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The sun was coming up as the group hit the road and headed south from San Diego to cross the border into Mexico. Having gladly traded in her PJ’s and pink slippers for some leggings and a t-shirt from Bruja, Harper sat beside Ryland and looked out at the dusty road and the desert landscape. They passed by a lot of rundown-looking shacks and several abandoned buildings as the sun worked its way higher and higher in the sky.
While Banshee drove, Pharaoh asked Ryland questions about his father. The closer they got, the more fidgety he seemed, playing with the silver chain around his neck as his knee bounced with nervous energy. The idea that his father might still be alive and working for The Agency was a huge curveball. Something none of them had anticipated.
“I just don’t get it. If it’s true—if he’s still alive—why would he fake his death? How could he do that to us? And why is he hiding out in Mexico? Did he know I was a part of Ex Nihilo?”
He was talking in low tones, under his breath, directing his words to Harper only, but they were all listening. Once again, she found herself reaching over and laying a hand on his arm. She wanted to comfort him and every time she touched him, a jolt of awareness swept through her body.
“I wish I had answers for you. I can only imagine how shocked you are right now.”
“We don’t know anything for sure, though.” Pharaoh drummed his fingers on the armrest. “This could be a wild goose chase.”
“If he is alive, he’s been up to some seriously secret shit,” Saint said.
Looking around the SUV, Harper pulled in a breath and wondered what the hell she’d gotten herself into. She was surrounded by a serious group of badasses and she had so many questions. But she had a feeling she was on a need-to-know basis, and they apparently didn’t think she needed to know much.
Clearly, they were some kind of black ops team and their job, as Ryland said, was to eliminate bad guys. A shiver ran through her as she considered exactly what that meant.
They killed people. For a living.
Swallowing hard, she studied Ryland’s attractive profile from beneath her lashes and wondered how many people he’d…murdered. Looks could be so deceiving. With his sun-bleached hair and easy grin, she’d always pegged him as carefree and harmless. Another SoCal surfer dude, carrying his board under his arm, and joking around.
But now she knew he was more than just a pretty boy. Her attention dropped from his tanned face—all high cheekbones and classic angles—down to his large hands and the tomahawk inked on his forearm. She remembered his calloused touch when they first shook hands. At the time, she had no idea what those hands were capable of and, now that she did, it was a little disconcerting. And, if she were being honest, it also thrilled her a little to know he could protect her if it ever came down to it.
The immense amount of training he probably received over the years gave her a sense of security. She assumed they were all former military so, despite how dangerous things might get, she knew she was in good hands. The very best.
Leaning back in the seat, Harper told herself not to worry. They’d figure out what was going on. She’d be back home in a day or two and this whole crazy adventure would feel like a dream.
That’s what she kept trying to tell herself, anyway.
Chapter Nine
There was no way Ryland could contain the nerves fluttering through him as Banshee slowed the Suburban, parking under the shade of a palm tree. He had the door open before the SUV even came to a complete stop and was stalking up to the front door, ignoring Pharaoh who called out to him.
Was he being reckless? Absolutely. But he wanted answers. Deserved answers. If his father was still alive and had led Addie and him to believe otherwise for the past ten years…
He’d kill the bastard.
Ryland lifted his fist and started pounding as Harper and his team moved up beside him.
“Way to be subtle,” Saint commented.
Ryland lifted his other hand and flipped him off. He wasn’t in the mood for Saint’s shit.
It seemed like he was knocking forever, but Ryland could’ve sworn he heard a muffled sound from inside. Looking up into the camera partially-concealed by the bright, climbing bougainvillea, he snapped, “Open the damn door before I break it down.”
When the door slowly swung inward a couple of moments later, Ryland braced himself. His team had their hands on their guns, ready to spring into action, but Ryland wasn’t worried about that kind of threat.
He did his best to hide his shock as a man stepped forward, the sunlight slanting across his face. Even though Nathan “Cross” Mills looked older, leaner and had a sweep of gray at his temples, there was no denying the truth.
His father was alive.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“Hi, son,” Cross said, face emotionless as he eyed Ryland and the team standing on his doorstep. “I had a feeling this might happen.”
“I don’t fucking believe this,” Ryland said, finally finding his voice.
With great reluctance, as though he knew he was in for a lot of questions, Cross pulled the door all the way open. “C’mon in. We have a lot to talk about.”
