he’d almost hurt her. Maybe his CO was right and he should have taken some more time to decompress before returning.
But after three, long, miserable years, it had seemed as though seeing her, touching her, feeling her was the only thing that could convince him the nightmare was finally over.
And that there was still a square inch of his soul that hadn’t rotted away with the rest beneath the weight of the things he’d done to survive and complete the mission.
Tatum was holding back. He could feel the walls she put up between them. Walls that had never been there before. But he supposed he couldn’t blame her.
The problem was, he wasn’t entirely certain how to rip them down...at least not without ripping her, too. But he would figure it out. He had to. He needed her to survive.
With the same tenacity and will that had kept him alive when everyone around him was dying, he would find a way to get what he wanted. A way back into her life, her heart and her bed, although he was hoping not necessarily in that order.
The cell phone at his hip buzzed. It was late, or early depending on your definition, and only a handful of people knew his number—none of whom he actually wanted to talk to. But the fact that they were bothering him at all couldn’t be good, especially at this hour.
Pulling over into a small park, Evan kicked out the stand and flung his leg over the chrome and black monster. Moonlight poured across the empty slide and silent merry-go-round. The chains on the swings creaked as a winter breeze blew them gently back and forth, like the ghosts of children past were getting one last ride.
The sight was eerie, but somehow also hopeful. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a playground. And there was no doubt in his mind that in just a few hours this one would be full of laughing, happy children despite the bleak weather.
His phone had stopped vibrating before he could answer, but he knew it would probably start up again any second. Stalking across the park, Evan plopped down into one of the swings and waited.
And he wasn’t wrong. The phone rattled against his hip. He didn’t bother to look at the display before answering, “Huntley.”
“Buddy,” came the low, gruff reply. “Just wanted to see how your first night back in the real world went.”
There was a time in Evan’s life when Locklyn Granger had been a buddy. They’d trained together, served together, had each other’s backs on more occasions than Evan could count. They’d shared even more beers and had a few rambunctious stories—Locklyn’s not his. Evan was always the observer.
But it was difficult to find the same easy camaraderie they’d shared before. It wasn’t that Evan didn’t trust him anymore...it was that he didn’t trust anyone. Too many years of being alone and constantly circled by angry, hungry wolves looking for a reason to drag him down.
It didn’t help that the man was obviously lying to him.
“So you called at—” Evan rolled his wrist to look at the expensive multitasking watch that also happened to tell time “—one-thirty in the morning to see how my day went? I call bullshit, Lock. What’s really going on?”
The heavy sigh at the other end of the line didn’t do anything to help temper the sudden kick of adrenaline through Evan’s heart.
“Nothing. Probably nothing. Just some chatter that came through some reputable channels. Nothing specific or actionable.”
“But enough for you to pick up the phone and wake me up if I’d been asleep.”
Lock snorted, the sound hard and sharp. “Please. I’ve been there, man. Days after returning from what you went through, you’re gonna be lucky to get three hours in a row. Chances were good you’d be awake.”
He wasn’t wrong. And it should have helped center Evan to realize he wasn’t the only guy who’d ever suffered ill effects from a mission.
But it didn’t.
As far as he was aware, Locklyn hadn’t been read in on all the details, so the man had no freakin’ clue what Evan had been through the last three years. And he had no intention of changing that status quo.
“So, what’s the intel?”
“The Carbrera Cartel is scrambling.”
Satisfaction rumbled through Evan’s gut. They were scrambling because he’d taken down almost everyone who held any power, pretty much wiping the entire organization off the map. They could attempt to recover, but it would take a lot of time and money to put their network back into play. Time in which drugs wouldn’t be flooding onto American streets.
“Good.”
“Yeah.” Evan heard the appreciation and pride in the other man’s voice. “Not unexpected, but the chatter is a little more organized than we’d anticipated.”
“What do you mean?”
“We think they already have someone ready to pick up the reins.”
Evan jerked from the swing and began pacing. His feet crunched on the frozen ground as he stomped back and forth in front of the groaning swings. His mind raced, mentally flipping through pictures of men who could possibly step into the leadership role of a major drug organization.
There was no one.
He’d painstakingly assembled the evidence to bring down the entire damn organizational structure. That’s why he had been away for three shitty years. It had taken him time to work his way up to the point where he’d been privy to useful information. He could have turned over one or two guys a year into the assignment and come home earlier.
And the year—and the men he’d lost—would have been useless because those vacancies would have immediately been filled by the next guy down the ladder. So he’d worked hard to build a web that would ensnare everyone and leave the organization floundering, hopefully enough to wither away and die.
Evan supposed someone from another organization could have stepped up to the plate, but the Carbreras weren’t exactly known to play well with others. They had more enemies than options within the other crime syndicates, plenty of people wanted to see them disappear almost as much as the United States government had.
Evan swore under his breath. “Who?”
“We don’t know. We were hoping you’d tell us.”
Evan tipped his head up to the bright sky drenched with moonlight. The stars were gorgeous, so crisp and clear. Not the way they were back home in Detroit, overshadowed by clusters of lights. Maybe that’s what Tatum liked about this place. It was definitely quieter. Calmer.
Calm was good. He could use calm right now, because Lock’s words had dread cramping hard in his belly.
“I have no idea who it is.”
Would this nightmare never be over?
HE HADN’T COME BACK, at least not by the time Tatum left for work the next morning.
