Confidential had put together a pretty fair team of counterterrorist agents. Having outside help to retrieve one of their own probably wasn’t sitting well with any of them.
Vincent shrugged off the observation, only momentarily concerned about treading on another man’s turf. His job was to rescue Whitney MacNair, not win any popularity contest. He focused his attention back on Daniel, who had finished reading the official letter. “Everything clear?”
“We’re to provide you with whatever backup you need. But you’re point man on this mission.” Daniel stuffed the papers back into the envelope. “Name it and you’ve got it.”
Vincent knew his list already. “I need a map of the terrain and I need to talk to the girl. I have everything else I need.”
Frank Connolly shook his head and stepped forward. “You mean we have no part in this? Kyle Foster’s cutting short his honeymoon to help get Whitney back. He and Laura will be here by this afternoon.”
Vincent recognized the name of another agent and his new wife, who’d been recruited to help expose collusion between the Black Order and an American contact who worked at her father’s research facility.
The Black Order was no ordinary adversary. Like any terrorist group, they despised the United States and its global domination. But their insidious attempts to influence and undermine the American government, as well as corrupt and frighten its citizens, weren’t his concern at the moment.
He had to bring home a kidnapped society girl. Let Montana Confidential handle the terrorists.
Daniel Austin understood that. He laid a placating hand on Frank’s shoulder. “President’s orders. The Confidential group is to play a support role only. Gerald MacNair, Sr., Whitney’s father, seems to be an old family friend. This is being handled out of Washington.”
Court Brody swore, clearly as frustrated by the red tape as Frank. “This is our territory. We know it better than any hotshot from the East Coast.”
“Chicago,” Daniel corrected him. Court, a former FBI man who probably understood the politics of Washington better than anyone there, seemed unimpressed. “And you do know this land better than any of us.” The command was clear.
Vincent absorbed the brunt of Court’s steely-eyed glare before he excused himself to do Daniel’s bidding. “I’ll draw up a map.”
Frank, seemingly a respected voice of reason among the men, turned his argument to Daniel. “You’re letting him go in solo? Chilton’s a desperate man. No telling what he’s willing to do.”
Vincent handled his own defense. “There’s one hostage, one kidnapper.” He added the next without false modesty. “I only need me.”
Daniel pocketed the orders. “What Frank’s trying to say is that Chilton’s unpredictable. He may be on his own right now, but he still has a U.S. contact we haven’t been able to uncover. If he somehow managed to make that connection, he may not be alone. You could be walking into an ambush.”
Just like Dad. His father had gone into that warehouse to save a little girl’s life. And because of his sacrifice, his partner had been able to bring the girl out alive.
Without betraying the wandering path of his weary brain, Vincent acknowledged Daniel’s advice. “Thanks for the friendly warning. But I’ve been briefed on Chilton.”
Daniel swept his gaze across the rugged skyline of snow-tipped mountains to the east. “Court’s right. This is Montana wilderness we’re talking about. You don’t strike me as a country boy.”
He’d had enough survival training and experience to handle just about any weather and terrain. But he wasn’t interested in sharing his résumé at the moment. Time had been wasted already. He pushed up his sleeve and checked his multitask field watch. “She’s been gone twenty-four hours. I think one night in Chilton’s company is enough for Ms. MacNair.”
Frank raked his fingers through his hair and turned away, taking the length of the porch in his measured stride. Daniel’s acceptance of the situation was more amiable. “If you need breakfast, Dale’s in the kitchen.” He shifted his glance to Grandpa. “Patrick?”
Patrick McMurty straightened from the porch rail where he’d taken a seat and adjusted his straw cowboy hat on top of his head. “Jewel’s at the corral. I’ll take you to her.”
Vincent followed him down the steps. When they rounded the corner, out of sight of the others, the older man wrapped his fingers around Vincent’s forearm and stopped him. “You hurt my granddaughter—you scare her in any way—I’ll turn my wife, Dale, on you with her frying pan.”
Gray eyes waited with deadly serious intent. Vincent could respect a man who guarded his family so zealously. He had brothers and sisters of his own he’d fought to protect. And nobody, but nobody, could say a thing to hurt his mother and not receive a visit from him.
“I have to do my job, Mr. McMurty.” Vincent made a rare concession. “But you can stay and give me a high sign if I overstep your boundaries.”
The older man released him. His sun-weathered face crinkled into a smile and he winked. “You could outrun Dale, anyway. C’mon.”
Vincent lengthened his stride to catch up with Patrick. He filed away that last remark to be laughed at later.
DANIEL AUSTIN WATCHED Patrick and Vincent Romeo until they disappeared around the side of the house. Romeo acted like a big bad loner and looked as if he should be guarding the door at the local tavern. What he lacked in verbal skills, he made up for in intimidation factor. In jeans and leather, he looked more at home on the back of a motorcycle, roaring down the highway, instead of hiking deep into the mountains.
But he checked out. He had to be the best, or Washington be damned.
Whitney might have been an annoying pain in the butt at first, with her self-indulgences and pouty moods. But she’d grown on Daniel like a kid sister these past months. She’d proved that she had some real gumption beneath that superficial veneer. He didn’t know what made her hide behind that bored society girl routine. But something was hurting in that big heart of hers.
Daniel didn’t like to see anyone in his family—real or adopted—hurt in any way. If he couldn’t fix it himself, then he’d do whatever was necessary to make things right. He’d walked away from his wife and son to keep them safe, to keep them from worrying and wondering if he’d come home in a box after one of his missions.
And he would step aside and let Vincent Romeo bring Whitney home. Because he was the best man for the job.
He looked to the far end of the slatted pine porch and saw Frank Connolly standing with both hands braced on the railing. He understood the kind of tension radiating from his shoulders, that inability to let go when you wanted to take action instead. This particular family crisis he could handle with a bit of older-and-wiser advice.
Daniel knew the sound of his boots revealed his presence, even though Frank continued to stare at some distant point on the horizon. “Don’t stress about this, Frank. We’ll get the job done. We’ll get her back. Why don’t you go home and check on that pretty new wife of yours. Don’t let this job come between you and C.J. the way I let the work consume me when I still had Sheridan.”
“Had?” Frank straightened
