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“Our ace is that they don’t know you work for me. They’ll expect you to be surprised and unprepared.”
“The surprise will be on them.” He strolled to the door. “I’ll scout the place and report in once we’re in position.”
“Henley, Zeb, and Connor are waiting downstairs. Trace will meet you there as soon as he touches down from his latest mission. He and Connor know the house, so trust them to hold the perimeter. Call me if anything seems off.”
“Roger that.” He offered a lazy salute. “Wearelucky, you know.”
Cal gave a ghost of a smile. “The luckiest. I’ll keep your wife busy, I promise.”
That was one less thing he had to worry about. Pretending he hadn’t set this up with Cal and B was a whole other story. He’d never been able to deceive her.
In the supply room, which was more like a private armory, he and his counterparts loaded up on what they might need. Comm units, flak vests, night scopes, weapons.
Ian didn’t know Zeb or Henley well, and he’d never spoken much to Connor, although the kid lived and breathed SFI. Trusting them to have his back made him twitchy, but the members of this organization ran like a well-oiled machine, living and working together. Each had been in battle many times and lived to tell about it. All of them acted like they were blood family, ready to lay down their lives for the others. They were an elite group that got the job done, and there was a rapport between them, as if they’d been on hundreds of missions together.
“I’m best at scouting,” Zeb volunteered, adjusting his vest before throwing a lightweight rain jacket over it. “My eyes are still good, even if my reflexes aren’t as sharp as yours and Henley’s.”
“I’m quick on my feet and good at diversions,” Connor offered.
“I’m good at everything,” Henley said with a wink.
Zeb and Connor rolled their eyes.
Ian was lead and it was his call. He’d had plenty of experience spearheading teams. “We play to our strengths until we know their weaknesses. Zeb, you take the perimeter and report any movement. I’m obviously the decoy, waiting for them to breach. Connor, you’re with me inside. Stay out of sight and cover my back.”
Henley checked his automatic and stuck it in a shoulder holster. “And me?”
“You run interference if and when we need it. Trace may not arrive before our guests come calling. If he does, put him in position where he’ll be of most use. Also, Cal and a few others will be on standby. Call in reinforcements if we need them.”
Henley snugged a black cap on his head. “Are we taking any of them alive?”
They’d gathered into a loose huddle, armed and highly dangerous. Ian nodded. “We should expect four to six assailants. We take their leader, if possible. He’ll have the most intel.”
“We interrogating there or here?” Henley asked.
He seemed entirely too cheery about the idea, but it was a good question. “If we take out the others quietly and don’t draw attention from law enforcement, we can do it there. Otherwise, we chuck him in Hell and haul ass back here.”
Henley played with a folding knife he’d taken from a pocket in his cargo pants. “Who’s in charge of getting our pig to squeal?”
Interrogation wasn’t in Ian’s bag of tricks. He leaned toward more Zeb-like expertise—scouting, strategy for takedowns, kidnapping, rescue, hand-to-hand combat. Yet, this was his mission, his ass on the line. He had to do it for him and Vivi. He was the one who knew the questions to ask. “I’ll handle it.”
Henley closed the blade and pocketed the knife. “Bummer.”
They checked their comms with Rory, making certain they were all connected and he could give them a heads-up on any traffic in the area. Ian sent each man a photo of the residence’s layout. He pointed on the map where he wanted them stationed once they secured the house.
“Our endgame is simple,” he reiterated. “We get the leader, find out who sent him. The others are collateral. I don’t want them dead, necessarily, but our safety comes first. In the event we subdue any or all and keep them alive, we can use them to send a message to NSA or whoever’s behind this, or to negotiate a deal. In any event, do not take unnecessary risks, cover your asses, and let’s carry this out as stealthily as possible so we don’t get outsiders involved. Any questions?”
His team shook their heads. He stuck his fist in the center of the group. “This means a lot to me,” he told them. “I owe each and every one of you a huge favor.”
Fists smacked his and Zeb winked. “You don’t owe us jack, Idol. You and the good doc are part of our family now. We volunteered for this and we won’t let you down.”
“I have a knack for getting people to talk,” Henley said, backing toward the door. “Just in case you want help with that interrogation.”
“Roger that.” Ian struggled to keep the grin off his face. He’d missed being part of a team of brothers. Missed feeling this alive—his wife was safe, he had purpose again. “Let’s do this.”
Adrenaline pumped through his veins inside Hell as Connor drove them out of the garage. Since he’d rescued Vivi, the vehicle had been repainted to a dull white with a contractor’s logo on both sides.
Ian rode shotgun, the others in the rear. As the city filled with high-rises, shopping centers, and freeways melted away to subdivisions, cookie-cutter houses, and green lawns, he took a deep breath. He’d dreamed of having a house and kids, but knew he’d never be happy without the thrill of the next mission in his veins.
