Chapter 11

“I’ve got one question.”

Mason lay prone on the rooftop next to Avery, binoculars trained on the warehouse while container trucks rumbled inside.

Avery continued to look through her own binos. “Just one?”

“For now. If this investigation is off-books, how’re you hiding it from your SAC?” Avery’s supervisor, or Special Agent in Charge, would expect updates, and face-to-face meetings, on her current cases.

“I’m on vacation.”

Elbows digging into the tarpaper, Mason refocused his binos on the warehouse. “Some vacay.”

“This is about as good as it gets. Plus, I hate vacations.”

He couldn’t resist a long look at the pretty agent. “Me, too.” He shuddered silently. Too much of his own company was … not the best.

He turned his attention back to the action. Ten trucks, each hauling a well-used cargo container had entered. So far none had exited, which made sense if they were offloading cargo to redistribute, as Paul described.

No delivery vans had left from the other side of the warehouse, either. Again, totally normal. From what Avery said, the stuff didn’t stay in the warehouse long. The cargo got delivered in the early morning hours, and then went out as legit UPS or Fed-Ex deliveries later in the day.

Another sign that Agent Ellis was correct about the smuggling. Most warehouses the size of Rain Bay’s facility had deliveries in and out around the clock. Whatever was being processed here was either too dangerous—or too expensive—to risk leaving it sit too long. Hiring enough security to guard huge shipments of expensive contraband, like drugs or jewels, would attract too much attention. They’d need a private army to truly secure a building the size of Rain Bay’s warehouse.

So don’t leave anything around for thieves to grab. Clever. And dangerous for Paul. And Avery. Mason preferred to deal with stupid criminals. Far less risk that way.

Despite the sunshine, worry ate at him. He should be enjoying this—hunkered down with a talented, beautiful woman who considered roof surveillance a fun date activity.

Another time, when his brother’s life wasn’t hanging by a thread, Mason could appreciate a day like this. But right now, all he could think about was Paul, hoping he was okay inside that warehouse.

Mason knew logically his brother was fine for the moment. But his bro was no professional. He had always had a big mouth and quick temper. Odds were good that Paul would slip up, say the wrong thing and blow this whole op.

Finally, a truck with an empty bed exited. While he could see through the building’s rolled-up door, Mason focused on the interior of the warehouse, cataloguing potential entry points, planning how he could breach the warehouse and extract Paul if needed. Not that he’d have any warning if his brother was in trouble. Paul couldn’t access his phone while working.

All Mason could do was watch and wait. And stew.

He shifted restlessly, gravel digging into his elbows. This passive surveillance went against every protective instinct. But he had to trust Paul could keep his cool and gather the intel they needed.

At least Agent Ellis had proven savvy so far. If anyone could build a case off his brother’s limited evidence, it was her.

As long as she didn’t get them all killed first.

He snuck a glance at her silhouette, hair whipping in the breeze. Restless energy wafted off of her. He’d served alongside too many impulsive hotshots not to recognize the signs. Agent Avery Ellis was a maverick, with everything––both good and bad––that label implied.

People often mistook him for the same, but his teammates knew differently. Unless forced to by circumstance, he was deliberate. Contained. Precise in his planning. Every good sniper had the same qualities. And face it, he was more than good.

Mason’s thoughts turned to what his team had uncovered about Avery Ellis last night. Hired by the FBI five years ago, she’d earned commendations for valor and investigative skills. But most telling—she was a Bureau kid, following in her legendary father’s footsteps.

That set off alarm bells for Mason. He had to admire her dedication, choosing such a dangerous career after experiencing profound loss. On the other hand, having something to prove often created hotheads prone to emotional decisions.

He studied her profile as she scanned the warehouse complex below. The determined set of her jaw was all too familiar. He saw the same stubborn tilt on Paul’s face whenever his brother insisted he had a foolproof get-rich scheme.

But Paul’s half-baked plans always exploded in his face. If Avery was blinded by some quest to avenge her father, this whole op could blow up too. Mason needed her clear-eyed, not chasing ghosts.

He cleared his throat. “Tell me about your dad.”

She stiffened, eyes never leaving the warehouse. “What about him?”

“How’d he die?” Mason asked gently.

Her throat worked. “Killed breaching a hostage site. Took a bullet saving a bunch of local cops.”

Mason nodded, hearing the echo of old pain in her voice.

She looked at him then, eyes overbright. “Serving is worth the risk. I won’t let his sacrifice, or anyone else’s, be for nothing.”

Message received. Her drive came from a noble place, however reckless it seemed. Together they would do this right: smart, mostly legal, and as safe as possible.

But he wouldn’t let her honorable crusade turn into a death trap for Paul.

Or a suicide mission for one beautiful, determined Special Agent.

A sound from Avery interrupted his daydream. Crouching low, Mason hurried over to her vantage point and lay flat, peering through his binoculars. “What is it?”

She pointed at the warehouse exit. “That’s not normal.”

A vehicle with blacked out windows tore out from the delivery loading docks.

“Definitely unusual,” Mason confirmed.

Alarm shot through him. Paul.

He grabbed his infrared binoculars—the tinted windows obscured nothing to the special optics. He counted three men—the driver and two in back. None of them Paul.

Avery started to rise, intent on pursuit.

Mason stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Nope. No way you’ll get down to your car fast enough.”

“But––”

“It’s not worth alerting them.”

She glared at him, pulling her arm out of his hold, but the anger seemed to fade quickly.

Yeah. Hothead. He’d have to watch that.

He ripped open his backpack and handed her a thermos of hot coffee. “Don’t drink it all,” he ordered.

He stretched his legs, twisting from side to side to keep his back limber while he pulled out his phone to text Paige. She’d have a trace on those plates in a second.

Avery put the thermos top to her lips. He watched, mesmerized, as the steam from the hot brew bathed her face. Between her beauty and her fire, the woman did intrigue him. He could see himself with a woman like her. Driven. Committed.

And just the right amount of crazy.