Cipher is next. Tall, lean build, the kind of face you'd walk past in a crowd without registering it twice. He's got a tablet in one hand and his movements are careful, deliberate, unhurried. The forgettable exterior is an asset in his line of work, and I'd wager he knows it.
Torque unfolds from the driver's seat of the lead vehicle. He's built to haul freight, thick through the chest and shoulders, and he's already working the terrain before his boots hit the gravel. His eyes move from access point to access point, cataloging defensive positions and weak spots with the practiced efficiency of a man who's set up and broken down a hundred field operations. His hands are scarred from years of handling heavy equipment and dealing with the kind of problems that don't resolve through conversation.
Hawk is the last one out. Compact build, dark eyes that haven't stopped moving since he stepped from the vehicle. There's a fluid economy to him that reminds me of the best close quarters fighters I've worked with. His hand stays near his hip where a sidearm would sit, and he carries himself with the coiled readiness of a man who can go from still to violent in the space of a heartbeat.
All four carry themselves with the quiet confidence of men who've operated in hostile territory and come home. That's what I need.
I step forward.
"Gentlemen." The command sits plain in my voice, no room for misinterpretation. "I'm Jesse Hollister. As of now, you report to me. Carmichael's role is intel support and federal coordination only. I run tactical operations, I make the calls, and when I give an order, you execute it without debate. Clear?"
"Clear." Rook's voice is flat and professional. The others nod.
"Good." I gesture toward the quarry walls where the shade is deepest and the sound won't carry. "We're operating in Gillespie County, Texas. The primary targets are a corrupt ATF special agent in charge named Javier Alvarez and Sheriff Wade Harlan. Both are coordinating a cartel weapons pipeline running through ranch properties. Secondary targets are cartel staging points and enforcement teams operating in the area. The person we're protecting is a former federal agent who built the case against Alvarez from the inside. After this briefing, I'm taking you to meet her."
Hawk shifts his weight, boots scraping against the gravel. "Rules of engagement?"
"Non-lethal unless fired upon. We're building a federal prosecution, not running a kill operation. But if the cartel moves on our position or the protected asset, you respond with lethal force and you do not stop until the threat is down." I let that settle across the group. "Questions?"
Rook speaks first. "The protected asset. Why is she a target?"
"She got too close to the pipeline and the people running it. Her own partner tried to kill her in an El Paso warehouse on Alvarez's orders." My voice stays level. "She's the key witness against Alvarez and the entire network. If she dies, the case collapses."
Hawk's expression stays neutral, but his eyes sharpen. "How long have you been running her protection?"
"Since Carmichael sent her to Fredericksburg." No inflection. Just fact. "And we finish it here."
Nobody speaks for a long count. Rook's jaw tightens. Cipher gives a single nod. Sweat tracks down my spine, but I don't shift my weight or break eye contact. I want them to see the certainty. I want them to understand that none of this is negotiable.
Torque is the first to move forward. "What do you need from logistics?"
"Surveillance equipment. Encrypted comms. Defensive positions around a remote property." I look at each of them in turn. "Rook, you handle overwatch on cartel positions. Cipher, you'll work with the asset on local institutions. Financial data, property records, surveillance footage. Hawk, close quarters and rapid response. Full assignments come after you've met the asset and heard the complete operational picture."
"Understood." Cipher's voice is quiet but carries no hesitation. "When do we start?"
"Now. But first." I pull a map from my jacket and spread it across the hood of the nearest vehicle. Beckett marked the cartel surveillance positions that Knox and I identified, and the red dots scattered across the county roads tell their own story. "These are confirmed cartel watch points around the primary ranch. Memorize the positions before we sit down together. I want everyone sharp."
I fold the map and pocket it. "There's a motel outside town. The Rimrock, off 290. You'll bunk there. Nothing connects you to each other or to me in public. Keep it clean." A glance at my watch. "Follow me out."
They move back to their vehicles with the coordinated efficiency of men who've worked as a unit before. Engines turnover, and they fall in behind my truck as I pull onto the access road.
The drive back to the cabin is slower with the convoy behind me, the two vehicles holding steady in my mirrors. My mind runs through what Raven will have ready. She'll run the debrief better than I could, and the team will figure that out within the first five minutes of listening to her.
What they'll also figure out, the moment we walk through that door, is exactly where things stand between her and me. I have no intention of hiding it.
Afternoon light has gone golden by the time the cabin comes into view through the trees. I park and wait while the team pulls in behind me, then lead them to the front door without knocking.
Raven is at the kitchen island where I left her. The Glock sits on the granite beside her laptop, and her notes are spread across the counter in precise handwriting. Her hand shifts toward the weapon before she registers my silhouette, then eases back. She straightens on the stool, reading the four men filing in behind me with a single unhurried sweep, taking in faces, builds, the way they carry themselves, all of it cataloged in seconds.
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't reach for the Glock again. She waits, composed and still, and lets them take their measure of her while she takes hers of them.
I cross the room to her. My hand slides along her jaw and the other settles at her waist, and I take her mouth before she can say a word. It isn't gentle and it isn't brief. I pull her flush against me and kiss her the way a man kisses a woman he'd sacrifice everything to keep, slow and deep and absolute. Raven's fingers curl into my shirt and she kisses me back without a second's hesitation, her body leaning into mine with a familiarity that says this isn't new for either of us. When I finally lift my headI don't go far, my forehead resting against hers, both of us breathing harder than we were a moment ago.
Behind me, the room is very quiet.
I turn back to the team. Rook's expression hasn't changed. Hawk's mouth twitches at the corner. Cipher appears to have developed a sudden interest in the ceiling beams. Torque is studying the exits with the focus of a man who'd prefer to be anywhere else.
"Gentlemen." I keep my hand at the small of Raven's back. "This is Raven Bishop. Former ATF and the reason we're all here." I nod toward each man in turn. "Rook. Cipher. Torque. Hawk."
