I gotta play messenger for him when I’m not even read in on his secret fuckin’ mission. For Chrissakes, I’m family. And yet, I’m in the dark while he gets all the praise.”

Blacky didn’t flinch, but his voice dropped like a hammer. “How do you know about Florida?”

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet—it screamed.

Farrell hesitated.

“Tell me, Farrell.”

“Simka,” he said quietly.

The second her name left his lips, Farrell wanted to take it back.

A sour knot formed in his stomach. Goddamn.

What kind of man corners a baby for answers? What the hell had he become?

Blacky blinked. “Tommy’s baby daughter?”

Farrell nodded, embarrassed.

“My God, Farrell. You walked into another man’s home—your cousin’s—and interrogated his four-year-old daughter? You’re a Texas Ranger, For God’s sake, not some street thug.”

Farrell rubbed his hands over his face. “Look, boss. I was pushing Ellis—I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop—and she wouldn’t give me anything. So I talked to the kids. Linc held out, but Simka slipped.”

Blacky stood. He spoke even quieter, his words measured. “You’re trying to justify interrogating your cousin’s children?”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“Then what was it like, Farrell?”

Farrell had no answer.

Blacky stepped around his desk, every word sharp enough to cut. “Ellis called me the minute you left. Per our protocol. You were the breach.”

“I didn’t know there was a protocol.”

“You weren’t supposed to. That’s the point. Until Tommy comes home, you are not to set foot on that property. The gate codes are changed. Locks replaced.”

“You’re exiling me?”

“I’m protecting the people you endangered, per my sworn oath. That might be something you want to revisit soon.”

Farrell sank back into his chair, hollowed out. “I didn’t mean to do harm. I just—I hate feeling left behind.”

Blacky softened, only slightly. “We all feel alone sometimes. But you don’t fix that by crossing lines you can’t uncross.”

A long silence passed.

“Tell me about Huntsville,” Blacky said finally.

Farrell cleared his throat. “Said what you told me. Kenny blew up. Loud. Violent. Should get back to Cletus fast.”

Blacky nodded. “And it did. He called within the hour. Mission accomplished.”

Farrell gave a weak shrug. “Glad it meant something.”

“It did.”

Farrell stared at his socks, waiting silently before he finally spoke. “What’s next, boss?”

“That’s up to you, Farrell. You get to decide what kind of man you want to be moving forward. Because if there is ever a next time, I might not be able to clean up that mess.”

Farrell stood. Nodded. He wanted out of there so bad that he walked out in his socks, carrying his boots.

Back in his truck, he slammed the door and sat in silence for a long time.

That was pure bullshit.

Only he wasn’t sure if he meant the meeting—or himself.

He drove the Ram like he was trying to outrun his own shame, heat rising behind his eyes. That hadn’t been a meeting—it was a gutting. And maybe he deserved every second of it.

Still didn’t make it hurt less.

Militant Camp. Glade River. Florida.

Training today was next-level brutal. Lukas and I had done something like it with Max once. That’s how we knew exactly what we were being trained for. Urban combat. Close quarters. Room clearing. Live rounds.

We hit course after course under the beating sun, clearing rooms with corners so tight it felt like we were crawling into coffins. Gunfire cracked through the heat, over and over again. We simulated dragging out fallen teammates, shooting while moving, shooting while bleeding, and shooting while blind.

All of the jumping, bouncing and rolling was takin’ its toll on my skull. In between runs, I would puke and try to control the dizziness. Luckily, we had to run the course in waves, so I had some downtime. Still, it almost felt like Afghanistan and Iran all over again.

Fights broke out between the factions, and a few guys shot each other.

No great loss.

My clothes were so soaked they couldn’t absorb any more sweat, not that I had anything left in my body to leak out. We were goin’ so hard that I was past dehydration, muscles twitching on their own, jaw clenched tight like it was trying to snap itself in half.

The guys around me were tryin’ to keep up, but most were just fat, angry slabs of flesh. Bikers weren’t known for their athletic ability. A few did okay, but I’d never go into battle with them.

The swamp bugs were havin’ a feast, and I couldn’t give a flyin’ fuck.

We blew through lunch and kept goin’ until one. Then they rang the chow bell.

We all slumped toward the central compound, hoping for that promised steak dinner.

As we guzzled water and choked down half-warm MRE chili, Trent got up on his soapbox to give us another pep talk.

“All right, you filthy sacks of meat, listen up. Tomorrow’s the big day—the one where you get to die for something dumber than freedom. Try not to screw it up.”

“You’ve been training like drunken chimps for weeks, and somehow, some of you haven’t shot your own dicks off yet. Color me shocked.”

“In case you missed the memo, this ain’t a drill. Tomorrow, you’re storming the capital of the goddamn free world. And if you’re lucky, your momma will get to cry on national television about how brave you were.”

“Keep your guns clean, your heads low, and your mouths shut. One wrong move and the feds will light you up like a church on Christmas Eve.”

“You want glory? It’s on the other side of a wall of bullets and body bags. So grit your teeth, wipe your ass, and get ready to make history—one miserable breath at a time.”

My ears rang. I couldn’t hear him. I was already too far gone.

Less than an hour before our mission to glory.

Someone asked if we should load up on ammo, but Trent said the guns and munitions were comin’ on a separate bus so that team members wouldn’t shoot each other.

He wasn’t wrong.

Lukas slipped away halfway through the sermon, dropped food and water to Terry, and ghosted back before the last fist pump.

The guy was made of mist and shadows.

“Buses arrive in less than an hour. Dismissed.”

We looked at each other, lost.

What the fuck are we supposed to do?

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Kamps was always awake before anyone else. He started work early and worked late. He was working two jobs and had already been working for several hours when his phone rang.

“Kamps.”

“Chet. It’s Blacky. Any news from your contacts in Huntsville?”

“It doesn’t look like the White Trash are changing their plans. It was a solid attempt, though. Any more from Tommy?”

“Negative. Same as yesterday. We know about the attacks on the DOJ, possibly the Capitol Building and the planned snatch and grab, but we don’t know by whom. That’s the troubling part.”

“Where do we go from here, boss?”

“Granddad wants to stay in a ‘wait and see’ pattern. We know when they plan to attack, but right now, they’re still in a swamp in Florida. If we find out who the third party is that’s going after Lee, we might be able to wrap them all up without a bullet being shot.”

“I’m never a fan of that plan, but with an adversary yet to be identified, I understand his hesitance. If the third party slips through our fingers, it’ll be a looming threat until they strike again.”

“Agreed,” said Blacky. “Have you briefed the vice president yet?”

“There was nothing she could have done last night about it, so I let her sleep. It’s a White House day for her, so I’ll brief her later this morning via video conference.”

“Sounds good. We’ll touch base again later today.”

The line went dead.

Kamps returned to his desk in his suite at One Observatory Circle and hadn’t even opened his computer when the soft knock came at his door. He looked up, mildly surprised. “Yes?”

Yvonne cracked the door open just a touch. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” He gestured her inside, brushing a folder off the guest chair.

She stepped in, crisp and calm in her slacks and blazer, every inch the vice president. But her eyes lingered on him a moment too long—still tracing old routes, maybe.

He gave her a look. “I thought you had West Wing hours this morning.”

“I pushed my departure. Wanted to talk first.” She sat, back straight, hands clasped. “But I didn’t want to barge in. I was hoping you might have intel from Blacky about Project Homegrown.”

Kamps raised an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

She grinned. “I had to give it a name when I briefed Lee about its existence yesterday. That’s why I’m seeing you first. In case there’s something new.”

“Well, it’s your lucky day because I have an update for you. I spoke with Blacky last night, but nothing needed your attention, so I let you sleep.”

“I appreciate it. What’s going on?”

“According to Tommy, the domestic terrorists will attack Friday—sometime Friday morning. They have two targets that they plan to hit simultaneously as the White Trash gang breaks out of Huntsville prison and wherever else they’re being held. All of this is a distraction so a third party can snatch a high-value target. We figure it’s Lee. That would be the dream coup of any anti-government force.”

“What are your recommendations, Senior Advisor?”

“After breakfast, you need to head into the White House and catch Lee up to speed. Now that we have targets and a date, he needs to know. We also need to have a conversation with Agent Hubbard and get him up to speed.”

Her brow rose, but she didn’t interrupt.”

“You’re second in line to the Presidency, Vonnie. If this thing goes sideways, I want you two levels deep in the bunker under the West Wing. That’s not negotiable.”

“I’ll need my senior advisor with me.”

Chet sighed heavily. “I’ll come along as long as it keeps you close to the bunker. If these zealots are coming to the country’s capital to raise hell, I need to know you’re somewhere safe and protected.”

She nodded slowly, touching his face. “That’s sweet of you, Chet. When are we leaving?”

“Once we’re organized. Our intel says the attack is tomorrow morning, but it’s foolhardy to wait. Have your assistant pack you some things, and we’ll go.”

She nodded. “Consider it done.”

Kamps hesitated. “Vonnie... thanks for trusting me.”

“I always have,” she said. “Even when I shouldn’t have.”

Yvonne left, heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

Ten seconds later, Roy peeked around the corner. “That sounded serious.”

Kamps didn’t turn around. He was too busy throwing on a suit and tie. “It was. Breakfast meeting in five minutes. Get Sam and Agent Hubbard. I’ll need all of you, fast.”

The usual calm of the stately dining room was nowhere to be found. The tension was palpable.

Roy sat stiffly at his post to the left of Yvonne’s seat, his coffee untouched.

Sam clutched her tablet but hadn’t looked at it in minutes.

Kamps stood near the windows, arms crossed, scanning the tree line like trouble might come crashing through the hedges.

Yvonne entered, face composed but eyes sharp. She took her seat at the head of the table and nodded once as Agent Hubbard and several of his detail entered the room, taking up strategic protective positions.

Kamps didn’t sit.

“Here’s what’s happening,” he said, turning. “The vice president, Agent Hubbard and I are relocating to the White House.”

Sam glanced up sharply. “Is there danger?”

“Not for you,” Kamps replied. “And hopefully not for the vice president, either. That said, we need to ensure she has the best protection possible, which is why we need to have Yvonne close to the bunker—non-negotiable.”

Roy raised a brow. “What about us?”

“You’ll be safest when you’re away from us. So, you’re both moving to a secure hotel. Agent Hubbard and his team will handle all logistics.”

“When is this happening?” Roy asked.

“You have a few hours, Roy. Don’t worry. I’m sure Punkin can go with you.”

“I don’t even know what to pack,” Sam muttered, rising from her seat.

“Clothes. Devices. Anything important,” Kamps said. “You’ll be on standby for comms support if the worst happens. But we need to clear this place fast. It’s too exposed.”

Yvonne locked eyes with Roy. “This is for your safety, Roy.”

Roy gave her a short nod, then turned to Kamps. “Is your go-bag ready?”

Kamps allowed himself half a grin. “It’s always ready.”

The moment broke as Agent Hubbard spoke. “For your safety, we’ll also assign you a detail. I’m sure it won’t be necessary, but I’d rather be overprotected than not.”

“Copy that,” said Kamps.

Breakfast was served, but the group could only pick at their meals, their minds occupied with thoughts of impending doom.

Oval Office. West Wing. D.C.

11:17 a.m.

 The room was deceptively calm. Sunshine streamed in through the tall windows. Birds chirped on the South Lawn. It felt like any other morning—except it wasn’t.

President Lee Armstrong stood behind his desk, arms crossed, while everyone seated themselves. In attendance were Vice President Yvonne Harrison, her senior advisor Chet Kamps, Dan Black, head of the President’s Secret Service Detail, and Jerry Jeff Hubbard, head of the VP’s Secret Service Detail.

Dan closed the door and quietly took his seat. No aides. No press. Just the people who needed to know. The circle was widening, and they didn’t know who they could trust beyond this team.

Yvonne was the first to speak.

“Sir, this is regarding Project Homegrown. I said I’d give you an update and now is that time. Since we spoke yesterday, we have received new information. This threat has gone from rumor to fact.

Lee didn’t sit. “When?”

“Early Friday morning. Dawn.”

Lee listened.

Kamps continued. “Roughly three hundred extremists—militia-trained, heavily armed, will be transported in buses to attack the Department of Justice and possibly the Capitol Building, all while a violent gang of criminals breaks out of prison.”

Lee exhaled, steady but tense. “Who’s behind this?”

Yvonne didn’t hesitate. “Senator Hoffman. He and his son Peter were taken into custody yesterday.”

Lee’s expression hardened. “Hoffman? Jesus Christ.”

Dan Black’s voice cut in. “There’s more, sir. We believe this may be a cover operation for a kidnapping attempt, and you are the likely target, sir.”

Lee absorbed that, then turned slowly to Kamps. “Is Tommy involved in this?”

Kamps nodded once. “Tommy, his brother Lukas, and a U.S. Marshal named Rob Dakota infiltrated the militia weeks ago. They’ve been feeding intel from the inside and are the reason we know of this threat.”

Lee turned to the window, jaw tight. “Do we have a plan to stop them?”

“Not currently,” Kamps said. “Texas Ranger Blaine Blackmore-Powell and Director Dunnett are running this operation. Based on the scope of this threat, I have no doubt they will be coordinating with JSOC, Homeland, and NSA. We’ll know more within hours.”

Lee looked back to Kamps and Yvonne. “You two stay close. If this is the fight of our lives, I want my best people where I can see them.”

“We’re prepared to move into the Residence, sir. Effective immediately. We brought our go-bags with us. We’re not leaving the grounds until this is over,” Kamps promised.

Lee sank into his chair, rubbing his temples. “And if this doesn’t go our way?”

Yvonne answered calmly. “We will force it to go our way.”

Lee looked up. The moment hung heavy.

“God help us all,” he said.

Kamps muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Yvonne to hear: “God’s gonna need backup.”

Militant Camp. Glade River. Florida

2:00 p.m.

We regrouped at the tent.

Rob looked ten years older than he had that morning—face pale, jaw tight. Lukas stripped off his shirt, drenched in sweat, and collapsed onto his cot like his bones had given out.

I couldn’t sit. Couldn’t stand still either. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, adrenaline fizzing like acid in my veins.

“It’s close,” I muttered, pacing. “They’re loading the goddamn gun. Just waiting to fire.”

Rob stared blankly at the canvas wall. “This wasn’t the fuckin’ plan. I haven’t even seen your greasy-ass uncle. And now I’m supposed to play passenger on the Doomsday Express?”

Lukas rolled onto his side. “There’s too many. Even if we had a way out, we’d never make it. Not through three hundred of these psychos.”

“We don’t have a way out,” I snapped. “We never did. This op was infiltration, not extraction. They sent us in like bullets and forgot to build a barrel. Fuckin’ Afghanistan all over again.”

Silence.

Rob sat, rubbing at his bad leg. “Fuck it. Call your guy. We gotta know if we’re dying in D.C. or dying here.”

I pulled the boot phone, hands slick. Dialed Blacky.

“All good, Tommy?”

“Not by a long shot, boss. They’re loading the buses. We’re being packed like cargo on a rolling felony. This isn’t infiltration anymore—it’s conscription.”

“We’re working on it.”

“Work faster, boss. ‘Cause unless I sprout wings, I’m headed to war, and we’re as good as dead.”

Pause. Static.

“For now, get on the bus. Blend in. We’ll have something ready before you hit D.C.”

I stared at the floor like it might open up and swallow me. “You better, boss. Otherwise, we’re gonna be the ones storming the fuckin’ Capitol.”

Rob and Lukas looked up as I ended the call.

“Well?”

My palms were still slick. “No plan. Just vibes. We’re flyin’ fuckin’ blind.”

Rob snorted. “Government’s official response: ‘Please hold until we give a shit.’”

Lukas sat up, panic breaking through his sarcasm. “So we just get on the bus and hope the cavalry shows up?”

“Pretty much,” I said, ramming my gear into my go-bag.

A lot of yelling outside. A truck horn. Buses rumbling like thunder through the swamp.

Someone yanked open the tent flap. “Get the fuck out here. Now.”

We grabbed our rifles, our bags—our nerves—and stepped into the sun.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I felt it deep in my bones:

We’re not coming back from this.

The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

2:00 p.m.

Blacky sat quietly for five minutes, gathering his thoughts, before he finally snatched up the secure line and punched in the code for Fort Meade.

It rang twice.

“Dunnett.”

“Granddad, they’re rolling out.” Blacky’s voice was low, but his tone cracked with urgency. “Six buses. One weapons truck. Three hundred armed fanatics rolling toward the goddamn Capitol.”

A beat of silence.

“Tonight?”

Blacky tried to keep the panic from his tone. “They’ve already left the compound. Tommy called as the buses pulled in. He’ll be on one along with Lukas and Marshal Dakota. But listen—the mission’s gone sideways. Lukas and Tommy were never supposed to stay this long, and we’ve got no exfil plan. Zero. They’re locked in with the enemy, dressed like them, and if they get set up in D.C. and someone starts shooting, it’s going to be a fuckin’ bloodbath.”

Dunnett didn’t respond right away. Blacky listened to the faint sound of a pen tapping wood on the other end. He hated that sound. Hated the pause.

“Granddad—are you hearing me? This is real. This isn’t a bunch of weekend warriors anymore. This is a domestic army, armed to the fucking teeth, and they’re heading for D.C. like it’s prom night. These guys are coming in so fucking hot it’s unbelievable.”

“I hear you, son,” Dunnett finally said, measured. “We’ll intercept. We’ll get air assets on standby and bring Fort Meade into full alert. If we need to shut down highways, we’ll shut them down. If they make it to D.C., we won’t let them near the Capitol. That said, I think there’s a better play here, but I haven’t worked it out just yet.”

“Jesus.” Blacky scrubbed a hand down his face. “We don’t even know where they’re planning to hit first. DOJ? Capitol? Something else? The best intel we’ve got came through a cheap earpiece and a whole lot of fuckin’ static.”

“We’ll work with what we have,” Dunnett said.

Blacky’s pulse didn’t slow. “And what about my men? They’re out there, Granddad. Buried deep in a shitstorm with no way out. These guys aren't playing soldier anymore—they’re ready to die for this.”

All Blacky could think about was Tommy and Lukas. Afghanistan and Iran.

There was another pause. That pen again.

Blacky clenched his jaw. “You still with me, Granddad?”

“I’m here, son,” Dunnett said, voice a bit quieter. “I’m thinking.”

Blacky swallowed hard. It wasn’t like him to doubt this man, someone he always admired, but this... this was too big, too fast, and too close to the flame.

“You forgot to send the satellite photos,” Blacky said softly, “and the intel on this op. I need to know…”

Dunnett’s tone sharpened. “This isn’t the time.”

“No. It’s not. Which is why I need to know—are you up for this?”

Silence.

Then Dunnett said, slow and clear: “Son, I’ve been chasing ghosts and threats since before you were in diapers. I might forget names or where I left my damn reading glasses. And yes, I forgot to hit send on an e-mail. But I’ll never forget how to stop a war.”

Blacky nodded slowly, relief creeping in but not taking over. “Fair enough. Then tell me what to do.”

“This has escalated rapidly. We need to call a meeting—tonight. You can teleconference in with the President, the VP, FBI Counterterrorism, JSOC and Homeland. Is Mister Kamps up to speed on this? We’ll need his sharp mind on this one.”

“He’s the next call I make, after you, every time.”

“Good. We should also have a plan for the jailbreak, seeing as this is part of the overall plan.”

“I did as we discussed and sent Farrell to rattle Crazy Kenny. He called Cletus right after Farrell left, but there’s been no indication that they’re postponing the jailbreak.”

“It was worth a shot, and a good plan on your part.”

“Thanks, Granddad. We can’t forget about the potential abduction of Lee by a third party. That scares me.”

“Me too, son, because we know nothing. Who are the players? What is their motivation? Our lack of knowledge is their greatest advantage, and why we need to let this play out so we can round them all up at once.”

“Then it’ll be a goddamn civil war,” Blacky finished.

Dunnett’s voice dropped an octave. “Then we’ll shoot first if they force us.”

The line went dead.

Blacky stared at the phone in his hand. No static. No dial tone. Just dead air.

“Please,” he muttered to no one, “don’t be wrong.”

Militant Camp. Glade River. Everglades. Florida.

2:30 p.m.

Six buses sat lined up like beasts of burden, engines idling low and ugly. The seventh—a cargo hauler—was chained and reinforced, packed top to bottom with weapons. Its vents leaked the smell of oil, steel, and cordite.

The loading was chaos. Names were shouted, groupings forced. Brothers were separated. Tempers flared before the buses even rolled.

Lukas, Rob and I were shoved onto bus number three—half mercs, half bikers.

Great. A diplomatic dream team.

Inside, it was hell.

No AC.

No fans.

Just the reek of swamp sweat, dried blood, BO, and testosterone.

“Christ,” Rob muttered, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’re stewing in dick sweat and gun oil.”

The floor squelched. Leather seats were sticky, cracked with age, and burned the skin like griddles.

Every overhead bin was empty—except for a couple dusty cases of bottled water. Most had labels curling off and caps sealed by God’s grace. We each took one bottle. Warm, plastic-flavored, and worth more than gold.

Everyone reeked of salt and bad choices. We’d all sweated out whatever piss was in our bladders hours ago. Our skin was crusted, our shirts soaked.

I claimed a window seat three rows from the back. Rob took the aisle. Lukas sat across from us, body tense, eyes scanning every face.

“Try to rest,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

The bus lurched forward. Somewhere outside, Trent barked orders. Someone else screamed about having to leave their rucksack.

Didn’t matter now.

We were rolling.

The whole convoy pulled out together—six buses and the death truck—headed for the highway and, eventually, the Capitol.

Fifteen hours to D.C.

Fifteen hours trapped in a tin can with armed psychos.

What could go wrong?

White House. Situation Room. D.C.

7:00 p.m.

The room was cold, but everyone was sweating.

Tension crackled in the air as high-ranking officials filled their seats. Phones buzzed silently. Folders remained unopened. Everyone already knew this was bad.

Director Blaine Dunnett stood at the head of the table, fingers splayed on the wood, voice clipped.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming. We’re here to discuss three hundred armed extremists who are currently being transported in seven prison-style buses out of the Everglades. One bus is fully loaded with heavy weaponry—Russian arms, anti-tank launchers, body armor—the works. They’ve trained for weeks, they’ve killed to protect the secrecy of their camp, and now they’re on the move.”

President Armstrong leaned forward. “Do we have their route?”

“Not yet,” Dunnett admitted. “But we’re working on it. The Everglades isn’t well-covered by satellite, but we’re re-tasking assets now.”

FBI Counterterrorism Chief Lyndell Dawson dropped a folder on the table. “Three hundred armed men crossing state lines in unmarked vehicles with military-grade weapons? That’s terrorism. We can take them out.”

General Harrow (JSOC) shook his head. “Not if you want survivors, evidence, or control of the narrative. An airstrike on domestic soil turns us into the enemy overnight.”

Across the room, Yvonne rubbed her temples. “We are balancing a domestic terrorist convoy, a possible attack on the Capitol and DOJ, and a coordinated prison break from Huntsville.”

Marshal Lidstone who’d just arrived grimaced. “Cletus Donovan’s crew—the White Trash gang—have been signaling something big for weeks. Word is they’ve coordinated their movements across multiple facilities. This is happening, and we can’t stop it with paperwork.”

Jerry Jeff Hubbard looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “What are the chances the Capitol or DOJ buildings are actually hit?”

Dunnett didn’t blink. “If they roll in undetected? High. But that’s not the real target. The militia’s attacks are a distraction. The objective is a kidnapping, most likely the president or vice president.”

President Armstrong straightened. “So they’re trying to decapitate the government.”

“Exactly,” said Kamps. “It’s a psychological strike. Collapse public confidence in one hit.”

Hubbard turned to Yvonne. “You should be moved to the White House. Into the bunker.”

Yvonne didn’t argue.

On conference call, Blacky’s voice broke through the noise. “I just got word from Tommy. They’re rolling now. They were never given an exfil plan. He, Lukas, and Rob are all stuck in the buses with nothing except the weapons they went in with. If anything goes down, they’re sitting ducks.”

Dunnett inhaled sharply. “We can’t lose them.”

“We won’t,” Kamps said, fingers drumming on the table. “Can the NSA locate Tommy’s boot phone? It’s military-grade, GPS enabled.”

Dunnett turned his head sharply, surprised. “Good. Very good. We can ping the device—assuming it’s powered.”

“I’ll call the boys in the pit and confirm,” Kamps said, already pulling out his phone.

Dunnett looked around the room, voice grave but calm. “This is a multi-front operation, but we need to let it play out. We thought we had the money behind the organization, but Hoffman looks to be a conduit of sorts. He’s making war with someone else’s money.”

“What does that mean for this mission?”

“It means we can’t spook the true orchestrators—the real money and minds behind this movement. If we move too early, they vanish. They’ll rebuild then resurface when we least expect it.”

Yvonne frowned. “So we just sit on our hands while they enter the capital?”

“Not at all,” Dunnett said. “We control the narrative with subtly and guile. We use what we do know to track the buses and quietly let them enter a controlled kill box of our making, dominating the pieces on the chessboard, one by one. Then, when every player is visible, we act. And we end this. All of them. In one stroke.”

JSOC’s Harrow nodded. “If the NSA can locate the convoy, we can dispatch micro-drones to their location.”

“Are those little toys fast enough?”

General Harrow chuckled. “They can pace seven school buses on the highway with ease. We can then tag each bus with a tracker. As they get closer, we plan a net, not a fight.”

Lee exhaled. “And if the trackers fail?”

Harrow’s tone darkened. “Then we go kinetic. A-10 Warthogs. Drone strikes. Vehicular Swiss cheese. No second chances, but you’ll lose your men inside.”

Dunnett looked to Kamps. “If we lose Tommy, I lose my best asset. Keep that boot phone online. The second it pings, I want a live satellite lock.”

Blacky spoke again. “These aren’t weekend warriors. These are the broken, the desperate, and the deadly. If we don’t stop them in time, it won’t just be a political loss. It’ll be a massacre.”

Lee stood. “Then let’s do it right. No leaks. No panic. We kill the head of the snake—not just the tail.”

The war for the capital had began.

Chapter Fourteen

Friday, May 16th.

Glade River Militia Convoy. I-95 Northbound.

2:30 a.m. D.C. Time

The bus fights started after midnight.

One of the mercs—a dude with a British accent and prison tats—called a biker a “leather-wrapped inbred idiot.”

The biker, a beast of a man with a beard like moss and hands like anvils, broke the Brit’s nose with a single punch.

The bus erupted in shouting. Fists, elbows. One guy whipped a knife out.

Rob broke it up with brutal efficiency—wrenching the knife away and slamming the attacker into the seat so hard he left a dent in the vinyl.

“Save it for the feds,” he growled.

No one argued.

Everyone backed off. But no one relaxed.

We were all sitting in it now. The sweat, the stink, the dread. Each face you saw could be the one who turned on you when the shooting started.

My eyes burned. I tried to lean against the glass and sleep. Maybe I dozed for a minute.

Then I heard it.

“Hey, golden boy,” someone said to Lukas.

A greasy merc with sunburned cheeks and eyes too close together, grinned at him from across the aisle. “You polish your boots for this gig, or does your boyfriend do it for you?”

Lukas didn’t speak.

He just stood up and swung.

One hit. Right across the jaw.

The merc dropped like a felled tree, head bouncing off the bus wall with a crack. His body crumpled to the floor.

The whole bus went still.

“Anyone else feel like talking?” Lukas glared at every man who looked his way.

No one spoke.

“Then go the fuck to sleep.”

The guy groaned on the floor, bleeding from the nose and lip. Nobody helped him.

Lukas sat down and started breathing like he’d just run a mile uphill.

I reached over and handed him my water bottle. “Drink before you explode again.”

He didn’t take it.

Rob finally spoke, low. “This bus is a bomb. Just waiting on a match.”

He was right.

The darkness outside pressed in. The lights inside flickered on and off with the vibration of the engine.

We were trapped, rolling toward something none of us could stop, surrounded by people who wanted to kill someone—anyone. And we were supposed to be their allies.

Only four more hours to D.C.

God help us all.

3:41 a.m. D.C. Time.

The darkness outside was endless. No stars, no moon—just the occasional flicker of truck-stop neon as we passed another gas station.

Inside the bus, it was hell.

Air thick with sweat, feet, and rage. Men snored with their mouths open. Someone near the front coughed wetly, over and over, like his lungs were filing for divorce.

I couldn’t sleep. My head kept bouncing off the rattling window with every pothole. My neck ached, and I was soaked in my own stale sweat.

Lukas was across the aisle, one eye cracked open, twitching like a cornered dog.

The wheels hummed.

Clunk.

A sound above us. Soft. Deliberate.

Metal on metal.

Not loud enough to wake the half-dead masses in the rows ahead. Not loud enough to register to anyone who wasn’t trained to listen for the wrong sound.

But I heard it.

It wasn’t debris.

It wasn’t wind.

It was a ‘something’ that attached to the roof.

Lukas heard it, too. He sat up slowly, eyes on me. No words. Just that look.

Did you hear it?

I nodded.

We didn’t move. Didn’t whisper.

If we were lucky, it was a tracker. If we weren’t…

It was a fuckin’ bomb.

Either way, we were rolling straight toward the Capitol, and someone out there had finally found us.

God help whoever got in our way.

Situation Room. West Wing. D.C.

3:57 a.m. D.C. Time

The room was a war zone of caffeine and exhaustion. Faces drawn, jackets wrinkled, collars loosened. No one had slept. Not really. They were all running on fumes, nerves, and terrible coffee. Someone muttered something about needing another pot, and an aide bolted like it was a combat order.

General Harrow approached the main table, a tablet in one hand, the other gripping the edge of the table to steady himself. His eyes were bloodshot, voice hoarse. He was no spring chicken, and this marathon session was taking its toll.

“They’re tagged,” he said. “All seven. Six buses and the weapons hauler. Our drones successfully attached trackers between 03:34 and 03:45. All devices are secure. They’re headed northeast, about 65 miles south of D.C. now. We’re pacing them at altitude with two micro-drones per vehicle—redundancy in case one gets spotted or knocked loose.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. The kind that only comes when something finally goes right.

President Armstrong exhaled hard. “Jesus. That’s the first good news I’ve heard all night.”

Kamps leaned forward, eyes glassy. “Now we know where they are.”

“Exactly,” said Harrow. “Now we build the trap.”

Yvonne murmured, “And wait for them to drive right into it.”

Dan Black rubbed his temples. “God help the bastards on those buses when the trap shuts.”

“Where’s the bloody coffee?”

DOJ Headquarters and The Capitol Building.
4:12 a.m. D.C Time.

The bomb disposal unit moved like shadows through the pre-dawn haze. Their black suits bulked with gear and purpose. Paired with highly trained K9s, they swept the perimeter of both buildings in overlapping sectors. The dogs led, noses twitching as they sniffed beneath service trucks, dumpsters, and flowerbeds—all the places a clever saboteur might hide something deadly. But these weren’t crude pipe bombs or haphazard bundles. What they found were terrifyingly sophisticated: nested circuits wrapped in faux wiring harnesses, explosive packages disguised as HVAC components, and even one lodged inside the hollow shell of a decorative stone. Remote-detonated. GPS-triggered. Meant to blend, not broadcast.

“Jesus,” muttered one technician, stepping back from a suspicious trash receptacle that had its bolts sheared and reseated—one millimeter off. “These bastards had blueprints.” Each discovery set off a chain of whispers and rapid calls. Robots were deployed. Streets sealed. The team worked fast, but each bomb told a story: someone with knowledge, access, and lethal precision had rigged this city to burn.

And the clock was still ticking.

D Block. Huntsville Prison. Texas.

6:30 a.m. Texas Time

Sitting on his bunk in D-Block with a reefer between his lips, Crazy Kenny heard his phone signal a text. He jumped up and stuck his hand under the mattress feeling for the phone. Got hold of it and sat down to read the message.

“We’re a go.”

“Even after what your nephew said?”

“Fuck him. It’s a go.”

“Got it. Where are you, bro?”

“In town. Waiting to pick you up.”

“See you in a few hours.”

Kenny hopped off his bunk and stretched. This was going to be one hell of a fuckin’ day.

Safe-Stor Warehouse. Brentwood. D.C.

6:45 a.m. D.C. Time.
Warehouse District. Near the Capitol. Tensions were skyrocketing. Since we left Florida, we had:

No food.

No showers.

No piss breaks.

Every man reeked like roadkill baked in the sun. And with the mood this crew was in, any spark could set off this war before it started.

My skull felt like it was about to pop.

I rechecked my goddamn super watch—just fifteen minutes to go time.

You’re cutting it close, Blacky.

The bus veered hard left, brakes squealing as we took a tight turn, driving right into some abandoned warehouse.

“Did anything look familiar?” Lukas murmured.

“Kinda,” I muttered, trying to sound calm. “But really, we could be in a warzone or a fuckin’ Costco. Looks the same to me.”

“We need to figure it out. Fast.”

We followed the gun bus through the yawning mouth of the warehouse. It parked in the middle, and the first buses parked a distance away, surrounding it.

The building was massive, echoing and cold like an abandoned tomb. Fluorescents flickered above like dying stars. The rest of the buses rolled in slow and tight. Trent barked orders like a drill sergeant on meth.

“Unload the gear. Stack it by the wall—Guns and ammo to the left, RPGs and other gear to the right. Move your asses.”

Men filed out, dragging crates, rifles and boxes of shells. No one’s voice was raised anymore. They were too close to the edge. The silence felt worse than screaming.

I watched Trent pacing near the munitions bus, cell glued to his ear, tension crackling off him like static. I drifted closer, pretending to adjust a weapon strap.

“Still nothing,” he snapped. “It’s dead. Hoffman’s phone is dead.”

Randy grunted, loading mags with twitchy fingers. “We got a plan B?”

Trent cursed under his breath. “I could call Cyrus. But if I call him and this turns out to be nothing—he’ll bury me. Literally.”

“Call him,” Randy growled. “These guys are gonna riot. They didn’t get paid. They didn’t eat. And now we’re sittin’ here, a few blocks from the goddamn Capitol, with nothing but ghosts in charge.”

Trent hesitated. Then started dialing.

I backed away, my guts twisting. The men were falling apart. No command. No plan. Just hundreds of itchy psychos with automatic weapons and one goal: storm the fuckin’ Capitol.

Lukas found me across the warehouse, Rob tagging along behind. With only his eyes, Lukas looked up toward the skylight and whispered. “Did you see that?”

I glanced up. “What?”

He pointed with his chin. “Couple of shadows, movin’ real fast past the skylights. I’m sure something moved.”

“I saw it, too,” Rob confirmed.

My spine stiffened.

They were here. Whoever they were.

I hoped they were on our fuckin’ side.

And they didn’t shoot me dead.

Situation Room. West Wing. D.C.

6:47 a.m. D.C. Time.

“We’re in position,” General Harrow said. “We’ll breach on your order, sir.”

Lee looked around the room at his exhausted team as they stared back at him, fear and desperation in their eyes.

Lee planted his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Breach the warehouse.”

Safe-Stor Warehouse. Brentwood. D.C.

6:49 a.m. D.C. Time.

“Breach. Breach. Breach.”

The air snapped, and glass shattered before anyone inside the warehouse could react.

Crash.

Every single skylight exploded at once, raining down jagged shards of glass and metal like hail from hell. The first scream wasn’t even a full sound—just a wet, gurgling yell as someone caught a shard in the neck.

Then came the hiss.

The choking hiss of tear gas poured through the gaping skylights, the tin canisters clanging off beams and catwalks, bouncing across the cement like rolling death.

The barrage was nonstop.

Trent’s voice cracked through the chaos. “Gas masks. Now. Get those fuck—” He doubled over, coughing so violently it sounded like his lungs were peeling off the walls of his throat.

The tear gas was everywhere. Thick. White. Burning.

Militia men—already armed, on edge—panicked. They opened fire blindly, full-auto bursts screaming into the rafters and across the warehouse.

A biker took a round to the thigh. Another collapsed, clawing at his own eyes.

“Get down,” I bellowed. Lukas, Rob and me dropped to the floor behind a stack of crates.

We ripped off our shirts and pressed the cloth over our mouths, pressing our eyes shut tight to keep out as much vapor as possible.

Through the craziness, I heard a familiar—pop-pop-pop in a sharp, clean rhythm. It wasn’t the wild spray of an AK or a panic-fired AR.

“That’s an HK four-sixteen,” I said. “Tier One is here.”

Rob’s eyes widened. “Delta?”

“Delta, SEAL Team 6—doesn’t matter. They’re our side.”

Lukas was starfished on the concrete floor. “What if they don’t know we’re friendly?”

I opened my mouth to answer when I heard a shout echo through the smoke.

“Tommy Donovan.”

A voice. Sharp. Controlled.

I lifted my head and waved my arm. “Over here.”

Yelling in tear gas really sucked ‘cause you had to breathe.

A figure emerged through the smoke, armored head to toe in matte black, gas mask on, HK at the ready.

Another figure rushed forward and slapped gas masks over our faces, tightening the straps with brutal efficiency.

“Stay low. Follow me.”

Gunfire still raged around us—short bursts now. Surgical.

They hustled us to the side wall. The main doors—heavy, reinforced—were already blown off their hinges, twisted steel and smoke curling in the pre-dawn light.

We were halfway through the breach when the last gunshot echoed.

Then… silence.

Boots pounded past us. The warehouse echoed with the zip of plastic restraints, the barking of orders.
One by one, stunned, choking militia men were dragged out of the smoke and dropped to their knees in rows.

It hadn’t taken two full minutes.

Three hundred men. Overwhelmed. Disarmed.

And I was still alive. Still breathing.

I looked at Lukas. His hands were shaking.

I looked at Rob. His eyes were wide, locked on the chaos behind us.

I looked down at my own boots. Covered in blood and broken glass.

And I realized—

We made it.

Huntsville Prison. Huntsville. Texas.

6:00 a.m. Texas Time. (7am DC Time)

The first round of explosions didn’t sound like thunder. It sounded like God ripping the world open.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Fireballs erupted along the southern wall of Huntsville Prison—an eight-foot-wide gap vaporized in the chain-link and razor wire. The blast hurled bodies across the rec yard like ragdolls, a dozen guards dead before they knew they were under attack.

Cletus Donovan stood tall in the smoke, flanked by his lieutenants—Brick Sampson, a barrel-chested monster with a belt-fed M60, and Dallas “Dogtooth” Myers, a wiry psychopath grinning as he shouldered another RPG.

“Make it bigger,” Cletus roared.

Dogtooth fired again.

Boom.

The second rocket widened the hole in the fence big enough for a school bus to roll through—which was exactly the plan.

From the distant tree line, a convoy of stolen Baptist church buses thundered into view, barreling toward the open breach. Hand-painted signs read “Sinners Welcome” and “Vacation Bible School.” Cletus figured it was poetic.

Inside the prison, the signal had already been given.
Dozens of White Trash gang members, dressed as corrections officers, slipped into guard stations and staff corridors during shift change. Some killed silently. Others didn’t bother.

Keys clinked. Gates opened. Bodies dropped.

By the time the alarm started screaming, half the prison was already aflame.

Gunfire erupted from the guard towers. Marshals on the perimeter—led by Marshal Miles Morrison—scrambled to coordinate a defense.

Morrison’s voice cracked over the radio, “All units, perimeter breach. Multiple explosions. They’ve got RPGs—repeat, RPGs. We need backup and air support—now.”

But air support would come too late.

The first three buses came to a skidding halt inside the wrecked southern field. A dozen White Trash lieutenants screamed for their men, hands waving, rifles slung.

Floodgates opened.

Hundreds of inmates, clad in orange, grey, and filth, poured from every direction—some White Trash, most not. The chaos was indescribable. Bloodied hands, panic-stricken faces, fire licking the chain-link fences.

“White Trash Only,” Cletus bellowed from atop the nearest bus. “I see one of you no-name sons of bitches on my ride, I’ll put you down myself!”

Two hopefuls sprinted toward bus four, screaming to be let on.

Cletus calmly lifted his Glock and shot them both in the chest.

One went down crying. The other didn’t make a sound.

Behind them, Dallas and Brick opened fire to clear a path—hundreds of bullets tearing through the air. One guard tower exploded in a shower of flame, silencing its sniper for good.

Marshal Morrison and his men tried to hold the northeast corner, but Cletus’s advance was too strong. The Marshals were overrun. Morrison issued the order to fall back before they were surrounded.

White Trash rolled hard.

Not all made it. Over a hundred bodies lay in the yard, riddled with gunfire and torn apart by shrapnel. Cletus never slowed, never looked back.

“Sacrifices for the cause,” he hollered from the top step of the lead bus. “And when we take this country back, every one of you sons of bitches will be heroes.”

The final buses peeled out, tires spitting up dirt and blood. Behind them, Huntsville burned.

The rest of the prison descended into madness—riots, desperate escape attempts, and hopeless cries for salvation.

But the army of the White Trash gang was already gone.

White House – North Lawn.

7:00 a.m. D.C. Time.

The explosion shattered dawn.

The armored vehicle, low-slung and dark matte paint job, roared across Pennsylvania Avenue like a wild beast breaking loose from its shackles. Its reinforced front grille punched straight through the wrought-iron gates of the White House north fence line, scattering Secret Service personnel like bowling pins.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

Gunfire erupted immediately—short, sharp bursts from rooftop agents and stationed perimeter teams. But the vehicle didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow down. The armored vehicle swerved as an RPG raced downward, exploding the groomed lawn where the beast had been only moments ago.

It plowed through the Ellipse, straight up the North Lawn, ripping through flowerbeds and historic brick like a furious rhino. It slammed into the North Portico steps with bone-rattling force.

Before the dust had even settled, the rear doors of the vehicle blew outward, and twenty black-clad, masked assailants spilled into the rose-tinted light of early morning—fully armed, tactically trained, and moving with deadly coordination.

Inside the White House, alarms screamed.

White House – Situation Room

7:00 a.m. D.C. Time.

“We have a breach.”

The building shook, and the emergency lights flickered as Dunnett, Kamps, Yvonne, Lee, Dan Black, and a dozen others froze mid-briefing.

A communications officer faced the president. “Sir, we have confirmed contact with hostile forces—North Lawn. They’ve breached the gates—repeat, the North Lawn is hot.”

Monitors switched from satellite feeds to chaotic security cam footage—the armored vehicle, the shattered gate, the gunmen sprinting toward the doors.

Dan Black spoke into his jacket mic. “Falcon and Valkyrie are on the move. I say again—Falcon and Valkyrie on the move.” He then moved protectively toward Lee, gun out. “Mister President, we need to move—now.”

“To the bunker, now,” Kamps barked, shoving his chair back and moving toward Yvonne.

Jerry Jeff allowed him to get close, but otherwise, the former linebacker had her covered. “Let’s go.”

“Jesus Christ,” someone whispered. “I’m just glad we canceled the tours this week.”

They moved fast—some sprinting, some stumbling as the floor shook from another blast. Through the reinforced walls, they could hear the gunfire now.

It was close.

“This will never work,” Dunnett huffed, out of breath, his usually calm face pale. “This is a suicide run. A smokescreen. They want us confused for some reason.”

“It’s working.” Yvonne snapped.

Secret Service agents flanked the president and vice president, shoving through the emergency corridors toward the secure PEOC bunker, sealed under the East Wing. Doors slammed behind them, and lights turned red.

Outside—chaos.

White House. East Corridor. D.C.

7:01 a.m. D.C. Time.

The assailants moved like a blitzkrieg through American history. Marble busts of the Fathers of the Constitution exploded under gunfire, priceless artifacts reduced to dust.

As they advanced, one of them launched a smoke grenade down the hallway, obscuring visibility.

Secret Service engaged with controlled bursts, firing blindly.

Two agents went down immediately, bleeding out next to the oil painting of James Monroe.

“Fall back,” someone shouted.

A gunman turned into the Cross Hall, raising his rifle—but was cut down by a three-round burst from a Marine with a steady grip. Blood slicked the floor, and bodies collapsed against century-old walls.

Screams echoed throughout the halls.

One attacker reached the Grand Staircase, firing upward as agents returned fire from the mezzanine. The shooter took a bullet to the throat, tumbled backward, and landed hard—his body folding like paper.

In less than three minutes, six agents were down and twice as many attackers were dead. The front of the White House looked like a war zone—glass shattered, flag scorched, blood pooling in seams of the floor.

By 7:07 a.m., only two attackers were left—cornered in the Green Room, reloading desperately.

They didn’t get the chance to fire again.

Six Marines breached the door, flanked by four agents. The room lit up like a flashbulb as they unloaded.

Silence returned like a falling hammer.

The air reeked of gunfire as acrid smoke drifted across the ground floor of the White House, broken only by the sounds of the wounded, the moans of the dying and the frantic crackle of radios.

“Sit rep,” someone barked into a walkie.

“All clear,” said the Marine leader. “Repeat—White House secure. Hostiles neutralized.”

Beneath the White House. PEOC Bunker

7:10 a.m. D.C. Time.

Yvonne sat beside the president, chest heaving. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She felt naked without a gun, but that was no longer her role.

Lee looked over, face blank, voice ragged. “Was that… was I the target?”

Kamps answered without turning. “It would seem so, sir.”

The bunker fell silent, the occupants sitting in their own quiet contemplation about what just happened.

Above their heads, history bled.

Safe-Stor Warehouse. Brentwood. D.C.

7:20 a.m. D.C. Time.

I leaned against the hood of an armored vehicle, drinking my third bottle of water and rinsing my eyes again. Didn’t hurt as much, but I had nothin’ else to do.

I heard a familiar voice shout my name, and I raised my hand. “Over here.”

A smiling sergeant rushed over in full gear. “Great to see you guys. I was asked to get you boys back to the White House.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Lukas said as we followed Billy French.

Billy looked over his shoulder to say something and stopped. “You, too, Marshal Dakota. I was instructed to bring you all to the White House.”

Rob had some choice words but followed along.

“Why are we needed at the White House?” I asked. “We just want some time to relax.”

Billy Shrugged. “Someone figured you’d want to be there on account of the attack and all.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “There was an attack on the White House?”

“Yessir. I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”

We began to ask questions, but Billy raised his hand. “I was told that when you started bombarding me with questions to tell you to get your hillbilly asses in the vehicle so we can get going, sirs, pardon my language.”

“Thank baby Jesus, we’re out of there,” I said. “I need a shower.”

Billy slid behind the wheel of his Jeep. “You sure as hell do, Donovan. You’re stinking up my ride.”

“Open the window.”

“Windows are open.”

Billy pulled out into the street, and I lit up a smoke.

Chapter Fifteen

Friday, May 16th.

Streets of Washington, D.C.

8:00 a.m. D.C. Time

Sergeant Billy French gripped the wheel with both hands as he maneuvered the Humvee through the city’s streets, weaving past stopped traffic and angry citizens.

“Less than an hour ago, some psychos rammed the front gate of the White House in an armored vehicle,” Billy said, eyes on the road. “They roared across the North Lawn when our boys opened up on them. 50-cals, RPGs—the works. Twenty of them still breached the walls.”

“Fuck me,” I said. “Are they still in there?”

Billy shook his head. “Every single one of them died. Took down half a dozen Secret Service and wounded a dozen more. But the president and VP are safe. You’re going straight to them.”

I glanced at Rob, who looked half-dead in the seat beside me. Lukas hadn’t said a word since we climbed in. He just stared out the window, jaw tight, as we passed the unknowing people trying to get to work.

Billy slowed at the first checkpoint—two armored vehicles parked sideways, two dozen soldiers in black helmets and fatigues raising rifles before they saw his plates. A mumbled code word later, and the rifles dropped, roadblock moved.

“Next one might be slower,” Billy muttered, then floored it again.

We passed three more checkpoints—each more heavily manned than the last. Apache rotors thudded above us. Snipers scanned from rooftops. Even the fucking lamp posts looked like they were watching.

By the time we reached the White House gates—what was left of them—it felt like a scene from ‘White House Down.’

The North Lawn was a battlefield. Chunks of debris littered the area, with divots the size of a kiddie swimming pool dotting the perfectly manicured lawn. Smoke drifted from the shattered security booth. The gate itself hung twisted, barely recognizable.

Guards stopped us instantly, weapons up.

“Step out. Hands where we can see them,” one barked.

My hands went up. “We’re here on the president’s orders.”

“Everyone says that” the soldier snapped, already pulling out a radio.

Billy stepped in. “My name is Sergeant Billy French. Get Chet Kamps on the line. VP’s advisor.”

Tension hung thick as the guards confirmed. Then, finally: “They’re cleared. Let them in.”

Billy drove as close as he could, and then we had to walk. Me, Lukas, and Rob followed Billy across the South Lawn and into the side entrance. The hallway inside smelled of scorched wiring and gunpowder. Bullet holes riddled the paneling. Blood smeared walls and pooled on the floor. Used medical supplies were everywhere, discarded on the floor.

“This place is a fuckin’ war zone,” Rob said.

Secret Service hustled past with grim expressions, barking updates. The wounded were gone—but the smeared blood across the pristine floors told the story.

We descended into the Situation Room, boots thudding on the metal steps.

As we entered, silence cracked. Heads turned and guns raised.

It felt like this—whatever it was—wasn’t over yet.

Situation Room. West Wing.

9:00 a.m. D.C. Time.

The door hissed open, and every head turned as guns were drawn.

Everyone was still jumpy.

Me, Lukas, and Rob stepped inside the Situation Room looking like we’d just crawled out of a warzone—because we had. Mud-caked boots, torn shirts, smears of blood (some ours, some not), and eyes that didn’t blink unless they had to.

Yvonne stood first, her mouth open in disbelief.

“Oh my God,” she said and without hesitation, crossed the room and threw her arms around me. As she hugged me, she giggled. “You reek like a corpse.”

I smiled against her shoulder, exhausted. “I missed you, too.”

Kamps slapped Lukas on the back. “Jesus Christ, you’re alive.”

Rob stood off to the side, breathing deeply.

Dan Black moved quickly to shake each of our hands. “You boys saved a lot of lives today at the risk of your own.”

More hands. More grips. Nervous laughter. Relief.

And beneath it all—the faint tremor of something darker.

President Lee Armstrong stayed seated at the middle of the table, his expression unreadable but eyes sharp. “What the hell happened, Tommy?”

I cleared my throat, still raw from the tear gas. “We came with six buses and a weapons truck. They brought us to a warehouse outside D.C., where they unloaded the armory bus. It was well stocked—RPGs, Russian rifles, Kevlar, gas masks. As their final briefing was about to start, the skylights blew open.”

“They came in hard,” Lukas added. “Tear gas and flashbangs. Well executed by Tier One. It was over in less than two minutes.”

Rob’s voice was rough. “If they’d been thirty minutes later, we’d be counting bodies in the hundreds, if not higher.”

Kamps filled in their own side—How they tracked the buses, and once they confirmed locations, they deployed the waiting strike teams and army support.

He told us what they knew about The White House attack and the counterstrike. Tear gas. Gunfire. Six dead agents, many more wounded. Every attacker neutralized.

“What about Cletus Donovan?” Rob growled.

Marshal Lidstone stood. “He led our Marshals on quite the chase but bailed from the buses before everyone else. We captured some of the White Trash gang, but Cletus Donovan, Crazy Kenny Hughes and about two hundred and fifty members escaped. We recovered the buses, along with a few inmates who were sacrificial lambs.”

I scanned the room. “So… other than fugitive recovery…is it over?”

Director Dunnett leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I don’t know. We’re still working on identifying the White House attackers. They didn’t come from the swamp. They’re connected to someone else. That unidentified third party—we still don’t know who they are.”

The screen on the wall shifted, displaying grainy footage from the DOJ and Capitol sweeps.

Lyndell Dawson from FBI Counterterrorism spoke up. “We found multiple devices, all very sophisticated, wired into the HVAC and utility corridors. This wasn’t amateur hour. If those had gone off, those buildings would be a mess.”

“What would the casualty count be?” I asked.

Dawson grinned. “Zero. Thanks to your forewarning, we contacted every DOJ employee and told them to stay home—gas leak.”

Yvonne rubbed her temples. “So it was meant to be a perfect storm. DOJ. Capitol. White House. Huntsville.”

Kamps nodded. “Which means you were right. Multi-pronged assault. But thanks to these three, we kept the blades from landing.”

There was a moment of silence, heavy and grateful.

Yvonne tried to stifle a yawn, but her exhaustion was too great.

Kamps noticed. “Is it safe for us to go home? With the Secret Service detail in tow?”

General Harrow looked up from his files. “I believe all of the foreseen threats have been neutralized. Nothing else is moving. Your detail will ensure any lingering threats are handled before they can get near you.”

“Thank God,” Yvonne breathed, already gathering her notes.

Lee stood slowly. “Tommy. Lukas. Rob. You’ve done more than anyone should ever be asked to do.”

He met our eyes, one by one.

“Go up to the Residence. Get cleaned up. I’ll come see you in a few moments. If you happen to fall asleep, we can talk later.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The three of us turned and walked out—exhausted, battered, but alive.

And behind us, the room exhaled.

Northwest D.C. The Road Home

10:00 a.m. D.C. Time.

The vice president’s three-vehicle motorcade rolled through military checkpoints like a hot knife through butter. Each checkpoint was made aware, and after a cursory spotlight flashed briefly over armored bumpers, they vanished in the rearview.

Jerry Jeff Hubbard sat up front beside the driver, scanning the road with the posture of a man who’d already survived one war today.

Yvonne Harrison, worn down but composed, sat behind him with Chet Kamps. She hadn’t said much since they left the White House bunker—just stared out the window, waiting for the day to end.

The SUV’s cabin was warm, filled with the soft static of encrypted comms and the faint scent of coffee and gun oil.

Kamps leaned in to say something to her and almost jolted out of his seat when the lead vehicle jammed on the brakes.

“Problem ahead,” the driver said sharply, eyes fixed forward. “Two vans—black, no plates—just blocked the road.”

Hubbard’s hand went to his comm instantly. “Trail, move up. We’ve got a box forming—move up now.”

But their assailants anticipated that. As the trail car drove past Yvonne’s, the side door of one of the vans slammed open. Inside: A GE M134 Minigun. Belt-fed. Spinning. Glinting like death in the mid-day sun.

The noise that followed wasn’t just gunfire—it was mechanical fury. The trail SUV was vaporized in seconds beside Yvonne’s.

Glass. Steel. Flesh. All gone.

Next was the lead vehicle. A metal hailstorm bombarded the SUV, destroying all and leaving no one alive.

“Get down,” Hubbard roared, diving out his door as the minigun swept toward them.

Rounds tore into the SUV, chewing through the hood, the windshield, and the world around them. Screams. Sparks. Gunpowder. Death.

Then came the breach.

Men in matte-black suits and tactical balaclavas. Suppressed MP5Ks.

They moved as one with the cold and silent precision of a professional strike team.

Two small explosions, then both rear doors were ripped open at once.

One of the assailants fired twice. Two suppressed thuds, hit center mass from behind, and the driver crumpled forward over the wheel.

Two shots at Kamps at an awkward angle. His body snapped back against the seat, blood blossoming through his white dress shirt.

Two shots on the passenger side hit Hubbard as he drew down on one of them.

Precision.

Yvonne screamed. She didn’t even hear it herself over the ringing in her ears.

A black bag dropped over her head as they dragged her from the SUV.

She fought—kicking, clawing, gasping for breath—but they had her. Strong arms lifted her like she weighed nothing, hauling her toward the second van as it approached.

They said something, but the hood muffled their voices.

Her body remembered before her brain caught up:

The dark. The bag. The panic. The helplessness.

She’d been here before.

And it had nearly broken her.

This time, it might.

The van took off, vanishing into D.C. like smoke in a windstorm.

Barely alive, Hubbard grunted and huffed as he called for help on his radio.

“Valkyrie has been taken. I repeat—Valkyrie has been taken. We need medical—”

He lost consciousness before he could finish.

Private Residence. White House. D.C.

10:20 a.m. D.C. Time.

The hot shower felt like a gift from God—until I realized I couldn’t enjoy it.

Not today.

I toweled off, pulled on the clean clothes I’d left here, and stepped into the hallway.

The house was quiet. Lukas and Rob were either downstairs or passed out cold. I envied both options.

I headed downstairs and caught the tail end of a tense exchange between Dan Black and Number One.

“—tried Hubbard’s phone twice. Kamps too. They never arrived at the residence.”

Then Dan’s phone rang.

He answered. A pause. Then: “Where? … Fuck. Okay. Keep them alive. Help’s coming.”

Lee stepped closer, his voice tight. “What’s happening?”

Dan turned, already on another call. “The vice president’s been taken. Multiple agents shot. One of our agents manning a blockade near One Observatory picked up Hubbard’s call for help.”

Lukas exploded behind me. “What the fuck?”

I stepped forward. “How can we help?”

Dan pointed at me mid-call, his voice low. “You know certain people, right?”

“I do,” I said hesitantly.

“Call them all. Now. I’ll pay their price.”

I ducked into the men’s room and called Speedy. It rang once.

“Tommy? Jesus. It’s not even noon yet. That’ll cost you more.” He chuckled.

“Listen up, Speedy. Kamps has been shot, and someone took the vice president. Our info said it happened on Mass Avenue near Rock Creek Parkway. This is a top priority, you hear me?”

He went dead silent. Then lit a cigarette.

“Goddamn. You’re serious.”

“As a fuckin’ heart attack.”

“I’m up. I’m dropping everything and focusing on this. Massachusetts near Rock Creek, you said?”

“Around there, yeah.”

“I got someone near there. Let me give her a call.”

“We gotta do this fast and quiet. You got cash to start?”

“I do. Will you tell Prez Armstrong I’m on it?”

“I will, and I’ll tell the VP you saved her, once I have her.”

“Last thing, Tommy.” His voice dropped. “You keep Kamps alive. That man’s saved my life more than once, you feel me?”

He hung up.

I opened the door of the men’s and Lukas was standing right there in my path. He grabbed me by the shirt and gave me a shake. His eyes were feral. Red-rimmed. “What the fuck were you doing in there, Tommy? We have to get going.”

“Waking Speedy up, you asshole. Let go of me.”

“We’ve got to find Yvonne and I don’t have time for you to take a ten-minute piss.”

“I’m working on finding her, jerkwad.” I gave Lukas a push to get him away from me so I could see the screen on my cell.

“You sure? Or were you talking to Annie?” He shoved me hard.

I slammed him back. “Where the fuck did that come from? And do you really want to do this now?”

Exhausted, on edge and with nowhere to aim our pent-up anger, we jostled. After a few half-hearted punches and shoves, I twisted his arm and drove his face into the wall. Both of us breathing like bulls.

Billy appeared at the hallway’s end, camo shirt half-buttoned, eyes heavy but alert. “You boys done playing slap and tickle, or are we hitting the road?”

“Both,” we grunted.

Billy walked off, shaking his head. “I’ll be in the truck. Don’t forget your blankies. You can nap on the way.”

“Eat shit,” Lukas muttered, following him.

I grabbed my jacket and jogged after them. “First stop is the crime scene. I’ll get Lee to clear us.”

Because nothing else mattered now.

We had to get her back.

Rock Creek Parkway. Washington D.C.
11:00 a.m. D.C. Time.

The Humvee rumbled through the streets of Northwest D.C.. Billy drove like a man possessed, both hands gripping the wheel, knuckles white. Although the city was on lockdown, there was a mess of cars everywhere, locked and abandoned, until some of the military and police barriers were lifted.

As we approached Rock Creek Parkway, two Medevac helicopters split the morning sky, their red beacon pulsing as they banked toward George Washington University Hospital. Their rotors chopped the air with a violent rhythm, a sound that sent a chill down my spine.

“That’s them,” Rob muttered from the back. “They’re flying Kamps and Hubbard.”

I clenched my jaw. “Let’s just hope they make it.”

The streets ahead were snarled with more flashing lights and barriers. D.C. Metro had started locking down blocks around Rock Creek Parkway. Police cruisers blocked side streets. Officers in vests waved traffic off like they were managing a parade, not a crime scene.

Billy slammed the brakes, jaw tightening. “This is as far as they’re letting traffic go.”

“The fuck it is,” Lukas growled. “Hit the curb.”

Billy glanced in the mirror. “Seriously?”

“Sidewalk. Lawn. Whatever’s flat. Drive like the president said you could, because he did. Walkin’ ain’t gonna save the VP.”

Billy didn’t hesitate. He jerked the wheel and gunned it, bouncing the Humvee over a curb and onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians scattered. Horns blared. Someone shouted, but we were already gone.

We barreled down a tree-lined boulevard, grass whipping up behind us, crushed under the tires. Billy zigzagged between benches and garbage cans, his lips curled into a tight snarl.

“You’re enjoying this,” Rob muttered.

“Maybe a little,” Billy admitted with a grin.

When he finally pulled up to the edge of the cordoned-off intersection and hopped out, the lead investigator, a bald black man with tired eyes and a suit one size too small, waved us in. He was already briefed.

“You the guys from the president?” he asked as we jumped out.

I nodded and flashed my credentials. “You the guy who’s gonna tell us what the hell happened?”

“We’re still figuring it out. Two commercial vans cut them off—blacked-out, armored. Side doors opened up with mounted GE Minigun support. Chewed through the lead vehicle like it was tissue paper. The VP’s SUV got its doors blown open with shaped charges—precision work. Real pro shit.”

“Survivors?” Lukas asked.

“Both lead and trail cars are dead. VP’s driver is dead, too. Took the medics a bit to stabilize Mister Kamps and Agent Hubbard, but they’re both on their way to George Washington now.” He pointed to the disappearing helicopters.

“We have forensics collecting fragments, but the shooters were gone before backup arrived. Remarkably, they left no brass and not so much as a tread mark for us to use.”

“Street cams?”

He shook his head. “They picked this spot for a reason. No cameras, then they left like ghosts.”

I rubbed my busted head trying to stop the pain so I could fuckin’ see. “We have no leads?”

The agent exhaled. “Nothing. This was a professional job, for sure. We’re pulling street cam footage, but my bet is they had already mapped out a route to avoid cameras. This was a brilliantly executed military op.”

Dejected, we walked the curb, the road still smoldering and glinting with twisted metal. As I leaned against the guard rail, a raspy voice called from some bushes behind me, “Y’all lookin’ for the lady?”

I spun around as a frail homeless woman shuffled forward. Her coat was five sizes too big, and her face half-hidden under a knit cap. She was missing teeth, smelled like wet cardboard and cigarettes, and grinned like she knew something worth money.

“Speedy sent me,” she said, holding up a cracked flip phone. “Said to tell you what I heard.”

I stepped toward her. “What did you hear, ma’am?”

Her smile faded. “They weren’t from here. Talked English but not like us. Had accents. Sounded Middle Eastern, maybe. I used to work the embassy zones—I know the difference. One of ’em said, and I quote, ‘We take her to Cyrus. No delays.’”

Lukas’ face went blank.

“Cyrus,” I repeated the name, and I’d heard it before in the camp. “You’re sure?”

“Crystal. I don’t forget names when they sound like death.”

I pressed a hundred-dollar bill into her trembling hand. “Anything else?”

She looked at it, then back up. “That’s all I got. But I’ll keep my ears open. Tell Speedy I did good, would ya?”

“You did better than good, ma’am.” I turned toward the others. “We have a name. Now we find the ghost behind it.”

No waiting. We ran toward the Suburban, the first lead to finally unraveling this spiderweb.

“Sweet baby Jesus, I hope we’re in time.”

Vipond Residence. Foggy Bottom. D.C.

11:20 a.m. D.C. Time.

Ben woke with a bad feeling in his gut and wanted to make sure the kidnapping rumor circulating around the vice president had been just that—a rumor.

He called the desk at Langley and asked for any updates that had come in. Nothing under the scope of city or state authority would be flagged, but any attempt on the VP certainly would.

I don’t know any of the trainees on the desk.

Ben dialed the number anyway and waited.

Third ring.

“Agent Kimble, how can I help you?”

“This is Director Vipond, Kimble. Only one question for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Has there been any incoming reports concerning the vice president?”

“That’s classified information, sir. I’m afraid I can’t talk to you about that.”

“Thank you, Agent Kimble.”

Ben knew from her answer, she’d been briefed on what to say. He tossed back the duvet and grabbed his phone to call Tommy.

It rang in his hand, and he jumped. “Jesus, kid. Tommy, what the hell is going on?”

“I’m guessing you heard.”

“Of course I did. But—”

“Time to listen, Ben, and put your kickass spook hat on. I got some info, and I need your help.”

Ben would do anything to save Yvonne. “Understood. What do you have?”

“A name. Cyrus.”

“That it?”

“No. A reliable source said the kidnappers spoke English with a Middle Eastern accent. Not much, I know, but I think this Cyrus guy is the money behind the entire thing. Probably bottomless pockets. Get back to me as soon as you can. Priority one.”

“Don’t hang up, Tommy. Just give me a second.”

“That means something to you?”

“I think so. Hang on.”

Clicking of keyboard.

“Where’s that fucking bulletin—ahh, here it is. We’ve been tracking a prick named Cyrus Moradi, an Iranian billionaire. We believe he’s into private security teams and shell corporations, with connections in Tehran that stink of IRGC black ops. We can’t get anything to stick to him, though. He flew into JFK four days ago. No clear reason. Just… business. Multiple hotel bookings across the city, but no confirmed sitings. A few Airbnb’s as well, obviously, to keep my people running.”

“So we have no idea where he is?”

Ben was hesitant. “Not currently, no.”

I thought about the problem for a moment. “Then…do we know where his plane is?”

“His plane? That’s a good question. Give me a second.”

More clicking sounds.

“It says the plane moved from Kennedy just prior to the ‘no-fly’ order, but the destination is blank.”

“Then finding that plane is our priority. Send everything you have on the plane to my phone.”

“Sending now. Let me make some calls, and I’ll call you when I have something.”

“Good copy.”

The big military Humvee bounced over curbs as Billy swerved around barricades and stranded cars. Flashing lights spun in every direction.

I leaned back against the window, my phone hot in my hand. My thumb was white-knuckled against the edge of the screen as I hit Speedy’s number—again—and put it on speaker.

Speedy picked up on the second ring. “Did you find her yet, Tommy?”

“No, but your contact was golden. That’s why I’m calling. She gave us a name.”

“Who?”

“Iranian billionaire named Cyrus Moradi. Dirty as fuck. His private jet was at Kennedy, but he moved it just before the ‘no-fly’ order without entering a destination. Now, it’s vanished.”

“Whoa, whoa—what kind of plane are we talking?”

“Gulfstream—silver and white, tail code MMZ-786. It left the airfield two hours ago. FAA lost the ping.”

There was a pause. A rustle of paper. A flick of a lighter.

Then Speedy spoke again, voice clearer. “Dirty as fuck Iranian billionaire, you said?”

“Yep.”

“Then I got an idea where you can look. The Jersey mob runs an ultra-private airstrip just outside Baltimore. DeWitt Air Field. No FAA eyes. No radar. You gotta be part of the club to use it, if you catch my drift.”

“You think he’d risk it?”

“If he’s dirty and running hot? He’s not risking anything—he’s paying for silence. That place has fueled more ghost flights than Langley has puckered assholes, I bet.”

“How do we get there?”

Speedy gave us quick directions by road. “The easiest way is a chopper, though.”

I nodded, eyes already scanning the roads. “I owe you.”

“You do, but we can talk later. You’re good for it.”

“Always, Speedy. I’m always good for it.”

Billy glanced at me. “Should I head to Baltimore?”

“Don’t think so. It’ll take us over an hour by car. Find the nearest field—whatever. I’m making a call.”

Billy grinned as he began searching GPS for a suitable landing spot.

I pressed my contact. 

“Tommy?” Lee said. “What have you found out?”

“We might know where she is, but we need your help.”

“Name it. I have Marines on standby.”

“I need a chopper to pick us up at—” Tommy pointed at the GPS, and Billy nodded. “One Observatory Circle is the nearest landing spot. Imagine that. And I’ll need some backup. We’re goin’ to a mob-run airfield in Baltimore.”

“Then you’re in luck,” General Harrow piped in. “I have a Chinook full of Marines at One Observatory and two Blackhawks running overwatch. They are at your disposal.”

“Thanks, General. I’ll try not to scratch the paint.”

Tommy disconnected and looked at Billy. “You heard the General, soldier. Pedal to the metal. We got a ride waiting at One Observatory Circle.”

Chapter Sixteen

Friday, May 16th.

(Continued)

George Washington University Hospital

Medevac Landing Pad

11:30 a.m. D.C. Time

The rooftop shook as the first chopper thundered in, rotors slicing the humid D.C. air. A swarm of trauma staff surged forward, shielding their eyes from the backwash as the bird hovered, then kissed down hard.

The doors popped open before the skids hit solid. Chet Kamps lay strapped to the gurney, his face deathly pale, his body limp due to unconsciousness. His clothes were blood-soaked, his suit ruined.

“Vitals are dropping again!” shouted a paramedic over the roar. “BP’s crashing—go, go, go.”

A trauma nurse clamped an oxygen mask to his face as the gurney rolled off the pad. IVs danced wildly as the crew rushed him toward the roof doors and into the bowels of the hospital. A trauma surgeon was already barking orders into a headset, flanked by two scrubbed-in OR techs jogging beside the bed.

Just as they disappeared through the double doors, the first chopper dusted off, rising fast.

Then—a second set of rotors, loud and heavy, thundered overhead as another helo dropped in fast.

“Clear the pad,” someone screamed.

The bird touched down with a thump. The rear doors flung open, and a stretcher bearing Agent Hubbard was pulled out, his shirt slick with blood. One leg hung twisted, braced with a field splint. His head lolled, lips moving faintly.

“Gunshot to the upper chest and thigh,” the flight medic yelled. “Responsive but fading fast. We kept him stable, but he needs the table—now.”

A second trauma team was already waiting, gloved and ready, watching as Kamps’s gurney vanished into surgery. They snapped into motion, sliding Hubbard’s gurney into position like a well-oiled machine.

A nurse looked toward the sky, eyes narrowed as the second bird powered down.

“Two hits on the VP’s convoy,” she muttered. “God help us.”

Inside the OR, the lights blazed white. Outside, the city braced for whatever came next.

One Observatory Circle. D.C. North Lawn

Noon.

The Humvee roared through the wrought iron gates, tires spitting gravel as it fishtailed onto the lawn behind the vice president’s residence, the sound of rotor blades churning the chaff and dirt like an angry storm cloud.

In the open field beyond the residence, the CH-47 Chinook squatted like a steel beast, rear hatch yawning open, blades thumping so hard they shook the ribcage. Two Blackhawks circled above, holding tight spirals, their silhouettes flashing against the low-hanging cloud cover.

We leaped out of the Humvee the second it skidded to a stop. Me, Lukas and Rob were operating on vapors—up for thirty-odd hours and counting, with no gear, no food and no downtime. The strain was pulling me down, but I couldn’t speak for the other guys. They probably felt the same way I did—ready to fuckin’ drop.

Yvonne needed us, so we couldn’t stop.

A crew chief at the rear of the Chinook waved us forward. “Move it, sirs. We’re tight on time. Dust-off in ninety seconds.”

We kept our heads down, jogging across the grass, ducking under the roaring blades. Inside the Chinook, the bird was packed—a small, elite strike team huddled on one side, surrounded by regular soldiers—faces grim, eyes sharp, weapons double-checked.

Didn’t expect the elite team. They were Tier One operators, and they barely blinked when us three undercover guys climbed aboard.

Lukas found a seat against the bulkhead. Rob took a position near the door gun. I slapped Billy on the shoulder.

The ramp lifted, locking shut with a metallic thunk.

The Chinook surged upward before we were even seated, the Blackhawks falling into escort formation as all three helicopters banked east.

I was given a helmet with a comm and escorted to the front to speak with the pilot.

“Where we headed, sir?” asked the pilot as she casually pulled levers and pushed pedals.

“To a private airstrip outside of Baltimore, run by the Jersey mob.”

She did a double-take. “The mob took the VP?”

“No, ma’am. We think it’s the Iranians who paid to park their jet at the mob’s airport to hide in plain sight.”

“Tricky bastards. Well, our boys are itching to get her back. She’s one of us, and if you fuck with one, you fuck with us all.”

I was escorted back to my seat, and my helmet removed.

No one spoke again.

They didn’t need to.

The mission had already begun.

George Washington University Hospital. D.C.

Surgery Room One

11:40 a.m. D.C. Time.

The massive fluorescent light banks shone down on Kamps’s body, bathing the rest of the room in a softer, ambient light. It was a battlefield of scalpels and suction tubes, blood-soaked gloves and sharp commands. Electric monitors beeped frantically, jagged lines dancing across screens in green and red, each one telling its own story—none of them good.

Kamps lay motionless on the table, chest cracked open beneath the sterile drapes, his face pale and slack behind the breathing mask. A line of blood traced down his side where a bullet had shredded part of his lung. Another lay embedded dangerously close to his heart, its jagged metal edge dancing between life and death.

“BP dropping—eighty over forty and falling,” said a nurse, her voice flat. No emotion.

“Clamp the bleeder. Suction, now,” snapped the lead surgeon. Another nurse dabbed his forehead as sweat poured from his brow. He was losing the battle to stem the internal damage. “If we don’t stabilize the lung, we’ll lose him before we get near the heart.”

Another flatline warning. The EKG hiccupped, then dropped, then surged again.

“He’s circling the drain,” someone muttered from the shadows.

“Not on my table,” growled the surgeon. “He’s still got blood in him—we keep going.”

The team worked like a machine—intense and focused. The surgical lights gleamed off stainless steel rib spreaders and his internal organs.

Kamps’s pulse fluttered, then dipped again.

It was touch and go, second by second.

And no one in the room could say whether he’d make it through the next one.

George Washington University Hospital. D.C.

Surgery Room Two.

11:45 a.m. D.C. Time.

Agent Hubbard lay unconscious on the table, his broad chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged heaves. The overhead lights blazed, reflecting off pools of sweat on foreheads and the glint of blood-slicked instruments. The air was tense, filled with the low whine of suction and the clipped orders of trauma surgeons working against the clock.

“He’s stable—for now,” said the attending, peering at the chest wound. “High entry, clean exit. He’s lucky—it missed his lungs and heart. Through and through, but he’s bleeding from the scapula—we’ve got bone fragments everywhere.”

He nodded toward the X-ray a nurse held up for him.

“See there? His shoulder blade is shattered, reduced to chalk by the force of the impact. The bullet exited clean—here—but the shockwave tore up the surrounding muscle, leaving shredded tissue and pooling blood.”

The operating room fell silent for a few moments.

“Clamp there. No, there. That artery’s close.”

“Vitals are weak but holding steady, doctor. He’s strong.”

“Keep pressure on that shoulder—we’ll debride once we stabilize the leg.”

They pivoted to the leg. It was a mess. The bullet had shattered his femur just above the knee. Bone fragments had torn through surrounding muscle like shrapnel, slicing into tissue and into his femoral artery. The team worked frantically, trying to stem the bleeding and stabilize the bone before Hubbard bled out.

“BP’s starting to slip again—down to seventy-five systolic,” called a nurse.

“We’ve got a bleeder we missed. He’s got pieces of his own damn femur slicing him open from the inside.”

The orthopedic surgeon moved fast, fingers slick with blood, barking for bone screws and an emergency plate.

“I don’t care how clean the chest wound looks—if he loses this leg, it’s gonna be because we hesitated.”

They didn’t hesitate.

Outside the operating room, no one knew how long he’d be in surgery or what shape he’d be in when he woke up. But inside, the team fought with everything they had to save the man who protected the VP with everything he had.

They weren’t giving up.

Approach Vector to DeWitt Airfield.

12:20 p.m. D.C. Time.

I passed out the moment the bird left the pad, head rolling, mouth dry. Completely worthless. What’s another half hour awake when you’ve been up for days?

A tap on the shoulder jolted me awake. An Air Force Loadmaster, helmeted and grim-faced, pointed me forward. I grabbed the helmet she held toward me, strapped it on, and followed her past a team of tier-one operators checking mags and adjusting optics with muscle memory.

The cockpit was awash in a green glow, the pilot’s voice tight over comms. “Sir, we’re ten klicks out. Our two Blackhawks ahead are sweeping the perimeter. What’s your insertion plan?”

Through the cockpit window, I saw the DeWitt Airfield, a private runway hidden behind tree lines and razor wire, flanked by three hangars—big enough for private jets and dirty deals. The Gulfstream sat parked at the far end, tucked beside a boxy outbuilding—likely a shell of a terminal, but maybe a hideout for scumbags with cash.

“Hang on,” I said, turning and gesturing to one of the tier-one operators. He tapped the guy next to him, who stood and walked toward me. The guy moved like a wolf. Gray at the temples, face scarred and stoic. Eyes like iced steel.

“You got experience breaching a bird?” I asked.

He gave me the faintest grin. “Son, I’ve breached everything from planes to palaces. You want me to run it?”

It hurt to say it, but I nodded. “It’s your op until Vonnie’s safe. We gotta do what’s right to get her home safe.”

The Master Chief gave a curt nod. No ego, just deadly professionalism. I ducked back.

“What’s goin’ on?” Lukas barked over the roar of rotors.

“We’re letting them run it. They’ve done this before. We haven’t. We do what’s right for Vonnie.”

Lukas nodded, jaw clenched. “We gotta do what’s right.”

Rob sat forward, quiet as a storm gathering.

The Master Chief returned. “We’ll set the Chinook down behind the Gulfstream and move forward under the fuselage. You four—clear the terminal. Fast. Loud. Secure.”

“Copy,” I said. “Thanks for letting us help.”

He paused. “We met once, over in the sandbox. You were doing somethin’ secret, and we gave you some of our cover clothes.”

It clicked. “That really helped. Thanks, man.”

“All good,” he said with a nod. “See you on the other side.”

The Chinook roared low, kicking up dust and debris as it flared behind the Gulfstream. The Blackhawks hovered in a holding pattern, rotors thumping a violent warning to any who dared approach.

We were out before the ramp hit the ground—tier-ones peeling left, we peeled right, rifles up, slicing through the afternoon heat. The terminal looked like a joke, a dingy cinderblock box with rusted hinges and a battered steel door. It certainly didn’t resemble the kind of place where billionaires drank imported champagne and ordered murders.

Rob counted down on his fingers.

Three… Two… One—

He yanked the door open, and we stormed in like fire.

The interior of the terminal was disgustingly lavish. Cream walls, gold trim, plush red furniture, and a mahogany bar. The wall was lined with rare and expensive bottles of scotch, gins and other alcoholic beverages.

At a table beside the bar, with a linen table cloth and linen napkins, sat three dark-skinned men, bearded in sharp suits, trying to enjoy their plates of lamb.

We interrupted their meal.

They looked up, suits open at the waist. MP5s hung beneath their jackets.

They reached—too slow.

We fired faster.

They died where they sat.

Then, the bathroom door flung open.

A fourth man staggered out, panicked, with a vest of wires and steel plates strapped to his chest, bare arms trembling. His jacket was half-on and tied up his arms.

He fumbled for a trigger.

“Out. Now,” I screamed.

We hit the door at full speed.

Boom.

There were no windows, so the blast blew out the only door, tearing it off its hinges and sending it flying. We were forced to the tarmac, knocking the wind out of us. The initial bomb ignited secondary explosions from gas lines behind the bar and in the small kitchen, sending fire and shrapnel through the roof.

The terminal vomited fire into the sky while the Chinook rocked on its landing gear, the tier-one team already charging toward the Gulfstream.

The mission had begun.

George Washington University Hospital. D.C.

Surgery Room One

12:45 p.m. D.C. Time.

The warning screams of the monitors escalated as Kamps’ heart rate plummeted.

“He’s crashing—His pressure is bottoming out,” said one of the trauma nurses.

“I’m going to massage his heart manually,” said one of the surgeons. “Get the interior paddles ready.”

Another surgeon leaned in with the retractor, voice tight. “That fragment’s too close to the heart—he’s bleeding into the pericardium. If you massage by hand, you might kill him.”

“Pushing more epinephrine,” the anesthesiologist said.

“It’s not working.”

“Fuck it. Beginning manual heart massage. Let me know when the internal paddles are ready.”

The surgeon carefully slid his hand inside and compressed Kamps’s heart as an OR nurse prepped the internal paddles.

“Ready, doctor,” she said, handing him the paddles.

He removed his hands and took the paddles. “Clear,” he said loudly, then shocked Kamps’s heart. Kamps’s body twitched like he was seizing, then lay flat again.

“We’re losing him, doctor,” the vitals nurse said.

“Going again,” he said. “Up the voltage. Clear.”

For a beat, the room froze in that terrible space between effort and loss. The lead surgeon slammed a fist against the table.

“Got him, for now. Clamp that artery.” he barked. “If we don’t stabilize him in thirty seconds, we’ll have to call it.”

DeWitt Airfield

12:45 p.m. D.C. Time.

The Chinook moved to the far end of the runway, for safety, before the next part of the rescue took place.

A breeze blew across the tarmac, whipping dust and jet fuel fumes into the air as the Tier One team fanned out in practiced silence around the sleek Gulfstream parked at the end of the runway. The silence was broken only by the intermittent thrumming of the circling Blackhawks overhead, running cover in ghost mode, their blades slicing the air with relentless menace.

Ropes were attached to the landing gear and then hurled over the top of the plane, providing the needed support to rappel down the side.

Each operator took a position—forward cabin door, emergency exits, cargo bays and windshield.

They quickly attached their breaching charges and moved to a safe distance.

Master Chief stood on the Gulfstream’s fuselage, his gloved hands moving with surgical precision as he armed the shaped charges. “On my mark—three... two... one... execute.”

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

A coordinated cascade of concussive detonations rocked the aircraft. The forward exit door ripped off its hinges and spun toward the burning terminal. Explosive charges blew the emergency hatches inward. Luggage compartments popped like tin cans, scattering debris. The windshield evaporated as the cockpit filled with smoke.

The operators made entry within seconds of the detonations. They moved fast, fast, fast, their suppressed HK MP5Ks sweeping in synchronized arcs. No shouting. No commands. Just the lethal silence of professionals who knew their craft.

Inside, panic bloomed among the crew.

One guard prepared to take aim when two silenced rounds stitched his throat. Another pivoted to flee and was dropped with a double tap to the spine. The tight fuselage turned into a kill box. Three more went down near the galley in coordinated sweeps.

Rear cabin.

Cyrus Moradi threw up his hands the second the breach team appeared. His tailored suit was perfect, his face calm, his hands relaxed. He rose from his chair and grinned that ‘you can’t touch me’ grin that arrogant terrorists are known for.

“I surrender. I will not put up a fight. Allow me to call my attorney—”

The butt end of a gun smashed into his teeth.

The talking stopped.

He was tackled, zip-tied, and gagged before he knew what hit him.

Forward cabin.

“Contact. I have Valkyrie,” a commando shouted.

Yvonne Harrison was slumped in a reclining leather seat, her head covered with a black bag and her body limp. Her wrists were zip-tied, with an IV line embedded in her arm. One of the operators checked her vitals and quickly removed the bag.

“She’s alive. Pupils dilated. Heavily sedated.”

Master Chief leaned in, yanked the IV out, and barked for medevac. “Wrap and lift. Get that Chinook back here. We’re taking the VP directly to George Washington. Wheels up in two.”

From the side of the plane, I watched the stairs drop and saw them carry her down—Yvonne, limp, pale, her blonde hair matted to her face. My chest tightened like it had a steel trap around it.

Master Chief shot me a quick nod. Yvonne was alive.

Following behind was Cyrus—bound, gagged, face bloodied from impact or resistance, maybe both. Even restrained, the bastard held his chin high.

Lukas was already moving. No hesitation. With a gentleness I rarely saw in my brother, he accepted Yvonne like she was made of glass. Gentle. Reverent. Like carrying a fallen flag.

I pulled out my sat phone and hit a number.

“Tommy,” came Lee’s voice, taut with tension. “Tell me some good news.”

“We got her. She’s sedated as hell, but she’s alive. We’re heading to George Washington now.”

A pause. A breath. “Thank God for you and your team, Tommy. This whole day could’ve gone sideways.”

“Still could,” I muttered. “I’ll call when we land at the hospital.”

The Chinook descended like a beast in a storm. I had to shout over the roar as I dialed the second number.

“Ben,” I said. “It’s Tommy. We got her. She’s alive but heavily sedated. We’re inbound to GW. Meet us there—and bring men.”

There was a catch in his breath. “Jesus. Fantastic work, Tommy.” He paused. I could hear the emotion in his voice, the unspoken love that was tearing at his heart.

“I owe you more than I can say. But… why men?”

“Because we’ve got Cyrus Moradi in custody. Someone needs to throw that piece of shit into a deep, dark hole. Unless you want me to ventilate him now.”

A pause. Cold steel in Ben’s voice.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare. I’ve got some words for that fuckin’ son of a bitch.”

He didn’t need to say more.

Chapter Seventeen

Friday, May 16th.

(Continued)

George Washington University Hospital

Rooftop Helipad

1:15 p.m. D.C. Time.

The massive Chinook helicopter couldn’t land on the hospital’s helipad—too heavy. But the U.S. armed forces have some of the finest pilots around.

She positioned the beast backward and hovered above the deck, a thunderous hulk in the night sky, rotors chopping the air into a hurricane. The tailgate dropped with a hiss of hydraulics, revealing Lukas silhouetted in the glow of the afternoon sun, Yvonne cradled in his arms.

The wind whipped at our clothes and hair as Lukas stepped into the air, boots crunching onto the steel grating of the rooftop platform. The downdraft was deafening.

A gurney was ready and waiting—nurses gripping the rails, a trauma doctor shouting over the noise.

A doctor rushed forward and quickly checked her vitals. “She’s unresponsive. Over sedated. We need her downstairs now.”

Lukas knelt low, shielding her from the wind for one final moment. He brushed her hair from her face, then gently laid her onto the gurney like she was the most precious thing he'd ever held.

“She’s yours now,” he said softly, but only me and Rob heard it.

The med team moved fast, wheeling her toward the elevator with lines already going in, one nurse shouting vitals, another prepping meds.

The Tier One team held back as me, Rob, and Billy stepped off the ramp behind Lukas. The Tier One guys followed behind with Cyrus Moradi. They weren’t sure why they were bringing the scumbag to the hospital, but I insisted it was important.

The Chinook lifted and banked away, leaving behind only wind—and hope.

Trauma Ward.

1:30 p.m. D.C. Time.

My first call was to Lee. “We’re here, boss. Yvonne’s with the doctors now.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Unconscious. They said she was stable, but barely. The kidnappers pumped her full of enough sedatives to knock out a Clydesdale. She’s swimming in ‘em, but they’re hopeful.”

“Jesus. That much?”

“They weren’t measuring dosage, that’s for sure. She was never supposed to be awake when they handed her over to the Ayatollah.”

“So it was the Iranians?”

“Had to be. Cyrus Moradi, Iranian billionaire. He’s the architect of everything. This thing was his opera from curtain up.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lee said, voice tight, “but I’m not ready to declare war.”

“Don’t think you have to, boss. At least, not yet. But maybe make a statement? Come to GW. Face the cameras. Tell the world she’s alive, we caught the bastard, and the country’s still in charge.”

Lee sighed. “That might work. Where are the suspects?”

“Everyone else is dead. Cyrus is cuffed and caged. Tier One’s got him on lockdown here at GW. Ben Vipond’s inbound.”

“Ben? Not Dunnett?”

I hesitated. “Ben’s... personally invested. He just wants the first crack. Don’t worry. He’ll share.”

“Just don’t let Moradi disappear, Tommy. I want this guy on paper.”

“He’s not going anywhere.”

I hung up and dialed Ben. He answered on the first ring. Sounded like he hadn’t breathed in hours.

“Tommy. Thank Christ. Do we have her?”

“Yeah. Drugged, out cold, but alive. Docs are working on her now.”

“I’m five minutes out.”

“No feds yet. You’ve got the first pass. I told Lee.”

Ben exhaled hard. “You’re a goddamn hero, Tommy. Thank you.”

“She’s the one you should be thanking—if she wakes up.”

“She will,” he said, and his voice cracked. “She has to.”

Surgery Ward

2:00 p.m. D.C. Time.

I wandered over to the nurses’ station outside the OR, flashed my badge, and tried not to sound desperate.

The nurse gave me a look—half pity, half get in line.

“Both patients in surgery are doing as well as can be expected,” said the nurse. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

“When the doctor is finished, I want to speak with him. The president is waiting for an update on the two men from the White House who were shot. Doesn’t matter if I’m related by blood or President Armstrong either, he wants to know.”

“Understood, Marshal Donovan.” Her tone was respectful—but flat. Another long night in a hospital full of bleeding men.

My phone buzzed as I walked back to the waiting room. I had a voicemail from Rob.

Had to catch up with Cletus and stay on mission. Heading to the airport now. Call me when you get to Texas. Don’t text.

Don’t text?

The weight of it hit like a sandbag. Whatever Rob was into now… it wasn’t something he wanted on record.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and stared down the hallway—white walls, soft light, and the low hum of machines that had nothing good to say.

Waiting Room.

2:15 p.m. D.C. Time.

Lukas wasn’t in the waiting room when I got there. Probably standing watch near Yvonne’s door. The coffee I pulled from the vending machine tasted like burnt cardboard and cigarette butts.

I’d just taken a sip when the door creaked open a crack.

Someone peeked in. Then, shuffled through.

Speedy moved like a gust of alley wind—fast, twitchy, smelling faintly of smoke and a half-full dumpster. I swore I could see the grime trail behind him—like Pigpen in a hoodie.

He scanned the room twice, paranoia flaring in his bloodshot eyes before he slumped down next to me.

“That coffee?”

I handed him the cup. “Go ahead. I’ll get another.”

He slurped back the vial concoction, his gaze darting in all directions.

“How much do I owe you?”

Speedy eyed me, then the machine, like it might explode. “I was gonna charge you a grand. But I’ll take five—if you get me something in return.”

I blinked. “Which is?”

His eyes darted again. The guy was jumpier than a stray cat at a pit bull party.

“Dinner with the VP.”

He went beet red.

I barked a laugh, half out of shock, half out of pure exhaustion. “Tell you what—I’ll still pay you the grand and try to make it happen. But why?”

Speedy stared into his coffee like it held the answers to the universe.

His voice, when it came, was quieter than I’d ever heard it. “Years ago… before she was VP, when she was still with the army, I was living rough. Like—really rough. Hadn’t eaten in days. I was hanging outside a recruitment office, just trying to stay warm.”

He paused, jaw tight. “Everyone else saw a junkie. She saw a soldier who never made it all the way home. She bought me food, gave me a jacket, and sat with me for an hour like I was somebody. We talked like real people, you know?  Told me I was still breathing, that I still had time to change it all.”

He took a sip of the awful coffee and grimaced. “I never forgot that. Never forgot her. I owe her everything, man. And if she don’t make it…” His voice cracked, but he caught himself fast. “I just need to know she’s okay. That she knows someone out here remembers who the fuck she really is.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“It’ll fuckin’ happen, Speedy. You’re golden.”

Much later, me and Speedy sat in silence, and I was about to nod off again for the hundredth time when the waiting room doors flew open and Ben Vipond strode in, flanked by a dozen agents.

He walked straight to me, and as I stood, he hugged me.

“Any news?”

“Same as five minutes ago. Docs are doing their thing. I’m sure we’ll hear somethin’ in an hour or two.” I looked past him at his entourage. “Your boys here for Cyrus?”

Ben nodded. “We’re going to take him somewhere to have a chat with him.”

“I’m not opposed to that but remember that I told Lee you’d let other agencies have a run at him. Don’t make me a liar.”

Ben held my gaze, and the pain, the intensity I saw in his eyes, was worrisome. “I won’t kill him. I gave you my word. But I will get the information I need out of him. Where is he?”

“Just down the hall. Before we go, I wanna introduce you to Speedy. This is the guy who had got the info that led to Vonnie’s rescue. Speedy, this is Director Vipond, head of the CIA.”

Speedy stood to shake Ben’s hand, but Ben pulled him in for another big hug. “Thank you for everything, Speedy.”

We left Speedy standing speechless as I escorted Ben down the hall to a vacant exam room. Inside, the Tier One operators encircled Cyrus, who sat in the center of the otherwise empty room on a chair.

“This our boy?” Ben asked.

“That’s him.”

Ben moved with a speed I wouldn’t have guessed he possessed and drove his fist into Cyrus’s face. The terrorist’s neck snapped back as he let out a muffled groan.

The operators raised an eyebrow and looked away.

Ben turned to his men. “Take him away. I’ll meet you guys there in an hour.”

CIA agents took Cyrus, blood streaming out of his shattered nose.

“We good, boss?” The Master Chief asked Ben.

“All good, boys. CIA has it from here.”

I really hoped Ben didn’t hug all of them.

Surgery Ward.

3:00 p.m. D.C. Time.

My choices were either fall asleep in a vacant room or keep movin’, so I walked over to the nurse’s station again. She saw me comin’ and pursed her lips.

Shit.

“What can you tell me now” I asked.

She looked around first to make sure no one was listening. When she spoke, her voice was low. “Agent Hubbard was touch and go for the first hour or two, but they’ve got him stabilized, so they can continue the surgeries.”

“And Kamps?”

“He’s another story. The last update I received, he’s still holding on, but his surgeries are going much slower because they can’t keep him stabilized. They can’t stop, either, or he’ll die. It’s a battle, but they’re not giving up just yet.”

The exhaustion and frustration took over.

Not giving up just yet?

“Jesus Christ. They can’t give up. That’s fuckin’ Kamps we’re talking about.”

The nurse studied me silently, nodding slowly, and it calmed me down. It was like a nurse superpower. “Everyone is doing everything they can to save these brave and selfless men, Marshal Donovan. Please believe that. But sometimes, life has other plans.”

“And Vonnie?”

“Are you referring to Madam Vice President?”

“Yep. Same girl.”

“She is also stable, but for her, it’s different. We don’t know exactly what they gave her, so the doctors are trying different things to purge her body of toxins. The problem is that if they use the wrong counter agent, they might do more harm than good.”

“But will the drugs go away in time?”

“Possibly, or they might be doing damage. We just don’t know.”

I could feel myself gettin’ worked up and figured I should move back to the waiting room. It wasn’t the nurse’s fault that all my friends needed doctors.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Lee.

“Meet me downstairs. I’m almost there.”

“Copy, boss.”

I found Lukas, and we took the elevator down.

3:30 p.m. D.C. Time

The Stars and Stripes fluttered in the breeze as the presidential limo stopped at the front entrance of the hospital. Crowds of reporters and cameramen had been holding vigil at the hospital waiting for this moment.

With the vice president in the hospital, the media knew full well the president would show up eventually and they’d get their chance.

Me and Lukas helped Dan Black and his Secret Service men push the media people back to give Lee room to get to the entrance. When he was on the threshold about to go inside, President Armstrong turned and took one of the microphones being thrust in his face.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, it is with a relieved heart that I tell you Vice President Harrison is doing well. I haven’t spoken with the surgeons yet, so everything I know is secondhand. Her chief of security and her senior advisor were both critically wounded in the kidnap attempt, but they are doing as well as can be expected. Sadly, the driver of the vice president’s vehicle was killed by the kidnappers and our heartfelt condolences go out to his family.”

A million questions followed, and Lee shook his head. “Until I talk with the doctors inside, I have nothing else to tell you. The White House will be issuing a statement later this afternoon with more details. Thank you.”

The media hounds surged forward, and the Secret Service pushed back. Lukas and I opened the door to the hospital, and we got Lee inside and to the elevator without too much trouble after that.

“Good idea to talk to them there, Tommy. They weren’t expecting it, and that job is out of the way.”

“Catch the fuckers off guard and throw them a bone. Same way you deal with any pack of angry dogs, boss. They go for the bone, and it keeps them from biting your ass.”

Lee chuckled grimly as we stepped out of the elevator onto Yvonne’s floor.

The hospital had Vonnie stashed in the big fancy suite reserved for celebrities. Lee had stayed in the same room once or twice himself.

We met the doctor just outside the door.

“Any change?" Lukas asked.

The doctor sighed. “She’s stable, but still not responding to treatment the way we hoped.”

Concern crept into Lee’s voice. “What does that mean?”

“Could be the drugs they used. Something unlisted, or a dose designed to destroy rather than sedate. Her vitals are strong, but she’s not waking up.”

Lukas tensed beside me. “But she’ll come out of it, right?”

The doctor shook his head. “We can’t say. She might wake up tomorrow. Or never. Right now, we’re keeping her comfortable. That’s all we can do.”

As the doctor walked off, Ben Vipond appeared from around the corner. He looked like hell—eyes red-rimmed, jaw clenched so hard the muscles twitched. He didn’t speak right away, just nodded to Lee.

Lee tilted his head. “You here for the prisoner?”

I stepped in. “Ben came to grab Cyrus, yeah. But he’s also here to check in on the wounded. One team, one dream. Right Ben?”

Ben nodded again, still silent.

Lee didn’t press. He just gave Ben a pat on the shoulder before heading into the room.

Me and Lee went in first. Yvonne lay still, wires and monitors tracking her, but otherwise she looked asleep.

“She looks peaceful,” Lee said softly.

I didn’t say anything. My mind was screaming, begging her to open her eyes.

We stepped out of the fancy suite, and Ben went in next.

Lukas waited his turn, back against the wall, barely upright.

Roy and Sam showed up minutes later.

“Is she awake?” Roy asked, teary-eyed.

“Not yet," I said, voice low. “But the docs say she’s stable. Probably just a matter of time.”

Lukas went in next, then Sam and Roy. Roy’s sobs leaked through the door.

I stepped back, letting it all hit me. My body felt like it had been soaked in concrete.

My phone buzzed.

“Tommy,” Blacky said, “I hear congratulations are in order. You stopped the attack and saved the VP.”

“Thanks, boss. Had to let the Tier One team breach the plane. Best odds for success.”

“Mature call. Any update on Kamps?”

“Still in surgery. Crashing off and on. Sounds pretty bad, but we’re hoping.”

“We all are. It’s been a hell of a day.”

I heard the pause and filled it. “You got something else?”

Blacky sighed. “I’m sorry, but I do. We got tips on Cletus’s whereabouts. I need you and Lukas back in Texas.”

I looked over. Lukas was barely upright.

“Have you talked to Rob?”

“Briefly. He’s not much of a talker, and frankly, he doesn’t answer to me. We need our best, Tommy.”

“Let me talk to Lukas. I’ll text you in five.”

“Thanks, Tommy. I know I’m asking a lot.”

I hung up and walked to my brother.

“That was Blacky. He has a ton of Cletus leads. Says he needs us. You up for it?”

Lukas gave a dry, lifeless chuckle. “Fuck no. But if he needs us, we go. That’s the way it works, right?”

I shrugged. “Nothin' more we can do here.”

We stopped at the nurse’s station before we left. I left my number and told them to call if anything changed with Kamps.

We said our goodbyes and found an Uber.

We had a plane to catch.

And one last ghost to chase.

Austin-Bergstrom Airport. Texas.

7:00 p.m. Texas Time.

We took an Uber to Dulles and caught up with Rob. He hadn’t boarded a plane yet, so we all flew together. None of us had gear except our guns, and we knew how to check those through easy enough.

All three of us slept for most of the flight, but when we landed, I don’t think any of us felt energized. My ass was still draggin’ as much as when we left D.C.

Lukas and I stepped off the plane and it seemed like forever since my boots touched Texas turf. “So glad to be home, Lukas. We’ve been gone way too long.”

“Even though I wanted to get back to Texas, I hated to leave Yvonne lying there with Ben Vipond hanging over her.”

“She and Vipond are in love,” I said. “Those two are crazy for each other as nuts as that sounds.”

Lukas punched me hard. “Can’t believe you said that.”

“Can’t believe you’re still upset by it. You had your chance.”

“Who’s picking us up?” Rob asked.

“Farrell, Tommy’s cousin,” Lukas said.

Rob looked at Lukas, puzzled. “Aren’t you two brothers?"

“Yep.”

“So he’s your cousin, too.”

“Not the way I see it.”

I gave Rob the ‘leave it alone’ look while Lukas cast his sharp brown eyes around the parking area lookin’ for Farrell.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t see him,” said Lukas. “Want to take a cab?”

“Wish we didn’t have to go to Blacky’s first,” I said. “I want to go straight home and stay there with Ellis and the kids.”

“You sure you have a room for me, Tommy?”

“Plenty of space, Rob. Happy to have you.”

“We have to find Cletus and kill him before we can fuck around at home,” snarled Lukas. “Did you text Farrell and tell him we’re here?”

“Did you see me do that? We just stepped off the plane, for chrissakes.”

Rob chuckled.

Lukas pointed. “There’s your cousin.”

“He’s just as much your cousin as he is mine.”

“Don’t see it that way.”

“What other way is there to see it?”

I rolled my eyes.

Lukas shrugged and that was the end of it. Carrying our luggage, we jogged to the Ram and got in.

“Thanks for picking us up, bro. This is Marshal Rob Dakota.”

“No problem. Blacky is waiting for us and there is a fed with him. Guess he’s your boss, Tommy. Head of Fugitive Recovery and he’s got to get the cons back.”

“I don’t know the new guy who took over the Marshals and I never met this fugitive recovery guy. Don’t need to know either one of them. I don’t work for them.”

“Guess you will know the guy twenty minutes from now,” said Farrell.

“What’s been going on here since me and Lukas were in the swamp?”

“The governor called out the National Guard to help track down the prisoners. That’s new yesterday.”

“I only care about Cletus,” said Rob. “What do you know about him?”

“Not a damned thing. Blacky made me go to Huntsville and talk to Crazy Kenny and that was a wasted day. I knew it would be, but Blacky said Kenny would get a message to Cletus and stir shit up.”

“What shit?”

“Blacky didn’t mention exactly what the shit would be. I get paid to take orders. Me and Jimmy went to Huntsville. We talked to Crazy Kenny. We came back. End of story.”

I sighed. “Hope we don’t have to go after Cletus until tomorrow. I want to see the kids.”

“Tell me about your time in the swamp,” said Farrell. “Wish I’d been there.”

Lukas shook his head. “No, you fuckin don’t. Hot and filthy and we had to hang with the dumbest of the fuckin’ Brotherhood, and that’s saying something.”

“The food sucked, the coffee was worse, and then there were the gators and snakes everywhere. They hung from the fuckin’ trees, Farrell. Can you believe it?”

Farrell made a face. “I’m already snake-bit.”

“There you go,” said Rob. “Lucky you weren’t there. You would’ve been twice bitten.”

Lukas gave Farrell death-ray eyes, and the truck filled with tension and man sweat. Lukas was still freaked about Yvonne, and he was ready to do some damage.

I’m gonna stay clear of him.

The Blackmore Agency. Austin. Texas.

Blacky opened the door for us himself and gave hugs to me and Lukas. “Glad you boys are back home safe and sound.”

“Not so sure about the sound part, boss, but we’re here in Texas and that’s an improvement over the past couple of weeks.” I turned and said, “This here is Marshal Rob Dakota. He’s on Cletus.”

“I want to hear all about it, but it will have to wait until after our meeting with Marshal Miles Morrison. Grab a coffee and come into the office.”

“Could use a coffee, boss.”

We sat at the boardroom table at the far end of Blacky’s office. Floor to ceiling windows gave a great view of his landscaped acreage. He seemed to leave his little fortress less and less. Kind of funny for a guy under thirty.

Me and Lukas were only there to listen, so that’s what we did. I listened for any mention of Cletus Donovan and Lukas did the same. Neither one of us really cared if the rest of the fugitives were on the fuckin’ moon by now. This guy, Morrison, could get them back on his own nickel.

“You boys in Texas,” said Morrison, “have the advantage. You know the terrain and the easiest way for the fugitives to get to the border crossings. With your knowledge and your constant border problems with the cartels, you should be able to give me a solid lead to where the White Trash gang would be headed.”

“Most of West Texas ain’t that far from the border,” said Lukas, “and considering how long they’ve been on the road, they should be in Mexico by now. Long gone.”

Morrison laughed at my brother and that’s when I didn’t like him. Big guy who thought he was the whole cheese. Round face and a fancy suit. Soft in the middle. Hadn’t bothered working out since he’d been promoted to the top fugitive grabber spot.

Has he ever been inside a prison?

Blacky took over and handed us printed lists. “I’ve printed up names of the escaped prisoners and in order to give a hand to the US Marshals and the National Guard out there searching, I’ve divided my men into teams and assigned each team six felons to track down.”

“We ain’t on any of the teams.” Lukas was a fast reader and smarter than me. He had the same quick brain as his dead twin. I didn’t get none of that from Jett and that’s why I thought the twins had a different daddy.

Someday I’m gonna find out who that is. Gotta be a dude with brown eyes.

“That’s right, Lukas. You and Tommy will be with Marshal Dakota and his sole objective is to track down Cletus Donovan and bring him back into the fold.”

“Dead or alive, right?” Rob asked.

Dickface Morrison made a face at Rob. “As US Marshals, we always strive to bring our fugitives in to face justice, not mete out justice ourselves.”

I looked at Rob, and we understood each other—that fucker’s as good as dead.

“We’ll get ‘er done, boss,” I said. “I figure Crazy Kenny will be with Cletus, wherever he is. He’s on our list, too?”

Blacky grinned. “Sure is.”

We left the meeting and headed for home.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

Farrell dropped Lukas at our Aunt Gail’s house, then headed east again and dropped us off at my gate.

“You comin’ in, Farrell?” I asked.

He seemed weirded out by my question. “Nah, you boys need to sleep. I’ll catch up with y’all later.”

And he left.

The night was bright and perfect.

“I like your farm,” Rob glanced around taking it all in.

“A little one. Forty acres with a big barn. Mostly horse farms out this way. Big quarter horse ranch next to my place. I used to date the girl who owns it, but she cheated on me.”

“Happens.”

“Happen to you?”

“Yep. More than once. Grace cheated on me and we’re done now. Never should’ve given it a second try. Just shows what an idiot I am.”

“You trusted her. That’s the thing. Got kids?”

“Yep. Joey is my boy. Can’t believe he’s a teenager now, and I have a little girl. Karen Hayes is five years old.”

“My kids are small too. They were four last month.”

“Twins?”

“Nope. Lincoln is my son. Simka is adopted. I blew up a terrorist camp in Iran a while ago and according to the satellite pics there were no civilians near the compound.”

“But there were,” said Rob.

“The drone dropped the rain when I was ready, and the camp blew. The baby came flying through the air strapped to her mother and landed in the sand not far from me. I never told anybody how I got her.”

“Mother was dead?”

“Hell, yeah. I cut Simka away from her mother and ran with her out of the hot zone. Shit was falling all over us from the bombs. When I finally got to our base in Afghanistan with her, one of the Marines helped me get some stuff for her.”

“You got a wife?”

“Not at the moment. Just a nanny. Simka is tiny but we love her a lot.”

“I can’t wait to see your family.”

Rob stopped at the gate, and I punched in the code.

“Good security. I should beef mine up.”

“You’ve got someone watching your kids?”

“Frankie is at home. He’s like my kid. About the same age as you. I found him in San Antonio, and he’s been with me for years. He runs my welding shop and his wife, Dani, takes care of the kids. We live on a river, so we fish a lot.”

“Fishing sounds nice and relaxing.”

Rob and I walked up onto the porch hauling our gear and I could hear Alfie going batshit on the other side of the door.

Ellis opened the door and hugged me. “Farrell said you were coming home.”

“This is Marshal Rob Dakota, Ellis.”

“Happy to meet you, Marshal. Please come in.”

“Daddy.” The kids hollered when they saw me.

Kids and dogs mobbed me, and we had a hug fest. “I missed you guys so much. Say hi to Rob.”

“Hi, Rob,” said Lincoln. Simka pulled back a little and just smiled.

“Interesting dog.”

“Got him in Afghanistan. He used to ride with the Taliban.” I pointed to the sofa. “Sit and I’ll get us a couple of beers.”

Alfie ran straight to Rob, and I could tell he was good with dogs. “You got dogs?”

“Redbones. Four or five at last count.”

We talked for a half hour before we both started to crash. I put the kids to bed and showed Rob his room.

The search for Cletus would start in the morning.

Chapter Eighteen

Saturday, May 17th.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

I came downstairs to get my chores out of the way before Rob and me started the day. Poured me a coffee and headed toward the door when I heard quiet chatter, then giggles.

Giggles?

Stepped onto the porch, and there was Ellis and Rob, havin’ a coffee and a good ole’ chat. Wouldn’t think much of it, but I could tell Ellis was into him, somethin’ fierce.

Not my place to judge, but we had stuff to do to get ready for the day.

“Mornin’, y’all. Goin’ to do my chores. Wanna tag along, Rob?”

Ellis cast me a quick look, decided not to say what was gonna fly out of her mouth and instead she asked, “What would you like for breakfast? Anything special?”

“Isn’t it pancake day?” I asked.

“Right,” Ellis said with a chuckle. “I forgot what day it was.”

“Will we be expecting anyone else this morning, Ellis?”

Her expression changed too many times to count, and I realized I was missing somethin’.

“No, just us today. I’ll get going on breakfast.”

With a sharp whistle, I called Alfie, who came bounding from somewhere past the barn, runnin’ like a fool, ears back and tongue lolling out.

Alfie tore around us a few times before falling into line at my side. He gave Rob a few morning licks as well.

“Your barn full?”

“No. One horse and the two sheep are in the pen outside. Not much work at all.”

Rob walked with me to the barn, and we talked about the trip to find Cletus.

“What are you supposed to do with him when you find him?” I asked.

“I only have one purpose, Tommy.”

“I get it. You got a list?”

“I do.”

“Me too.”

Rob and me were walking back from the barn when Farrell pulled up to the gate. I was expecting him to punch in the code and come in, but he sat at the gate, waving.

“What the fuck, Farrell? You havin’ a brain fart and forgot the new code?”

He looked down at the dirt, then back up at me. “I’m the reason the code was changed, Tommy. I thought you knew already.”

My gut twisted. “What the fuck did you do?”

Farrell sighed. “I fucked up. I was feeling left out of everything, so when Ellis wouldn’t tell me where you were, I asked the kids. Simka told me.”

My first thought was to shoot him in the face. But I’d grown.

“You figured it was better to jeopardize the safety of my family to satisfy your fuckin’ curiosity than just to be an adult and mind your business?”

“That’s just it, Tommy. There was no figuring. No thought went into it at all. I was stupid and thoughtless, and I’m really sorry.”

I looked at Rob, who shrugged. “He’s your fuckin’ kin. Your call.”

I punched in the code and Farrell drove through.

The kids were devouring their kid-sized pancakes. They were covered in butter and in syrup, and Rob enjoying every second of watching them get all sticky. Obvious he was missing his own little girl.

Ellis was polite but standoffish with Farrell. Surprisingly, Farrell was very respectful of her, and didn’t push like he usually did. 

Rob and me were shoveling in pancakes and sausages, talking about how long it would take to catch up to Cletus, when out of the blue, Farrell butted in. “I think I’ll come with you guys.”

“Don’t you already have a list with six cons on it that Blacky gave you?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I’d rather be on Cletus. Haven’t seen him in years.”

“I don’t remember ever seeing him,” I said. “I was a little kid last time he was around our family.”

“Guess I remember him better than you.”

“Guess so, but Lukas is on our team. You’ll have to let Blacky know if you ain’t on the team you’re supposed to be on.”

“I don’t have to do shit, Tommy. Blacky don’t tell me what to do any more than you do.” Farrell was on his feet hollering, “I run the squad, and I can do whatever the hell I want.”

Farrell’s shouting scared Simka and she started to cry. I reached over and lifted her out of her highchair and into my lap. “Sure. Do what you want, but don’t be yelling in my kitchen and scaring my kids.”

“I’d like to see you try to stop me, Tommy. No matter how much training you’ve had, you can’t take me.”

Farrell lunged towards me and Simka and I didn’t see Rob move, he was so fuckin’ fast.

Rob swung his cane and swept Farrell’s leg, and he crashed to the floor beside the table. He scrambled up from the floor cursing.

“I think this has gone far enough, Farrell,” said Ellis. “You are officially banned from pancake day from here on in.” She pointed at the door.

“This ain’t over, Tommy.”

“No, it ain’t, but it’s over for today.”

Farrell slammed his hat on his head and stomped out the door.

“What’s wrong with him, Ellis?”

“He’s been like this ever since you left a couple of weeks ago. Mad about something but not saying what it is.”

“As long as he ain’t coming with us. We have to work. There won’t be time for fighting.”

“We should hit the road,” said Rob. “Thank you for breakfast. You’re an excellent cook.”

Ellis smiled. “Thank you, Rob.”

Vipond Residence. Foggy Bottom. D.C.

8:00 a.m. DC Time

Saturday was Ben’s day to sleep late and catch up on things around the house, then do a little work in the afternoon if time permitted.

Those weren’t his plans for this Saturday.

He hadn’t slept more than a few hours since the abduction. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Yvonne being ripped out of the car, kicking and screaming in complete terror.

As Director of the CIA, he was supposed to see these things coming. That was his job. But he never saw this—never imagined anyone getting that close to her.

Today, Ben planned to spend the entire day at the hospital with Yvonne. He didn’t care what the president thought. He’d take the heat later if it meant sitting beside her now.

Let the entire world speculate. The media freaks could go fuck themselves. Besides, the press didn’t know anything about them being a couple in secret, and he figured he could visit her just like any other friend or colleague. In her position, she had hundreds of both.

Private Residence. White House. D.C.

8:00 a.m. D.C. Time.

As soon as he woke, the president called the hospital and spoke to Yvonne’s doctor. “This is President Armstrong. Has there been any change?” he asked, voice still thick from sleep.

“Please hold for Doctor Hammond, sir,” said a nurse.

When Doctor Hammond spoke, his tone was cautious. “The drugs are tapering off, and her vitals are getting stronger. If she’s going to wake up, it could be today. Maybe tomorrow.”

“If?” Lee repeated.

There was a pause. “Yes, sir. I’m hopeful. But this was a cocktail designed to erase memory, to break people. We don’t know the long-term effects yet.”

Lee ended the call and stared at the ceiling for a long moment, his chest tight. How could he possibly finish his term without Yvonne by his side?

He made several more calls, and by the time he reached the dining room, his eggs were cold and his bacon brittle. He didn’t touch the fruit. The paper was a blur of headlines, none of which mattered as much as the hospital room just across town.

He sipped his second cup of coffee and stared out the window at the South Lawn. Clear skies. A calm morning. And yet, something in his gut twisted.

It felt like the eye of a storm.

After another glance at his untouched plate, Lee pushed back from the table and made his way to the Treaty Room.

We have to send a powerful message to the Iranians. Enough is enough. I’d love to send Tommy to blow up the Ayatollah but that wouldn’t be the diplomatic approach.

Treaty Room. White House. D.C.

8:30 a.m. D.C. Time.

Jesse Quantrall, the Secretary of State, was already there, his briefcase open and a file thick with photos and intercepted comms.

“Cyrus is still in the brig,” Jesse said as Lee entered. “But he’s not talking. Not to us, at least. I hear Ben Vipond might have taken a run at him, but there are no interrogation notes to corroborate.”

“He’ll talk,” Lee muttered, sitting down.

Jesse waited a beat, then said, “The Iranians are already spinning it as an unlawful detention. Their foreign ministry is calling it a ‘kidnapping.’”

Lee’s jaw tightened. “They sent a billionaire spy to kidnap my vice president from U.S. soil. That’s not diplomacy. That’s war by another name.”

Jesse opened another folder—satellite images, financial trails, hotel logs, burner phones. “We need to decide our next move. Something sharp. Calculated.”

Lee’s eyes stayed locked on a grainy image of Cyrus boarding a Gulfstream. “I want them to feel this. Not tomorrow. Not after we argue it out on the Sunday talk shows. Now.”

“I take it you’re not looking for more sanctions?”

“We’re past sanctions, Jesse. I want to send a message. Something they’ll feel in their bones.” He leaned in. “Hell, I’d send Tommy myself to blow up the Ayatollah’s palace if I thought we could get away with it.”

Jesse didn’t smile.

Lee sat back, fists clenched. “But we can’t. So we’ll play the game. Until the game’s no longer winnable.”

Silence stretched between them.

Jesse closed the folder slowly. “This isn’t over, Lee. You know that, right? Cyrus was just one head on the hydra.”

Lee nodded grimly. “Then we burn the whole monster to the ground.”

Cherrywood. Austin. Texas.

10:00 a.m. Texas Time.

Lukas rocked slowly on the front porch drinking his coffee, when we drove down Aunt Gail’s street. Seeing us pull in, he left his coffee mug on the railing and loaded his gear into my truck.

Aunt Gail stepped out onto the porch to say goodbye, like always. “Lukas was saying that dirty bugger, Cletus, is finally out of jail,” she screwed her face up tight. “Nothin’ but a festering boil on the backside of society. Surprised no one killed him in prison.”

“How well did you know him, Aunt Gail?”

“All the girls were crazy about Cletus,” Aunt Gail muttered, eyes distant. “But there was always something about him that made my neck prickle. Like he was born with venom in his veins. He was a badass biker. Rode with the Devils back then. Moved to San Angelo and lived in a trailer park with another guy, but I can’t think of his name. When I knew him, he dated a girl named Bobby-Jo Brennan. Cute girl. Red hair.”

“Good information. Maybe we can find a current address for her.”

“I found one last night,” Lukas said.

Aunt Gail stepped back from the truck and waved. “Good luck, boys. Round that bastard up and get ‘em back behind bars. Better for the rest of us. Stay safe.”

I drove, Rob rode shotgun, and Lukas sat in the back seat with his laptop, tellin’ us intel as we went along. I brought Alfie along because he was still the best-damned alarm system when I was tryin’ to get some sleep. Nothin’ got by him.

And he was in full gear, so he was in heaven.

“Cletus’s file has a list of old known associates from twenty years ago. I’ve been digging into that and found a guy who lives in Eldorado now. Just south of Pecan Creek.”

“Eldorado ain’t that far south of the park. We used to run down there all the time to the roadhouse. Forget the name of it.”

“The old buddy got a name?” asked Rob.

“Roland Ralston. He’s done some time. Nickel and dime stuff, but the interesting thing is, Ralston has a son who belongs to the White Trash on the outside, Cardy Ralston.”

“He might be a good source if he’s a member of the White Trash. All the members should know where their leader is or where he’s headed.”

“Sounds like we’ve got a list of shit to check out, guys.”

“Definitely something we can work with,” said Rob. “Making good progress.”

George Washington University Hospital. D.C.

10:45 a.m. D.C. Time.

Ben Vipond stepped off the elevator with a bouquet of white lilies clutched awkwardly in his hand and a pit in his stomach that wouldn’t go away. He saw Yvonne’s friend, Roy, trying to get in to see her, but it was still too early for regular visiting hours.

Unless you were CIA.

Ben flashed his credentials. “Nurse, I realize there are rules, but this is the best friend of the vice president and Mister Chet Kamps. They’re a team, and it might do them both good to hear his voice.”

The nurse relented. “Fine. Five minutes with each patient, but you’ll have to be escorted. Wait there until I can find a nurse to walk with you.”

  Roy gave Ben a hug. “Thank you. I was beside myself. I had no idea what to do.”

Ben returned the hug. “It’ll do both of them good to hear your voice. I hope yours is the voice that pulls them both out of this nightmare.”

The Secret Service agent stationed outside Yvonne’s door nodded once and opened it for him without a word. Ben didn’t speak either. He couldn’t. His voice was lodged somewhere behind the lump in his throat.

The room was warm and quiet, with soft beeping from machines and filtered sunlight through half-drawn blinds. Yvonne lay still in the center of the room—too still. Tubes ran from her arm, her cheek was pale against the sterile pillow, and even her hair, usually flawless, looked lifeless.

Ben walked to the side of the bed and set the flowers down on the table next to her chart. He didn’t know why he brought them—it wasn’t like she could see them yet.

He took the seat beside her and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt,” he said, his voice raw. “Not you.”

He brushed the hair from her face as his gaze swept across her features—the strong jaw, the faint crease in her brow, even in sleep. She looked like she was fighting something. Maybe she still was.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” he whispered. “Hell, I always see it coming. I chase shadows for a living. But you... I never saw them getting to you. I’m so sorry.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t cried since his father died. He came close now.

“I told myself it was safer not to say anything. You have your job, and I have mine. We both serve something bigger. But I was wrong. I should’ve said something. A long time ago.”

Ben reached out, brushing her hand gently with his fingers, almost afraid to touch her. He swallowed hard. “You know what they say about spies, right? That we can never let anyone in. That we’re too wrapped up in secrets and lies to have anything real.”

He gave a weak laugh. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.”

Silence.

Ben sat with her, his hand still on hers, long after the minute hand on the wall clock completed another circuit.

Finally, he leaned in close, his voice low and hoarse. “Come back, Yvonne. Not for the job. Not for the country. Come back for me.”

Roy stood, frustrated, at the nurses’ station. They refused to let him in to see his friends. He was about to cry when a soft voice beside him made him jump.

Ben Vipond.

Ben flashed his badge, and just like that, Roy had access to see both Kamps and Yvonne. Roy gave him a hug and noticed the tears forming in Ben’s eyes as a nurse approached and gestured for him to follow.

He was allowed into the ICU for five minutes, and by a stroke of luck, Chet’s surgeon was checking up on him.

“How’s he doing, Doctor?” Roy asked.

The surgeon turned and scowled at Roy, then the nurse. “He still hasn’t regained consciousness, but we did get the bullet out of his chest. His chances for recovery are slim, but the fact that he made it through the surgery is a good sign. He’s a fighter, and that’s what you have to hold on to.”

The doctor left, and Roy went to Kamps’s bedside, tears falling freely down his cheeks. He whispered encouragement to his best friend as he held his hand.

The nurse escort checked her watch. “Your time is up here, sir. We need to move to the vice president now.”

“I’ll be back, Chet,” Roy whispered as he left the ICU.

They took the elevator to Yvonne’s floor, and as they exited, someone barked, “Hold the elevator,” so Roy put his hand on the door.

Several media people had leached onto the vice president’s floor and were being aggressively corralled into the waiting elevator by the Secret Service, who were not respecting personal boundaries.

Understandable, Roy thought. After all that Vonnie had been through, no one was taking any chances.

As they approached Vonnie’s door, Ben Vipond came out.

He chuckled, but it was clear he had been crying. “Can’t hog her all day, can I, Roy?”

They hugged again.

“Bring her back to us,” Ben said as he abruptly turned and walked away.

Roy stepped softly into the room behind the nurse, his throat tightening the moment he laid eyes on Yvonne.

Yvonne looked almost peaceful beneath the hospital blankets, her skin pale against the warmth of the lighting, but the wires and monitors stole any illusion of rest. The soft hiss of oxygen and the rhythmic beep of the monitors were the only sounds between them.

Roy had never seen her like this. She was indomitable—always the steel spine in the room. But now she lay still and silent, as though held together by faith and wires.

He approached slowly, almost reverently, his voice trembling. “Hey, Vonnie. It’s Roy. You look... better than I expected, but I know you hate hospital gowns.” He let out a short, shaky laugh. “I’m not gonna stay long. I know Ben just poured his heart out in here, and I don’t think I could top what he had to say if I tried.”

He knelt beside the bed and took her hand—cold, but not lifeless. He squeezed it gently. “You’ve always been the strongest of us. Always. So don’t let this beat you, okay? You’ve got a country to run. And I’ve got way too many dumb jokes to tell you before you go back to yelling at us.”

Her fingers didn’t move. Her breath was shallow, measured.

Roy bit his lip and pressed his forehead lightly to her hand. “Come back, Vonnie. Please.”

The nurse’s gentle hand touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, sir. We have to let her rest now.”

Roy nodded, blinking quickly, then stood.

But just as they reached the door, a faint change in pitch from the monitor made him glance back.

The nurse turned too—and gasped.

Yvonne’s fingers twitched.

Then, slowly, her eyes fluttered open.

She blinked against the light, confused. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Then again—dry, cracked, but unmistakable:

“Roy?”

Roy ran back to her side, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I’m here, Yvonne. I’m right here.”

The nurse hit the emergency button, calling for doctors. Feet thundered down the hallway.

Roy leaned close, brushing her hair back. “You came back.”

Yvonne struggled to speak. “Ben... is he okay?”

Roy nodded fiercely. “He’s here. He never left your side.”

Her lips trembled as her eyes slid closed again, exhaustion pulling her back under—but not all the way. Not this time.

The room burst into organized chaos as doctors flooded in, voices barking, stats called out, and machines being adjusted. But Roy stepped back, a hand to his mouth, shaking with relief.

Yvonne was alive.

The storm wasn’t over yet.

The vice president was still in the fight.

Sundown Motel. Eldorado. Texas.

Took us more than five fuckin’ hours to drive out to Eldorado, south of San Angelo. Not many places to stay in Eldorado, Texas, because nobody wanted to be in a shitty place like this.

Not even the people who lived there.

I pulled into the Sundown Motel. It was an old, ‘L’ shaped building. It was probably white when they built it fifty years ago, but now the walls looked like a smoker’s house after a lifetime of Marlboros.

Not a single vehicle in the parking lot, but there was a neon sign flickering ‘vacancy’ in the window.

No kidding.

The lady takin’ my money looked out the big window in front, watching Lukas give Alfie some exercise.

“No dogs,” she said.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” I replied. “We’re your only fuckin’ customers.”

She scowled, then huffed. “Fine. A hundred bucks more, and if he shits or tears somethin’ up, you’re paying to re-do the entire room.”

“Done,” I said.

I paid for the ‘VIP suite,’ which gave us two double beds, a pull-out couch and a little kitchen where we could make coffee, and I could feed Alfie.

After being away from him for so fuckin’ long in Florida, he wasn’t letting me leave him behind again.

We settled into our room, and I fed Alfie. Took him for a run around the motel parking lot.

When I got back, Rob and Lukas were ready to get some food and a couple of beers.

“Everybody we’d be interested in will be at the local roadhouse,” said Rob. “Maybe they’ve got decent food.”

I shrugged. “Never ate there, but I guess I’m about to.”

“I could eat the asshole out of a dead skunk,” mumbled Lukas.

Stubborn Mule Roadhouse. Eldorado.

Saturday night at The Stubborn Mule crackled with energy. The band on stage was loud, raw, and good—real good. Cowboys packed the dance floor with girls on their hips and beer in their fists, dancing like the world might end come sunrise.

Not much else to do in towns like this after dark. I knew the rhythm of nights like this—the tension under the surface, the chance that something might snap loose.

We waited on a table, stomachs growling and nerves twitching. The place filled up fast, and the noise was swelling. Rob gave us the nod.

“Mingle. Find Cardy Ralston.”

Lukas and I split up. He scanned the room, already keying on a guy near the back corner. “According to the intel I read,” he muttered, “that guy in the back snapback is Cardy’s right-hand man. Chad, I think.”

“Good place as any to start asking questions.”

Two of the local girls were friendly, Daisy and Paula, and I thought I might have gone to grade school with Daisy. She looked different now—all grown up and pretty—but I was fairly sure it was the same girl.

“Y’all know my sister, Becky Lynne Donovan?”

“I know her,” said Paula. “Went to high school with her on the bus.”

“What do you do now, Tommy? You got a job?”

“I’m a singer.”

“Like a rock star?” Daisy held onto her strawberry daquiri like it was solid gold.

“Kind of like that on a low level—like the level where nobody ever heard of me.”

“You should sing with the band.”

“Can’t. I don’t know nobody in the band.”

“I do. My brother is on drums and it’s his band. I’m gonna ask him if you can sing.”

Before I could say anything, she ran to the stage.

Lukas leaned in and whispered. “You sing and distract the crowd while Rob and I haul Chad out back and brace him.”

“Uh huh. I’ll have to get my guitar out of the truck.”

“Get it,” snapped Lukas, hooking a thumb over his shoulder for me to get moving.

I ran out to the parking lot, grabbed my guitar case from under the tonneau cover and ran back inside through the rear entrance.

Daisy was waving to me from the side of the stage where she was talking to the drummer—said he was her brother.

I glanced around to see if Lukas and Rob had Chad and didn’t see them anywhere.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” said the drummer.

“Oh, sorry.”

“You any good?”

“Not bad. Working on my second CD.”

“What kind of stuff do you sing? Hope it ain’t that new country shit.”

“Umm…southern rock and Fogarty and some old stuff. Texas Tornados and like that.”

“Joe Ely’s stuff. You know West Texas Waltz?”

“Yep.”

“Had a request for it and none of us knows all those goddamned words.”

“Yeah, lot of words in that one. I know them.”

“Get up there then. What’s your name?”

“Tommy Donovan.”

“You kin to Becky Lynne?”

“She’s my sister.”

“I’m Ray. She mention me?”

“Might have.”

Lie.

“Huh. Ain’t seen you around here before.”

“Visiting.”

“Get plugged in and Jamie will announce you.”

I got set up and the lead guitar guy, Jamie, took the mic and announced a guest singer for the West Texas Waltz.

A lot of hooting and hollering and I figured the crowd had been hanging for a waltz for a good while.

I belted out the second chorus and happened to see Lukas encouraging Chad towards the door with Rob right behind them.

The dance floor was packed, and all the drunk and happy people were singing along. They knew the words even if the band didn’t. When it came time for the last verse, they were singing fuckin’ loud.

They stopped and clapped for me when the song was over and yelled for another one of Joe Ely’s songs. I glanced back at Ray, and he gave me the nod.

Jamie leaned in close and said, “We know Who Were you Thinking Of. You know that one?”

“Yep.”

“Go for it.”

That was a fast song, and I got to play some good stuff on my guitar. I wanted my guest appearance to be over so I could see what was going on in the parking lot.

“Sing another one, Tommy.”

Jeeze, they know my name.

Jamie stepped up to the mic. “Tommy is gonna sing one more and then we’re on break for a few minutes.” He leaned into me and asked, “Do you know Mendocino?”

“Yep.”

“Let ‘er fly.”

I belted out the song and then the band went on break. I set my guitar down and ran outside to see what Lukas and Rob were doing with Cardy Ralston’s best buddy.

I couldn’t see them until my eyes adjusted to the dark. The back lot was pitch black. There were no security lights, just a low chorus of crickets and the muffled bass from inside. I scanned the area, my heart thudding.

In the shadows beyond the parked trucks, I spotted them. Rob crouched beside Chad, talking low. Lukas stood nearby, smoking, eyes scanning for threats.

Chad nodded slowly, spitting blood as the words came out of him like they’d been stuck for years. Rob said something, released him, and the man slumped to the dirt like a popped balloon.

“We good?” I asked, stepping closer.

“He talked,” Rob said. “We know where Cardy is.”

“I gotta grab my guitar,” I muttered.

Lukas gave me a ghost of a grin. “Crowd like you?”

I snorted. “Pretty sure I’m famous now.”

Sundown Motel. Eldorado. Texas.

Alfie was bouncing off the walls when we got back to the motel. I snapped his leash on and took him for a run around the perimeter, hoping he’d burn off some of that energy.

Partway through our third lap, he stopped cold. Growling, ears back, eyes locked on something down the road.

That’s when I heard it.

A low rumble—steady, heavy, and full of trouble. Not traffic. Not thunder.

Engines. Big ones. Angry.

Harleys.

I turned and sprinted for the room, yanked the door open, and shoved Alfie inside. “We got company. Get your guns.”

Lukas and Rob were already moving. Lukas racked his Sig like he’d been waiting for this all day. Rob twirled his knife and limped forward, calm as a priest at a funeral. I grabbed my Desert Eagle, chambered a round, and unclipped Alfie’s leash. My dog was pacing by the door, teeth bared like he wanted first blood.

Seven Harleys screamed into the lot like a goddamn cavalry charge. Chrome flashing, engines howling. The whole place lit up with headlights and exhaust smoke. The bikers fanned out in front of our room like a firing squad forming ranks.

Cardy Ralston was in the middle, all cocky swagger and greasy hair. “Hear you boys are lookin’ for me.”

“I’d say that’s accurate,” I replied.

He grinned. “Well, my boys are gonna teach you to shut your goddamn mouths.”

One of them dropped his kickstand, stepped off his hog, and cracked his knuckles like it was a damn movie scene.

I shot him in the gut before he got a word out.

He screamed and dropped, grabbing his stomach, rolling on the asphalt like a burning log.

Then the parking lot exploded.

One biker pulled a sidearm and fired. Missed wide, hit the motel ice machine. Rob surged forward and buried his blade into the shooter’s forearm. Blood arced, and the man went down screaming.

Another one tried to flank Lukas—stupid move. Lukas spun, double-tapped him in the thigh and shoulder. The guy went down hard, howling in pain, trying to crawl behind his bike.

Alfie bolted, teeth flashing. He latched onto one biker’s ankle and pulled him straight off his Harley. The man shrieked, trying to kick free, but Alfie held on, snarling like a demon.

The rest hesitated. Guns were still up, but their bravado had shattered like safety glass.

Rob dropped to one knee, blade at another man’s throat. “Try it,” he said, voice like dry ice. “See how it ends.”

Cardy’s hands went up, sweat pouring down his temples now. “Okay. Okay.”

He was in a more talkative mood after losing that round.

“Where’s Cletus?” Lukas had his gun pushed against Cardy’s head.

“He’s with my old man.”

“And where’s that, Ralston?”

“Don’t know the details, but we’ve got to be in Sonora tomorrow.”

“Where in Sonora?” Lukas pressed the barrel of his gun into Cardy’s temple with considerable force.

“Don’t say nothing,” said one of Cardy’s playmates. “He’s all bullshit. He ain’t gonna shoot you.”

Bang.

I fired the Desert Eagle into that fucker’s heavy thigh, and he blew sideways. Tipped over with his Fat Boy on top of him. He screamed like a Banshee and none of his buddies lifted a finger to help him.

“Where in Sonora?” Lukas repeated the question.

“At the rodeo.”

“Gracias, Amigo.”

Everything went still. The remaining bikers kept their hands where we could see them. One whimpered. Another pissed himself.

I whistled once. Alfie returned to my side, jaws slick with blood and foam, his chest rising and falling with pride.

Rob wiped his blade on a vest and said quietly, “You come at us again? Next time, we won’t be so fuckin’ gentle.”

I holstered the Desert Eagle.

“Let’s go,” Lukas said.

And we walked back toward the room like the fight hadn’t even happened—just another Saturday night in West Texas.

Now we had a location.

Chapter Nineteen

Sunday, May 18th.

Sundown Motel. Eldorado. Texas.

We were up as the sun broke the horizon, loading gear for the ride to Sonora. I’d called home to check on the kids—just needed to hear their voices.

Being away from my family gnawed at me more every time I left.

Ellis picked up on the second ring. As usual, she sounded calm, steady, and in control.

“All good here,” she said. “But fair warning—Farrell’s still talking about joining y’all in Eldorado. Good thing you never told him where you’re headed. Otherwise, you’d have that boy showing up with a duffel bag and a chip on his shoulder.”

I sighed. “Jesus. He still thinkin’ we’re keeping secrets from him?”

“Worse. He mentioned going to Austin. I got the feeling he might pressure your Aunt Gail.”

My back stiffened. “That’s low. Aunt Gail don’t know shit about our missions. I figured he’d learned after the last stunt. First, he corners you and the kids. Now Aunt Gail?”

“He can’t help himself, Tommy. He’s looking for a crack in the door. He wants to feel like he belongs, and he’s wanted. And he’s going to fight to get it.”

I looked over at the truck. Lukas was already loading up while Rob was still on the phone by the bumper. Alfie paced near the gear pile, ears twitching.

“We’re heading out soon. Rob’s just finishing his call to his family.”

“You always call just before you disappear again, so I figured it might be a ‘thing’ your kind does.”

Ellis was always so perceptive.

“I’ll check in tonight. Thanks, Ellis.”

Rob ended his call and glanced over. “Ellis doing okay?”

I nodded. “She thinks Farrell might be headed this way.”

Rob grimaced. “Shit. Your cousin’s a hothead.”

“He’ll be okay…if he finds us. Maybe he won’t.”

Lukas rolled his eyes. “Let’s go find coffee and breakfast. I don’t want to think about Farrell butting into our op on an empty stomach.”

My stomach was growling too. I picked up Alfie’s bowls and hauled my gear to the truck.

Farrell was out there. I could feel him.

George Washington University Hospital. D.C.

During his early morning rounds, Yvonne’s doctor reviewed her chart and nodded his head as if he liked what he was seeing. “The drugs have cleared from your system, and I believe you’re ready to be released this morning, young lady.”

“That’s fantastic news, Doctor. Before I leave the hospital, I’d like to see my men, wherever they are. Could you arrange for me to visit with them for a few minutes?”

“Certainly. I’ll have an orderly show you where they are, Madam Vice President.”

“Thank you so much. Everyone has been wonderful to me during my stay here.”

“The entire staff is happy to see you’ve recovered. They’ve all been rooting for you. Your watchdogs are right by your side. They’re waiting outside your door.”

“My chief watchdog is in the ICU. He took a bullet for me, and I can’t leave without seeing him. That is a debt that can never be repaid.”

The elevator ride down to the ICU felt slower than usual. Each floor ticked by like a clock counting out regrets. She fought to stay composed, but her chest tightened with each passing second. Her mind filled with the image of Chet collapsing in the back seat, of Jerry screaming for help, of gunshots echoing inside the SUV.

The ICU ward was dim and quiet. She was wheeled into a room where Jerry and Chet lay at opposite ends, both in silence.

Chet was closest to the door. Unmoving. Still unconscious.

He never woke up after the surgery.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The doctor had said he should wake soon—but his voice hadn’t sounded certain. She could still hear that subtle hesitation buried within his bedside optimism. She was a master at verbal subtleties, and she hated feeling that rot in her gut, that cold fear that he wasn’t telling her everything.

She turned toward Jerry.

He opened his eyes and turned his head as she approached, managing a weak but genuine smile.

“Madam Vice President,” he said, his voice scratchy but strong. “Glad to see you up and about.”

She took his hand and squeezed it, grateful for the steadiness of his grip. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live. Won’t be running marathons anytime soon, but I’m on the mend.” He grinned. “How about you?”

“The doctor said I might get released today.”

“That’s great news,” he replied with genuine enthusiasm.

Yvonne’s eyes drifted toward Chet’s bed again. “I ... I feel awful. You and Chet—shot because of me.”

Jerry’s voice turned serious. “Stop that right now. You didn’t pull the trigger. It was the terrorists. You were the target, sure—but don’t twist that into guilt you don’t deserve.”

Yvonne swallowed hard. But it was her fault. At least, it felt that way. She was the one who antagonized the Iranians. Who killed their last puppet and tossed his corpse at their doorstep. Looking back, she was practically begging them to come after her.

Jerry squeezed her hand again. “I’ll be out of here soon. I’ve had worse, believe it or not.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” She smiled through the ache building in her chest. “Get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow.”

“I’d appreciate that,” he spoke with a familiar warmth. “But don’t worry. I’ll be back at your side in no time, Madam Vice President.”

Yvonne chuckled faintly and let go of his hand, but the smile didn’t last long.

Yvonne was being pushed out of the ICU towards the elevator when Roy arrived to see Chet.

“Yvonne, you’re down here.”

“I can go home, honey.” She held out her arms for Roy to lean down and hug her. “You have your visit with Chet, and I’ll see you at home.”

“It’s lonely there for Punkin and me without you and Chet. Is he awake?”

Yvonne teared up and reached into her purse for a tissue. “No, he’s not. But he will wake up, Roy. I promise you that.”

They both knew it was a promise she couldn’t keep.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

The ride home felt like a dream wrapped in armor-plated steel. Yvonne sat in the back of The Beast, her Secret Service detail packed in around her, silent but vigilant.

They were taking no chances.

She had spent days in a sterile hospital room, tethered to machines. When she regained consciousness their beeps and chirps were her only company. Now, the sunlight streaming through the windows washed over her like Divine Grace.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back.

I’m alive. I’m going home. I didn’t die at the hands of terrorists.

It was a thought she’d circled every hour since she’d woken up — but now, riding toward familiar ground, it finally felt real.

Later, coffee in hand, she settled into a patio chair by the pool. The sun was warm on her face, the air sweet with the scent of flowers. Her body ached in strange places, but it was good pain — a healing pain. One that she embraced because she was on the other side of the ordeal.

She took a slow sip.

This is peace. This is the part you never get to keep for long.

“Got room for one more?”

Her heart stuttered.

She knew that silk-and-gravel rasp that haunted her late-night thoughts and left her questioning she—as a woman—ended and duty began.

Ben stood just inside the patio door, sharp in his tailored suit, sunglasses catching the light. He raised both hands like a man surrendering to fate.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, Army. But right now I don’t care. There’s nothing more important to me than seeing you.”

Yvonne blinked against the sun — or maybe the sudden sting in her eyes.

For a heartbeat, she didn’t answer. She just watched him, the man who’d held her hand through so much chaos and kissed her like their souls connected.

Why does he always know when I need him most?

She gestured to the empty chair beside her. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. This makes my day perfect. I’m out of the hospital. The sun feels like a blessing. And now you’re here, sitting beside me.” She smiled, soft and a little broken. “What more could a girl ask for?”

Ben returned the smile and pulled his chair close, just enough that their knees nearly touched.

“I’m glad, too, and now that I see you here, recuperating in the sunlight, I know what I’m about to say is true. You need to avoid the stress of the White House,” he said. “Ease back into it. Give it a week. Maybe more. You’ve been through so much, and I worry.”

“I might,” she said, nodding. “I feel fine sitting down, but I’m still wobbly on my feet.”

Her fingers twitched, brushing the hem of her robe. She hadn’t told anyone how her knees buckled that morning when she stood for the first time. Or how she still heard the gunfire in her dreams, the feeling of that bag slipping over her head, again and again until she woke up in a cold sweat.

Ben leaned in slightly. “You don’t need to rush back to work. The country can wait. Lee can weather the storm on his own for a while.”

Yvonne looked at him — really looked. At the man behind the title. The man who saw her, not just her rank or title.

She rested her hand on his. “Will you stay for lunch?” she asked, the question gentler than it needed to be. “I want to spend as much time as I can with you.”

Ben answered with a grin. “I can easily be coerced into a free lunch with a beautiful woman. Doesn’t take much persuading.”

She chuckled and reached for her phone. “I’ll let Maisie know we’re having company.”

But her heart was already whispering something else entirely:

Don’t leave. Not yet. Not again.

Sonora Fairgrounds. Sonora. Texas.

The tires hummed on the blacktop, steady and hypnotic. Midday sun poured through the windshield like molten brass, turning the cab into a low-grade oven. Lukas cracked the window and wiped the back of his neck with his shirt while Alfie enjoyed the breeze from his window.

We were three hours into a heat-induced stupor when Lukas broke the silence.

“Why the fuck would Cletus risk showing up at the goddamn fairgrounds? He just finished his twenty and is too smart to risk goin’ back in. Seems like small potatoes—pickin’ pockets between corndogs and Ferris wheels.”

“They might be after the gate receipts,” I said. “Lot of cash movin’ through there.”

Rob, riding shotgun, shook his head. “Lukas is right. Cletus did his twenty and wouldn’t risk his freedom for a couple of bucks. He didn’t walk outta Huntsville just to flash his face at the prize pig contest.”

“What else can it be? Why the fairgrounds? Got any ideas, Rob?”

“The Trash might be using the crowd as a cover for a drug deal, but then again, why do it in a crowd when they could do the same thing at night behind their motel?”

“Could be the guy planning this ain’t too bright,” said Lukas.

“That describes Crazy Kenny,” said Rob. “A few of his brain cells are on vacay.”

“He’s definitely a few fries short of a Happy Meal,” I added my opinion.

We pulled into the packed field alongside fairgoers’ trucks, SUVs, and beaters held together with duct tape and rust. The air smelled like dust, engine oil, and fried food. Country music blared from scattered speakers and echoed across the fields.

I put Alfie’s gear on. He was gonna be hot, but I wasn’t about to leave him in the truck, so he had to look official.

And we promptly got stopped at the gate.

“Sorry, Mister. No dogs allowed except service dogs.”

I had planned for this. I flashed my U.S. Marshal badge and stepped close. “We’re on the hunt for fugitives, and he’s part of the team. He should be treated as a federal marshal when he’s in uniform.”

Billy Bob looked at my badge again, then took a look at Alfie’s gear. He shrugged. “Go get ‘em, Marshals.”

Wearing our comms, we did a three-pronged search of the buildings: midway, rodeo arena, exhibition halls.

After an hour, Lukas spotted them first. His voice crackled through comms, low and tight.

“Beer tent. North side. They’re here.”

The beer tent was a beast. Big enough to hold four hundred people, packed shoulder-to-shoulder. The heat inside was worse than outside—no breeze, just body heat and the stench of spilled Shiners, sweat, and stale cigarettes.

Hillbilly heaven.

A three-piece band rattled through an off-key cover of Copperhead Road. Steve Earle would’ve cringed.

The drummer was a half-second behind, and the lead singer — a local girl in cutoff jeans and boots — had a voice like gravel soaked in honey.

Didn’t matter what she sounded like, the crowd was drunk enough to cheer for anything.

Drunk locals milled around, shouting over the music and cheering their Red Solo Cups every five seconds. Shirts were soaked through with sweat or drenched in spilled beer. Boots caked in dust. Every table had half-filled pitchers of warm beer and at least one guy trying to pick a fight or pick up a date — sometimes at the same time.

We caught up to Lukas and he had a table for us.

Me and Alfie sat on the end. From here, we had eyes on Cletus, Crazy Kenny, and about half a dozen of the White Trash boys, pounding beers and yelling every time a song finished.

Couldn’t move yet.

So many civilians in the tent, we couldn’t risk taking Cletus down inside. Rob waved to one of the servers wearing short shorts and a Sonora Rodeo T-shirt and ordered us a round.

We pretended we belonged. Laughing and singing with the other folks at our table. But every muscle in my body was coiled. One wrong move and this tent would turn into a slaughterhouse.

Keep breathing. Stay loose. Eyes up.

During our time in the beer tent, three bands rotated every couple of hours. None of them were super good but the one had that decent girl singer. Probably local low-budget entertainment the town of Sonora could afford.

Cletus looked over his shoulder a bit too often, always smiling in our direction but never making eye contact. Not sure if he made us or if he was just enjoying being free.

We drank slow, and each of us watched a different corner. I clocked exits and eyeballed weapons. Most everyone here was packing—it was the way of things in most of Texas, and that was fine. My focus was on the White Trash gang.

Two had Glocks tucked into their hairy ass cracks. Two more had mystery bulges. Best guess—Sig Sauers. Another had a hunting knife on his belt loop.

Old Cletus? Just a big silver belt buckle and a laugh like a braying mule.

Band number two came on—louder, worse, maybe angrier. That’s when Cletus pushed back from his table. He held onto the edge for balance, swaying like a tree in a storm.

“He’s moving,” Lukas said in my ear.

Rob white-knuckled his cane as he watched.

Cletus staggered toward the exit, laughing as he shoved past a guy in overalls and a foam cowboy hat.

Funny—Cletus didn’t walk like a drunk man. He walked like a guy pretending to be one.

Crazy Kenny and two others peeled off right behind them—protection, I guess, while Cletus took a piss.

Cletus glanced our way again.

Rob followed him, calm as a Sunday stroll, leaning on his cane like he had all the time in the world. Me, Lukas and Alfie trailed behind, lookin’ casual.

As casual as two guys with a dog decked out in battle gear could look.

Cletus had to be our priority as the leader of White Trash. Rob was point. We were back up. Once Cletus was out of the way, we could move on Crazy Kenny and the rest of the dumb fucks.

Outside, the light hit hard. Took me a few for my eyes to adjust. We kept moving and quickly found them.

Rob trailed Cletus to the row of porta-johns out by the field. Cletus picked door number three.

Rob parked himself just outside, lit a smoke, and casually leaned on his cane as if he wasn’t two seconds from cracking someone’s skull open.

We stood a way off, waiting.

The door opened and Cletus strolled out with a big grin on his face. He nodded in Rob’s direction and said, “Nice to have an escort to the pisser, Marshal. Makes me feel loved.”

Rob ignored him.

I leaned close to Lukas. “You see Kenny anywhere?”

“Lost him. Don’t worry. We’ll find him again.”

Three loud bursts comin’ from the front gate cracked through the fairgrounds like firecrackers.

Then the sound of a hand cannon cranking off a few more shots.

Then silence.

Too quiet.

“Found them,” I said.

Cletus grinned at Rob. “Wasn’t me,” he said with a slimy grin.

“Go,” Rob said. “I’ve got this.”

We sprinted toward the main entrance, boots hammering the packed dirt between rides and booths. Past kids clutching cotton candy, past a guy selling belt buckles shaped like longhorn skulls.

Chaos met us at the gate.

There was a mess of people staring down.

“Texas Rangers, comin’ through,” Lukas shouted as we pushed past sweaty bodies.

We burst through to the main attraction.

Two uniformed guards from Citibank were lying dead in the dirt and there was no sign of their armored truck. That baby was long gone along with the money.

Just like that.

“Fuck me,” Lukas muttered. “They took the whole truck.”

Alfie growled, and people backed away.

“Hey, Ranger,” someone said. “Jeb got one of the bad guys. Shot his face clean off.”

We followed where he pointed to a smaller group standing ten feet away, around another corpse.

The guy was right.

Jeb shot his face clean off.

What a fuckin’ mess.

I asked an elderly man holding a Ruger Super Blackhawk .44 magnum—Jeb, I guessed—what he saw.

He described Crazy Kenny and the White Trash members we saw at the beer tent.

I looked at Lukas.

“We can’t chase it,” I said. “Not yet. We can’t leave Rob without backup.”

“Rob,” I said into the comm, “what’s your plan with Cletus?”

“Got him in custody. This has his fingerprints all over it. A few Trash members circling about. Wouldn’t mind some backup. And some wheels.”

Lukas looked toward the field. “I’ll get them. You find us wheels.”

I bolted.

In the parking field, I found a ten-year-old Chevy pickup. Covered in dust and mud. The hood popped easy. Hotwired it with shaking hands, heart hammering like the bass drum from inside the tent.

Lukas came back with Rob and Cletus in tow.

Cletus was smirking. “You boys can’t touch me. I ain’t done nothing and you can be sure I’m gonna sue your asses right into the fuckin’ dirt.”

“I don’t give a shit what you’re gonna do, Uncle Cletus. Rob’s got your future mapped out for you. See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.”

Cletus glared at me like he didn’t have a clue who I was. He wouldn’t know Lukas. Never seen him before but he might think Lukas was Lincoln. No idea what the fucker was thinking. Reminded me too much of Jett and how much I hated that dumb fucker.

Rob shoved Cletus into the Chevy. “Got some things to do. I’ll catch up with y’all.”

In a cloud of dust, he was gone.

Me and Lukas took off in my truck not sure which way to go. “Give me your best guess—other than south of the border. That one is old. Too predictable.”

“Okay.” Lukas yanked his bandana off, wiped his face and tied his long hair back. “I’m betting on the old trailer where Cardy’s father’s friend lives.”

“Pecan Creek. That’s a stretch, bro. What makes you think they’ll go there?”

“Just do. Cardy never said a word about his old man or where he was when he was telling us other stuff last night.”

“You’re right. Cardy never mentioned his father who is Cletus’ best bud. Let’s try it. While we’re in the trailer park if it’s a wash, we can always visit our sister.”

“We should do that anyway, Tommy. We never get to see her or the kids. We’re her kin.”

Funny to hear Lukas say that because when we first found him dealing drugs behind the KFC in Austin, he didn’t want to be kin to none of us.

Now, he was ridin’ shotgun with me and talking about our sister. The world’s a funny place when the blood starts spilling.

Pecan Creek Trailer Park. Texas.

We did a casual drive-by on Mitch Hadden’s trailer when we got to the trailer park. His trailer looked like every other—sagging front porch, rust-streaked siding and a broken screen door that wouldn’t keep a drunk mosquito out.

Mitch was marked as a ‘known associate’ for Cletus and Rolly Ralston back in the day. Even though it was twenty years ago, some of those relationships never died.

“Couple of bikes here but no armored truck.”

“Hard to miss something that big.”

“We’ll wait until dark and take a closer look, Lukas. We’ll hang at Becky Lynne’s until then.”

“Can we see this trailer from there?”

“Let’s go find out.”

“We definitely need to. Don’t want to let anything get by us.” I cranked the wheel and drove around the curved dirt road to our sister’s trailer and parked out front. Her white van was there along with an economy SUV I didn’t recognize. That gave me pause.

No knock.

Alfie growled once, low and uncertain. Then he settled.

I walked in with Lukas behind me and gave her a shout out. “Me, Becky. Me and Lukas are here for a visit.”

She came running towards the front door to hug us and not far behind her was Ray, the drummer, wearing only boxers. He was grinning like he’d won the prize pig contest.

Becky hugged us tight, then knelt to scratch Alfie’s ears. Ray tried to do the same, but Alfie backed up. Just stared.

“Hey, Ray. Got any beer? Or maybe pants?”

He guffawed. Didn’t seem to give a fuck he was half-naked.

It was hot as fuckin’ hell anyway. Mid-May. No need for extra clothes, I guess.

“Well, lookie here. If it ain’t Tommy Donovan, rockstar. I was telling Beck you was singing for me at the roadhouse, and she figured I was shooting her a line of shit.” He laughed.

Becky rolled her eyes. “No shit? You sang?”

“I did. And you missed it.”

“You know I bought your CD, right?”

“Girl, you’re always welcome at my gigs.”

She smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes.

We followed Ray into the kitchen—at least I did. Lukas was peering out the front window at Mitch Hadden’s trailer near the bush.

“You guys on the trail of bad guys?” asked Becky Lynn. “That’s the only time you ever come to visit me and the kids.”

“Ouch. Did you have to say something hurtful, Beck?”

“I did because I deserve to see my brothers more than once in blue moon.”

Ray nodded like everything my sister said was the gospel. That guy was a goner over Becky Lynne.

“Who you looking for, Tommy? And don’t lie and pretend y’all came here for a visit.”

“We’re watching Mitch Hadden,” I said. “Maybe Rolly. Need a word with one or both.”

Becky’s whole posture changed. Just like that.

She stiffened. Eyes narrowed.

“Why do you wanna talk to that pervert?”

My gut clenched. “Which one’s the pervert, Becks?”

“Mitch.” She hesitated. Looked at Alfie. Then the floor. Then back at me. Her voice dropped.

“Before Rob and Perry got themselves killed, Mitch and Rolly were renting our old trailer from me. They were dealing out of it. San Angelo mostly. Then they got paranoid. Mitch wanted protection. So he stole Diesel and Dozer.”

I blinked. “You told me they ran off.”

“I lied.”

She looked away, jaw trembling.

“I went to ask for our dogs back. He laughed at me. Called me a stupid little bitch. Then he pulled me inside and tried to rape me. Beat the hell outta me when I tried to get away.”

She touched her cheek—a ghost memory.

Her voice cracked. “That’s why I fuckin’ hate him.”

Lukas wasn’t by the window anymore.

He was listenin’. And growling.

Quiet and deadly. Like smoke off a hot barrel.

My heart dropped.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, voice thick.

She didn’t answer. Just looked at me like I was a stranger who should’ve already known.

“I saved up to buy those dogs. Beat the crap outta Rob and Perry for calling ‘em theirs. And you didn’t say a word?”

Becky put her hands on her hips. “Well then, Tommy Donovan. Go get your goddamn dogs back, from that thieving rapist bastard.”

The door slammed.

I turned — Lukas was already down the steps, eating up ground like a man with blood in his eyes.

Jesus Christ.

I dropped to a crouch beside Alfie. “Stay with Becky. Watch her close.”

Ray’s voice followed me as I bolted after Lukas. “I think you set your brothers off, Beck.”

“Mitch broke two big rules. Don’t fuck with another man’s family and never steal his fuckin’ dogs.”

Hadden Residence. Pecan Creek Trailer Park.

We fishtailed around the curve in a spray of dirt and busted beer cans. Lukas barely missed a rusted-out tractor tire as he yanked the truck into Mitch Hadden’s rutted driveway. Carport sagged like it was giving up on life, and a skeleton of an old Trans Am sat half-swallowed by weeds.

His door was open before the truck stopped rolling. “I’ll take the back,” Lukas growled, and he was gone before I could reply — boots pounding gravel like gunfire.

Front or back didn’t matter to me. Mitch was gettin’ what was comin’ either way.

Inside, dogs were barking.

Not just any dogs.

My dogs.

I felt my blood spike.

No knock.

I took three fast steps and buried my boot in the door—the frame cracked, and the door blew open like it owed me money.

Dozer and Diesel hit me like a freight train. At first, they were barking. Once they smelled me, they began crying and licking my face like they thought I’d died.

I dropped to my knees and held them tight, eyes stinging. I didn’t realize I missed them this much.

Lukas came in hollering from the back of the trailer, “Move.”

He barreled through the kitchen, gun raised, herding Mitch Hadden in like a wild hog.

The place stank — sweat, burnt plastic, wet carpet, meth and rot. Flies buzzed near an overflowing ashtray. Dirty dishes were stacked like cars in a junkyard, piled out of the sink.

“What do you boys want? I didn’t do nothing to y’all.”

Lukas slammed the door shut with his boot. “Fuckin’ right, you did. You stole my brother’s dogs, and you tried to rape our little sister.”

Mitch opened his mouth. I didn’t wait. It was gonna be a string of lies anyway.

Bang. Bang.

The shots thundered through the trailer like a pipe bomb.

Mitch dropped with a howl, clutching his crotch, screaming bloody murder as his legs flailed.

I took a breath. “First one was for Becky. The second for my dogs.”

He rolled side to side on the floor, shrieking like a dying coyote. Blood pooled beneath him on the yellowed linoleum as it drenched his jeans.

The dogs backed off, growling low.

Rob’s voice echoed in my head: clean shots, clean conscience.

I holstered the Eagle.

“What the fuck?” Mitch shrieked.

“Aiding and abetting fugitives from the Huntsville prison break. You’re under arrest. Cuff him, Lukas.”

“I ain’t aided nobody,” hollered Mitch.

“Pre-aided. They’ll be here soon and then you’ll be aiding.”

“Aiding and abetting up until you bleed out and you’re dead,” said Lukas. He pushed Mitch up against the wall and did a quick search of the filthy, stinking trailer. Found enough meth and fent to bring Mitch in as a trafficker. Good enough.

“Call an ambulance for me,” whimpered Mitch. “You can’t let me die. I’ve got rights.”

“You been watching the wrong TV shows, Mitch. This ain’t Law and Order. This here is brotherly justice.” I smacked him hard across the face with the butt of the Desert Eagle and that opened up a whole new can of injuries.

He covered his face with his hands and begged me not to hit him again. “Why not? You pick on little girls and try to rape them. Why shouldn’t I beat the snot out of you?”

“I’m sorry I touched Becky. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You shouldn’t have stolen my dogs either,” I hollered down at him. I yanked him up by the collar and slammed him into the wall so hard the paneling cracked.

“Where’s the armored truck?”

His busted lips worked for a second before words stumbled out. “R-Rolly’s place. In Eldorado. Cardy’s cutting him in. They’re hiding the truck there.”

I stared into his one good eye.

“Thanks, Mitch.”

“Where’s my ambulance?”

“On its way,” I called over my shoulder as I ran to the truck with my dogs.

Ralston Residence. Eldorado.

Lukas drove south, dust swirling in our wake, while I tried to get my breathing under control.

Alfie rode shotgun while I sat in the back with Diesel and Dozer. They didn’t kill each other when we introduced them at Beck’s place, maybe because they could smell me on Alfie. Whatever. I had no time for a dog fight.

Had one of my own comin’.

My hands were still twitching from the Mitch takedown — part adrenaline, part rage, part goddamn relief at having Dozer and Diesel back.

I leaned back, my heart pounding like a sledgehammer against my ribs.

What the fuck does an infarction feel like, anyway?

“I should’ve grabbed their food,” I muttered. “Didn’t think of it.”

“It’s just fuckin’ dog food, bro,” Lukas said, eyes forward, voice flat. “We’ll get more in Eldorado. Focus on the mission. Call Rob. Warn him. If the White Trash are in town, they’ll be sniffing for Cletus.”

I cleared my head. “Copy that.”

I hit the call. Gave Rob the short version. His voice was calm, but tight.

“I’ll be watchful,” he said.

Watchful, he said. Right.

One man.

One cane.

One curved knife.

And probably a dozen White Trash boys out for blood.

No amount of ‘watchful’ will help.

That’s a fuckin’ suicide note with a signature on it.

We coasted past Rolly Ralston’s trailer without slowing down. Didn’t need to. The picture painted itself.

The commercial-grade garage door was down on his driving shed.

Big enough to hide an armored truck.

A dozen bikes lined the driveway like a biker funeral procession. Three pickups were parked on the brown front lawn.

No movement. No smoke. Just heatwaves rising off metal and dust spinning in lazy circles.

The place looked like it was holding its breath, waiting.

“Gonna need more people,” Lukas said, deadpan.

“Yep.”

My eyes scanned the porch, the windows, and the tree line.

Didn’t see a soul.

Didn’t like that.

“Head back to the motel,” I said. “We gotta gear up and pull in anyone we can find. Plan this right.”

“This ain’t a bust,” Lukas said. “It’s an exorcism.”

I nodded, already hearing the weight of the plan stacking up in my skull—weapons, angles, fallback points. We weren’t walking into a fair fight.

We were walking into a war.

Sunrise Motel. Eldorado.

Cletus’ right wrist was chained to the bed when Rob ducked into the bathroom to relieve himself. He heard the rumble outside and figured he was in for trouble, not that he didn’t expect the White Trash to come looking for their illustrious leader.

He did.

Six of them rumbling closer.

Incredible odds for one lame badass.

First things first.

He flicked off the lights and moved fast, the shadows swallowing him. He slid the window open and tested the screen. Loose enough to shove out if things went bad — and they would.

“Here comes your White Trash,” he muttered, spinning his karambit knives on his fingers, letting the steel whisper in the dark. “Wonder how this ends, Cletus?”

Cletus grinned, cruel and certain. “With you dead, Marshal.”

Rob didn’t answer. Just stood beside the bed, blades gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

The roar of engines cut out. Boots hitting gravel. Then silence.

Not for long.

The door exploded inward — boom — like a shotgun blast. A massive boot had done the job. Splinters rained across the carpet.

Six men surged into the room. Shadows of muscle and rage. Two had knives, one had a crowbar, and another had bolt cutters. But they hesitated — just for a second — when they saw Rob, silhouetted, standing over Cletus in the dark.

He ended that hesitation fast.

Ignoring the pain in his damaged leg, Rob dove at Cletus. With the tip of his curved blade, he gouged out Cletus’ left eye and flipped it off the tip of the blade towards the guys swarming the room.

“Had to leave my mark.” He growled, “You’re mine, Cletus.”

 Cletus screamed, high and piercing, like an animal in agony. Blood sprayed as he writhed on the bed, clawing at his face.

His men froze. Just long enough to realize they’d been challenged.

Then chaos.

They didn’t shoot. They couldn’t. Killing a U.S. Marshal would be suicide for the entire gang. But beating him bloody? That was just good old-fashioned revenge.

Two moved toward their leader.

Four stayed behind to send that message.

The first one lunged.

Rob sidestepped and dipped, slashing across the man’s inner thigh, opening the femoral artery. The biker collapsed instantly, screaming, blood gushing in bursts that painted the motel walls red.

The second came in swinging a crowbar. Rob ducked under the arc and sank the karambit into his wrist, twisting then yanking back hard.

Steel severed tendons with a wet snap. The crowbar hit the floor. The man screamed and cradled his limp arm.

Number three grabbed Rob from behind. They crashed into the wall, drywall caving under the impact. Rob elbowed him in the gut, then headbutted him hard enough to split skin.

But the fourth? He was the real problem.

He came in fast and hard. Landed a punch to Rob’s ribs—something crunched. Rob stumbled and tried to suck in air as his vision flashed white. Pain screamed up his side.

Then came the boot — square in the gut. Rob flew backward, hit the dresser, and collapsed, winded and bleeding. The world spun.

Rob wheezed, struggling to stand.

He was cornered. He had dropped a knife. No time to reach it. One of them drew a pistol — not pointed, just shown.

Threat made.

Rob dove. Not at them.

Out the window.

The screen collapsed like paper. He landed hard in the dirt and broken bottles outside, rolled twice, and crawled fast through the gravel, blood trailing behind him like a fuse.

He made it behind the dumpster and collapsed, chest heaving, eyes on the flickering motel neon.

Inside, the White Trash boys freed their screaming leader, dragged Cletus out, and roared away on their bikes — six engines screaming into the dark.

Ten minutes too late, I pulled up with Lukas and the dogs, gravel crunching under our tires.

The place looked quiet.

Too quiet.

Our door was splintered and hanging open. I went in first, gun drawn. Blood everywhere.

No sign of Rob.

Fuck.

One biker down. He bled out on the floor, his face twisted in agony. Another was in shock, twitching with a nearly severed wrist. Lukas swept the room, his face stone.

“Where’s Rob?” he muttered.

A low whistle drew our eyes to the back lot.

Rob.

He was dragging himself out from behind the dumpster, one arm barely working, ribs clearly broken. Blood on his face, in his hair, staining his jeans dark around the thigh.

We rushed out to help. Dozer and Diesel sprinted to him while Alfie stayed beside me.

Rob grinned through the pain, but he was a mess.

“They took Cletus?” Lukas asked the obvious question.

“Let him go with one eye short,” mumbled Rob. “So he’d remember me.”

“That will remind him you’re coming for him,” I said. “You need a clinic?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Could use a cold beer, though and a decent fuckin’ steak.”

The motel owner pitched a fit about the door, then the dead body, then the mess and finally the dogs — now three of them. But we were her only guests, and I paid her off with two hundred in cash and another fifty for the door.

She took my Agency card like it was diseased.

“Contact them for any reimbursement you might need,” I said as she handed me our new key.

I handed Rob a cold beer and set him down gently on the cleanest chair we could find.

War was comin’.

But tonight, he had survived.

Barely.

Chapter Twenty

Monday, May 19th.

Sunrise Motel. Eldorado.

The sun was peeking through the window when we all started movin’. Lukas helped me get the dogs out to pee before we fed them.

Rob was a starfish on his bed, barely able to move. He took some kind of beatin’ last night, and it takes a special kind of man to be able to keep goin’ the next morning when your whole body stiffens up in protest.

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill Cletus when you had him alone,” I said. “Figured we’d come back from the trailer park and find him bagged and tagged.”

Rob’s voice was low, flat. “Couldn’t. Knew his boys were coming. If I killed him, they’d kill me. They won’t shoot a U.S. Marshal unless they’re provoked. That’s why we gotta take ‘em all down at once.”

“So you get to kill Cletus,” Lukas said.

“Exactly.”

Rob groaned on the bed, every joint in his body creaking like a bad floorboard. Diesel and Dozer climbed up and curled around him like he was theirs now. “I see you picked up souvenirs. Snow globes don’t bite or shed, you know. Way easier. Nice dogs, though,” he added, like it physically pained him to give the compliment.

“Thanks. Got ‘em as pups. Dozer’s the one with the bigger head. Diesel has more white on his muzzle.”

“Enough about the dogs.” Lukas leaned forward. “You got a plan?”

“Yeah,” Rob sighed. “Kill Cletus.”

“Good plan,” Lukas said. “Simple. To the point.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket. “I’ll call Blacky with an update.”

“I’ll drive us back to that diner,” Lukas said, standing. “Could kill for a steak.”

That’s when the dogs snapped alert — low growls, teeth bared, bodies stiff.

Everyone reached for a weapon.

Lukas cracked the door with his SIG tight in hand, peeked, and then rolled his eyes. “You’re some kind of Ranger, Farrell. Took you long enough to track us down. Where the fuck were you looking?”

Farrell gave Lukas the finger, walked to the fridge and helped himself to a beer.

“Nobody invited you in,” I said.

“Lukas opened the door for me. That was my invitation.”

“Blacky say you could come here?”

“Fuck him. He don’t tell me what to do.”

“He’s your boss, asshole.”

I watched him — bloodshot eyes, stubble like he hadn’t slept in two days. His jaw was clenched, but his hands shook just slightly as he lifted the bottle again.

“We all got a job to do, Farrell. You’re supposed to be with a team.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m about done taking orders from anybody. I’m my own boss from here on in.”

“Who’s paying you?” asked Lukas.

“I just started my own bounty hunting business. Free country. I’ll earn my way.”

“Sure. Good luck with that, cuz.”

Farrell chugged half his beer and patted Dozer on the head. “How’d you get the dogs back?”

“Not hard to get them back once I knew who stole them. Mitch Hadden took them from Rob and Perry.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Beck knew where they were.”

“And she didn’t tell you?”

“She was scared of Hadden. He tried to rape her when she went to his trailer to get the dogs.”

“I’ll kill him for that,” snapped Farrell.

“Already did.”

He nodded.

“We’re going to the diner for breakfast,” I said. “As long as you’re here, you might as well be useful.”

Farrell grinned. “Might as well.” He pointed at Rob and that was a mistake. “You should go to a clinic.”

“Fuck off, asshole.”

Rob’s wrist snapped and he threw a blade I hadn’t seen before. With a whispering sound, it cut through the air and razored a swath of Farrell’s hair off as it whipped by close to his head. It dug into the wall on the opposite side of the room with a thunk.

Farrell turned and stared at Rob, a cross between amazement and admiration on his face, then turned for the door. “I’ll wait outside.”

The door closed behind him.

“Poor bastard’s unspooling,” Lukas said quietly.

“Yeah,” I said. “But he’s still kin.”

Rob didn’t say anything. He just laid back down on the clean bed, hand resting on his side like he was holding himself together through sheer will.

The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

Blacky opened the front door of his home to Marshal Miles Morrison. They shook hands and Blacky said, “Come in. The offices are this way.”

They moved through the cool interior of the old Victorian until they reached Blacky’s suite — polished floors, leather chairs, framed commendations. A place built to look calm. Like its owner.

“Coffee or a turnover?” Blacky asked, already pouring his own.

Morrison gave a tight smile and patted his stomach. “No thanks. Been running hot on caffeine since six a.m.”

“Can’t blame you. I lose count after noon most days.”

They both chuckled, but it didn’t reach their eyes.

Blacky took a slow sip, then set the cup down and leaned forward.

“So. How’s the hunt on your end, Marshal?”

 “Still a mess,” Morrison said, glancing out the window as if fugitives might be watching from the hedgerow. “We lost one of our own yesterday—ambush outside Ozona. We still have a dozen unaccounted for, but we have decent leads on at least eight. It’s a matter of narrowing the grid without getting anyone else killed.”

Blacky nodded once, eyes sharp now. “Sorry to hear about your loss. It’s always tough. One of my teams is working on Cletus and Crazy Kenny. Kenny’s with some of the boys who hit the fairgrounds. They’re coiled up tight, but they’ll move soon.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Morrison said. “McAllen’s on alert — got the border checkpoints watching for ’em. Real shitshow.”

“Better on this side of the fence than over it. My boys are running south of San Angelo now. Line on the truck and the cash. We’ll get there.”

Blacky’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen, cracked a grin, and put it on speaker.

“Looks like we’ve got a timely update.”

“Morning, boss,” Tommy’s voice was dry as ever.

“Morning, Tommy. I’ve got Marshal Morrison with me. We were just discussing the manhunt. What’s the situation on your end?”

“It’s a fuckin’ shitshow, but we expected that. This place is lousy with White Trash pukes. Some are escapees, and some are free-range. Hard to tell who’s supposed to be breathing and who ain’t.”

Morrison arched a brow.

“Got a list of who ain’t caught yet? At our next little skirmish maybe I can do a roll call and get a show of hands.”

“Funny, Tommy.”

“No, it ain’t, boss. We got other worries besides those over the fence assholes.”

“Like what other worries?”

“Uncle Cletus ain’t playing nice.”

“Do you have him in custody”

“We did. Had him chained to a bed in a hotel room. But his crew busted in and beat the shit outta Rob. Left him for dead.”

Marshal Morrison piped in. “Is Marshal Dakota okay? Did you get him to a hospital?”

Tommy chuckled. “Rob won’t go to no hospital while Cletus is still out there. Besides, Rob carved his eye out so he wouldn’t forget us anytime soon. They’ve got unfinished business.”

Morrison leaned forward. “And has Marshal Dakota recovered?”

“Barely. He dragged himself out from behind a dumpster with one arm twenty minutes later. Busted ribs. Knife wounds. But he’s still breathing, somehow. Canadians are fuckin’ tough.”

Blacky breathed out slowly. “You have a line on the money from Sonora?”

“Working it. Rolly Ralston’s place, Eldorado. Big crew. Probably gonna go hot.”

“You got back up?”

“Funny you ask. Farrell showed up this morning.”

Blacky’s jaw tightened. “Did you send for him?”

“Nope. Did you send him?”

“No.”

A long pause.

“But he’s here, ain’t he.” Tommy said. “He’s twitchy, but he’s ours. Might as well point him at the enemy.”

“You heading into something dangerous?”

“Always.”

Krystal’s Diner. Eldorado.

As soon as we grabbed seats, our server hustled over with hot coffee, and it was just what I needed to take a couple of Advil. My head hadn’t been too bad, but today it was no fuckin’ picnic.

Lukas gave me his medical stare. “You dizzy?”

“Not bad.”

“You don’t drive today.”

“Copy.”

Farrell wasn’t saying much. Kept his blue ones on the plastic menu and wouldn’t look at Rob who was hunkered down in the corner of our booth in his own pile of pain.

Black and blue face and one eye completely swollen shut. Cut lip and blood crusted around his mouth. Farrell would do well not to agitate Rob, or more than his hair might end up missing.

We ordered, and while we waited for our food, we listened to the locals talking at the tables on either side of us to catch the latest gossip. Somebody in this off-the-beaten-path town might know where the bank robbers went.

People liked to know stuff, even if it was none of their goddamned business. Got them into trouble lots of times.

Susie, our server, brought our food and set our plates down with a big smile on her face. More than twice she glanced at Rob with a sad look in her eye, but she didn’t ask any questions.

Lukas was pissed Farrell had shown up. He wasn’t particularly fond of our cousin, but he kept quiet while we ate and let the fury boil up inside him like he was so good at doing.

Farrell minded his own and we got through breakfast without having to bust his fuckin’ head.

We left the diner with no blood on the tile.

Ralston Residence. Eldorado.

After breakfast at the diner we cruised through the backstreets of Eldorado past the Ralston place to see if there was any early morning action.

According to what we’d heard from Mitch Hadden, the armored truck was supposed to be in Rolly Ralston’s garage, but with the door down, we couldn’t confirm it.

“Pull over, Lukas. Let’s see if the truck is in the garage and we’ll bag any fugitives on the list while we’re here. I need to wrap this up and get on home to my kids.”

Lukas parked on the road in front of the white bungalow and Farrell pulled in behind us.

“Only four bikes here this morning,” said Rob. His mouth was swollen like somebody hit him in the face with a cinder block. His words came out sideways and sounded funny. I didn’t laugh.

“Why don’t you stay in the truck while we take a look? We find Cletus, we’ll keep him on ice for you. We’ll brace old man Ralston and find out where the fun crowd took off to. Be right back.”

Rob nodded, leaned back and closed his eyes.

“I’ll take the front,” Farrell said. “They don’t know me. You and Lukas take the back.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. Confident. Direct. Like he was part of this. Lukas gave a nod. “Fair.”

We circled around, boots crunching through gravel as we moved past the side of the garage. I peered through a grime-covered window—and there it was.

“Truck’s still here. We’re in business.”

Wasn’t even nine in the morning so everybody in the house could be sleeping. That would be a fuckin’ bonus.

Me and Lukas stood at the back door and waited until we heard Farrell holler at the front. Back door wasn’t locked. No need to break the fucker down.

Farrell gave a shout out and that was our clue to clear the house from back to front.

We stepped inside.

The heat was thick. Smelled like fried eggs, sour sweat, old beer, and week-old rotting garbage. The floor was sticky. Light filtered through yellowed blinds in dusty shafts.

Somebody in the kitchen. Two voices. Maybe more.

Lukas signaled—two fingers toward the hallway.

Bedroom. 

Two White Trash boys sprawled out in the back room, passed out and snoring through hangovers. Lukas nodded. He had them.

I headed back toward the kitchen.

Waited.

Rolly Ralston’s shout came fast and angry as he saw me, “Who the fuck are you?”

I stepped into the kitchen. Rolly stood barefoot in a pair of grease-stained boxers, frying eggs on a cracked skillet. Five o’clock shadow on his face and skull. Face like a pissed-off possum.

“Get the hell outta my house,” he snapped.

“Where’s Cardy?” Lukas asked from behind me.

“Ain’t here.”

“Did he take Cletus somewhere?” Lukas pressed.

Rolly turned and spat eggshell into the sink. “Who the fuck’s asking?”

I didn’t bother answering.

I drove my fist into his face.

Rolly dropped to his knees, blood dripping from his nose like someone turned on a faucet.

That’s when everything snapped.

One of the guys at the kitchen table lunged—hand to his waistband.

Farrell didn’t hesitate.

Bang.

The guy’s chest exploded. He slammed into the cabinet behind him and slid down, a smear of blood trailing with him.

The second man froze, hands up.

Farrell moved fast—gun still up, voice steady. “Down. On the floor.”

The ganger complied. Farrell cuffed him while Lukas hauled in the two half-conscious thugs from the bedroom.

Four in custody. One dead.

I crouched by Rolly, who was groaning and clutching his face. “Tell us where they are—Cardy, Cletus, Crazy Kenny. That’s all we want. Tell us, and we walk out.”

Rolly sneered. “Cardy’s a good boy.”

“You don’t want to die for ‘good boys,’ Rolly. They’re not worth it.”

He looked at the bloodied body in his kitchen. Then at Lukas. Then at Farrell, calm and standing tall with his boot on a cuffed man’s back.

He got the message.

Not as stupid as he looked, Rolly saw the odds tilting in our direction and said, “They headed for Sonora.”

“Appreciate it, Mister Ralston. You have a nice day now.”

Farrell checked IDs while Lukas and I secured weapons. One of the cuffed guys and the dead one were on the list. The other two were known associates. Small fish with long rap sheets.

I slapped Farrell lightly on the shoulder. “Good shooting. Clean and fast.”

He grinned. “Thanks, cuz. Want me to run these guys to the local lock-up and catch up after?”

“Good call,” I said. “We’ll keep you in the loop where we’re goin’.”

“Two down,” Farrell grinned. “Ten more to go.”

Outside, a handful of locals were already wandering toward the gunshot. Half-dressed, coffee mugs in hand, curiosity stronger than sense.

Gunfire does that.

Sirens approaching.

“I’ll square things with the yokels,” Farrell said. “Get movin’. I’ll catch up.”

He didn’t say it, but it was written all over his face — he needed this. To feel useful. To feel like kin.

I nodded—and my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Becky Lynne.

I answered fast. “Becks?”

She was whispering, but the panic cut right through the line. “Tommy. There’s a fuck ton of bikers at Mitch Hadden’s trailer. I’m in the back room, and I’m scared shitless.”

My stomach dropped. “How many, Becks?”

“I’m not fuckin’ counting, Tommy. You need to get your ass over here.”

“Lock the doors. Stay away from the windows. We’re five minutes out.”

“Hurry.”

“We’re comin’. I swear.”

I shoved the phone back in my pocket.

“What’s up?” Lukas asked, already starting the truck.

“Trouble at Becky’s,” I growled. “Whole pack of White Trash just rolled up on Hadden’s trailer.”

Lukas’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. “Fuck. We’re gonna need backup.”

“On it.”

He hit the gas, and we burned rubber out of Eldorado. Gravel spat behind us like sparks off a fuse.

Hadden Residence. Pecan Creek Trailer Park.

I was already on the horn with the National Guard in San Angelo before we left the park. Blacky had given me their direct emergency contact. This wasn’t just a favor call — this was a full-blown red flag.

Their commander didn’t miss a beat.

“We’ve been on standby for this exact situation, Marshal Donovan. Troops will be rolling within minutes.”

Good.

We parked half a block down from Mitch Hadden’s old place, staying low behind our trucks. The air was thick with dust and tension. We could see the bikes lined up outside, engines cooling. Bikers lounged on the porch, armed and cocky, like the world wasn’t closing in.

Didn’t stay quiet long.

Three tarped trucks and two support choppers came screaming in from the northwest, barreling toward the trailer park in a tight formation. The roar of rotors shook the dust from the trees. Locals came out of their homes, staring wide-eyed from doorways.

The trucks screeched to a halt near the property. Soldiers in full combat gear poured out in a choreographed wave—rifles up, barking commands, surrounding the house with ruthless precision.

I stepped forward and flashed my badge to the lieutenant in charge. “Marshal Donovan. That trailer’s packed with fugitives from Huntsville. Too many for us to take on.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Appreciate the call, Marshal. We’ve got it from here.”

The bikers weren’t interested in surrender.

The first shot cracked from inside the trailer—a sharp report that dropped a soldier with a grunt, his shoulder blooming red.

That was the only warning.

Gunfire exploded from the front windows, rapid bursts shattering glass and slamming into squad shields. The soldiers returned fire instantly—suppressing volleys, controlled and precise. Grenades of flashbangs and tear gas followed, tossed through shattered windows and under the trailer’s skirting.

Screams erupted from inside.

Bikers burst out the front door, guns blazing, and ran straight into the crossfire.

One went down immediately, chest punched through by three quick rounds. Another took a bullet to the leg, spun around screaming, then caught a second in the throat.

Chaos.

A third biker charged with a shotgun, firing wildly. A soldier was clipped in the thigh—dropped hard. The soldier behind him leveled a three-round burst into the attacker’s gut. He crumpled like a sack of bricks.

Two dove out a window and tried to make a break for the fields, but the door guns on the support choppers stopped them in their tracks.

The fight lasted maybe two minutes.

It felt like twenty.

When the smoke settled and the last shots rang hollow, the trailer sagged like a wounded animal. Its door hung open. Bullet holes peppered the siding. Bodies littered the dry grass.

Seven bikers down. Three confirmed dead. Two soldiers wounded but alive.

Me, Rob and Lukas moved in as the soldiers cleared the interior.

A soldier emerged from the wreckage, shaking his head. “Trailer’s empty now.”

“Y’all took out the Trash.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

I glanced at Lukas. “No Cletus, Crazy Kenny or Cardy Ralston. Guess Mister Ralston wasn’t lying.”

“You think those three already split for Sonora?” he asked, eyes scanning the road.

“Yeah. Cletus probably needed a hospital after what Rob did to him.”

“And the money?” Lukas asked.

I shook my head. “Not with these guys. You can bet your ass Cletus is keeping it close.”

Rob stepped up beside me, wincing as he moved. “Bet he’s using it as a bargaining chip. Either for a doc, a deal, or a way out of the country.”

“Then we find him,” I said. “And we take him apart.”

Donovan Residence. Pecan Creek Trailer Park.

Before heading to Sonora, we swung by Becky Lynne’s trailer to make sure she was okay. She cracked the door just enough to peek out, then slid the deadbolt back when she saw me.
“Did you call in the fuckin’ National Guard, Tommy?” She squeaked.

“’Course. No one fucks with my sister. Besides, they clean house pretty good.”

Ray, the drummer, was still there—hovering near the kitchen. Shorts on, this time. I was starting to wonder if he lived with my sister, but nobody had seen fit to tell me.

“Y’all come in,” Becky said. “Coffee’s on.”

Her gaze skipped past me and locked on Rob, who looked like he’d been put through a wood chipper. She reached out and took his hand. “Come with me.”

Rob didn’t resist. Let her tow him to the bathroom. She shut the door behind them.

Farrell arrived just then and joined us. We moved into the kitchen.

Dozer and Diesel flopped down near the table like they owned the place. Alfie leaned against my leg. Ray jumped up and pulled mugs from the cupboard like he belonged.

“Where’d Becky go?” he asked.

“She’s in the bathroom with Rob,” I said, helping myself to a seat. “He needs some medical attention. Got worked over pretty good yesterday by the Trash.”

“I don’t think she should be alone with him in there,” Ray muttered.

Lukas snapped a look his way. “He’s a wounded U.S. Marshal. You got a problem with him?”

Ray raised both hands. “I keep forgetting y’all are cops. Beck said her brothers were cops, but I thought maybe that was bullshit.”

“Why would she lie?” Lukas asked, tone sharpening.

“I’m her cousin,” Farrell said, stepping forward like he was claiming his spot in the circle. “Farrell Donovan. Gang cop. Badge and all. The list goes on.”

“Fuck. Guess I shouldn’t be smoking any weed around you guys.”

“You can do what you want in your own house,” I said raising the obvious question. “You live here?”

“I haven’t moved in officially, but I’m close to it.”

“You’re gonna wait until my sister invites you, right?” asked Lukas. Those dark brown eyes boring holes right through the drummer. He wouldn’t be much good with a broken hand.

“Course I will.”

Becky Lynne came out of the bathroom with Rob looking a helluva lot better, his long hair all damp from Beck cleaning up the blood.

“Time for one coffee and then we’re off to Sonora, Beck.” I nodded at Rob, and he grinned.

“Rob said he’s after Uncle Cletus,” said Becky. “Did you see him, Tommy? Does he look like Daddy?”

“He does. Looks just like Jett, the super prick, Beck. Couldn’t tell them apart. We’ll have him by sunset. Pretty sure of it.”

“Will he be going back to Huntsville?” she asked.

“Nope,” said Rob.

George Washington University Hospital. D.C.

Yvonne’s security men delivered her to the front entrance of the hospital, and she only had a few feet to walk to the door. Even that short distance was made nearly impossible to traverse by the horde of media people crushing in around her.

They surged like a wave the moment she stepped from the vehicle, microphones outstretched like weapons, cameras flashing like muzzle flares. Her guards tried to form a buffer, but it wasn’t Jerry Jeff clearing the way — and it wasn’t the same without him. Not even close.

She felt the crowd pressing in, heat and noise on all sides. The weight of their eyes, their questions, their assumptions.

Breathe, Yvonne. You’ve done this before.

But not like this.

Not since the nightmares started.

Not since the attack.

Not since she woke up in a hospital bed and couldn’t remember where she was — or who had survived.

The press wasn’t just a nuisance now. It was a threat. A distraction that could mask the flash of a weapon, the twitch of a hand pulling a detonator.

Just like Tommy always said. She got it now.

Her muscles tightened, her heart hammering in her chest as she pushed forward, her mouth dry, her jaw tight.

By the time she was inside the lobby, it felt like she’d run a mile. She didn’t stop until the elevator doors closed behind her. The world outside muffled. Contained.

Mostly.

The ICU was quieter — clinically cold, but not chaotic. She allowed herself a breath. Just one.

But the fear didn’t leave.

It never did.

Sniper.

Suicide vest.

Kidnap team.

She pictured every possibility. The paranoia had sharp teeth now. It didn’t whisper anymore — it screamed.
And worst of all…it made sense.

Jerry Jeff was sitting up in bed and doing better. Yvonne sat down and chatted with him for a few minutes before she moved on to see if Chet was awake.

He wasn’t.

The nurse said Chet had almost woken up a couple of times but it was best to let him heal.

“He’ll wake up on his own when his body says it’s time, “Ma’am.”

“Thank you. Would you call when that happens?”

“Most certainly.”

Her time was up and as soon as she left the hospital, the press mobbed her again and began pelting her with questions.

“What was your meeting with the director of the CIA about, Madam Vice President? Why did you need to meet with him at your residence? Was it to discuss an emergency situation we’re not aware of?”

One of the agents on her detail opened the back door of the vehicle for her and she climbed in without responding.

They were watching the Residence and saw Ben come to visit me.

Sonora General Hospital.

Rob took over when we got to the hospital and spoke directly to the head administrator. He explained we were US Marshals tracking a fugitive, Cletus Donovan, and wanted to know if he’d been there getting his eye sewn up.

We waited while she looked through reports on her computer, then she left and talked to doctors in the Emergency Room. When she returned, she said, “A man fitting the description was treated for a lost eye this morning.”

“Did he or the people he was with mention where they were going?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know that.” She shook her head. “They were in and out.”

A nurse passing by slowed when she overheard. She paused, then turned. “You’re asking about the guy with the eye injury?”

Rob stepped forward. “Yeah. What do you know?”

She looked around, then lowered her voice. “One of the men with him asked how far it was to Deming. I didn’t think anything of it—figured they were from out of town.”

“Deming,” Rob echoed. “They’re headed west.”

“El Paso or Vegas,” I said. “If he’s smart, he’s laundering that money.”

“Cletus isn’t dumb,” Rob said.

Farrell shifted beside me. “Blacky called and asked me to be the liaison between the Rangers, Marshals and the National Guard. We bagged a lot of baddies today, and we don’t want anyone slipping through the cracks. But I don’t want to leave y’all hangin’, either.”

“You did good, Ranger,” Rob said, “but this ain’t your circus.”

Farrell looked away.  “Kinda feels like it is.”

No one spoke for a beat.

Rob nodded to Farrell — not a thank-you, not approval, but something in between.

Farrell nodded back and was gone.

We moved fast, heading for the truck. Rob winced as he climbed in, pressing a hand to his ribs.

“You good?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

Just looked west and muttered, “We’re close.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Tuesday, May 20th.

West Texas Roundup Motel. El Paso. Texas.

Only the three of us and the dogs made the trip to El Paso. Farrell headed back to Austin with his prisoner, and I was glad of it. Him constantly clashing with Lukas and Rob was bullshit I didn’t need.

He’d been so fuckin’ contrary ever since our big fight about Annie. Ellis noticed it too and her interest in my cousin seemed to be fading.

I needed to concentrate. Get the job done and get home. My head ached and I’d been working too long without a break.

Blacky had been in touch with border patrol and Cletus and his buddies hadn’t tried to cross. That made me think they weren’t going to Mexico at all. They could’ve crossed at least five different places by now and they didn’t.

I took the dogs for a run around the motel and when I got back, Rob and Lukas were ready to go find some breakfast. I fed the dogs and left them in the truck while we ate.

IHOP Restaurant. El Paso.

Inside, the air was warm, too bright, and buzzing with low conversation. A guy in the corner wore mirrored sunglasses and didn’t touch his food. I clocked him without making it obvious. Maybe I was paranoid, maybe not.

It had been a long haul, and maybe I was jumping at shadows.

The waitress was cute and fast, pouring coffee before we even ordered. She smiled politely, glanced at Rob, then moved on. No questions, no hesitation. She had better manners than most.

Rob looked better. Sleep and Becky’s TLC had done the trick. His face was still a mess—deep bruises painting his jaw and temple—but the swelling had eased. He could open both eyes now. Barely.

I leaned in. “Talked to Blacky. Border Patrol says no activity. Cletus and his boys haven’t tried to cross.”

Someone dropped a plate, and we all jumped, reaching for our gun. We exchanged glances and took a collective breath.

Rob nodded slowly. “They’re not going to Mexico. They’ve had time. Five crossings within a couple hours of Eldorado. They skipped all of them.”

“We’re close,” I said. “So where the hell are they going with seven hundred grand?”

Lukas frowned over his mug. “That much?”

I nodded. “A large part from fairground receipts. Tickets to get in, deposits from food vendors and rides—that kind of thing. Blacky confirmed it this morning.”

Lukas tapped the rim of his cup. “If it’s not Mexico, then what’s their play? Vegas?”

“If the money was coming straight from ticket sales at the fair then the bills ain’t marked,” said Rob. “They don’t have to clean it.”

“Maybe Cletus owes somebody that money,” I said. “Or maybe he needs to pay for a drug shipment to get the Trash back on its feet.”

“Yeah, either one of those would work,” said Rob. “Let’s say he’s meeting somebody, but we don’t know where.”

“Be a helluva lot easier if we knew what they were driving.” I picked up my cell and put Blacky on it. “Anything stolen from Eldorado, Sonora area? We need to know what Cletus is driving, boss. Can’t find him any other way.”

“I’ll work on it right now, Tommy. Call you back.”

“Thanks.”

We ordered big breakfasts, but no one really tasted the food. Every noise near the door pulled my eye. The guy in the corner didn’t move. Lukas was already halfway through his eggs before I realized mine were cold.

Two cups of coffee later, Blacky rang back.

“Late-model black Escalade,” he said. “Stolen from the hospital parking lot. Belongs to one of the trauma doctors. Here’s the plate.”

I wrote it on the inside of my smoke pack.

“You got a GPS ping?”

“Yep. New ride, built-in tracker. They’re parked at a Days Inn in Sierra Vista, southern Arizona.”

I exhaled, finally. “Got it. Keep eyes on that tracker and update if they move.”

“You got it. Call when you get there.”

“Copy, boss.”

I hung up, grinning.

“You’re smiling,” Lukas said.

“We’ve got them,” I said. “Days Inn, Sierra Vista.”

Rob pushed his plate away and reached for his coffee. “We’re closing in.”

Cletus Donovan was living on borrowed time.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Yvonne sat stiff-backed in her home office, a silk blouse hanging loose. She had barely eaten after the kidnapping, and she noticed her clothes were fitting differently.

Her laptop was open, the White House seal glowing faintly on the screen. The lighting in the room was soft, but she was all sharp angles—cheekbones tight, eyes hollow, hands clenched in her lap out of view.

President Armstrong’s face filled the monitor. His tone was composed, but beneath the formal cadence, she heard the edge of concern.

“Iran’s response is officially non-committal,” Lee was saying. “They claim they had no involvement with the rogue unit that…made contact. But we both know that’s a lie. Langley confirms the weapons and certain other items match those issued to Quds Force. The real question is whether we respond directly… or not at all.”

Yvonne opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her breath hitched in her chest like a gear slipping.

Lee didn’t notice right away. He kept going, voice low but firm. “If we retaliate without confirming command-chain knowledge, we risk escalation. But if we wait, we invite further aggression. This kind of silence can’t be rewarded.”

His words blurred—can’t be rewarded—as if someone had suddenly dropped her under water.

She was no longer looking at Lee.

She was back in that armored vehicle.

The sharp crack of gunfire.

The red on Chet’s shirt.

Jerry Jeff falling—

Her driver’s gurgled, final scream.

All because of her.

Her hands began to shake.

She pressed them into her thighs, digging in through the fabric like she could anchor herself, but her vision swam. Her shoulders trembled. She tried to breathe through it, but a sob slipped out before she could stop it.

Lee’s voice cut sharply. “Yvonne?”

She looked up, eyes wet, her chest rising in jagged bursts.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t—I thought I could handle this today, but I can’t. Not yet.”

Lee’s expression softened instantly. “You don’t have to be strong right now. That’s an order. Go home, Yvonne. Don’t come back until you’re ready. Rest. We’ll hold the line without you.”

Yvonne nodded, but she couldn’t speak again. She reached forward, fumbled for the trackpad, and disconnected the call.

The screen went dark.

Her face reflected back at her—pale, tear-streaked, and haunted.

She bowed her head and wept.

Rest Area. Texas/Arizona Line.

We were on the clock.

Every stop surgical—short, sharp, only if absolutely necessary. Cletus was within reach, and none of us wanted to lose him over something stupid like a flat tire or a coffee craving.

At a dusty rest stop off the highway, Lukas helped me run the dogs. We hit the fenced-in dog area with all the efficiency of a refueling pit crew. Alfie was twitchy, ears up, scanning the breeze like he sensed something we couldn’t see. Diesel barked at a passing truck, low and guttural. Even the dogs were on edge.

Ten minutes. Everyone peed, stretched, ran. Then, it was back to the trucks. No small talk. No slow walking. We moved like men who knew the gunfire wasn’t far behind.

Lukas drove. Rob rode shotgun, jaw tight, eyes locked on the horizon. I was wedged in the back seat with three restless piles of muscle and fur, panting loud, fighting for the window, their breath hot against my arms.

“Sierra Vista’s close to the border,” Rob muttered, watching the road signs click by.

“Think they’re meeting someone there?” Lukas asked. “Guns, drugs, maybe a trade for the money?”

Rob didn’t turn. His voice was gravel. “If there’s a deal going down, we’re crashing it. Hard.”

A long pause stretched between us.

The dogs shifted beside me, uneasy. The engine hummed low, the road slipping fast beneath us. Something was coming. We could all feel it.

And this time, we weren’t walking away until it was done.

Days Inn Hotel. Sierra Vista. Arizona.

Lukas pulled into the lot at the Days Inn — the kind of place people went to disappear. Brown brick, cracked concrete, sun-bleached paint. A limp American flag hung near the office, barely catching the breeze.

Lukas killed the engine. The silence hit like we were in the Old West, itching for a gunfight.

I went inside. The girl at the counter was early twenties, polite, and hollow-eyed. She handed me a room key without asking questions. “All rooms are accessed from the rear, by the pool,” she said without looking up.

I didn’t smile. Didn’t flirt. Just took the key and walked out like a man going into a burning house.

We unloaded in silence. No jokes. No brotherhood. Just three men, three dogs and a whole lot of weight. Rob stared straight ahead, lost in whatever space he kept behind those tired eyes.

Me and Lukas leashed the boys and walked the perimeter. The Escalade was gone, but Blacky’s last text said they hadn’t checked out. GPS confirmed they were still local.

“They just went out for food or something,” I said. “Blacky says they’re coming back. They didn’t check out.”

“Good work, Tommy,” Rob murmured, absently rubbing his bum leg like it was on fire.

Lukas wasn’t talking to me. I never knew what I did to piss him off. Every day it was something different.

The sun cut hard across the pool water, but there were no kids, no families.

We picked a patio table in the shade with a view of their room, then pulled a few Shiners from the cooler. Lukas cracked his open like it owed him money. The dogs stayed alert at our feet, ears twitching every time a vehicle rolled through.

Rob drank half of his beer, then stood. “We’ll take them in their room.”

I nodded. “Good call. Control the collateral damage.”

“I’ll wait inside,” he said as he stood.

“Why?”

“Want to see the layout so I’m prepared when they walk through the door.”

He left without another word.

Me and Lukas stayed outside, half-watching the road, half-watching the sun shining on the pool ripples.

Just two bikers, enjoying the calm before the storm.

The Escalade crawled into the lot just before one p.m. like a hearse on shitty shocks. They parked near the vending machines, engine running another ten seconds before the first door opened.

“Got eyes,” Lukas whispered into the comms. “See Cardy. He’s carrying food. There’s fuckin’ Kenny. That fucker’s already drunk.”

We waited a few seconds before we had eyes on the prize.

“There’s Uncle Cletus… that fucker,” Lukas said.

Half his face was wrapped in a bandage that was dingy-brown with seepage. He looked like roadkill dressed in denim. But he still walked with that swagger, that slither in his step.

“They go in,” Rob’s voice crackled in our comms, “we go in.”

They didn’t seem to notice us—we were fifty feet away, in the shade. They disappeared into the corner room.

“They’re making entry,” Lukas whispered into comms as he stood.

“Give me a ten-count,” Rob hissed.

Ten seconds passed.

“Moving now,” I whispered.

We moved quickly, dogs following.

Lukas was ahead of me and barely slowed when he drove his size thirteen into the door.

The chain snapped. Wood splintered.

The rancid stink hit us first — beer, blood, feet, and filth.

Rob burst out of the bathroom, Karambits drawn, spinning on his fingers and an evil grin on his face.

Cletus shouted, and Rob moved to intercept.

Cletus lunged and slammed a table lamp into Rob’s thigh. His bad leg. Rob crumpled as Cletus raised the lamp for a headshot.

I dove across the room, tackling Cletus against the desk. I was hitting him with everything I had, cracking knuckles against his ribs. But Cletus just fuckin’ laughed.

“Still too fuckin’ soft,” he coughed. “I told your daddy to beat you harder ‘n make a man outta ya, but he never had the goods. Hated calling him my brother.”

“Fuckin’ shut up,” I growled as my fists landed again and again.

“I’m gonna find your sister,” he hissed. “Told your daddy to sell her sweet little ass off, but he was a fuckin’ pussy. Shoulda done it years ago when she was tender like veal. Hell, I had buyers waiting on that one. Real top-shelf pervs.”

I punched him in the throat just to shut him up.

My hand was numb.

It didn’t feel like justice. It felt like I was drowning.

Lukas and Kenny were going at it whole-hog. Kenny was bigger and meaner, but Lukas fought like he was exorcising demons. He had Kenny against a wall, and the room shook as Lukas’s arms pumped back and forth like pistons into Kenny’s ribs.

Kenny was wheezing pretty bad.

Crazy Kenny roared and swung a haymaker at Lukas’s head. He ducked, grabbed him by the belt, and drove him headfirst into the cheap wooden dresser like a runaway bull.

Drawers splintered into bits.

Kenny scrambled up, grabbed a bottle off the nightstand, and shattered it on the corner of the headboard.

Lukas smiled like I’d never seen him smile before. “You really wanna fuckin’ go? You sure you want this?” Lukas bellowed.

They collided like two comets. Punches and arm blocks flew—heavy, sloppy, brutal. Kenny caught Lukas in the cheek with the broken bottle, but Lukas barely flinched.

Kenny tried to jab at Lukas’s guts, but Kenny was drunk, and Lukas was on fire. Lukas used Kenny’s momentum to spin him and wrap one arm around Kenny’s neck, then pummeled his ribs until we heard cracks.

Kenny shot his head backward, headbutting Lukas on the nose and temporarily stunning him. Free, Kenny jumped out of Lukas’s grapple.

Lukas lunged and shoved Kenny’s skull into the mirror, shattering it. Blood flowed freely, and Lukas bashed in Kenny’s head with his forearm.

 Glass everywhere. Blood rained down. Kenny was no longer fighting back.

When the tides turned, Cardy bolted.

I looked at Rob, who nodded, then staggered over to take control of Cletus.

“Get ‘em, boys,” I shouted. The dogs were faster. Alfie dove while Diesel and Dozer flanked. Cardy hit the pool like a drunk walrus, Alfie on top, followed by the boys.

I let it play out. If the dogs accidentally drowned Cardy, I wouldn’t shed a tear. The dogs quickly paddled into the shallow end and up the stairs, and Cardy followed them out, gasping for air.

I escorted him back into the room.

Rob wiped his knife on Cletus’s shirt—where did that blood come from? He leaned in close, whispering something I couldn’t hear.

Cletus stopped smiling.

We zip-tied their wrists, gagged them with stained towels, and dragged them out into the heat.

We searched the Escalade for weapons and found the cash piled in the spare tire well.

Fuckin’ masterminds.

Lukas was breathing like a boxer between rounds. His knuckles were wrecked. “We using local cops?”

“No,” Rob said, voice like ice. “We take them to my place. It ain’t far.”

“You got a place here in Arizona?” I asked, breathing hard. “Thought you were Canadian.”

He didn’t look at me when he answered. “I used to be a lot of things. It’s a long story that involves Wit Sec. When the threat ended, I kept the place. It’s a quiet neighborhood.”

“Is it safe?” Lukas asked.

Rob nodded toward Cletus. “Not for them.”

We dumped the bodies in my load bed and hooked them to my tie-down hooks. They were goin’ nowhere. I reattached my tonneau cover, and we climbed into the truck.

The tires rolled, slow and steady, as the motel shrank in the rearview.

None of us spoke.

Cletus cursed once in the back.

Lukas kept flicking between stations, then he turned the radio up until all we heard was Zydeco.

Dakota Residence. Sierra Vista.

The rain began to fall heavily on my windshield as I eased my truck into Rob’s garage. The garage door rumbled shut behind us, sealing out the world with a clunk of finality.

“Where do you want them?” Lukas asked, voice low.

Rob nodded toward the back. “Main floor bedroom. One goes in the tub — bathroom locks from the outside. One in the closet — same deal. Cletus goes on the bed.”

“The bed?” I raised an eyebrow.

“There are hookups on the headboard and footboard,” he said flatly, “and zip ties on the dresser. I set it up when I used to run transport ops solo.”

“Christ,” I muttered. “You cuff scumbags in your guest room?”

Rob shrugged. “Had one get loose once. Never again.”

The townhouse was… ordinary. Clean. Neutral. Beiges and peach tones. The kind of place someone buys when they’ve stopped pretending life’s gonna get better and just want to be left alone.

But the normalcy made it worse. The bedroom was disturbingly normal. Neatly made bed, beige curtains, IKEA lamp and metal loops screwed into the headboard. Lukas stared for a second too long before looking away.

We dragged the prisoners in one at a time. Cardy pissed himself again when Alfie growled too close, so we threw him in the tub. Kenny was barely conscious and got the closet. Cletus just grinned as we walked him in. Like he was waiting for the show to start.

Rob re-zip-tied their wrists and ankles with practiced ease. Duct tape over the mouths. Rooms were already stripped of breakables and anything that could be a weapon. The kind of prep you don’t learn from training manuals — you learn it from bad nights.

I left Alfie in the room and Diesel and Dozer in the hallway, guarding the prisoners like hillbilly Cerberus.

We dropped the stolen money into an old hockey bag Rob had in the closet and took it into the living room. It stank like ancient sweat and forgotten violence.

Rob turned on the football game as we gathered in the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it felt too clean, too quiet. Me and Lukas perched at the breakfast bar, still running hot from the day. Rob, however, moved about the kitchen like a man prepping for a casual dinner party. He set out cutlery, beers and plates in silence.

Then the doorbell rang.

My hand flashed to my holster.

Rob didn’t flinch. “Just DoorDash, boys. You like brisket?”

He set the bags down and lifted out the food, adding serving forks. Then we sat like it was any other evening. Lukas picked at his food. I forced myself to eat. I knew I would need a full stomach for tonight.

Rob chewed methodically as if food was just something else to process. No thought involved.

After dinner, I stepped outside and called Blacky.

“We got our three,” I said. “And found the money.”

“That’s good news,” he said. “The Sonora Fair will be lucky to see whatever’s left, and congrats on getting your targets.”

“We’ll bring Kenny and Cardy back in the morning. Cletus… ain’t mine to handle.”

Blacky didn’t argue. “He’s on a different list.”

“Yeah. The permanent kind.”

We checked on the prisoners. Still where we left them. Lukas and me gave Cardy and Kenny one bathroom break each, one at a time, with a gun pressed to their spine.

Cletus didn’t ask.

But he talked.

I was standing in the doorway when I heard him. Quiet voice. Slick tone. The kind of voice that knew how to infect you.

“Rob,” he garbled through his duct-taped mouth. “C’mon. Lemme speak.”

Rob peeled the tape off, slow.

“If you’re gonna kill me anyway,” Cletus said, “at least let me go out like a man. You think there’s fun in murdering someone zip-tied to a mattress? You hate me. I hate you. We got that clear. So give me one thing. One last thing.”

Rob said nothing. Just watched.

Cletus smiled — crooked, blood on his teeth. “You remember those old westerns? With the gunfighters and the showdowns?”

“Of course.”

“The O.K. Corral’s a half hour from here. It’s after hours, so no one’s around. What if we go there — just us. One gun each and we have ourselves a proper drawdown. If you win, you finish your mission. If I win…” he shrugged, “I get to watch you bleed out before your boys finish me off.”

Rob chuckled. “It would be twisted, but poetic.”

Cletus grinned. “One of us goes out a fuckin’ legend.”

Even Lukas, standing behind me, let out a disgusted breath.

Rob tilted his head. “Why the O.K. Corral?”

“As a kid, I used to sneak out of our trailer at night,” Cletus said. “Pop didn’t allow movies, said they were trash. But I used to sit behind a neighbor’s burn bin and watch all the greats through their window. John Wayne. Lee Van Cleef. Fuckin’ outlaws, man. They didn’t beg. They stood tall. I always wanted to go out that way—choosing your own destiny, like a man.”

For a breath, his grin trembled. Then it came back sharper, like he didn’t notice the slip.

Rob stared at him for a long moment.

Then: “Fine.”

He slapped the tape back across Cletus’s mouth.

“We’re really doin’ this?” Lukas asked.

Rob didn’t look up. “You can leave anytime or stay home with the prisoners. Couldn’t give a fuck either way.”

I grabbed Rob’s arm in the hallway. “Are you serious? You’re really gonna give this sick bastard what he wants?”

Rob’s expression didn’t change. “You heard him. He wants to go out like a cowboy, on his own terms.”

“What if he draws faster than you?”

Rob half-grinned. “Never gonna happen.”

Lukas didn’t say a word. He was already pulling on his boots.

As we loaded up the prisoners in the load bed, the rain spattered outside the garage door. The pinging noise sounded like low-caliber ricochets.

We left the dogs at home.

They didn’t need to see what was about to happen.

None of us said it, but we were all going. Not to stop Rob. Not to protect Cletus. Just to be spectators to something historic, with that dark curiosity pulling at the edges of our souls.

We all wanted justice. But justice had gone to bed hours ago, and this—this was something older, hungrier.

We weren’t lawmen tonight.

We were witnesses.

To something cold.

Something old.

Something permanent.

Tombstone. Arizona.

The rain fell hard as we drove into Tombstone. Warped wood buildings and rusting lantern posts stood as silent sentinels. Fake storefronts and faded signs stared back at us like dead eyes.

Lukas parked beside the O.K. Corral, and we sat quietly, making sure no one was wandering.

It was pouring, and the place had been shut for hours, but we could never be too careful.

Our boots squished in the mud as we walked to the back of the truck.

Lukas dragged Cletus out of the truck, still bound and gagged. His heels left divots in the mud as we dragged him toward the gate. He grunted with every jolt, the bandage covering his empty eye socket now black with dried blood.

The gates creaked open with a sound like an old coffin lid.

We dragged Cletus to the center of the corral — the place where tourists usually posed for selfies. Not tonight.

Tonight, it was a killing floor.

Rob walked ahead of us and took his place in the middle of the open yard, ten paces from where we planted Cletus. Mud swirled at his boots.

Then Rob turned and pulled an old, black six-shooter and holster from the small of his back. It looked ancient. Loved. Oiled. Ready.

He held it out to Lukas without a word.

“Give him this.”

Then, from his other hand, he produced a single bullet, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

“Here’s his one chance,” he said and chuckled low in his throat. Not amused. Amused adjacent.

The kind of sound that makes your spine itch.

I unzipped and unbound Cletus, per Rob’s orders. No gags. No ties. A fair fight.

Lukas handed him the holstered six-shooter and the single bullet, then backed away, his hand resting on his sidearm.

Cletus chuckled. “I won’t be wasting it on you, nephew.”

He loaded the round into the revolver and then spun the cylinder closed with a flick of his wrist. He set the bullet to be the next shot and holstered his weapon high on his hip.

Cletus stood in the rain, his hair slick on his head and his eye-bandage dripping something disgusting. He stood still, staring at Rob, his fingers twitching above his gun.

Rob didn’t blink. He didn’t twitch.

He just smiled.

That same dead-eyed grin he had earlier when Cletus suggested this insanity.

I took a breath and nodded to Lukas.

He nodded back.

I raised my voice into the desert night. “Draw on three.”

Cletus’s head twitched toward me, rain running off his nose and fingers. His hand hovered at his waist like it had a mind of its own.

Rob never moved.

“One…”

A beat.

“Two—”

Cletus twitched.

His whole body jerked forward like a spring had snapped—a cheat, a dirty twitch from a dirty man. His right hand shot toward the revolver, fingers fumbling to grab the slick, rain-soaked gun…

But Rob was already moving.

His wrists twitched, too. Almost imperceptibly, as two steel flashes dropped into his palms, reflecting the dim moonlight.

Throwing daggers from inside his sleeves.

The first dagger caught Cletus in the throat — a wet, hollow sound like someone choking on raw meat.

The second hit center mass, dead-on — heart shot.

Cletus’s hand touched the grip of the revolver… then spasmed and slipped off.

He staggered backward.

His eyes rolled.

Blood sprayed from his mouth and neck like his body was trying to cough itself empty.

He fell to his knees, gurgling and twitching. A sound came out of him — not quite a word, not quite a scream. Just a wet, dying hiss, like a throat trying to remember how to beg.

Then he tipped forward, face down in the boggish muck.

And stilled.

Silence.

Lukas muttered a soft ‘Fuck me’ and turned away, spitting.

I stayed still. Watching the last wisps of steam curl off the blood pooling around Cletus’s neck.

Rob walked over, crouched, and pulled the blades free one by one. He wiped them on the dead man’s shirt and slid them back into their sheaths without looking at us.

“That was his one chance,” Rob said quietly. “He twitched.”

“Yeah,” I said, but I didn’t feel justified. I just felt cold.

“Justice?” Lukas asked bitterly.

“Balance,” Rob replied.

We left the body where it dropped.

Let the vultures figure it out.

No one said a word on the ride back. No music. No dogs. No goddamn Zydeco.

Just the weight of what we’d seen.

And the knowing that none of us would ever be clean again.

Big Nose Kate’s Saloon. Tombstone.

We checked on our prisoners in the back of the truck before leaving them.

Still restrained.

Still safe.

Still breathing.

Still dry, somehow.

Pretty sure Cardy was snoring.

“One beer,” Rob said. “I’m buying.”

I almost said no.

Felt like we should’ve been driving. Or praying. Or just sitting in the dark, not talking to each other. But Lukas was already walking toward Big Nose Kate’s, and Rob… Rob didn’t ask for things. He announced them, like weather reports.

I said nothing and followed them in.

The place was quiet. Midweek locals. Dim lights and worn booths. One guy on stage playing bluesy folk, fingers dancing over the strings like they were trying to forget something.

We took a corner table. Away from the door. Away from the light.

Rob ordered us Molson’s Ex and raised his bottle when they hit the table. “To closure,” he said.

Lukas drank his in silence.

I stared into mine. Didn’t move.

Closure.

Is that what we were calling it?

Cletus was dead. I saw his body hit the dirt and spill the last of his poison into the ground like it was overdue rent.

We were supposed to feel good about it.

But I didn’t feel good.

I didn’t feel anything at all.

The guy on stage cracked a joke between songs and got a few laughs from the bar. He launched into a sad love song after that. Beautiful, clean, real.

I stared at my beer and thought about my kids.

I’d been gone for too many weeks.

Another mission, another name crossed off.

Another long shower to wash the blood off my knuckles.

This one hit different, though.

Watching Rob back there. The way he smiled right before throwing those knives like he’d already accepted the cost. It messed with me.

Because for a moment, I saw myself.

Not now.

A couple years down the road.

Maybe no wife. Kids who I call from around the world barely knowing me.

Just the work.

Just the knives.

Just a man without a tether.

I want that tether.

Rob finished his beer and ordered a second. Lukas was halfway through his.

I still hadn’t touched mine.

I wanted to stand up and go home.

I wanted to hug my kids, smell burnt toast in the morning and fall asleep in a bed where nobody bled.

But I was here.

With the ghosts.

With the blood still under my nails.

And I knew, deep down, if I stayed on this path —

I’d end up just like Rob.

The guy on stage cracked another joke, and people laughed.

He was funny.

I should say more funny shit when I’m on stage.

Make people feel something other than tired.

Make myself feel something other than empty.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Wednesday, May 21st.

Dakota Residence. Sierra Vista. Arizona.

I woke to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and the quiet clatter of ceramic mugs.

Rob buzzed around the kitchen like it was Sunday brunch, sleeves rolled, focused and casual — like he hadn’t killed a man less than twelve hours ago.

Hard to believe the same guy who literally had a showdown at the O.K. Corral made coffee like a diner waitress.

Maybe that’s how he kept it separate.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t.

Alfie was sprawled across my chest on the sofa, snoring with his tongue half out.

Dozer and Diesel were curled on the rug like furry bookends.

I hadn’t slept that good in weeks.

Maybe it was the dogs.

Maybe it was knowing the worst was behind us.

Either way, I didn’t wake up bracing for bad news.

Lukas was already at the stove, frying bacon like he was auditioning for a cooking show.

I rolled off the couch and took the dogs out for their morning business. They didn’t care that Rob’s backyard was the size of a postage stamp. To them, it was heaven.

I fed them, then grabbed my gun and let Cardy and Crazy Kenny have a piss break, one at a time. We’d be loading up soon. Might as well let the bastards empty themselves now.

Back inside, Lukas plated up scrambled eggs and toast like he’d been doing it every morning of his life.

“We’ll do drive-thru for food and coffee all day,” he said, flipping bacon onto a napkin. “Make travel quicker. No need to worry about the guys in the load bed. We’ll keep ‘em watered. We hit Sonora by afternoon, drop Cardy and the stolen cash, crash for the night, and head home the next day.”

“Job done and almost home,” I said. “I can live with that.”

And I could.

After everything — after the chase, the betrayals, the death — this felt like the first honest morning I’d had in months.

There were still bruises. Still blood.

Still ghosts in the corners of my mind.

But they were quiet for now.

Just dogs at my feet, coffee in the air, bacon on the stove.

Last night was dark as sin, but this was turning out to be a much brighter morning.

Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange. Texas.

The kitchen smelled like coffee, fried bacon, and vanilla pancake batter — the kind of smell that made the whole house feel like home.

While they cooked breakfast for the cowboys, Annie and Riley chatted at the counter, hands moving with the rhythm of routine. Riley flipped pancakes onto a warm plate, and Annie stirred a pot of sausage gravy, steam curling up in a fog.

“The Memorial Day picnic’s coming up fast,” Riley said, cracking an egg with one hand like he’d done a thousand times before. “Yep,” said Annie. “Everything the same as last year, but before we worry about the picnic…” She smiled as she poured the coffee. “I want to throw a huge party at Boots on Saturday night for Tommy’s birthday. He’s got so many fans at the roadhouse — they’ll love it.”

“How old is he this year?”

“Twenty-six on the twenty-fourth of May.”

“Do you want me to make him a cake?”

“If we hold the party at Boots we’ll need enough cake to serve about two hundred people. That’s a lot of cake, Riley. You could make him a special cake and we could serve it to the staff, but for the customers, I’ll get the bake shop to make three or four big slabs and precut it.”

“One cake is no trouble,” said Riley. “Even one birthday cake and one Memorial Day cake, but if we’re making tons of food for the picnic at the same time we’re getting ready for Tommy’s birthday party, then the bake shop might be the best option. Will you be serving food at the party at Boots?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just free chips and salsa and I’ll put a half dozen kegs on special at half price. Then serve the cake later.”

Riley nodded. “Sounds like you’ve thought about it a bit.”

Annie didn’t answer right away. She wiped her hands on a towel and stared out the window, where a warm breeze stirred the bushes lining the porch railing.

She pictured Tommy walking in that night — that lazy grin, the little head shake he did when he was overwhelmed but secretly touched. Her chest tightened.

“He’s been through so much this year,” she said softly. “I just want to do something special for him.”

Riley smiled, pouring more coffee into their mugs. “That the only reason?”

Annie turned her head and couldn’t quite hide the blush. “Nope.”

Riley’s smirk widened. “That’s what I thought.”

They both laughed — not too loud, not too long — just enough to chase off the quiet for a while.

The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

Farrell called ahead to make sure Marshal Morrison would be at the Agency when he got to Austin and Blacky said he’d arrange it.

He parked in the driveway and Morrison came outside with Blacky. Blacky preferred to have the prisoner transferred outside where the kids didn’t see it happening.

“Here you go, Marshal,” said Farrell. “This guy is one of the White Trash prison gang members. He participated in the robbery at the Sonora Fairgrounds while he was enjoying his two days of freedom.”

Morrison smiled. “Thank you for returning him, Ranger Donovan.”

“My pleasure.”

“Ranger Blackmore tells me that Crazy Kenny Hughes was also recovered,” said Morrison.

“That’s right. Marshal Donovan, my cousin, will return Kenny Hughes to you as soon as he arrives in Austin.”

“Wonderful. This mess is nearly cleaned up.”

“As far as Marshal Dakota and Cletus Donovan, I have no clue what’s going on there. My uncle wasn’t a wanted fugitive. He did his time.”

“I guess we’ll find out the details when the boys come back and debrief,” said Morrison.

“Guess so,” said Farrell.

Blacky raised an eyebrow but had no clue what had gone on out in West Texas.

Morrison cuffed the prisoner and led him to his vehicle, leaving Blacky and Farrell alone.

“Clean job, bro,” Blacky said.

“Thanks.”

Farrell didn’t linger. He was already easing back into his truck. “Got someone I need to talk to.”

Blacky gave a nod. “Tell Ellis I said hello.”

“I will.”

As he pulled away, Farrell caught himself smiling — not the cocky kind he used to wear, but the quieter kind. The kind that came from feeling needed, not just showing up.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like an extra wheel.

He felt like a spoke in the damn axle.

And he was ready to keep the wheels turning.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler.

Farrell stopped at the gate to Tommy’s secure property and stared at the keypad. He punched in the code he knew out of habit.

Incorrect code.

Of course.

They’d changed it because of him.

He didn’t even consider trying to force his way in. Not this time. Those days were over.

Instead, Farrell pressed the intercom button, hands shaking more than he liked.

A moment passed. Then her voice came through, soft but unreadable.

“Who is it?”

“Ellis… it’s me.”

Silence.

“Please… I just want to talk. I’ll leave if you say the word, but I need five minutes. Just five.”

A longer silence. Then the gate creaked to life and swung open.

Farrell let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and drove up the gravel lane, his stomach twisting. Guilt sat heavy in his chest, and if getting on his knees would make this right, he’d do it without hesitation.

Once, there was a time he would’ve walked into this house without knocking. But now? He wasn’t even sure she’d open the door.

To get his nerve up, he took a couple of deep breaths, then risked a knock.

The door opened and the expression on Ellis’ face was unreadable. “Farrell.” Her voice was flat. No emotion.

“Can I come in, Ellis? We need to talk.”

“Sure. Come in. I just put the kids down for their afternoon nap, so the house is quiet. Would you like a coffee?”

“Coffee would be great, thanks.”

They walked into the kitchen like strangers in a museum. Every familiar detail cut deeper — the chipped ceramic mug he’d once joked about, the scent of her lavender hand soap, the fridge covered in crayon drawings.

She filled two mugs, set them on the table, then went to the fridge for cream. When she sat across from him, it was like watching a door close slowly.

“Yeah, I drove out to West Texas to give them a hand.”

“Have they all been rounded up?”

“Most of them. Couple loose ends.”

He picked up his coffee but didn’t drink it.

“We need to talk about us,” said Farrell. “It was me who screwed things up when they were going so perfectly, and I want to fix that. Tell me what I have to do to get us back to that point. I’ll do anything you say.”

She didn’t respond right away.

“While I was here by myself,” she stared into her mug like it held the answer and didn’t look Farrell in the eye, “I thought about nothing else, and I don’t think there is a way back to where we once were.”

“Don’t say that, please.”

“At one point in our relationship, I even considered marrying you—if you’d asked me.”

Farrell froze.

“But I would never take that risk now.”

“Why not? I’m not high risk, Ellis. You know I love you and I’d never cheat on you or anything like that. I’m not that kind of man. I would never hurt you.”

“But you did hurt me,” she said, her voice shaking. “You drank yourself into silence. Into isolation. Days would go by, and I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. And when you finally came out of it, I was supposed to pretend it didn’t kill something inside me?”

“I was broken,” he whispered. “I didn’t know how to deal—”

“I know. But I can’t do it again.”

“So that’s it?” he asked. “We’re over?”

“We are.”

She didn’t say it with venom. She said it like someone who’d already wept for weeks and had no tears left.

“And I won’t feel guilty,” she added. “Because it’s all on you, Farrell. Every bit of it.”

“You’re right, Ellis. It is on me, but it never would’ve happened if it hadn’t been for Tommy.”

“Don’t you dare blame Tommy for your troubles. I blame you and Ranger Blackmore for interfering in Tommy’s life and him ending up with a broken heart. He and Annie were married, Farrell. Married and happy and that meant nothing to you.”

“Now I have a broken heart too and you’re saying I deserve it. Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Like I said, Farrell. This mess is of your own creation and the guilt connected to what you’ve done is tainting every facet of your life. You can’t live with what you’ve done to your family and there is no way I can fix it for you.”

He stood, his chair scraping quietly against the tile. Reached for his hat.

Left his coffee untouched.

Ellis stayed seated. Didn’t try to stop him.

He paused at the door. Hoped for a word. A glance. A final thread.

None came.

He stepped out into the afternoon heat.

She closed the door behind him.

And locked it.

Then she slid to the floor and sobbed — quietly, alone — as the man she once loved disappeared down the gravel laneway.

Fort Stockton. Texas.

We drove hard and were making good time. We had a long way to go and a short time to get there.

We grabbed lunch at the drive-thru and kept rolling. Even bought the dogs plain burgers.

Nothin’ but water for the prisoners.

I walked the dogs while Lukas filled up on gas. We were just loading up when my phone rang.

Ellis.

I answered on the first buzz.

Her voice hit me like a punch to the gut.

She was crying.

“Ellis? What’s wrong?”

Rob raised an eyebrow when I said Ellis’ name.

Through sobs, she said, “Farrell just left here,  Tommy. We broke up for good.”

I moved away from the truck and pressed the phone hard against my ear, trying to make sense of her voice through the storm of tears.

“He’s not the same person anymore,” she said. “He’s bitter, closed off, and angry in a way that scares me. He said he’s changed, but no one could have changed that fast. I feel terrible, but I couldn’t keep doing it. I had to walk away for my own sanity.”

I exhaled slowly, staring out at the wide-open desert.

“Nobody can fix him right now, Ellis. He’s… drowning in himself. You were right to protect your peace.”

She sniffled hard. “I tried, Tommy. God knows I tried. But he doesn’t let anyone in. I kept hoping he’d come back to me — the version I fell in love with — but that man’s gone. And the one that’s left... he’s lost.”

“He’ll cool off,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. “When I get home, I’ll talk to him. But you’re right — he’s not in the right place to be with anyone. Not until he makes things right with Annie.”

There was a long silence. Then, a soft whisper:

“You really think that’s the key?”

“I know it is. Annie adopted Farrell and Neil. She raised Neil from a little boy and then Farrell turns around and does the things he did to her? He ripped open something sacred in this family, and until he faces that, everything else in him is gonna stay broken.”

Ellis took a breath. “You coming home soon?”

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, Ellis. We’re in Fort Stockton, about five hours out of Austin.”

“So, you’ll be home tonight?”

I glanced at Rob, who gave me a nod. “Yeah. We’ll push through. We’ve got a drop in Sonora, then I’m coming straight home.”

“I hate to say it, but I’m scared,” she whispered. “I have a feeling he’ll come back drunk. And when he’s like that, I don’t know what he’s capable of.”

A cold pressure settled on my spine.

“That’s possible,” I said carefully. “Just stay alert, lock your doors, and don’t engage if he shows up like that. I’ll be there soon, Ellis. You won’t be alone in this.”

“Thank you, Tommy. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You called the right person.”

We hung up, and I stood still for a minute, staring at nothing.

Farrell wasn’t just unraveling — he was coming apart at the seams.

And we might not have much time left before someone else got hurt.

Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

Farrell couldn’t seem to help himself. He did what he always did when things weren’t going his way—he ran home to his mother.

The woman who had taken him in and given him and his brother new life, a perfect home—and in return he’d torn her life apart and was still doing it. Things hadn’t been repaired between them since the last hurtful things he’d said to her.

Jose let Farrell through the big iron gate, and he parked his truck at the side of the garage. Two of the overhead doors were open and Mick and Davey were washing bikes.

He didn’t wave to them because Mick hated him at the moment.

The dogs ran out to meet him and he didn’t even stop to acknowledge their existence. He headed along the flagstone walk and stepped onto the front porch.

Do I have to knock on this door too? What the hell have I done? Made myself into a stranger to all the people I love.

He didn’t knock, stuck his head in and hollered, “Mom, are you here?”

Riley hollered back to him from the kitchen. “She’s in the office, Farrell.”

“Thanks, Riley. I need to talk to her.”

Farrell walked through the foyer and down the hall towards the back of the house. The office door was open, and he walked in.

Annie glanced up at him and didn’t smile. “Farrell.” Her tone was all business.

“Ellis just dumped me.”

“Uh huh.”

“You don’t sound surprised, Annie. Did you figure it was coming?”

“Nope. I have no idea what you and Ellis have been doing lately. You haven’t spoken to me in quite some time… I think since you said I wasn’t your real mother.”

Farrell studied his boots. “I’m sorry about that, Mom. Really, I am. All of that Tommy stuff never should’ve happened, and I don’t know how many times I’ve apologized for my part in it.”

Her hand drifted to a frame on the desk — a photo of Tommy with the kids. She straightened it with her fingertips, never taking her eyes off Farrell.

“What can I do to make it right, Mom? I want this mess to be over with so we can be a happy family again.”

“The point that you’re missing is that when you ruin two people’s lives, you can’t simply apologize. Those lives will never go back to normal. The damage is irreparable. You act as if you dinged my car in the parking lot and a little body work would fix it. You destroyed my marriage, Farrell, and ruined the love we had. There’s no coming back from that.”

“Come on, Mom. There’s gotta be a way I can fix it. I want this mess to be over with so we can start fresh. I need this.”

Annie sighed, deep and long. “You’re not listening, Farrell. The damage is done. I might eventually forgive you and Blaine, but I’ll never forget what you did and with such zeal.”

They sat in silence for a good two minutes before Annie spoke again. “Is that why you came by? To tell me about your break up?”

“Ellis said she couldn’t have a relationship with me any longer because of things that were mostly Tommy related.”

“I see. So now you’re blaming Tommy for Ellis dumping you. Go home, Farrell. I’m not listening to another word of you blaming others for what you did. Accept the heartbreak you caused me and Tommy and live with it.”

Annie took a tissue from the box on the credenza behind her and dabbed at her eyes.

“I have to live with it every day. You’ll have to do the same.”

Farrell nodded. He slammed his hat on his head and left the office.

Annie ran to her bedroom down the hall, flopped face down on her bed and sobbed.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

The Samantha Whitaker situation had been hanging fire for days since the kidnapping and Yvonne had yet to resolve it.

The first step was to call Ranger Blackmore and explain Chet’s condition to him—if he wasn’t already aware—and have him arrange for Samantha to return to Austin until it was possible for Chet to continue with Tommy’s project.

“Good morning, Madam Vice President,” said Blaine.

“Ranger Blackmore, I called to talk to you about Chet and to discuss our present need for Miss Whitaker.”

“I have been checking with the hospital in D.C. on a daily basis, and I’m fully aware of Chet Kamps’ condition.”

“I’m not sure when he’ll be able to continue with the cleanup project. He’s not awake and as of this morning, Chet doesn’t have a prognosis.” Yvonne sniffled a little without meaning to. “His doctor won’t commit to any sort of time frame.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Blaine. “Kamps and I have worked closely together for a long time and he’s my right arm at the Agency.”

“Mine too,” said Yvonne. “So easy to depend on him for far too much, and of course, Roy is devastated. There is no consoling him.”

“I can see where Roy would be upset,” said Blaine. “I’ll get in touch with Miss Whitaker and arrange a flight for her. I can certainly use her at Powell and Associates until you need her again.”

“Thank you so much, Ranger Blackmore. That’s a load off my mind. She’s been staying in a hotel downtown in a state of limbo, and she deserves some type of resolution to her situation.”

“I’ll take care of it this morning.”

“Thank you so much.”

After her conversation with Blaine Blackmore, Yvonne received a text from Ben.

“Just checking to see if you’re okay, Army. I heard through the grapevine that you were at your office in the West Wing and then you suddenly went home.”

“Do they know every move I make?”

“They do.”

“I wasn’t going to mention this, but now I have to.”

“What?”

“They were watching the house and saw you come to visit me.”

There was a long pause. Then Ben sent another text.

“Zero fucks given, Army. Just don’t ban me from seeing you at home.”

“I hate this. Truly, I do.”

And there it was. The truth no one wanted to say out loud.

Her screen blinked. Another message from Ben.

“Then tell me to stop. Tell me to walk away. Say the word, and I’m gone.”

Yvonne stared at Ben’s words. Her vision blurred.

She could hear Roy crying in the next room.

She could still taste the bitter sadness of Chet’s name on her tongue.

And yet… her heart jumped every time Ben’s name lit up her phone.

Her fingers trembled.

“I can’t.”

She hit send and locked her phone.

Then sat in the stillness of her sunlit room, wrapped in guilt, soaked in dread…and feeling more alive than she had all week.

Sheriff’s Office. Sonora. Texas.

By the time we got to Sonora to drop Cardy Ralston and the stolen money off, the sheriff had gone home for the day.

Of course he had.

Men like him punched a clock.

Men like us didn't.

Lukas was the Texas Ranger and Ralston was his arrest, so it took a little time to go through the booking process. Ralston was guilty of armed robbery and murder during—two counts.

Two dead armored truck guards.

The money took even more time. It had to be counted into evidence and there was a lot of it.

While my brother did his duty, I leaned against the wall with my eyes half-closed, feeling every mile we’d driven since hell broke loose.

Once Lukas had filled out the appropriate paperwork to transfer the prisoner, he wrapped it up. The Sonora cops were grateful and shook our hands and we were finally on our way home.

My turn to drive.

Eastbound out of Sonora, I slid behind the wheel of my own truck and rubbed the heel of my hand into one eye. I was beat, but we weren’t far now. Not really. Not in the ways that counted.

Before we hit the interstate, I pulled through a drive-thru. Got coffees, burgers, and a sack of salty crap for the road. Fed the dogs their share — good boys deserved it.

That first sip of coffee hit like a lifeline.

No more gunfire. No more bodies. No more screaming. Just caffeine, headlights, and the hum of asphalt under our tires.

We were almost home.

Best Western Hotel. Austin.

While I drove, Lukas got Blacky on the line and got the address for Marshal Morrison’s temporary digs in Austin. No need to head to the Agency.

We pulled into the Best Western just off I-35, the kind of place where time stood still, and tired men wait for paperwork to catch up with their lives.

Marshal Morrison met us in the parking lot, just outside the lobby doors. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days — maybe none of us had — but he shook our hands with real appreciation.

“Excellent work, Marshals. You too, Ranger Donovan. You brought in one of the big ones and recovered the money. That’s damn good cleanup.”

Lukas nodded. No smile. A tight dip of the chin.

Praise never sat well with my brother, not after everything. It slid off like water on oil. He didn’t need thanks. He needed silence and space and maybe ten years to forget the past three days.

We loaded Crazy Kenny into custody like we were tossing out the last bit of rotten meat in a cooler. No goodbyes. No looking back.

Another job done.

One step closer to home.

Cherrywood. Austin.

On the way to Aunt Gail’s house to drop Lukas off, he was quiet for a while, then couldn’t hold it in any longer. He voiced his concerns about Farrell losing it and coming back to my place for another go-round with Ellis.

“I don’t trust him, Tommy. He’s on a roll to stir up more shit in our family and he’s going to lay all of the blame on you.”

“Hope he don’t make more trouble. He’s done too much already.”

“Somebody needs to take him down a peg,” said Lukas.

“And that somebody is you?”

“I’m up for it.”

“I bet you are.”

He didn’t laugh. Neither did I.

Nothing about it was funny.

We pulled up to Aunt Gail’s two-story. The sun was gone, and the moon bathed everything in a silvery light.

It was a long way to drive in one day.

Rob climbed out and helped Lukas get his gear out of the load bed. The two of them stood at the back of the truck, quiet, the way men like them said goodbye.

They shook hands — a grip that meant you made it more than see you later. Two super-quiet introverts, born fighters with too much held in and not enough left over.

I stayed behind the wheel and watched them.

Lukas turned to me as he slung his duffel over his shoulder. “If Farrell shows up again and starts more shit, I won’t be so polite.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to be.”

He nodded once, sharp, then headed inside without another word.

Rob climbed back into the cab. He didn’t say anything, just stared out the window, knuckles resting on his thigh like they’d forgotten how to unclench.

We sat in silence for a moment before I started the engine.

Everyone had somewhere to be now.

Lukas was home.

Rob would soon be home in Canada.

Even Farrell had a place to spiral.

But me?

I still had to hold it all together.

And the truth was… I wasn’t sure how many more storms I had left in me.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler.

Close to eleven at night by the time we arrived at my farm. Didn’t slow the dogs down none, though. When we opened the truck door, the three of them tore around like lunatics, burning off a day’s worth of energy in five minutes. By the time they were done, they were panting and slobbering everywhere.

Alfie’s outdoor water bowl was full, and the three of them fought a bit but eventually learned to take turns.

There would be fights, but ultimately, they were family now.

Rob and me snuck in the door quietly with our gear and tried to keep the dogs calm. The kids were sound asleep, but Ellis stayed up waiting for us.

She welcomed us home at the front door, but her dazzling smile couldn’t mask her sadness or hide her red-rimmed eyes.

In a surprising move, Rob reached out and held her in his arms comforting her, while I did my level best to ignore their moment by settling the dogs down.

“I see we have two new additions, Tommy,” said Ellis. “Is bringing home strays your new thing when you go away for work?”

“Not strays. Diesel and Dozer were always my dogs, Ellis. Raised them from pups. Some bastard stole them from my sister.”

“Did you arrest him?”

“Somethin’ like that,” I said.

“You didn’t kill him over stealing your dogs, did you?” Ellis asked, joking.

“No,” I said, and she relaxed. “I killed him for tryin’ to rape my sister.”

I chuckled because Ellis had such a horrified look on her face.

“Will the new additions be gentle around the children? Alfie has been an angel since day one.”

“They have to be, Ellis. We won’t take any chances on the kids getting hurt. Linc and Simka are our first concern.”

She nodded.

All three dogs moved toward the door, growling in unison.

Then, the front gate buzzer sounded.

I moved to my office and checked the screen.

Farrell.

“Kinda late for a visit, ain’t it, Cuz?”

“Oh. You’re home already. Just wanna have a chat with Ellis,” Farrell said. There was a definite slur to his words.

“Ellis is in bed, but I’ll come out and have a chat with you.”

I buzzed him through, and he parked beside my truck. As I walked to the front door, I turned off the interior lights. “Stay inside, Ellis. We’ll talk to Farrell on the porch.”

Rob and I stepped onto the porch, and I pointed at the chairs. Rob sat down and lit up a smoke, but Farrell refused to sit.

He leaned on the railing—because he had to—and glared at the two of us.

Drunk Farrell was fuckin’ ornery.

He stared at me, not saying a word.

I broke the silence. “Ellis mentioned you two broke up. Is that what this is all about?”

He scoffed. “I figured the order came from you. You told her to dump me.”

“I would never interfere in someone else’s personal life like that, despite others doin’ it to me.”

Farrell turned to sneer and almost lost his balance. “You always gotta make that dig. Why do you have to keep pecking at me?”

I was in no mood for this.

“It’s been a fuck of a long week, cuz, and I’m spent. I’m tryin’ to be gentlemanly about this, but I got no more road for this kinda talk. Go home, and maybe we can talk later when you’re sober.”

Farrell shoved me. “Fuck you, Tommy. You can’t tell me what to do.”

I could feel weeks of tension, worry, and frustration rising to the surface, and if he didn’t leave, I was gonna explode. “Last warning. Go the fuck home and stay away from Ellis. She broke it off, and you’re not welcome here no more. Got it?”

Farrell spit in my face.

“You think you’re so fuckin’ hot, but you can’t tell me shit. If I wanna come over here and talk to Ellis and the kids—”

I didn’t want to hit him. I tried to save him in spite of everything. But he wouldn’t stop lighting matches, and my whole world was made of gas.

I lunged. I tackled Farrell so hard that I drove him through my porch rail. We crashed into the flower bed hard, and somehow, my Eagle was in my hand, the barrel inside Farrell’s mouth.

My entire body was quaking with fury as tears welled up in my eyes.

“Say one more motherfuckin’ word about my kids, and it’ll be your last. You ain’t fit to be in the same room as them or Ellis, and I want you off my property now.”

His eyes were wide as saucers as he stared up at me. He nodded briefly, and I slowly pulled my gun out of his mouth.

“You’re not fuckin’ driving. Not in that state. You’ll need to call someone.”

“Fuck you,” Farell screamed. “First, you tell me to get lost, then you tell me I can’t drive. What the fuck is going—”

Two shots into his truck engine.

“Decision made. Now, get the fuck off my property.” Still shaking, I walked back onto the porch where Rob sat in his chair, smokin’ and watching like it was the goddamned Main Event.

Farrell took one step toward the porch and stopped in his tracks when a blade sunk into the dirt between his feet.

“Tommy wants you off his property,” hissed Rob. “I suggest you oblige the man’s wishes.”

Farrell stomped to the gate and down the road as he phoned someone.

I watched him stumble into the dark like a wounded animal. Part of me wanted to call him back. But that part was dead and buried.

As I holstered my weapon, I heard Rob chuckling.

“You are one cold son of a bitch, Tommy Donovan.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Thursday, May 22nd.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

Breakfast the morning after Farrell’s late-night blow-up was too quiet for my liking.

Ellis moved through her chores with practiced ease, but her usual spark was gone. She wiped down counters and checked the kids’ cereal portions like she was on autopilot. Her face was neutral, maybe too neutral. No humming, no half-smile when the kids said something cute. Just silence and clipped motions.

She didn’t want to talk, and I didn’t push it. Whatever went down between her and Farrell was hers to process. Not mine to pry into.

Rob kept his usual calm, sipping coffee while tracking Ellis with his eyes as if trying to figure out if she was breakable. He didn’t offer advice or platitudes. Not his style. But his attention was deliberate—quiet support in a steel package.

Linc and Simka had officially graduated to the big table in their highchairs, trays removed. Ellis monitored their manners like a hawk. “What do you say?” she’d prompt softly, every time one of them reached.

“Pease,” Simka chirped, followed by a proud “Tank you” from Linc when she passed the juice.

I couldn’t help smiling. That’s my crew.

Once the kids finished eating, they toddled off to the playroom, trailing crumbs and giggles. The three of us lingered in the kitchen, drinking the last of the coffee while Rob helped Ellis clean up the dishes without a single word.

A buzz on Rob’s phone. A quick glance. “My ride will be here in five.”

Out on the porch, we stood side by side as the black SUV rolled up the gravel drive.

Rob shook my hand, firm and simple. “Appreciate you, Tommy. Solid operation you’ve got here.”

“Back at you, man. If you ever need someone ridin’ shotgun, you’ve got my number.”

“I usually work alone,” he said, nodding toward the waiting car. “But if I ever need backup, you’ll be the first call I make.”

He left without another word.

That was Rob. No fuss, no fluff.

Back inside, Ellis was scrubbing the coffee pot like it had personally insulted her. I considered saying something comforting—but she didn’t look like she’d welcome it. She didn’t even look up when I excused myself to the office.

I needed to make a call I shouldn’t have been making.

Farrell will go to Annie and blame me. Before he said mean things and alienated her, Farrell was a momma’s boy. Always had been. Just like Neil.

I slipped down the hall, shut the door to my office, and called Annie.

Mateo, Farrell and Blacky—all of them made it clear at some point that they didn’t want me talking to Annie. But I needed to talk to her.

She picked up fast.

I told her what happened, and she listened before she spoke. “I think he might’ve come here right after the deed was done, sugar. We had words and I don’t think he’ll be back. There’s a definite wedge between us now and I’m not sure it will ever be gone.”

“I’m sorry for your pain, babe.”

“Let’s try to put that aside and get through the day, Tommy. Are you singing at Boots on Saturday night?”

“Yep. I’m planning on it. What about tomorrow night at T ‘n T? Will you be there?”

“No, I don’t think so. Mateo made it clear he doesn’t like me singing in public. He says it’s too dangerous. I rarely give into him, but it was a small thing. I would never cave on the bigger issues.”

“Is he at the ranch now?”

“Not at the moment. He had to go back to Panama to help Emilio with a few things.”

“Has your…relationship changed, Annie? Is that a question I can ask?”

“You can ask, but I’m not sure I know the answer. I’m stuck and I want you to find some happiness. You should put yourself out there and meet some girls. I’m sure you have lots of opportunities at Boots and at T ‘n T.”

“Yeah, I guess I do, but I don’t bother.”

“You need to try, Tommy. You can’t keep soldiering on with your life on hold the way it is. It’s not healthy for you.”

“Yeah, I try to bury it, but it’s rough for me.”

“Go out and have some fun, please, sweetheart. I’m stuck but you don’t have to be. I have to honor a promise I made a long time ago, but I don’t want your life ruined because of me.”

“I’ll see what happens. I might come to Boots and sing a few tonight.”

“Please do. I’d love to see you, even if it’s across the bar or on the stage. We’ll have a beer together.”

I ended the call feeling like my life would be on hold forever. Annie was right. I had to take somebody out and get my mind off her. It would be so much easier to deal with my situation if there was somebody I was nuts over.

I don’t think there’s anybody like that out there.

One Observatory Circle. D.C.

Yvonne settled into Chet’s home office, hoping the familiar space would make her feel closer to him while he was still in the hospital. But it wasn’t the furniture or the bookshelves that caught her—it was the scent. His cologne still lingered on the leather chair, and every breath pulled her deeper into memory. She reached out and ran her fingers along the edge of the desk, half-expecting his hand to rest over hers.

The ache in her chest swelled, quiet but relentless. The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful—it was hollow.

She was contemplating packing up her laptop and moving back to her own office when Roy entered, balancing a tray of coffee and turnovers. He placed it gently in the middle of the desk and sat across from her.

“It feels so sad in here.” Roy pulled a tissue out of his pocket. “I want Chet to come home, Yvonne. He’d be so much happier here.”

“I know you want him home—we both do. But there’s no sense stressing over something we can’t control. Hopefully, when we visit him today at the hospital, the doctors have some better news for us.”

“You’re not going to the West Wing?”

“No. Lee made it clear—I’m not to return to work until after the long weekend.”

Roy reached for a turnover but didn’t eat it. “You deserve time off after what you went through. Lee was right. You were the one kidnapped, Yvonne. That trauma—it’s not something you can just... move past.”

Her breath hitched slightly. “More traumatic than I realized. I’m having nightmares.”

“Can I help in some way?”

“Thanks, sweetheart, but I’ll pull through. And we’re going to enjoy our holiday weekend. You and I will have a drink by the pool and eat too much chocolate. That’ll be our private celebration.”

Roy gave her a small, warm smile. “That’s more than enough for me.”

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

She didn’t want to look at it—not now, not while this fragile sense of peace was holding her steady—but something in her gut told her it was important. She glanced at the screen.

George Washington Medical Center.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Roy—” she whispered, answering the call. “This is Yvonne.”

“Madam Vice President,” the voice said, brisk but kind. “This is Nurse Clark. We wanted to inform you immediately that Chet Kamps is awake.”

The world fell silent. Her heart stopped.

“Awake?” she echoed, disbelieving. “You mean—he opened his eyes?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s groggy and hasn’t spoken yet. Doesn’t seem fully oriented. But yes—he’s breathing on his own and responsive to light and touch. We thought you’d want to know immediately.”

Yvonne pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. Tears welled fast and hot, slipping down her cheeks before she could speak. Roy teared up as well on the other side of the desk.

“Thank you, nurse. We’ll be right there.”

Yvonne disconnected the call.

“He’s awake,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Chet’s awake.”

Roy’s arms tightened. “Oh, thank God.”

She dropped the phone onto the desk and walked around to hug Roy, shaking as the tears poured out of her.

Weeks of pushing down her emotions finally broke loose.

She wasn’t embarrassed.

She didn’t care.

This was joy. This was relief.

This was a weight lifting from her soul that she didn’t realize had been crushing her so completely.

“We need to go now,” she said, already fumbling to wipe her face. “He needs us to be there.”

“I’ll let our driver know.”

She nodded, chest heaving with every breath as she stood, wiping at her face with the edge of her sleeve.

“Hold on, Chet,” she whispered. “We’re on our way.”

Private Residence. White House. D.C.

Lee floundered through his day without Yvonne and Kamps there to advise him and tell him what he should be doing with every critical decision he had to make.

The silence in the West Wing was unnerving, like walking through a familiar house after someone had died.

The only person left in his corner was Carter Levalley, and even that was tenuous. They weren’t seeing eye to eye—not on priorities, not on messaging, not on what came next. Carter was tactical. Lee was tired. Since Yvonne was taking time to recuperate, Carter was trying to fill that void with less-than-spectacular results.

Lee sighed as he left the Oval Office and went upstairs to his private residence for lunch. With Ted gone back to his mountain in Texas, the Residence had turned into a morgue again and Lee hated living there alone.

Lee dropped his jacket over the arm of a chair and wandered to the windows, staring out over the South Lawn, wishing for days gone by.

Wishing for those days when Tommy stayed with him. Cursing, joking and drinking all the beer in the bar fridge.

I’ve got to make things right with Tommy. Knowing he might never stay here again is getting me down.

That thought had barely entered his head when his phone rang, and he smiled when he saw it was Annie calling from Texas.

“Hello, beautiful girl. I’m thrilled you found the time to call me.”

“Personal request, Lee.”

“Go ahead. Ask me anything and I’ll do it.”

Annie giggled. “This is my big chance.”

Lee laughed. “Go for it, sweetheart.”

“Can you come to the ranch for the weekend?”

Lee sucked in a breath and his heart picked up the pace. “Are you having something special for Memorial Day?”

“Yes, I’m having my annual picnic on Monday, but I’m inviting you more for Saturday night. I’m having a huge party for Tommy’s birthday.”

Lee exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest shifting. Tommy might not want to see me, but if there’s a shot at fixing things… I’ll take it. “I can’t miss Tommy’s birthday. I owe that young man more than I can say. Count me in, Annie.”

“Thanks, Lee. Come tomorrow afternoon, or Saturday morning. Whenever you can arrange it.”

“I’ll start working on it as soon as I hang up, Annie. This is just what I need—a reason to get out of this city for a few days.”

“I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

“I’m sure you don’t mean that in the way I want it, but it doesn’t matter. Being with you for the weekend is all I need to put me back on track.”

“Let me know your arrival time and I’ll be watching for you.”

McDade Ranchers’ Co-op

Ellis got the kids ready for an outing, and I took them to the grand opening of the new co-op store in McDade. Wasn’t far from Butler, but the kids loved the feed store in Elgin, and I figured they might have some fun at the new store too. Texas entertainment at its finest. Might as well have been Disneyland.

Gave me some time just to be a dad doing ordinary stuff. That was the part I missed the most.

Besides, Ellis needed time alone to pull herself together after the Farrell thing. With the code changed on the gate, he couldn’t get in without her letting him in. Couldn’t just show up at the door any more.

I was glad that drama was over.

The new store was busy as I put Linc in the back of the cart and put Simka in the baby seat at the front and did up her seat belt.

She immediately started pointing at every bright label as if it were a carnival.

“I want dis, Daddy,” she said excitedly, grabbing at a box of chicken feed.

“But we don’t have chickens, baby,” I said, steering us into the aisle.

“But we need chickens, Daddy.”

Linc leaned over the edge of the cart, dead serious. “Daddy, chickens make eggs.”

“I’m outnumbered,” I chuckled, holding up my hands in surrender. “I’ll figure it out, kids.”

That inspired cheering.

I hadn’t lived in Butler for too long and I couldn’t remember ever being in the small town of McDade for any reason, even though it wasn’t far from Butler. That meant all the people shopping in this new store were strangers to me. I liked that.

As we moved through the sea of unfamiliar faces, not a single person stopped me to talk or asked for an autograph.

“What do you guys want to look at?” I knew better than to open up that can of worms, but I did it anyway.

Right off the bat, Simka said, “I need seeds, Daddy.”

“What kind of seeds do you need?” I tried not to laugh.

“Pretty ones. Mama wants flowers, and we need seeds.”

“Sure. That makes sense. Let’s look at the seeds and see what kind Ellis might like.”

There were a lot of people near the seeds. A wall of denim and boots, and we couldn’t get close. “We’ll have to wait our turn, Simka.”

“I want a rope for my pony,” said Linc.

“The pony that you don’t have, buddy?”

“I need a rope and a blanket like Durango has.”

“Right. You’re getting ready for your pony. I’m on that page, Lincoln. Let’s look at the blankets.”

As we passed the pet section, Simka pointed.

“We need dog food?”

“New dogs, Daddy. They hungry.”

“Right, Diesel and Dozer are always hungry. They don’t have bowls of their own or much food. We should stock up.”

“Biscuits.” Simka pointed at the boxes.

“Yep. We’ll get them some treats too.”

I took two stainless steel bowls off the shelf and handed them to Linc to put in the cart. Then I hefted a fifty-pound bag of kibble and grunted as I bent down and shoved it onto the rack under the cart.

As I stood up, a pretty girl with blonde wavy hair handed me a coupon. “Pet supplies are fifteen percent off for our grand opening.”

“Thanks.”

“At the checkouts, there are balloons for all the kids.” She smiled at Linc and Simka. “You have a couple of cuties in your cart.”

“Thanks.”

“Balloons, Daddy,” said Simka.

“This is your lucky day.”

As I walked towards the checkout counter to get the balloons, she walked alongside my cart. “You’re Tommy Donovan, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“I’m a fan. I come and watch you sing at Boots whenever I can.”

“Hope I didn’t disappoint.”

She smiled, playful and confident. “You didn’t. Though I may’ve missed a few highway exits while I was singing along with your Keith Whitley cover.”

“Well damn, I’ll take that as a compliment. You sing?”

“I sing some. I’m Ava Sutton.”

“Sutton. Any relation to Denny?”

The smile slipped away for a moment. “He’s my brother. Do you know him?” She watched me in silence, trying to figure me out.

“I’m a gang cop. And the Flatirons don’t exactly stay low profile.”

“I moved away from all that,” she said, a little edge behind the smile now. “Left Flatonia and got my own place. I’m chasing something different. Something better. I want to sing, and I need space to practice without motorcycles revving in the driveway.”

I nodded, impressed. “That’s brave. And smart.”

I considered the down side and then dove in. “I’m singing a few at Boots tonight if you want to come. I can pick you up, but I go a bit early to help the band set up.”

Big smile. “I’d love to go with you, Tommy.”

“Write down your address for me and I’ll come get you.”

We reached the checkout, and Ava snagged two red and blue helium balloons. She tied one to each kid’s wrist and leaned down to whisper, “These are special balloons. They float higher when you sing.”

Simka’s eyes got wide.

Both kids laughed all the way to the truck. When I buckled them into their car seats, the balloons bumped against the roof like they were dancing.

I smiled to myself as I closed the door and looked back toward the store.

I’ve got a fuckin’ date.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler.

Linc and Simka couldn’t wait to run into the house and show Ellis their balloons. “Look, Mama, look at the balloons.”

“Wow. Those are beautiful balloons you lucky kids got. Did you have a wonderful time at the feed store?”

“It was packed.” I laughed. “The population of McDade is about seven hundred and I swear they were all at the grand opening.”

I lugged the fifty pounds of dog kibble to the pantry and put it away. “How are the dogs getting along?”

“Your new dogs don’t want to stay in the house. I’m constantly letting them out.”

“We’re fully fenced, and they can stay outside. I’ll take a run with them back to the river. They were raised next to the Pecan River, and they’re used to running wild.”

“We got you a surprise, Mama.” Simka rummaged in her bag and gave Ellis the packets of flower seeds. “Here, Mama.”

Ellis looked at the packets in Simka’s little hands and froze, her eyes softening instantly. “Oh, Simka…” She knelt and pulled her into a hug, her voice thick. She then turned to me. “We’ve been talking about making flower beds at the back of the house, and she remembered.”

“You’ll have to show me where you want the flower beds. Do we need another trip to the garden center?”

Ellis laughed. “Possibly.”

I poured myself a coffee and sat down at the table to talk to Ellis. “I met a girl at the store opening.”

“Fantastic. I’ve been waiting for this to happen.”

“You never know if it’s going anywhere.”

“You just met her. Think positive thoughts.”

“Haven’t got much positive history to lean on, Ellis.”

“Sadly, that’s true. Ricki was a disappointment, and we can’t go anywhere near your other heartbreak. Nobody ever said starting over was easy. What’s the girl’s name?”

“Ava. Ava Sutton. I know her brother from a cop’s point of view.”

“Is her brother trouble?”

“Leader of the Flatirons but I don’t mind him much as a person. He’s had a few run-ins with Farrell.”

“Haven’t we all.” Ellis tried to laugh but the hurt was there in her eyes.

“I’m singing at Boots tonight and I asked her if she wanted to go with me.”

“That’s progress. It must’ve been difficult for you to ask her.”

“A little, but it seemed kind of natural too. She says she wants to be a singer.”

Ellis smiled. “You have something in common and you can build on that.”

“At least music is something we can talk about. I’m not much on small talk.”

“You’re not, but you’re honest and that counts for a lot.” She got up and topped up our coffees. “I’m happy for you, Tommy. You have to have more in your life than work and taking care of the kids.”

“I’m not working for a while. Already decided. The weather is good, and I have a lot to get done here on the farm. Maybe for the summer we’ll run a few cattle in the pasture field next to the river. That way we won’t have to worry about water for them.”

“I don’t know much about cattle,” said Ellis, “but anything we add to our farm is a learning experience for the children.”

I nodded.

I think I’ll let the idea of chickens fade away.

“Don’t forget your appointment tomorrow at the hospital.”

“I won’t forget. Lukas is going with me to make sure I go. Guess he doesn’t trust me to show up.” I laughed.

“It’s important to find out how the fracture is healing and how much longer it will take.”

“Lukas has a list of questions.”

Ellis nodded. “Lukas is thorough. I don’t have to worry if you’re in his hands.”

“I can’t tell Doctor Kaplan I’ve been flying. He’ll shit a brick.”

“You’d better skip over that then.” Ellis giggled.

The kids tumbled back into the kitchen, still laughing, and the sound filled the room in the best possible way. The light caught Ellis’s face just right, and for a moment, I thought this is what normal looks like. This is what healing sounds like.

And I’d missed it more than I knew.

Donovan Ranch. Elgin.

Farrell sat alone under the umbrella on his patio and drank a half dozen Shiners. He was sufficiently drunk before he called his brother Neil.

“Hey, Farrell. How have you been? I haven’t heard from you, and I was starting to worry.”

“Been better.”

“You sound drunk.”

“Maybe a bit. You driving down for the picnic?”

“Can’t make it. We have a double header on Memorial Day, and I already apologized to Mom. Why don’t you come up here for the weekend? You can sit with Cage at the park. Head office makes sure he has good seats for every game.”

“I might do that, Neil. There’s nothing keeping me here.”

“Something happen to you and Ellis?”

“Over.”

“Sorry, bro. She’s nice and I thought she was good for you. You’d better come up here. I want to see you.”

“You’re about the only person who does.”

“Drive up after work tomorrow and we’ll go to Billy Bob’s and have some fun.”

“I gotta rent a truck before tomorrow, but the timing will work. I’ll get Monroe to feed Diablo, and I’ll bring Billy Jean with me.”

“Why do you need to rent a truck?”

“Mine’s being fixed. Long story.”

“Tell me when you get here. Can’t wait to see you. Cage will be glad to see you too, and we’ll have a great weekend. Get you out of your breakup slump.”

Farrell laughed. “That’ll be an uphill battle.”

Boots & Saddles Roadhouse. Giddings.

When I left the farm, I punched Ava’s address into the GPS and the Map Lady led me to a single-wide trailer sitting on about an acre of land between Butler and McDade.

Ava didn’t live more than five miles from me.

My knock on her door made a dog bark inside. Ava opened the door right away and smiled at me. Kind of a shy smile, but she was prettier than I remembered from when I saw her at the store.

Prettier and younger. Made me wonder how old she was.

Has to be twenty-one if she can get into Boots.

“Hi, Tommy. I’m ready.” She pushed the dog back with her leg. “Get back, Razor. You’re not going out.”

“He’s a cute dog.”

“Black Lab. I love him so much. Denny got him for me because he don’t like me living by myself way out here, but I had to get me some peace and quiet to write my songs and practice. I just couldn’t do that living with Denny and…you know…the boys coming in and out at all hours.”

“I understand. That makes perfect sense to me.”

She smiled and shouldered her leather purse and locked the door behind her.

Our date had officially begun.

First dates were hell, and I hated them.

“I like your truck, Tommy. Does it have four-wheel drive?”

“Surely does. How did the big store opening go for y’all?”

“Super busy all day long and fun too. Everybody is in a good mood with the holiday weekend coming.”

“Yep. Memorial Day weekend coming up.”

“Your little kids are so cute. Are you divorced? I hope you are because I don’t go out with men who have wives. At least, I wouldn’t if one of those married guys asked me.”

“I’m not married, Ava. If I was I wouldn’t have asked you out.”

“I don’t know what I’m saying, Tommy. I’m just blabbing out stuff because I’m so nervous being with you—you being like a rock star—and me riding in your truck.”

“I ain’t a rock star, Ava, and there’s nothing to be nervous about. I’m not good at dates because I don’t have time to take girls out. Why don’t we both relax and not think of this as a date?”

“What is it then?”

“It’s you and me going to Boots.”

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna sing a few with the band and when I’m not singing you and me are gonna dance and have a few beers. That’s all there is to it.”

“I’m down with that.”

“Me too.” I turned the radio down. “Sing me a little tune so I can hear your voice.”

“Right now?”

“Yep. Right now while we’re driving along.”

“Okay. Here goes.”

Ava sang a couple of lines from a Neil Young song, and I knew from that little bit how good she was. Perfect pitch and she was nervous. But when she got over the nerves, she’d be great.

“I’m in the studio right now making my second CD and you could sing harmony on a couple of the songs if you wanted to.”

“I don’t think I’m good enough for that, Tommy.”

“You will be after we practice and put some hard work in to it.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

I shrugged. “I’m a nice guy.”

“I figured you were. You being a single dad n’all. I watched you with your kids.”

I wasn’t sure about Ava. Being Denny Sutton’s sister had its own set of drawbacks, but she was interesting, and for sure, she could sing.

I hope she’s a good dancer. That would be icing on the cake.

From behind the bar, Annie saw me come in the front door with Ava and she smiled and gave me a thumbs up.

The roadhouse was packed, and we had to sit at the band table until a booth for Ava became available. I helped Beau get the stage set up and then sat with Ava and we had a beer together.

“What instruments do you play? You didn’t say.”

“Guitar and banjo and I can play a little fiddle music. I’m not great on the fiddle, but it’s coming along. I can’t read music, so I have to fake it.” She laughed.

“Wow, you’re talented. I’m just adding the mouth organ and trying to get used to that thing around my neck. Haven’t done it on stage yet, but I’m working on it in practice.”

The date went pretty much like I forecasted. I sang, then we danced when it wasn’t my turn on stage. Ava was a great dancer, and she sang along with the songs the band was playing.

She’s a musician. I can’t wait to hear her play that fuckin’ banjo.

After the roadhouse closed and we said goodnight to the boys in the band, I drove her home.

“Do you want to come in, Tommy?”

“It’s really late and my kids will be up in three hours. I have to go home, but I’ll walk you to your door.”

She unlocked the door and opened it. “I had fun. I loved sitting at the band table. I’ve always wanted to be part of a band and sing on a stage. I’m so grateful you gave me the chance to come with you.”

I pulled her close to me and kissed her and there was a lot of heat between us. More than I could recall on my part for a long time.

“Tomorrow night I sing at T ‘n T downtown and you can come with me.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there. I heard they have a live band every night of the week.”

“True story.”

“I’m excited to go there with you, Tommy.”

“What I’m thinking is—tomorrow afternoon, you come over to my place and we’ll sit on the porch and practice a couple of songs that we can sing together.”

Ava’s eyes widened. “That would be fun. I can drive over if you tell me where you live.”

I wrote the address down for her. “Bring all your instruments and you can bring your dog too. I have a lot of dogs. Dogs and kids are what I have most of.” I laughed.

“I noticed you bought a big bag of dog food at the store.”

“Yep. Three dogs.” I kissed her again and this time I was sure I didn’t want to go home, but I had to.

“Our second date tomorrow will be porch sittin’ and pickin’.”

Ava squealed. “I’ve never been more excited about anything in my entire life.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Friday, May 23rd.

George Washington University Hospital. D.C.

Yvonne pushed the door open slowly, Roy at her side, the steady beep of the monitors already easing some of the tension from her shoulders.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she said softly, stepping into the hospital room.

Chet was propped up slightly, the sunlight from the window cutting across the sheets. The hoses were out of his throat now, just a nasal cannula tucked gently along his face. Several of the wires that had once mapped his heartbeat like a warzone had been removed. His skin looked pale, but less like paper. More like him.

Roy moved to the other side of the bed, adjusting the corner of the blanket out of habit. “Hey, buddy. You look better today. Less like Frankenstein.”

Chet's eyes blinked open slowly, and this time… they were focused. Not just looking—but seeing.

Yvonne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Chet, can you hear me?”

He swallowed with effort, eyes flicking between Roy and Yvonne. His lips parted, voice rough as gravel. “Y…Von…”

“I’m here,” she said, leaning forward, her hand sliding into his. “I’m right here.”

Chet gave the faintest smile—just a twitch at the corner of his mouth—and his eyes landed on Roy.

“Hey, old man,” Roy said gently, blinking away tears. “Took you long enough.”

Chet tried to laugh, but it came out as a dry rasp. “Hurts… like hell.”

Yvonne and Roy both chuckled, the sound wet with relief.

“You earned every bruise, tough guy,” Vonnie said softly.

Chet’s eyes fluttered once more. “Stay?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Roy assured him.

Chet nodded—barely—and drifted back into sleep.

Yvonne exhaled slowly, brushing a hand across his forehead. “Yesterday, he looked through us. Today, he saw us.”

“That’s progress,” Roy said, dragging two chairs closer to the bed. “He’ll come back to us. He just needs time.”

Yvonne pulled a deck of cards from her purse and raised an eyebrow. “Gin rummy?”

Roy grinned. “Loser buys cafeteria lunch.”

“Oh, that’s cruel.” She laughed, already shuffling the cards. “You remember the Jell-O from last time?”

They played quietly at Chet’s bedside, glancing up every few minutes to check for movement. No alarms. No gasping. Just slow, steady breaths.

And for the first time in weeks, hope sat with them in the room.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

The kids devoured their breakfast this morning and were in fine form. They kept telling Ellis that we were gettin’ chickens, then they'd cheer like it was Christmas morning. With that kind of enthusiasm, it'd be cruel not to get them a couple of layers.

I scraped the last bit of egg off my plate and drained my coffee cup, draggin’ breakfast out longer than I should. The quiet tick of the kitchen clock was louder than it needed to be.

“I’m not looking forward to getting my head examined again, Ellis. I’m scared of what Kaplan’s gonna say.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. Lukas is coming. He’ll ask Doc Kaplan all the questions I should be asking and wouldn’t think of. No worries there.”

“He’s a good brother,” she said, reaching for her tea. “And I’m sure you’ll get some answers—good ones. But I understand being scared. That kind of injury… it changes everything. You’re allowed to be nervous.”

I cleared my throat. “Let’s talk about something else. Something not involving scalpels or memory tests.”

Ellis smiled knowingly. “Alright. How did your date go with Ava?”

That helped. My mood lifted just thinking about last night.

“Real good. She’s coming over here this afternoon and we’re gonna do some porch pickin’. She’s bringing her banjo.”

Ellis’ eyes widened. “That should be fun. I’m looking forward to hearing her play.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking it will be fun. By dinner time, I’m hoping the two of us will be able to sing a duet together good enough for her to sing at T ‘n T tonight.”

“One afternoon of practice? Will that be enough to put her on the stage, Tommy?”

“Wait and see. She sang a bit for me in the truck and she’s pretty good, Ellis. She’s just scared. Probably sings in her bedroom in front of her mirror and that’s as far as she’s got.”

“Enough confidence to sing in front of people must take time to work up.”

“Does. Took me a long time before I figured I was good enough.”

Ellis reached over and touched my hand. “You are definitely good enough.”

“Thanks.”

The kids started banging on the back door, yelling about chicken names already—one of them had apparently settled on ‘Mr. Pickles.’

It was shaping up to be a good day. And for the first time in a while, the fear didn’t outweigh the hope.

Cherrywood. Austin.

Dreading the entire appointment thing, I made the slow drive into Austin with my stomach turning tighter by the mile.

The sun was out, the road was dry, and there wasn’t a single damn thing wrong with the world—except what might be going on inside my head. I tapped the steering wheel in rhythm with the low hum of the radio, but it didn’t calm me. Even classic Waylon couldn’t drown out the sound of my own thoughts.

What if the headaches weren’t just normal recovery?

What if something was still bleeding or broken inside my skull? Or worse—permanent?

I took the last turn toward Aunt Gail’s neighborhood too fast and hit the brakes harder than I meant to. Gravel popped under the tires as I pulled into her driveway behind Lukas’ truck.

He was waiting for me on the porch with his truck keys in his hand. “I’ll drive, bro. They might do something to you to make you wonky and you won’t be able to drive back here.”

“Feel better already. Was that your pep rally speech?”

Lukas laughed, the sound easy and familiar. “Nah. That comes after coffee.”

“I could use something stronger than coffee.”

“Stop worrying. Might not be too bad. We don’t know what’s gonna happen to you this morning.”

“True enough.”

The porch door creaked, and Aunt Gail stepped out in a faded floral apron, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She made a beeline for me, arms open.

“I want a hug before you two run off to the hospital,” she said, pulling me close like I was still ten years old with a scraped knee.

I hugged her back, stiff but grateful. She smelled like cinnamon and lemon cleaner.

“You do what that doctor tells you, Thomas Jett Donovan,” she poked my chest lightly. “Don’t get clever, and don’t start pretending you’re fine if you’re not.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You got a good head on your shoulders, but no shame in asking for help if somethin’ feels wrong. That’s how smart people stay alive.”

By the time she was done, I was more nervous and a helluva lot more wary of the whole mess before we even left the driveway.

As Lukas backed out, he glanced over at me, “Still scared?”

“Terrified.”

“Good. That means you’re takin’ it seriously.”

I stared out the window, heart knocking against my ribs like it was tryin’ to get free.

Let’s just get this over with.

Neurological Hospital. Austin.

First thing was a new set of X-rays of my head.

After that, Lukas and I sat in the waiting area—him calm as a monk, me trying not to bounce my leg clean off.

The walls were too white, the lights too bright, and the seconds ticked by like they were being personally insulting.

Eventually, we were called in. The exam room was like all the others—cold, sterile and practical. My heart thumped in my chest as we waited.

Dr. Kaplan walked in with that same laid-back confidence he always had, but this time, I didn’t trust the smile on his face.

“Tommy, great to see you.”

“Give me the good news, Doc. Tell me my head is good as fuckin’ new.”

“Not exactly as good as new, but there has been a slight improvement.”

“Slight? I don’t like that word.”

He rotated the screen so Lukas and I could see. “Skull fractures take a long time to heal, but in your case it’s taking too long. Based on the imaging, I can tell you’re into mid-term healing, but the pace is sluggish.”

“Any way I can speed things up, Doc?”

“Only one way. More rest. Less activity. And by less, I mean close to none.” He looked me dead in the eye, his smile gone. “Tommy, in my opinion, the healing’s being held back because you won’t slow the hell down.”

“Okay,” I said quietly. “So what now?”

“You take a step back. You give your brain time to catch up. If you don’t, we’re talking months—maybe years—before you're baseline again.”

“Years?”

Lukas gave me the death stare and spewed out a semi-lie. Not a total lie. “He’s going to take a month off work, Doc.”

Doctor Kaplan pulled up a calendar on his computer. “Tommy, it’s time to take this seriously. Mandatory time off is one month—minimal activity and absolutely no flying. I’m scheduling new X-rays for four weeks from today.”

“Okay.” I looked at Lukas and he was putting the date in his phone.

“Tommy, I hope I see a significant improvement the next time you’re sitting in that chair.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I’ll put you upstairs on the rehab floor and you’ll have no choice but to follow my rules. I won’t let you burn yourself out and fall apart under my watch.”

He paused, giving me a long look. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir. Clear.”

He wasn’t finished.

“And Tommy—when the CIA calls my office asking about the status of your injury… it’s probably time for you to start taking it seriously.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yep, one month, Doc. I’ll be a lot better. I guarantee it.”

“Excellent.”

We walked back to Lukas’ truck, and he didn’t talk to me until we were sitting inside.

“You’re a singing farmer for a month. Hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you and I heard Kaplan too. I’ve got to do better.”

My phone signaled a text, and I glanced at the screen and smiled.

“Who is it?”

“Ava. Girl I met.”

“What’s she saying?”

“She’ll be at the farm at two, as soon as she’s off work.”

“What’s she look like?”

“You want to see Ava, you come to T ‘n T tonight and you’ll see her.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Few hours. Met her yesterday.”

“Huh. I’ll be there to give her a look. Give her the brother test.”

“I’ll see if I can get y’all a decent table and you can chat her up.”

“Copy that.”

Private Residence. White House. D.C.

Lee put the morning in downstairs in the Oval Office, but he was finished for the day when he came upstairs to the Residence for lunch.

He was eating a sandwich alone in the dining room when Jesse Quantrall called. “Mister Secretary, good to hear from you.”

“I called to ask a favor, Lee.”

“Sure, what can I do for you?”

“I heard through the grapevine you were going to Texas for the long weekend.”

Lee laughed. “News travels fast in this city.”

“Annie told me when she asked if I was coming home for her picnic.”

“Would you like to hitch a ride?”

“Love to. Whenever you happen to be going is fine for me.”

“I’m heading out of here in a couple of hours. I’ll pick you up in Georgetown at three and we’ll get to Andrews around four or four-thirty.”

“Sounds perfect to me. I’m just a hitchhiker.”

Lee laughed. “I’ll be glad to have company on the flight. I’m looking forward to this weekend more than you can imagine.”

“We’ve both earned a few days off,” Jesse said. “It’ll be good to see Annie and the kids. Spend time with my own kids. Reset a little.”

“Reset,” Lee echoed, tapping a finger against his glass. “Exactly.”

Lee ended the call and glanced out the tall Residence windows. Blue skies over D.C. and the world looked peaceful.

His gut told him that calm wouldn’t last long.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler. Texas.

Over lunch with the kids, I told Ellis about getting the new set of X-rays, and what Doctor Kaplan said about me not working for a month.

“You’ve been doing too much to allow your head to heal.” She sliced up apple wedges for the kids as she talked.

“He was pissed at me, Ellis. Couldn’t miss it. Real quiet about it, but underneath…” I shook my head. “He was ready to check me in upstairs. He said so.”

“Was Lukas a witness to your consultation?”

“He was sitting right there.”

“Then he’ll be enforcing everything the doctor said.”

“Yeah, figured he would.”

“So you might as well tell anybody who needs to know that you won’t be available for work until after the first of July.”

I nodded. “Yep, that’s about it, ain’t it?”

“And that back-to-work date is only valid if you pass the next X-ray test. If you don’t, then you’ll be in the hospital doing crossword puzzles.”

“Shit. I can’t even do those things, Ellis.”

She laughed. “Think of it as forced relaxation.”

“Yeah, right.” I caught the worry in her eyes.

The gate buzzed and I jumped up when the dogs barked. “That’s Ava.”

“Ooh, I’m excited to meet her, Tommy. I hope she’s not afraid of the dogs.”

“Umm…I think she’s bringing her dog with her.”

“Another dog? That will be fun.”

I ran down the lane with the dogs running behind me and I let Ava through the gate. If this worked out, I’d give her the code, but it was a little early for that.

I leaned in the driver’s window and kissed her. “Have any trouble finding me?”

“No, but I was scared of the gate.”

“I’ve got dogs and small kids. My place is fenced and secure.” I waved. “Drive up to the house.”

I jogged and Ava followed me in her battered old pickup. Dark red with rust but she didn’t seem to care. She was living on her own and making it. That’s all that mattered.

When she parked and let her dog out, my dogs swarmed around and barked and bounced.

“Enough. Go play and be nice.”

I was surprised when they listened to me and ran off chasing each other and playing.

The sun seemed to reflect off Ava’s beautiful blonde hair, making it look like it was glowing. And she smelled fantastic—lavender, I think.

We unloaded her cases and set up on the porch while the kids napped.

Big smile. “I’m looking forward to this. I know how good you can play the guitar, and I figured I might learn something today.”

“I might learn from you too.”

“I doubt it, Tommy.” She giggled and I couldn’t believe how cute she was.

“Before we start, come in and meet Ellis. She’s the kids’ nanny.”

“I wondered if you looked after them all on your own.”

“Between the two of us we do it, all on our own.”

I walked Ava into the kitchen and Ellis smiled at her. “Hi, Ava. Tommy told me you were coming over to practice. I made a pitcher of lemonade.”

“Thanks, that’s so nice.”

She glanced around the open area, and I said, “Nap time for the kids. They’re still small enough to sleep in the afternoon.”

“Do you think we’ll wake them up playing on the porch?”

Ellis shook her head. “I don’t think so. If they can sleep through the three dogs barking, singing won’t wake them up.”

We were set up with the amps and ready to go and I was looking forward to working on a song we could sing together. No idea what songs Ava knew.

“First we should go over what songs you know that I know too, then we can try one together.”

“That makes sense.” She listed off the songs she knew, and she was playing and singing a lot of new country stuff that she heard on the radio. I didn’t know those songs. Didn’t like cookie-cutter country, and I never bothered listening to it.

“So, not much we have in common.”

“I’ve heard you sing several times, and I love the songs you pick, but I don’t know them, and I don’t even know the artists that made them into famous songs. I need help with that.”

“Sure. We can trade information and learn as we go along. I was thinking if you’re good on the banjo, you must know some bluegrass songs.”

“Uh huh. I do.”

“Okay, so we have about six songs that we both know the music and the words to, so we’ll pick one and start with that.”

“Sure. You pick the song and play lead guitar, and I’ll come in where I think I should.”

I laughed out loud. “This is gonna be so much fun.”

And it was.

We practiced for two solid hours and had two songs down perfect. When I told her we were gonna sing those two songs at T ‘n T, Ava looked like she might faint.

Ellis came outside when the kids woke up from their naps. “Are you ready for an audience?”

“No,” said Ava.

“Yes, we are. Sit down there, Ellis, and we’re gonna sing one for you.”

“I am so nervous,” said Ava.

“You’re better than you think you are, girl. Time to get rid of those nerves.”

Austin-Bergstrom Airport. Texas.

Air Force One landed and Lee’s detail headed by Secret Service Agent Dan Black had made all the preparations for the trip to Texas.

Three black SUVs, bulletproof with tinted windows were aligned on the tarmac ready to transport Number One wherever he needed to go.

“Can we drop you, Jesse?”

“Not necessary. I’ll just tag along to Annie’s ranch and one of my brothers will whip over and pick me up. My ranch isn’t that far from Annie’s. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes away.”

“That will work,” said Lee. “So happy to be in Texas for the weekend.”

“Ditto.” Jesse laughed and gave Lee a thumbs up.

Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

Annie took a beer out onto the porch and finished inviting guests to Tommy’s surprise party. She called Lukas.

“Hey, Annie. You don’t call me much.”

“I’ll try to do better in the future.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, sugar. Reason I’m calling, Saturday night I’m having a party at Boots for Tommy’s birthday. Can you come?”

“Sure. I’ll be there. Is Farrell invited? There’s been some trouble with Tommy over the breakup with Ellis.”

“When I talked to Neil, he told me Farrell will be at his place for the weekend. He’s driving up for the double header on Memorial Day.”

“Fantastic,” said Lukas. “I guess Neil can’t come either.”

“No, sadly he can’t. I’d like to see that double-header myself.”

“Me too.”

Annie finished her calls and went inside for another Coors. It wasn’t long after that the convoy of SUVs lined up at the gate. Jose had been forewarned the president was coming and he was watching for their esteemed guest driving down the long laneway.

Annie waved as she walked along the flagstone path to greet Lee and his men. Dan Black was one of her favorite people and she was always glad to see him.

After hugs, the Secret Service agents cleared Annie’s house, and they were all allowed to go inside for a beer before dinner.

“I’m not staying for dinner, Annie,” said Jesse. “I called Paulie and told him to come pick me up.”

“Okay, but you’re coming to Tommy’s party tomorrow night at Boots, aren’t you?”

“Of course, we’ll all be there.”

“Make sure you bring Tyler. I’m waiting for things to change for him.”

“I hope they do.”

After dinner, Lee and Annie went for a long walk down the back lane to the river and got caught up on a few things. Some of them were political, and some weren’t.

“Tommy and I had a disagreement the last time he left the Residence, and I want to make that right, Annie. I don’t like being at odds with him. He’s like my own family. He and Ted are best buds.”

“Seeing that you came for his birthday should go a long way to repairing whatever damage was done,” said Annie. “He hasn’t spoken to me about it. Not even once.”

“Do you speak to him often?”

“He called when he got back from West Texas and I made sure he was going to be at Boots tomorrow night—he doesn’t know about the party—but that was all we talked about.”

“No matter what happens, I’ll enjoy our time together, Annie. You are always a bright spot in my lackluster existence.”

She laughed. “I’m nobody’s bright spot, Lee, but I’m happy you think of me that way.”

Donovan Residence. Arlington.

Farrell opened the passenger door and let Billy Jean out of his truck. She ran straight to Angel, her sister bloodhound, and they ran off down one of the landscaped paths that wound through Neil’s estate.

Big smile on Neil’s face as he came out to greet his big brother. Cage Rutledge, his bodyguard, right behind him.

“So happy you drove up, bro. I’ve been missing you. Once the season starts, I hardly have any family time at all, and I’m kind of pissed I’m missing Mom’s picnic.”

“Yeah, the picnics are always great, and the weather is perfect now. The heat hasn’t hit us too hard yet.”

“Sorry about Ellis,” said Neil. “I really am.”

“Yeah, me too, but I’m not gonna talk about it yet. I’m not ready.”

“That’s fine. Come in and have a beer. Got Shiners on ice for you.”

“Attaboy. We’ll start the weekend off right.”

T ‘n T Roadhouse. Downtown Austin. Texas.

I got to the roadhouse nice and early to get a table for me and Ava and Lukas. “If you don’t get here early, then you don’t get a table where you can see the stage and my brother is coming tonight to watch us.”

“Does he sing too?”

“No. But he comes to watch me, and we have a few beers.”

“Does he dance?”

“Nope. He doesn’t dance, but lots of girls ask him. Just watches out for me and that’s about it.”

“Does he look like you?”

“Sort of. Darker hair and brown eyes.”

I ordered a pitcher for me and Ava. She said she was good with Shiners. Another point in her favor. I hardly knew her, so I had a lot to learn about her.

We left her stuff in the booth, and I took my guitar and Ava, and we went to the stage where Charlie was setting up and we had a little talk.

“Need to talk, Charlie. This is Ava.”

Charlie grinned. “Hi, Ava.”

“Hi.”

“Ava and I worked on a couple of songs this afternoon and Ava’s gonna do some banjo picking on one of them.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting.”

I chuckled. “Trust me, Charlie. It will be good.”

“I trust you, Tommy. You’ve never let me down before.”

We walked back to our booth and a good song came on over the speakers. Recorded music until the band started. I took her hand and pulled her out onto the dance floor.

“Let’s dance.”

“I’m still shaky from talking to the band guy.”

“He’s nice and he’s gonna like you.”

“I’m so scared, Tommy.”

“You’ve gotta keep singing in front of people until that scared feeling goes away. I know because it’s the same for everybody.”

“Are you sure it goes away?”

“Yep. We’ll sing together until you’re ready to go solo.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to sing in public even with you.”

“Yes, you are.” I leaned down and kissed her. “You’ll be ready as soon as we start the song.”

Lukas was sitting in our booth when the song we were dancing to ended, and I introduced him to Ava. “This is my brother, Lukas Donovan.”

“Nice to meet you, Lukas.”

“I heard you were gonna sing with Tommy?”

“He wants me to, but I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“He wouldn’t put you on the stage if he didn’t think you were ready, girl. He’s not that guy.”

“I’ve never sung on a stage before and I’ve got to get over the nerves. He told me the only way to do that is keep singing in front of people until the shaky feeling is gone.”

“Probably good advice.”

During the second set, Charlie worked in our duet, and I walked back to the booth to get Ava. “It’s time, Ava.”

“I think I’m gonna cry, Tommy.”

“Pick up your banjo and come with me. First time is the worst. Trust me.”

When we were in front of the mic, I said, “This is my new singing partner, Ava. Give her a big hand. She’s a bit nervous.”

The crowd roared and clapped, and Ava relaxed a tiny bit. I played the intro, and she came in right on time on the banjo. We sang the first verse and then the chorus and then she did a solo banjo part before the second verse.

The crowd loved it and so did Charlie. He gave us a thumbs up. Ava went back to the booth and sat with Lukas while I sang three in a row and the set was over.

Later on, Ava and I sang our duet, and she did well. Never missed a word or a note.

I drove her home, and she was hyped up so high from performing on the stage, and I knew the feeling. She’d be good from now on.

“You did fantastic. How does it feel?”

“I’m so crazy happy I feel like I could give out electric shocks if I touched anybody.”

We both laughed.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Saturday, May 24th.

Tommy’s Birthday.

Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

After the cowboys and the kids finished breakfast and disappeared to start their day—some to work, some to play—Riley rolled out a second breakfast in the dining room just for Lee, Annie, and the security team.

Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and enough coffee to fuel a cavalry.

Lee looked relaxed, settled in jeans and a well-worn Texas Rangers T-shirt, sleeves pushed up, forearms resting casually on the table. The kind of man who’d spent the morning thinking about nothing but coffee and fresh air.

“Nice to have Jesse with me on the flight out here,” he said between sips. “We’ve gotten to be pretty good friends since he came to D.C. and took the Secretary of State position.”

“He’s easy to talk to,” said Annie. “Good speaker too. He made a great governor of Texas. Everybody loved him. Ranchers, teachers, oilmen, soccer moms—you name it. Jesse was the most popular governor of Texas since Prescott Richardson.”

Lee nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that. Jesse’s the kind of guy you want in your corner. No showboating, just does the work.”

“When Lou Quantrall died, he left Jesse in charge of the ranch, the Appaloosa business and Quantrall Oil and also left him responsible for his brothers. Jesse has always had a lot of responsibility to carry on his shoulders.”

Lee nodded. “And he’s done it so well.”

“He’s one of the good guys, Lee.”

Lee leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good men are harder to come by than I thought when I took this job. I’m lucky to call Jesse a friend.”

“You’re lucky to have Texas friends,” she teased, raising her coffee mug.

Lee clinked his against hers. “Best kind there is.”

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler.

My eyes weren’t even open when my phone signaled a text. I reached for my cell on the nightstand and looked at the screen through sleepy eyes.

“Happy Birthday. See you tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Things were going great with Ava so far and I liked her a lot. I needed to feel more. I wanted to be so into Ava and what we could do together that I didn’t have time to think of…anybody else but her.

It was my only chance of getting my life re-started.

I sat up, rubbed the grit from my eyes, and got dressed slowly. My whole body was tired, like my bones had stayed on stage without me. I hadn’t gotten home from T ‘n T until nearly four, and it felt like I’d barely closed my eyes before morning came clawing back.

Gotta do better or I’ll be back in the damn hospital before July.

Downstairs, I could already hear Ellis moving around with the kids—sounds of cereal boxes and clinking plates, the occasional giggle echoing through the hallway. I followed the smell of coffee like it owed me money.

When I sat down at the table, Ellis handed me a mug without a word.

“You look exhausted,” she said. Then she smiled. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, wrapping both hands around the cup like it could warm up more than just my fingers.

Ellis pointed at the kids and on cue they sang Happy Birthday to me and made me laugh.

“Hey, I’ve got me two singers.” I clapped for them, and they clapped for themselves. We all laughed, and it was party time.

Ellis poured herself a mug of coffee, “How did Ava make out at the roadhouse?”

“She did great,” I said. “Killed it on the banjo. She’s self-taught, and honestly, listening to her makes me want to pick up another instrument and learn it just to keep up.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Ellis gave me a soft look. “You and Ava share something strong with the music. That’s not nothing.”

“I do like her,” I said, more to the table than to her.

“I like her too, and the kids will like her once they know her a little better. That will take more time.”

“Yep. What’s up for this morning? I may have to grab a couple hours when the kids are down after lunch. I have to play tonight at Boots.”

“Garden center this morning, then lunch and naps.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll do the chores and be back for breakfast in a few.”

She nodded and gave me a look that meant don’t overdo it.

I gave her one that said I’ll try not to.

And then I stepped outside, already planning the songs Ava and I could try tonight... and trying not to think about the ones that still made my chest ache.

Elgin Garden Center.

Ellis and I packed up the kids and headed to Elgin to the garden center. One of Ellis’ favorite places and the kids loved it there too.

The flower beds were staked out and I knew approximately how much black dirt and manure we were going to need. Ellis was in charge of picking the bushes and she and the kids would plant the seeds when I got the beds ready for them. A proper family project and one I couldn’t screw up too easily.

I grabbed a cart, and we were on our way.

Saturday morning and everybody in Elgin was at the garden center.

“Balloons, Daddy.”

“I’m not sure this is a balloon day at this store, Linc. Keep your eyes open, we might see some.”

Ellis was in her element, walking ahead with purpose, examining leafy branches and holding up packets of seed for Simka to approve. I trailed behind, pushing the cart and occasionally pretending to be the engine of a train, when both kids leaned hard into a turn.

They giggled. Ellis grinned over her shoulder. And I realized—this was the kind of day I used to take for granted. Now it felt like peace.

We picked out bags of soil, loaded the cart with way too many plants, and filled up the back of the truck like we were prepping for a landscaping TV show.

My job, as always, came at the end—checkout duty. I pulled out my wallet and gave the clerk a smile like we both knew this wasn’t going to be cheap.

But honestly? I didn’t care.

This was the kind of morning I could live with. No drama. No gunfire. Just flowers, family, and dirt under my fingernails.

Quanah Kahni Farm. Butler.

We picked up tacos on the way home and had a quick lunch on the porch before unloading the dirt and manure and getting to work on the flower beds.

Like Lukas said, I was nothing but a singing farmer now and I wouldn’t be doing anything else for a whole month. Suited me fine.

While Linc and I dug into the backyard, clearing and shaping the flower beds, Ellis took Simka inside. They had a secret project going on, and Simka wasn’t great at keeping secrets, so I had a pretty good idea: it involved cake.

By the time we packed the last of the soil and tucked the last petunia into place, the beds looked pretty damned good. Ellis had picked out some bright pansies and a few small bushes that gave the yard a splash of real color. Even Linc stood back with muddy hands on his hips, nodding like we’d built something serious.

I showered off the dirt and flopped onto my bed in my boxers, fully intending to rest my eyes for twenty minutes.

I didn’t open my eyes until I heard Lukas at the bottom of the stairs hollering for me. “I’m drinking all your beer, Tommy. Drag your ass down here.”

I checked the time and I’d been sleeping for four hours. My whole body was lead-heavy like I’d been poured into the mattress. But I had to play tonight at Boots, and apparently, I had company.

“Coming, bro,” I mumbled, pulling on jeans and a clean shirt.

I stumbled down the stairs and stopped short, halfway to the kitchen.

The house had been transformed.

The dining room was strung with balloons and paper streamers, and there were candles flickering on the sideboard. The kids were dressed up—Simka in a frilly pink dress, Linc in a cowboy shirt and slicked-back hair. Aunt Gail was there too, sitting beside Lukas, and everyone turned to look at me with grins like I was royalty walking into a coronation.

“Wow,” I said. “Look what happened while I was sleeping.”

“Party, Daddy!” Simka squealed.

“Yep. You’re right, baby girl. It’s a party.”

Ellis made a great roast beef dinner, and we were a happy family. I had everything I needed right there in my own dining room.

When I was too full to eat another bite, Ellis lit the candles on the cake and put it in front of me.

“You kids will have to help me blow.”

They squealed and laughed as we struggled to blow out twenty-six candles. Took us three tries.

Lukas took pictures and so did I. More pictures of the kids for my phone.

Sutton Residence. McDade.

Ava invited me in for a beer before we left for the roadhouse. Her trailer was neat and tidy, but a little short on furniture. Didn’t matter. She was the only one living there with her dog.

“I thought I might be over it after last night, but I’m kind of nervous again, Tommy. Singing at Boots is a big step for me.”

“Want to go over our duet one time before we leave?”

“Would you mind?”

“Nope, I don’t mind. We’ll do it without music. Just practice our harmony.”

“Okay.”

She had a short dress on with high boots and a matching hat and she looked so cute.

“You look pretty. Did I mention that?”

She giggled. “No, but thanks.”

We did a practice run and she was fine, but she was a little bit shaky. I held her in my arms and hummed a song and we danced around the bare living room for a few minutes.

“You good to go now?”

“Yep. I’m solid.”

“Feed your dog?”

“Nope. Forgot.”

“Feed Razor and I’ll load your instruments.”

“Thanks, Tommy. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She rolled her eyes and ran into the kitchen to feed her dog.

Boots & Saddles Roadhouse. Giddings.

When I walked into Boots, I couldn’t believe it. Everybody was there and there was a big banner over the stage that said, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOMMY in big red letters.

Annie smiled and winked at me and pointed at the booth where Jesse sat with his brothers, Bobby, Paul and Tyler.

Blacky and Misty were seated in another booth with a couple of boys from the squad.

Big signs on the wall for the keg specials.

Seeing all of it and knowing Annie had done it for my birthday made me dizzy.

Ava clung to my hand as we made our way through the throngs of people. “I can’t believe how many people are here, Tommy.” She glanced up at the sign. “Is this for your birthday?”

“Yeah, it is. I guess I’m having a party I didn’t know about.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.”

“Ain’t it? I wasn’t expecting it, and I could use a beer. Let’s sit down for a second and have a beer before we help Beau set up.”

“Sure,” said Ava. “I could use a beer to relax.”

One of the servers rushed over with a pitcher of Shiners and frosted glasses for me and Ava. “Happy Birthday, Tommy. Big night for you.”

“Big surprise, Tina. I wasn’t ready for it.”

“Boss has been working on it all week. Hope you enjoy. Have a great night.”

“Thanks.”

Thanks, Annie.

Then the rear door opened, and four men walked in wearing jeans and flannel, looking almost normal—until you noticed the subtle outline of shoulder holsters under their shirts.

Secret Service, cowboy edition.

And behind them, wearing a Texas Rangers T-shirt, jeans, and a matching ball cap, was Lee. He walked in like he belonged, like it was his kind of place. Mick was at his side, scanning the crowd.

I stood, stunned. Then, I was across the floor in three strides, wrapping Lee in a hug before I could stop myself.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I couldn’t miss your birthday, son. You mean too much to me.”

I grabbed Ava’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “This is my new singing partner, Ava Sutton. You’ll hear her in a few minutes.”

Lee shook her hand. “Wonderful to meet you, Ava. You have an open invitation to stay with me anytime you and Tommy are in D.C.”

“Thank you. I’ve never been to Washington, D.C. I’ve never been out of Texas.”

“You’ll be out of Texas when we go on tour, Ava.”

She giggled. “Like that will happen.”

“I’m going to get a spot where I can see you perform, son. Looking forward to it.”

Mick steered Lee and his men to a reserved booth on the other side of the room.

“Who was that man?” asked Ava. “You didn’t say his name.”

“His name is Lee, but he doesn’t want anybody to know he’s here. It would cause too much crap to fly and ruin the party.”

“Is he famous?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you later. Right now I have to sing a couple to get this party started.”

I kissed Ava for luck and climbed the three steps to the stage. I’d already gone over the playlist with Beau and added in the two numbers Ava and I were going to sing later.

As soon as I got close to the mic, fans started hollering out requests. I started with two up-tempo songs and then we relaxed into West Texas Waltz, and everybody cheered. The dance floor was packed elbow to elbow.

On the break, I took Ava over to sit with Lee and Lukas was already at his table drinking beer with him.

“I’m having a great time, Tommy. I was thrilled when Annie called and invited me to your party.”

“You staying for the picnic on Monday?”

“I am. I’m staying in Texas as long as I possibly can.” He laughed.

“Don’t blame you. After living in D.C., it’s an easy choice.”

“It sure is.” He turned to Ava. “I haven’t heard you sing yet, Miss Ava.”

She giggled. “Coming up in the next set and I’m nervous about it. Me and Tommy just got together, and we’ve only had a couple of practices.”

“I’m sure the two of you will be stellar. Tommy often sings at a club in D.C., and he has a lot of fans there.”

“I’m a big fan. I come here to watch him sing.”

The band played the warmup song for the second set and Ava, and I were walking towards the stage when Ricki and Eric came in looking for a table.

She was a beautiful as ever, but definitely pregnant. Guess they weren’t too strong on protection on one of those Mondays.

Beau saw Ava’s fiddle case and asked her about the songs she knew.

“Not too many, but I’m pretty good at If You’re Gonna Play in Texas. I know the fiddle part in that one.”

“Great,” said Beau. “We’ll work that one into the third set. This big crowd will love it. You know that one, Tommy?”

“Yep. Alabama’s big hit. I know the words and the music.”

“I don’t know the words,” said Beau, “so you can sing lead.”

“Okay. Tell me when it’s time.”

Me and Ava were singing our duet of Tell Me About It when I happened to see Denny Sutton and a couple of his guys saunter in looking for a place to sit.

He watched Ava for a few minutes, gave me a nod, and sat down at an empty table.

When the set ended, we joined him at his table. “I heard Ava might be singing here tonight and I wanted to come watch her.”

Ava was all smiles for her brother. “What did you think, Denny?”

“Like I’ve said all along, Ava. You’ve got tons of talent. All you needed was the right person to get you started.”

“Tommy is helping me. Last night we sang at T ‘n T in the city and I did okay. People clapped when I played my banjo.”

“You look out for her, Donovan. She’s my baby sister.”

“I’m doing just that, Denny. Plan on having her sing some harmony on my new CD.”

“You gonna play the fiddle?” asked one of Denny’s support team.

She grinned. “You bet, Crank. Gonna let loose in the third set.”

“Y’all should stick around for that,” I waved Tina over and got another pitcher of Shiners.

When she brought it to the table with more glasses, Crank asked her a question. “There gonna be any free cake at this party?”

“Sure is,” said Tina. “Right after the third set, boss is serving the cake.”

“I’m waiting for that.” Crank stared right at Denny.

“Guess we can stay a little longer,” said Denny. “I want to hear Ava play the banjo.”

Ava and I went back up on the stage and she was glowing with happiness over her brother coming to watch her and listen to her sing.

We played the banjo number and everybody hooted and hollered. They loved listening to a good picker.

I’ve got to learn a couple of songs. Guess I’ll have to buy a banjo first.

I sang two more Joe Ely songs while Ava played her guitar, then Beau took the mic and hollered out the news, “Lucky for us and for y’all, we’ve got a guest fiddle player here and we’re gonna give you a taste of her talent.”

Beau stepped away and I hollered into the mic, “Y’all buckle up for Ava. Here we go.”

Ava ripped into the latter part of that song where the fiddle goes nuts and we had a drunk, screaming crowd on our hands. Stamping their feet, clapping their hands and hooting and hollering.

In Texas they loved the fiddle more than fuckin’ life.

At the end of that set, things quieted down. Ava and I sat down with Lee and Lukas for a beer and a couple minutes later, Annie walked up onto the stage and made a little speech.

“Tonight at Boots, we’re celebrating Tommy’s twenty-sixth birthday. Let’s sing to him and then I’m sure he’ll help me hand out his cake.”

Everybody sang to me, and I felt kind of embarrassed. I was hoping my face hadn’t gone all red.

The singing was loud and a little off-key, but I didn’t care.

They all showed up.

For me.

Then Ava and I went to the kitchen with Annie and picked up trays of cake on little plates with a plastic fork on each one.

We walked around the roadhouse giving out cake at every table. We kept going, us and the servers, until everybody had cake.

“Wow, that was a huge amount of cake,” said Ava.

“This is Annie, Ava. She’s the boss here at Boots.”

“So nice to meet you, Annie.”

“Same, Ava. I listened to you sing and play the banjo and the fiddle and you’re very talented.”

“Thank you. I’ve never played in public before last night. Tommy and me practiced and we played a couple of songs at T ‘n T in Austin.”

Annie winked at me. “Make sure Dooley gives her an audition, sugar pop.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks for the party, Annie. It was fantastic. I never expected to see Lee here.”

“He wanted to come to make things right with you.”

“We’ll patch things up between us, but I won’t be working for a while.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Annie sounded like she already knew about my visit to Doctor Kaplan and I figured Lukas called and told her. I’d have the two of them watching me from here on out.

Later, after the music wound down and the lights dimmed, I looked around the roadhouse and felt something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time:

Peace.

This was everything.

Family. Friends. Music.

Kids in boots.

Banjo strings and birthday cake.

I didn’t need anything else.

Author Notes from Carolina Mac and David K. Mac.

We’re having such a blast writing this series together! Creating a book series as a mother/son duo has become a unique and enriching adventure for both of us.

True Colors is a political thriller series written in the pulp fiction style with lots of action and humor, hopefully giving our readers many hours of pleasure.

We hope you thoroughly enjoyed Book 13, Homegrown. If you have a moment to leave a quick rating or review on Amazon, we would love to know what you thought about the book and I’m sure other readers would too.

Carolina Mac is the author of over two hundred books in seventeen different series. The Regulators, Quantrall PI, The Blackmore Agency, The Night Vipers, The Creed, The Agency: Young Guns, Paradise Park, Broken Spur, The Moonbeam Chronicles, Taming the Stallion and the Rebel Ranch series.

Also, five Novella series: Heaven’s Gate, Midlife Magic, Suddenly Magic, The Sabbats and the Boots & Saddles Updates—Volumes one through six. 

She’s the co-author with her daughter JL Madore/Auburn Tempest of Misty’s Magick and Mayhem series. Translated into German. And the new Dark Irish Mafia Romance series Also in audio.

She’s the co-author with her son David K. MacDowell/D.K. Mac of the True Colors series.

Also by Carolina Mac

Regulator Biker Series (12 Book Series)

Q-File P.I. Series (15 Book Series)

The Blackmore Agency Series (30 Book Series)

Night Viper Series (15 Book Series)

The Creed (16 Book Series)

The Agency: Young Guns (15 Book Series)

Taming the Stallion (12 Book Series)

Rebel Ranch (3 Book Series)

True Colors (13 Book Series)

The Moonbeam Chronicles (26 Book Series)

Paradise Park Series (13 Book Series)

Misty’s Magick & Mayhem Series (11 Book Series)

Mystere LeJeune: The Sabbats (4 Book Series)

Heaven’s Gate Romance Novella Series (3 Book Series)

Broken Spur Series (4 Book Series)

Midlife Magic Series (6 Book Series)