captain is standing right here. Quit talking about me like I’m not.”
They immediately went quiet, each one turning to gaze at the scenery below. Tate rubbed his temples and stared out as well, frustration gathering in his gut at the sight of the jagged brown peaks in the distance. The view, no matter how breathtaking, was just another reminder of how dire their situation was.
This isolated old fortress was nestled at the base of the mountain, and had stood abandoned for decades; apparently the Mexican government had no use for a crumbling pile of stone left over from the Mexican-American War of 1846. But it was the perfect place to lie low, and a decent stronghold with its tall watchtower and handy tunnel system. Ever since the shack in Costa Rica had been compromised, they’d been searching for a new hideaway, and this place had been a lucky find. They’d been holed up here for three weeks now, living on the mountain like a bunch of hermits.
Tate had thought the place to be safe, but clearly he’d been wrong. Because Eva Dolce had found them, and if she could, then so could the hunters.
“I think I might have to work with her,” he spoke up, his voice thick with reluctance.
Sebastian’s head swiveled around in surprise. “Are you nuts?”
“No, just practical.” He shrugged. “I don’t think she was sent here by our government, but if she was, then we can’t afford to let her out of our sight. We need to find out who she is and why she’s here.”
Sebastian made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “No disrespect, sir, but … don’t freaking patronize us. This has nothing to do with keeping an eye on that woman, and everything to do with avenging Will’s death.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Nick interjected with a scowl. “Will was his brother. And he was my best friend. He deserves justice.”
“He’s dead,” Sebastian said bluntly. “And wherever he is, I doubt he’s thinking about justice, and I seriously doubt he’d want us to risk our necks to get it for him.”
Tate closed his eyes briefly, fighting a jolt of pain at the sound of Will’s name. Had it already been eight months since he’d watched his little brother die? It felt like yesterday, damn it.
Sebastian was right. Will wouldn’t have wanted them to seek revenge. The kid had always been too softhearted for his own good, constantly preaching forgiveness, even when the person in question didn’t deserve a damn ounce of it. Like their old man. They’d endure a particularly brutal beating, and Will would wipe the blood off his face and say, Don’t be angry at him, Robbie. He just misses Mom.
The memory had Tate gritting his teeth so hard his jaw twitched. Will might’ve been able to forgive their dad, but Tate hadn’t. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Will’s murderer walk free, not if he had the chance to change that.
“You’re right,” he said, interrupting Sebastian and Nick’s heated argument. “This isn’t about Eva. It’s about Cruz. Christ, Seb, I want him to die.”
“What about the others who’ve died?” the younger man pointed out. His gray eyes blazed with anger. “What about Lafayette and Diaz? What about Rhodes and Timmins and Berk?”
An arrow of agony pierced Tate’s chest. Just hearing those names made him want to pummel something.
“They were murdered, too,” Sebastian went on. “Diaz and his mysterious drunk-driving accident—that kid never drank a day in his life! And Rhodes’s cancer. Berk’s mugging. Lafayette’s—”
“Enough,” Tate snapped. “I know how they died. Your constant reminders won’t bring them back.”
“No, but we still don’t know why they died.” Sebastian rested his fists against the dusty stone ledge ringing the watchtower. “That’s what we need to be focusing on.”
“The mission,” Nick said wearily. “We know it has to do with the mission.”
Always came back to that, didn’t it? The mission that still made no sense to Tate. His orders had been to rescue an American doctor being held hostage by the rebels, but the doc was already dead when Tate’s team swarmed Corazón, along with the hundred or so villagers living there, and before Tate could even begin to figure out what had gone wrong, the unit had been recalled back to the States for debriefing.
And, apparently, to systematically be killed off.
Rage and frustration coated his throat, thickening when he remembered his own close call with death. He’d been leaving his Richmond apartment at nine in the morning when a drive-by shooting had conveniently taken place out on the street. He’d escaped with a graze to the shoulder, ducking into a stairwell before the shooters could take aim again.
The police had attributed the event to a street gang who’d shot up the same area only a month before, but Tate knew better. A band of drugged-up teenagers hadn’t been responsible for the attempt on his life. Oh, no, it had government-hit written all over it. Which hadn’t exactly come as a shock, seeing as he’d already attended five funerals for members of his former unit.
Only Sebastian, Nick and himself were left, and the three of them had promptly disappeared after it became obvious they were being hunted down. They’d spent the past six months trying to figure out who was after them and why, but they’d struck out at every turn. Still knew squat, even after months of digging.
With so many unknowns hanging over their heads, Tate had received great comfort from the one piece of knowledge he did possess.
Hector Cruz had killed his brother.
And Hector Cruz would pay for that.
“We’ll figure out why they want us dead,” he said, his voice low and even. “Will and I were related by blood, but make no mistake, all those men were my brothers. I won’t rest until I know why they died.”
Sebastian’s silver eyes narrowed. “But …”
Tate released a breath. “But I can’t let this opportunity pass me by. If Eva Dolce can lead me to Cruz, then I’ll damn well be following her.”
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