He was gorgeous beyond all sense of the word. With that chiseled body and those fathomless brown eyes, he could crush a perfectly good heart.
Good thing she didn’t have one.
She glanced at the clock on the tablet. “One minute.”
His lips curled back, baring straight white teeth in the moonlight. And dimples. A pair of them bracketed his enraged scowl, forming deep divots in his beard. Cute. Like a furious grizzly bear.
With a snarl, he reached over his head and grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking it off in that way men did. Tattoos covered his sinewy arms and sculpted chest. Almost as many as she had. But where her ink glowed with color, his were black, the images impossible to make out in the dark.
He held her gaze as he toed off his boots and unbuttoned his jeans. He didn’t look away as he shoved down his pants and kicked them off.
“Call off the drone.” He regarded her with an unflinching glare, fully nude and chillingly stoic.
As much as she wanted to look down, she didn’t check out his body. She refused to break eye contact. Not even as the door opened and armed men spilled outside.
“Your friends are safe.” She watched his expression relax a half-second before it hardened again. “Show Mr. Hartman the live video.”
Someone appeared at her side. Without glancing, she knew it was Mike. No one looked at her like he did, the heat of his gaze flickering over her, searching for injuries.
He already knew she was unharmed. The technology in her helmet had allowed them to communicate while she was away. But he wasn’t rational when it came to her safety.
He was insanely overprotective.
Holding a laptop, he pivoted the screen toward Cole. It showed the Colombian cartel jet coasting at a distance ahead of the drone. A moment later, the drone veered off, changing course, the strike aborted.
Cole stood motionless, except his eyes. They tracked the screen, his expression showing no hint of relief.
It had taken months of digging and a Hail Mary plan to locate the cartel’s private aircraft. They had multiple hangars in South America, all of which were monitored for activity by her team. She’d hoped Cole’s most powerful ally, Matias Restrepo, would make the journey to Texas, but she hadn’t known when or who would be with him.
She’d lucked out when the whole damn crew boarded that plane.
Without a word, she grabbed Cole’s clothes and strode toward the building. Her fifteen-man team moved in around him, heavily armed and highly trained. They were hardened soldiers, their backgrounds diverse, spanning from criminal to retired military. But they were all here for the same reason. A paycheck.
Could they be bribed to switch sides? Not easily. But everyone had a price. If Cole made the right offer, maybe he could gain an ally among her crew.
For that reason, no one would be allowed near him unless she or Mike were present.
She entered through the loading dock, confident that Cole wouldn’t give them any problems. If he tried to escape, they would shoot to wound, not to kill. He was worthless to her dead.
He was also too smart to run. Without clothes or transportation, he wouldn’t get far in the desert.
Past the loading ramps, she turned into a spartan corridor. Dust coated the concrete walls and floors. Overhead, stark fluorescent lights illuminated layers of sand that had crept in from outside and gritty powder left over from the raw materials that had once been hauled in and out of this building.
Years ago, a manufacturing company used this warehouse to split and carve granite blocks into monuments, mausoleums, crypts, and headstones.
She’d needed a secure, out-of-the-way place to do this job, and this was what she got. A building where tombs had been made. Fitting.
At the end of the corridor, she passed the factory floor. All that remained were piles of discarded granite and limestone, broken machinery, and dust. Powdery residue clung to everything, each step stirring it into the air and making her sneeze.
She turned away, taking another hallway toward their makeshift quarters.
Over the past four months, they’d converted the storage rooms into private sleeping spaces, hauling in mattresses and other comforts when they weren’t hunting and planning and preparing for the right moment to take Cole Hartman.
Getting him here was the easy part. A long, arduous road lay ahead, and by God, she was ready. She’d waited eleven years for this, and she was so close to the end. So fucking close she could taste it.
In her room, she changed into lounge pants and a soft t-shirt. A wobbly old table sat in the corner, covered in cosmetics and beauty supplies. She slumped into the chair and began the mindless task of removing false eyelashes and cleansing away makeup.
That done, she grabbed a bag of Twizzlers and flopped onto her back on the mattress. Pulling out a long red rope of candy, she chewed on the end, lost in thought.