“Seven?”
“Perfect. See you then.” Clearly not caring what anyone saw or anyone thought, Pierce leaned in to kiss her. He lingered as if he wanted to press for more, but he pulled away reluctantly. Then, with a little salute, he headed down the street and hopped into his Jeep.
Jennifer rushed outside. “Isn’t he the man who fixed the church van when it was broken?”
“Yes,” Brea breathed. “He did that for me.”
“He cleans up awfully nice.”
“He does.” She sighed. He dirtied up awfully nice, too. But she kept that to herself.
“You’re in love.”
She smiled. “Definitely.”
Mrs. Lloyd bustled out next. “That is one fine, strutting rooster you’ve got there.”
Mrs. Rogers was right behind her. “Indeed. You’re a lucky lady, Ms. Bell.”
“Believe me, I know.” Brea grinned.
And hopefully by this time tomorrow, everyone would know that she would soon be Mrs. Walker.
Chapter Ten
Son of a bitch.
One-Mile parked his Jeep in front of the address Caleb Edgington had given him and scowled. What the hell was this place?
The colonel stepped outside, face grim. “You’re late.”
“I didn’t know you were way the fuck out here. I was up in Sunset.”
The older man grunted. “Thanks for coming. You clean up good. What’s with the suit? You go to church?”
“No. I was supposed to be proposing to my girl right now.”
Caleb had the good grace to wince. “Shit. Sorry. I wouldn’t have called—”
“If it wasn’t an emergency, I know. What’s up?”
He nodded. “Come on in.”
One-Mile stepped inside a building that looked like part of a light industrial complex circa 1977. But inside, everything was modern as fuck. Banks of computers lined two walls. A tall metal table scattered with folders and papers dominated the space in the middle. Clustered around one monitor stood two men, one with dark hair that held a little bit of salt, the other with short blond stubble. He didn’t immediately recognize either. They both turned.
“This is Jack Cole.”
Co-founder of their sister firm, Oracle, former Army Ranger, and all-around badass. One-Mile had heard a lot about this tough son of a bitch. He’d met the man in passing, along with his pretty redheaded wife, Morgan. He didn’t know much more about Jack, but if the man was here, too, whatever shit was going down was serious.
One-Mile stuck out his hand. “It’s an honor.”
Jack cocked his head. “The honor is mine. You’re amazing, from what I hear.”
“Thank you.”
“And this is Trevor Forsythe. He’s new to Jack’s team. Former FBI. Hell of an investigator.”
Well, that explained the pale haircut that was between boot camp and banker. But there was something familiar about him besides the name…
The other guy stared and nodded, a little frown deepening between his brows that seemed to hold recognition, too.
“Jock Strap?” One-Mile asked.
Instantly, the guy started laughing. “Serial Killer?”
“Yeah.”
The colonel scowled in confusion. “You know each other?”
He let Trevor answer since the guy had always liked hearing himself talk. “We, um…went to the same high school.”
Jack smirked. “I’m guessing you didn’t like each other much, based on your nicknames.”
One-Mile looked at Forsythe and shrugged. “We didn’t actually know each other well. It was more that I didn’t appreciate arrogant jocks like him plowing through all the best pussy at school.”
“And Walker seemed like an antisocial loner fixated on guns. I worried he’d pull a Columbine. In fact, he was probably the only guy in the whole school who scared me. Didn’t you end up screwing my senior prom date?”
Hell, he’d nearly forgotten about her. “Hillary? Yeah. Twice. Once right before you picked her up for the dance.”
“See?” Forsythe gestured to him with a chuckle. “Asshole.”
The colonel slapped him on the back. “Most will tell you not much has changed except that his fixation with guns paid off. He’s one of the best snipers the Marines ever trained.”
That was high praise coming from the colonel.
One-Mile smiled. “A few things are different, though. I won’t try to mack on your girl. I’ve got one of my own.”
“So I heard. Good for you. I don’t have one and I don’t want one.”
As soon as Forsythe unloaded that verbal turd in the conversational punchbowl, everyone fell silent. Since he’d made the mistake of saying the too-honest thing many times before, One-Mile nodded. “I get you, man.” Then he turned to the colonel. “So what’s up? Why are we wherever the hell we are?”
“We’ve got trouble. I’ve kept this place because my wife’s ex owned it. Long story, but it makes me happy that I’ve turned his personal porn hub into my soldier cave. But I didn’t bring you here for a tour. It’s Valeria Montilla.”
“Is she mad I offed her husband?” Honestly, One-Mile thought she’d be relieved as hell.
Forsythe swiveled a stunned glance at him. “That was your kill shot? It had to be a thousand yards.”
“A little less, actually.”
The colonel clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a reason everyone calls him One-Mile.”