Chapter One

───── ? ────

Ruby Maverick figured somebody was about to get an ass-kicking. She wanted to make sure she wasn't on the receiving end of that particular experience.

But it wasn't looking good.

There were three linebacker-sized guys carrying baseball bats, and all gawked at her as she got out of her SUV. They definitely didn't look friendly with their shaved heads, no necks, muscles on top of muscles, straining against sleeveless white tees, and their mouths pulled back in menacing snarls.

Judging from their features—wide noses, close-set eyes, and ears that looked absurdly tiny on their big, shiny heads—she was guessing they were brothers. But one of them was sporting a riot of bruises on his face that she had no trouble seeing even in the low wattage of the street light.

She didn't get back in her SUV. Ruby just started toward the house that was set way back from where she'd parked on the street. After all, the ass-kickers might not even be after her, but she figured that hope was a pipe dream.

In her line of work as head of Maverick Ops, an elite team of security specialists, a trio of thugs carrying baseball bats often had one of her operatives, and occasionally even her, in their sights. Sometimes, assholes objected to having some hard justice served up to them by her team and her.

Ruby glanced at her phone to check the address of the house again to make sure she had the right place. She did. Then, she slipped her phone back into her pocket so she could free up her hands.

She had a snub-nosed. 38 in a slide holster at the back waist of her black cargo pants and a Bowie knife in a sheath in her right boot, but she was really hoping it wouldn't be necessary to use them.

This visit would be bad enough without adding a fight to the mix.

Seeing Owen Striker was always like a metaphorical ass-kicking in itself. Because of those memories.

Godawful ones.

Shoving those memories aside before they could take her by the throat, Ruby frowned when she finally got a good look at the house behind the tall wrought iron fence. It was a pleasant surprise, considering the rest of the neighborhood that had seen better days.

The house was what appeared to be a restored mid-century modern. The kind of place that people bought for a bargain and either flipped or hung onto it and hoped that the area around it improved.

And that puzzled her.

Because the owner, Owen Striker, had to be richer than a 1980s Texas oil tycoon, and he could probably afford any house in the entire state. Yet, he'd chosen to live here, in a not-so-impressive area in the small town of Outlaw Ridge.

But she rethought that choosing part.

Maybe this was the place he had visitors like her come. After all, Owen probably wasn't any happier about this meeting than she was, but he'd insisted it had to happen, that there was something important he had to tell her in person. It must have been critical for him to risk stirring up those old memories. If they were godawful for her, then they were the worst nightmare from the darkest pit of hell for him.

Ruby opened the ornate gate, stepped onto the flagstone pathway that led to the house. And then she cursed under her breath.

Because the trio of thugs followed right in behind her.

Hell in a big assed handbasket. Why this, why tonight? She figured she'd soon get the answer to that.

She eased around to face them, automatically tossing out a glare. It usually worked rather quickly to intimidate people, but tonight, it caused the bruised one to snort and grin.

"Step out of the way, little lady," the man snarled. "We got business with the owner."

Little Lady ? Really?

She had heard much, much worse aimed at her, but that just plain pissed her off. First of all, she wasn't little. She was five-ten, and while she didn't have their muscles, she wasn't a lightweight by anyone's standards. Ruby always figured she could have held her own with an Amazon warrior or two.

Second of all, the thugs were almost certainly dismissing her because of her age. Fifty-two. Many people did that. They thought she didn't matter anymore since she was, in theory, over the hill. But that kind of thinking was a mistake.

A big mistake.

She was former military special ops, and she trained just as hard as the decades-younger operatives who worked for her.

"What do you want with the owner?" she asked.

Bruised Face smiled again. "That's personal. Now, move along—"

"Don't you dare say little lady again," Ruby warned him.

He chuckled, and glanced at his comrades, they laughed, too. "She's a feisty one," Bruised Face said, and the laughter died again. "I don't like pissy-mouthed bitches who don't know their place."

Oh, that was so not the right thing to say. "And what do you do to put pissy-mouthed bitches in their place?" she challenged.

His eyes narrowed, his mouth tightened and stretched over the gleaming white teeth he was now showing. "I convince them to fall in line. Fall in line, little lady , or you'll pay at the hands of a real man."

Really? He thought a bad attitude made him a real man?

"Pay how?" Ruby pressed, and, yeah, she was goading him, but her mood had sucked on the drive here, and meeting this real man had soured it even more.

He grabbed his crotch and laughed. "I give 'em this and a few smacks to adjust their attitude."

She eyed the crotch grab. And the nasty leer that was now in his snake-like eyes. This guy was an abuser, a predator, possibly a rapist, and an all-around asshole. Added to that, he seemed to be tanked up on steroids or some other junk. In other words, there was nothing she could say that would diffuse the situation.

Huffing, Ruby waggled the fingers of both hands in a come ahead gesture. The idiots shot each other puzzled looks, but then Bruised Face let go of his crotch and charged forward, bat raised and ready. She ducked, then took him out with a throat punch with her elbow, followed by a kick to the balls.

Bruised Face made a sound like a deflating balloon, and both he and the bat clattered to the ground.

Thug Two and Thug Three gave each other another a wide-eyed glance, and after a couple of seconds of stunned silence, they yelled out some kind of testosterone-fueled war cry and came at her.

Just as the door behind her flew open.

That distracted her a moment, enough for the thug on the left to slam the bat against her arm. Ruby saw stars, big ones, and the pain shot through her. So did the anger. The really bad pissed-off anger.

She darted out of the way of a second blow from the bat, glancing to her right to see her "host," Owen beating the crap out of thug number three.

Good.

That allowed her to concentrate on the SOB who'd given her that bone-jarring wallop on the arm.

Ducking out of the thug's reach, and his bat, Ruby lowered her head, and running, she rammed her skull—which some had said was much harder than average—smack dab into his solar plexus. He had some muscle there, but he probably found it hard to breathe since she'd knocked every molecule of air out of him. That didn't stop him, though, from coming at her again.

Or rather he tried.

Already tired of this fiasco, Ruby punched him in the nose, hearing the satisfying sound of cartilage breaking. Blood and snot spewed. He howled in agony.

But he still didn't go down.

That didn't happen until she kicked him in the kneecaps with her steel toes boots. For good measure, she gave him a kick to the family jewels. He dropped like a landed trout onto the walkway, his chin colliding with the ground.

"Finally," she muttered. "I'm too old for this crap."

Ruby turned to Owen, to see if he needed any help. He didn't. Owen was just as heavily muscled as the thugs, and he was in the process of pulverizing the guy. One solid punch right after another. The guy kept staggering back, but every time he stupidly lifted the bat, Owen went after him again.

Apparently, Owen was growing tired of this as well, though, because he landed a steely punch on the guy's jaw. Blood and teeth spewed, pinging down onto the flagstone like a snapped string of pearls.

Busted Nose continued to whimper and clutch his throbbing balls. Snaggle Tooth had dropped right next to him. But Bruised Face was growling now.

Yes, actually growling.

And struggling to get to his feet. There'd apparently been no lessons learned from watching his fellow thugs get beaten down.

"I'll deal with him," Owen insisted.

Ruby shrugged and didn't stop the guy from getting up, but she did kick away his bat and the ones from his still-down companions.

Bruised Face went at Owen again, evidently ready to exert his real man capabilities. And Owen did a whole lot more punching. The thug's nose broke, too, and there was possibly some more flying teeth. But Owen kept pounding until Bruised Face staggered away.

The growling ended, and the sounds turned to sobs. Bruised Face put his hand over his head and curled up into a ball, hopefully signaling an end to the ass-kicking portion of the evening.

"The cops are on the way," Owen let Ruby know, as they stood back and watched the trio in various states of distress and dental pain. "And the whole incident was recorded." He motioned to the doorbell camera.

Ruby groaned, dreading the police reports they'd have to do, but it was good to have proof that the three had started the fight. And that Owen and she had finished it.

She supposed Owen had finished just as many fights as she had over the years. Correction: more than she had. He was a former Delta Force bad ass. Well, the Delta Force part was former. At forty-nine, he was still a bad ass and head of his own security team, Strike Force.

Over the years, Owen and she had clashed over assignments. Mercy, had they ever. But as competitors, they mostly just tried to avoid each other. Which was why it'd been a surprise when he'd asked to see her.

He'd offered first to go to her, as he had on the other occasions when they'd needed to meet, but since she was in the area visiting one of her operatives who'd just gotten engaged, she had agreed to come to him.

Ruby heard the wail of police sirens so she knew it wouldn't be long before officers responded. A fast response, she thought as she checked the time. Then again, this was a small town so they hadn't had a long trip.

"Are you all right?" Owen asked her.

Ruby stopped rubbing her arm where the bat had made contact. "I'm fine." She didn't care for anyone knowing she was hurting, but good grief, the hurt was there. "This is some welcome committee. Friends of yours?"

"Not friends." He studied them as if they were rancid animal dung. "The crying one makes a habit of beating up his girlfriend. A girlfriend who broke up with him, but he seems to think she doesn't have a right to do that. Two days ago, he put her in the hospital."

That erased all of the annoyance Ruby was feeling. And she wished she'd landed a few more punches on the SOB. "Why the heck isn't he in jail?"

"Because the ex is still unconscious, and the cops haven't been able to pin the attack on him. His brothers gave him an alibi, and he claimed he hadn't seen his ex in days." He stopped, cursed. "The scum should be locked up and never see the light of day."

The level of venom in his voice didn't surprise her. She knew Owen's reputation when it came to domestic abusers. People called him the DA whisperer because he was so effective in stopping it.

Rumor had it that he would prod the abuser into a fight, let him take the first couple of punches, and then give him a royal ass-kicking. Owen repeated the process until the abuser either gave up and moved on or was incapable of doling out any more abuse.

Unfortunately, Ruby knew why Owen was so hellbent on ridding the world of monsters like that. And it was tied to that nightmare that'd happened three years ago. His failure.

And hers.

Bruised Face groaned again, snapping her attention back to him. It was a blessing. She'd rather hear the turd's groans than deal with her thoughts about the past.

"Did you put those other bruises on him?" she asked Owen.

"I did, two days ago outside the hospital when he tried to get in to see his girlfriend. Apparently, tonight he decided to come to my home with reinforcements. Sorry you got caught up in it," he added in a mutter. "Sorry, too, that I didn't get out here sooner so you didn't get hit."

She shrugged. "I was pretty much committed to the fight when he called me a pissy-mouthed bitch."

Ruby had tried to make that sound light, to try to diffuse some of the adrenaline that was still galloping full speed ahead through her, but Owen didn't bite on the light attempt. He just looked disgusted that she'd taken a hit.

She kept her attention on the thugs. Owen did, too, until a few seconds later, two Outlaw Ridge cruisers pulled to a stop in the street in front of the house, and four cops barreled out.

"Owen," one of them greeted. He hurried to Bruised Face and cuffed him. The other officers did the same to Thug Two and Thug Three.

None of the cops seemed surprised by the scene, and none questioned Owen as to what had happened. So, either he had filled them in as to a possible altercation when he'd called them, or else this was common practice. Maybe both.

"We'll get them to the EMTs," a forty-something-year-old cop told Owen. "Then, they'll go to lock up. "Are the two of you all right?" He stopped and seemed to do a mental doubletake when his attention landed on her. "Holy hell, you're Ruby Maverick. I recognize you from your picture on the news."

Not a surprise. Whether she wanted it or not, and she didn't want it, sometimes her photo ended up in media reports.

"Wow, it's like security team royalty," the cop said, shaking his head and giving the thugs another look. "Who the hell is stupid enough to come after Ruby Maverick and Owen Striker?"

Owen grinned, and while Ruby sure as heck didn't want to notice, it lit up his face. A face that already had too much light as far as she was concerned. A handsome devil. A silver fox. And a whole lot of other adjectives she always tried not to think about.

"Later, Ruby and I will email you our reports and request that charges be filed against them," Owen said as the cops hauled the thugs into the cruisers. "You'll get a copy of the cam feed, too."

All four cops seemed satisfied with that and voiced variations of approval before they hauled the moaning, groaning, crying, cursing real men away.

"Come inside, and I'll get you some ice for your arm," Owen muttered, examining his knuckles.

"I think you need the ice more than I do. And, besides, I don't plan on this being a long visit. Why'd you ask to see me?" she tacked onto that as he led her into the house. "Is it because you're not happy about one of your operatives getting engaged to one of mine?"

"No. I'm happy for Billie and Presley," he said, speaking of her team member, Presley Nolan, and his, Billie Cooper.

He went ahead of her and straight through to the kitchen. Since it was an open floorplan, she had no trouble seeing him go to the fridge for that ice. Had no trouble seeing either that the place was a lot more impressive on the inside than it was out. Floor-to-ceiling windows. An amazing stone fireplace with a mantel that held framed photos.

And a badge encased in glass.

She went closer and saw it was for an Outlaw Ridge Reserve Deputy. Owen's name was on the little brass strip at the glass base.

"It's more of an honorary position," Owen explained, making his way back to her. He had two zip-lock bags of ice in one hand and two beers in another. He handed her one of each. "My six times great-grandfather was the first sheriff of Outlaw Ridge. Well, he was after he gave up his outlaw ways. And I have two cousins on the force here. In fact, this house used to belong to my parents. I inherited it about six years ago after they passed away."

No wonder the cops hadn't given him any flak about this incident. Owen was one of them. One of the townsfolk, too.

Ruby set the beer on the coffee table but did hold the ice to her arm when she pinned her gaze to Owen. "Why am I here?"

He leveled those intense gray eyes on her. "You'll want to sit down for this. And you'll want that beer if not something stronger."

Hell.

Ruby groaned. "Is this about one of my operatives?" she came out and asked.

Owen shook his head, opened his beer and had a long pull from it before he spoke. "Brynn," was all he said.

The name slammed into her with the force of a dozen baseball bats, and Ruby shook her head, trying to clear it. Tried to tamp down her breathing, too. But nothing she did worked. The flood of memories came anyway.

Of a Maverick Ops mission three years ago.

Brynn Darcy, Owen's twenty-year-old niece—the daughter of his twin sister—had been attacked and then either murdered or abducted by her boyfriend, Trent Barber. Despite some horrific twists and turns in the search, neither Trent nor Brynn had never been found.

But her blood had.

Lots of her blood.

Enough for the cops to declare her dead.

Ruby had personally worked the case because of a promise she'd made to Brynn's mother, Olivia, that she would "take care" of Brynn. A promise that Ruby had made while Olivia lay dying on the ground after an IED attack. Ruby had been her boss, her captain, and she'd failed to keep her safe. It didn't seem like much to promise that she would protect Brynn, who'd only been six at the time.

And Ruby had been a complete and utter failure in her promise.

Owen almost certainly felt the same way. Their combined teams of Maverick Ops and Strike Force hadn't been enough to save his niece.

"What about Brynn?" Ruby asked, and she did take a sip of that beer now.

She studied Owen and saw something on his face. Something that helped ease the gut punch feeling.

"Did you find her?" Ruby blurted.

Owen shook his head. "No. But her DNA was found at a crime scene in Austin. A murder scene," he clarified in a mutter. He lifted his head, and their gazes collided. "She's alive, Ruby. Or at least she was as of yesterday."

Then, Owen voiced exactly what Ruby was thinking. "And this time, we have to save her. We have to save Brynn."

───── ? ────