PROLOGUE
“Watching the sun drop down behind that ridge kinda reminds me of the sunsets we get back home.” Boone Langston lay on his belly on the hard, dusty ground. He grimaced, shifted his weight to remove a rock digging into his hip, and tossed it aside.
But these mountains—the Hindu Kush in Afghanistan—were far more hostile and dangerous than the ones he’d been surrounded by as a kid growing up on a ranch in Dubois, Wyoming.
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Which was why he brought his high-powered binoculars to his eyes and scanned the valley below.
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Boone was a senior airman and a part of the Air Force’s elite special reconnaissance. Four days ago, he and his three teammates were airdropped about ten klicks from their current location. Their original directive was to establish a base for future operations that would provide strategic, operational, and tactical intelligence.
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That all changed two days ago, when a group of rebel fighters shot down a Red Cross helicopter carrying an injured soldier from the battlefield. Now, they were tasked with finding the wreckage, determining the status of the six souls onboard, and arranging for their evacuation.
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It was universally recognized that the red cross emblem signified neutrality and impartiality. Anything bearing that seal is protected under the Geneva Convention, and attacking it is against international humanitarian law.
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The world had drawn a pretty hard line when it comes to firing on Red Cross vehicles.
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You just don’t.
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Unfortunately, the rules of war were seldom respected in territories living under primitive laws established thousands of years ago.
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Thanks to the helo’s FTS, flight tracking system, locating it had been relatively easy. Getting to it, on the other hand, was going to be a challenge. They would have to cross through the narrow valley below, leaving themselves wide open to an ambush.
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“I’ll bet you a hundred bucks you didn’t have guys shooting at you back home on that fancy ranch of yours.” Aaron Udall, aka Hustler, was prone next to him, his binoculars up as he scanned the mountainside.
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There always seemed to be a bitter edge of jealousy to his words whenever Udall spoke of Boone’s family ranch. Yes, it was large and his parents had money, but they’d busted their asses for every acre, horse, head of cattle, and chicken.
Carving out a successful life in what is still a vast wilderness was no easy feat.
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Udall would also wager on pretty much anything. One time, the team was on a C130 headed to Bagram Airfield for a three-day reprieve from being shot at, and Boone heard him betting their teammate, Rabbi, that he could ‘bang more broads than him’.
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Hustler spent an inordinate amount of time in the village right outside the gates of the base. Most of it, enjoying the company of local women who were either unmarried or who’d become widows during the war. There’d been a couple of them that were so young, they would’ve been considered illegal back in the states.
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Rabbi had almost taken him up on his bet, until he realized there was no way to verify Udall’s numbers. Rabbi’s real name was Richard Skinner, so the nickname was crudely apropos. Growing up with a name like that couldn’t have been fun, and probably instigated more than a few playground scuffles.
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Udall was slick as cow snot, always looking to make a buck, hustling for that next big ‘thing’. Most of the guys blew it off as a personality quirk. Boone knew better. The guy had a rough upbringing and grew up thinking everything would be better if he had a bunch of money. That’s why they called him Hustler, because he was always working an angle. And he wore that nickname with pride.
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Boone trusted the guy with his life, but not his money.
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“Well, you takin’ the bet or what?” Udall elbowed him in the side.
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Boone shifted to cross his ankles, and his boots kicked up dust and sent it floating around them.
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“Nah, no one ever took a shot at me. At least, not on purpose.” He chuckled at the memory and focused on a large cluster of bushes and trees below them and to their left.
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That area would make a damn good place for a sniper to hide.
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“What the hell, Rancher.” Udall lowered his binocs slightly and gave him a quick sideways glance. “You can’t just drop something like that out there and then not tell me what you mean.”
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Boone had been dubbed Rancher for obvious reasons.
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“When I was about eight, my dad and uncle took me hunting.” He’d been thrilled they asked him to go along. “We were tracking this big-ass bull elk, and it stopped to munch on a patch of mushrooms or something.” The most impressive elk Boone had seen up to that point in his life. “My uncle called the shot. So, we all stopped, knelt down, and waited. Just as he was getting ready to pull the trigger, he got stung by a bee on his earlobe.” Poor guy’s earlobe swelled up the size of a golf ball, and for several days, it looked like he was wearing an earring.
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“He yelled out in pain, tumbled over, and accidently squeezed the trigger. His shot ended up hitting a tree about ten feet in front of where my dad and I were hunkered down.”
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“Oh, shit,” Hustler said. “See, that’s another reason why I’d never live out in the boonies like that. I prefer civilized society.”
“Oh, yeah, because no one ever gets shot in the city.” Boone shook his head. You couldn’t pay him to live in a big city. He needed to be able to see the stars.
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“Damn, it’s hot as Satan’s balls.” Hustler lifted the front of his helmet just enough to wipe his forearm across his brow.
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“We’ve already hit 102 degrees.” On cue, sweat trailed down the back of Boone’s neck, and a bead of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose and landed on a small flat rock, where it sizzled before quickly evaporating.
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Fortunately, the temp would drop pretty dramatically once that sun was completely over the mountains. That’s when they would make their move.
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After deciding on this vantage point, they’d tucked the bulk of their gear—almost a hundred-and-ten pounds worth each—into a small cave about ten feet behind them. If necessary, they could be up off the ground and loaded up in less than thirty seconds.
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“I noticed one of the females you were with last time we were at the base seemed kinda young.” Boone kept his voice light, his eyes focused on the valley below. “Think that’s a good idea?”
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“Her dad didn’t seem to have a problem with it.” His response was disappointing, but not a surprise. “Their family needs the money. Besides, there’s no law against it over here.”
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Disgust roiled through Boone’s gut.
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“That doesn’t make it right, Hustler.” He lowered his binoculars and turned his head to him. “She was just a kid.”
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“Tell you what, Rancher.” Udall lowered his own binoculars to glare at Boone, giving him a glimpse of the malevolence he kept masked behind his bullshit. “How about you stay out of my personal shit and I’ll stay out of yours? Sound good?”
Boone didn’t respond because he wasn’t sure he could do that.
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Udall’s involvement with females went beyond inappropriate dalliances with local girls. On more than one occasion, Boone had caught him venturing into the nearby refugee camp.
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The one time he’d confronted Udall about it, he gave him some bullshit story about taking candy and toys to the children there.
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His teammate didn’t have a benevolent bone in his body, and Boone knew in his gut there was something much more sinister going on. ​He just had to figure out what that was.
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CHAPTER ONE
Three years later …
“Picked up suspect’s heat signature behind a shack about twenty-five feet ahead of you, on the right. One side of the roof has collapsed.” Luna Pannikos conveyed information to the OSI Dark Ops team through their high-tech earpieces. “Hang on, I’ll reposition the drone and mark his position for you.”
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Darks Ops was a specialized group of covert operators who focused on human trafficking, and Luna was in charge of the ops center.
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The team was currently working an op down near Memphis, and she was providing overwatch from the ops center at their base near Fredericksburg, Virginia.
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Her thumb manipulated the rocker nob on the handheld video remote control and repositioned the drone until it was hovering directly over where Hashir Al-Shamrami was crouched down behind the dilapidated building.
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She pressed and held a button to shine a laser down to pinpoint his location.
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“Suspect targeted.” Luna kept her attention on the screen on the remote.
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The only way to see the bright green light was through night vision goggles, NVGs, like the ones the team was wearing. Al-Shamrami would never even know he’d been spotted until it was too late.
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“Got it.” Cole Lambert, her boss and the head of the Dark Ops division of O’Halleran Security International was leading this op. “Go ahead and bring the drone back to headquarters.”
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“Will do.” She tapped the screen on the remote, the drone turned, and their bright green images faded from view as it headed back to its pre-programmed destination.
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Through her headset, she could hear the team’s breaths and the rapid thumps of their boots on the grassy terrain as they ran toward the shack. A moment later, all hell broke loose.
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“Down on the ground! Do it! Now!” Cole yelled the commands in Farci.
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They had received solid intel that Al-Shamrami was trafficking people across the border and into the United States. He specialized in young women and boys between the ages of eleven and twenty. Dark Ops had been trying to take him down for several months, but every time they got close, he somehow managed to slip away.
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Relieved the operation was successful and no one had been hurt, Luna began to loosen her shoulders. Then, out of the blue, the sound of gunfire blasted through her headset.
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“Shit!” Her entire body flinched, and she grabbed the drone’s remote control, but the skirmish would likely be over before she could get it back to their location.
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Tapping into the satellite feed wouldn’t work—there wasn’t enough time.
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Her gaze flew up to the screen on the wall showing each team member’s vital signs through their bio-patches. Other than a minor spike in their heart rates, everything else appeared to be normal.
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Someone yelled, “Drop it!”
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There was the sound of a scuffle, some grunting, and what she assumed were twigs snapping beneath their boots.
Luna sat forward, her heart raced and focused on the sounds in her ears and the numbers on the monitor. She was worried about all of them, but for some confusing reason, one particular man’s handsome face flashed through her mind.
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Time ticked by for what seemed like days, but was really only minutes.
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“Perp is subdued.” Cole continued, “We’re all good.”
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Luna blew out a long, relieved breath, and dropped back against her chair. “Okay, good.”
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“Yeah, Boone lassoed the guy like he was a cow getting ready to be branded.” Eddie Calabretta, the eternal jokester, chuckled.
Boone Langston was the newest member of the Darks Ops team. He was friendly, had an easy charm, and was drop-dead gorgeous. He seemed sincere, but Luna had been fooled by a charming, good-looking guy once before, and it had ended tragically.
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“I’ll stick around for the debrief.” Luna put her hands on the edge of her desk, gave a gentle push, and rolled herself to another desk behind her.
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“Nah, it’s late, Luna,” Cole said. “Debrief can wait until morning.”
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“You sure?” She was disappointed she would have to wait until tomorrow to hear all of the details.
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That wasn’t the only reason for her disappointment, but admitting to herself that she wanted to see with her own eyes that Boone was okay, meant her was wriggling his way behind her defenses.
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She could not let that happen.
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“Yeah, it can wait until the morning.” Cole likely wanted to get home to his wife, Dulce, and their adorable little boy.
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“Thanks for the back-up, Luna.” Boone’s deep voice wrapped around her eardrum like a hug. “It’s always reassuring to know you’re watching over us.”
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The rest of the team thanked her, too, but only his voice seemed to seep beneath her skin, threatening to breach the walls of her well-guarded heart.
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“You’re welcome.” She tapped her headpiece to end the call and began preparing the post-op data she would need for their meeting in the morning.
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Luna glanced up at the clock—almost ten o’clock. She should be exhausted after being there for close to sixteen hours, yet she was in no hurry to go home.
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She loved her place and knew it was secure. After all, her brother-in-law, Caleb O’Halleran, had personally seen to it that she was protected by one of his specially designed high-tech security systems. He'd even flown from San Francisco to install it himself.
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But sometimes Luna felt … lonely. Which was pretty ridiculous, since her solitude was pretty much self-imposed. When she’d first accepted the job with Dark Ops and moved away to Virginia, thousands of miles from Caleb and her older sister, Dawn, Luna had been adamant about needing her independence and wanting to build a life of her own.
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A life lived outside their over-protective bubble.
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She understood and appreciated their need to protect her, after all, she’d made some pretty dumb decisions in the past. Decisions that almost cost multiple people their lives. People she cared about deeply.
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“Enough.” She slid off her headset, set it down on the desk, and jiggled the mouse to wake up her computer. “This data isn’t going to compile itself.”
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Thanks to therapy and the love and patience of her sister, brother-in-law, and the rest of the O’Hallerans, she’d matured a lot in the seven years since. But her ability to fully trust her own instincts was still fragile, and she wasn’t sure if, or when, she would ever be ready to extend that trust to a certain cowboy.
