Kia jerked up in bed at the knock. Wes already reaching for his gun. “Kia? There’s a guy down here with a load of hay. He needs for you to show him where to unload it.” Tank’s deep voice coming through the door had him relaxing.

“Okay,” she called. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

“Roger that.”

She got out of bed and threw on some clothes. Wes following suit. Downstairs at the door, she smiled. “Hello, Mr. Holbrook.”

“Sorry about bein’ so early, Miz Silverbrook. But I’ve got a lot of deliveries today.”

“It’s totally fine.” She signed his clipboard and pulled on her stable boots. “This way.” Both her bodyguards followed her out onto the porch.

Mr. Holbrook was a hunched over little old man in his mid-sixties. When a shadow fell over him, he looked up and his brows rose. “Yer a big fella, aren’t you?”

Kia laughed and swiped at his arm. “Stop that, Tank.”

“Fits,” Mr. Holbrook said, not looking at all worried. He got into the rusty, faded blue truck stacked with bales and drove slowly behind Kia as she walked toward the barn.

“You can unload here,” she indicated.

He backed in, and Tank and Wes got to work unloading. When that was done, she waved at Mr. Holbrook as he drove off.

“He’s a few days late.” She shaded her eyes and looked up. “We need to get these into the loft. Plenty to do today, including the reunion car wash at ten.”

She showed them the pulley system and how they could stack the bales on the pallet and winch it up to unload it in the loft. But ducked into the tack room first to grab three sets of sturdy gloves.

The morning heated and the T-shirts came off, leaving nothing but big, wide chests and shoulders bare and glistening with sweat. Wes didn’t have any tats, but Tank had XXVI inked across his right pectoral and several rose blossoms on his right biceps with Jelsena inked above the cluster. Kia wondered what it meant.

Tank stayed on the pallet loading the hay then working the winch to come to a stop right at the open loft door. His balance was impressive as he handled eighty-pound bales with ease. Every time Wes bent over and grabbed a bale of hay, Kia wasn’t sure what she liked looking at more—that tight ass in those jeans or the ripple of his thick supple muscles beneath his skin.

Of course, she was getting a double whammy of half-naked hot male bodies. Tank was breath-stealing, his chest flexing with muscle as he manhandled bale after bale to Wes.

Once that task was done, it was to the horses. But Tank stood at the door, his T-shirt back in place, his arms folded over his chest. “You can’t really muck out stalls if you’re not in the stall,” she said.

Tank took a step forward and then stopped when Quicksand arched his neck toward him.

“He’s just curious to meet you.”

“Stop being a wuss,” Wes said as he handed Tank a pitchfork.

“Wes,” she said, smacking him as he went past. Grabbing a halter and slipping it over Twilight’s muzzle, he then snapped on a lead rope, guiding him out of the barn toward the corral.

“That’s not fair for him to needle you about being afraid of horses. He’s lived with them for most of his life.”

“I’m not scared.”

Quicksand nickered at him, the sound loud in the confines of the barn. Tank jumped back, and she had to keep the laugh bubbling inside from emerging, but it was clear from his scowl he saw the twinkle in her eye.

“I’m from East LA, ma’am. I’ve never even seen a horse.”

“No, but you handle a lethal K9 like a boss.”

He shrugged. “That’s different.”

“Horses are just bigger with less pointy teeth. They really have no interest in hurting you.”

He gave her a skeptical look telling her he wasn’t convinced.

She approached him and took the pitch fork out of his hand and set it against the stall. Grabbing Quicksand’s halter, she handed it to him. “Just use all that alpha energy,” she said gently. “He’ll respond. They’re just like dogs. Be the boss, and they’ll follow you.”

“Hoo-yah,” he said low under his breath. He reached out and Quicksand nudged his hand. “Wow, soft.” He rubbed the big buck’s nose then up his forehead. The gelding grunted and closed his eyes. A wide, beautiful grin spread across Tank’s face. He slipped on the halter and closed the buckle. She handed him the lead line, and he snapped it into place.

“I’ll tell you something about handling horses if you tell me what this means.” She tapped his upper arm.

“It’s my sister’s name. She died in a car accident when I was young.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right. It was a long time ago.”

“The roses?”

“She loved them. Said they stink good.” He chuckled softly, but there were shadows in his eyes. “She was so cute.”

She nodded. “I think I have the other one figured out.”

“Oh, yeah. Give it a shot.”

“XXVI is the Roman numeral for twenty-six and that’s the atomic number for iron.”

“Aren’t you the Brainiac? That’s exactly right. What’s the tip on horsemanship?”

“Always walk right at a horse’s shoulder. That way he can see you and you have better control for both leading him and avoiding his hooves.”

Tank was a fast learner and he led him out.

“Wuss,” Wes growled. But she saw the teasing lights in his eyes.

“Screw you,” Tank intoned, and Wes laughed.

After the stalls were cleaned and the horses brought back inside, Kia caught Wes leaning against the stall door, obviously taking a breather.

She kicked his cowboy boot and sassed, “Stop slacking, McGraw and earn your keep.”

He raised his gaze and found her watching him, and he gave her the once over, a look of heat in his eyes. Then he gave her a lopsided grin, keeping his voice low. “I think I’ve earned my keep, darlin.’”

She shook her head, “There’s no time for lollygagging or any trips south.”

His grin deepened.

“I think I have a cattle prod around here somewhere.”

Wes shook his head and chuckled. “You my trail boss now?”

“Sure, you want a job? It’s got good fringe benefits.”

Wes managed a drowsy half smile. “I think I’d be better off wrangling wild broncs.”

“That would be a whole helluva lot easier,” she agreed. She approached him. “I know where you’re ticklish.”

“Them’s fightin’ words, and I think you would benefit from a toss into the sawdust bin.”

“No, not that. It gets in my hair and it’s hard to get that stuff out.”

He shook out his arms, fixing her with a predatory smirk. Whipping off his hat, he hooked it on the vacant bridle peg near Quicksand’s stall.

“I could call in reinforcements. Tank?”

“Sorry, lady, but we’re part of the brotherhood and teammates. I’d say she needs a lesson for all that sass. What’re you worried about? He’s a pussycat.”

She started to laugh and back away. “Yeah, a big, lethal, brawny lion.” Wes rolled his shoulders, and if she wasn’t worried about all that sawdust, she would admire every solid inch of him. “Cut it out, Wes. You’ll spook the horses.”

“I’m not going to spook the horses,” he said coming after her. “But I am going to dump you in the sawdust bin, and I’m going to enjoy every moment.”

“No, you aren’t.”

He grinned and started to circle her. “Yeah, I am.” God, how she hated those shavings getting on her clothes and in her hair. Good for horse bedding, bad for long, black hair.

He focused those intense eyes on her. “Time for a sass lesson.”

She put up her hand, trying a new tact. “Come on, Wes.” She pleaded laughingly. “Don’t. I hate it.”

Realizing that he was backing her into a corner, she changed her tactics again, darting for the open door. His grin broadened. She had no intentions of fighting fair, not against a heavily-muscled SEAL with lightning quick reflexes.

“Come on, Cowboy, can’t you subdue one feisty filly?”

He threw Tank a challenging look and then focused back on her.

He had expected her to go that way, but he didn’t expect an offensive. She landed a solid tackle, dumping him in the mix of dirt and shavings on the barn floor. He managed to catch her leg, and he brought her down. She put up one hell of a fight, but in the end, he was able to get her into his arms.

She was laughing and out of breath, but she was still trying to break loose as he carted her down the corridor.

“Wes, damn it! Put me down.” She tried to push away from his back, but she couldn’t see a thing for all her hair. She tried to kick free, but he simply tightened his hold on her legs, giving her backside a smart smack.

“Please, Wes,” she pleaded, her voice breaking from laughter and exertion. “Come on—”

“Well, well, well, isn’t this quite the horseplay? I was wondering if you could set down my hacker for hire so that I can consult with her?”

Kia ceased her struggles, and Wes turned, steadying her as she slid down his chest. Securing her against him with an arm around her waist, he faced Red Sweeny, his expression hardening.

Kia felt like everything was closing in on her. What had started as a way to stick it to the family who she suspected had murdered Wes’s dad was getting quite complicated. She was sure she was close to a breakthrough once she tracked down the shady dealer she’d heard from on the dark web.

Big Red would go down, and his son’s efforts to find out who owned Sweetwater would be moot.

Every muscle in Wes’s body tensed, the bad blood between them something that was based on their volatile history. She squeezed his forearm and said, “Why don’t you and Tank finish up? I’ll be right outside the barn door so you can keep an eye on me.”

He gave her a stiff nod.

She left the barn and Red said, “Getting cozy with the hero, huh? Dream come true for a freak like you.”

“What do you want?”

His eyes narrowed, and his voice went low and menacing. “I want results. I’ve paid you good money to find out who owns Sweetwater. I’m getting tired of waiting. I thought you were some genius hacker, but I guess your reputation was sadly inflated.”

“I am good,” she hissed, “But there is a lot to wade through, so get a grip. I’ve only been at this for a few weeks, and I have other jobs, too.” She poked him in the chest and said softly, just as threatening. “If you call me freak one more time, Roger. You can just go ahead and find yourself another genius.”

He lifted his hands, his eyes flashing at his hated name, but immediately conciliatory. “It’s just a pet name, Kia.” She didn’t give him an inch and he sighed. “My dad is…not doing well. I’m on edge. I want him to know that I have Sweetwater before he dies. So, get it done or I’ll find someone who can!”

He stalked off and got into his big boat of a car and drove off. She had no sympathy for either father or son. Red was a bully, following nicely in his father’s big footsteps. Big Red thought he owned Reddick and ran roughshod over the town, getting what he wanted by any means possible. When Red’s father died, she would pray that he went to hell where he belonged.

Wes stood at the entrance to the barn watching the Lincoln disappear down her driveway. Even from this distance, she could detect the animosity radiating off him. Closing the distance between them, she placed a hand on his chest, tilted her head and brushed her mouth against his in a slow, sweet caress. His lips were soft and warm.

After a moment, she pulled back. The kiss wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy her desire for him, but it was enough to trigger a deep longing to keep this man with her forever. She slowly smoothed her hand down his chest, igniting a slow buzz of sexual tension, relishing the heat of his skin radiating through his cotton T-shirt, and the way those thick muscles of his flexed beneath her fingertips.

Lifting her lashes, she met Wes’s gaze and smiled up at him. “Hi,” she said huskily.

“Hey, yourself,” he murmured. “If you think that’s going to keep you out of the sawdust bin, think again,” he said in a low seductive drawl.

“What exactly would?” she asked as an amused smile tipped up the corners of his mouth.

“It’s open for negotiation.”

“That sounds promising.”

“We’ve got a full day. We better be going,” Tank said.

If he knew that Big Red had killed his dad, there would be nothing to stop him from venting his anger. That scared her to think what he was capable of doing. All the more reason to keep everything about this investigation and her involvement in Sweetwater a secret until she could come clean with him once the evidence was collected, the police involved and Big Red charged.

The car wash went off without a hitch, well, except the water fight that she so innocently had instigated by accident. But they made a tidy sum to add to the growing total for the band and football uniforms, so getting drenched had been totally worth it, not to mention people had a blast.

Tonight was the tailgate and after a shower, she checked on all the details. Tank and Wes were busy talking about her safety during the event.

But she was beginning to think this was all just a matter of coincidences since she hadn’t been attacked again. The break-in was most likely a vagrant and the attack in the alley was probably a desperate special ops guy in need of some quick cash.

There was no sinister plot. She couldn’t deny that she had done some things in the gray area, and when she’d been a teenager, downright illegal, but she was a Black Hat now. The most recent job she’d taken had been for an official with the DoD for a test of the security for Naval Base Coronado in San Diego. She had been eager to discover any type of possible breach as she knew that Wes was stationed there and keeping them all safe made her feel good. The night of the test, she’d shut down all security and had then received the second payment to her account. She could only guess it had been a success.

* * *

Tank called Echo and Triton as he headed for the front door and some exercise for the dogs. Cowboy had started lunch.

This had been an eye-opener for him. Finding out about Cowboy’s past had made him understand his teammates need for control. It explained a lot of things about the big Texan. Not that they were touchy/feely, they were men after all, but it wasn’t lost on Tank that Kia was good for him. She was a cute, attractive package and Cowboy had it bad for her. He didn’t intend to get snagged by any woman. He was too selfish to ever settle down and give up his time toward a wife and family. He knew a lot of guys wanted that, but it wasn’t for him. He really didn’t have much of a role model to emulate. He was sitting on the porch steps, throwing the ball when the door opened, and Kia came out. Sitting down next to him, she said, “I don’t think I’ve mentioned my thanks for you taking your time to guard me. I just think it might have been nothing but a wild goose chase.”

His brows rose. “Yeah? Cowboy seems pretty sure and in my experience, he’s rarely wrong.” It was true, the man had a sixth sense about things and was a master tactician. It’s why their LT relied so heavily on him.

“They’re sure getting along well,” Kia said as Echo and Triton chased after the ball Tank threw.

His face went pensive. “Echo doesn’t normally get this much freedom and usually, when I’m with him, it’s a combat situation. I’m not allowed to have him when we’re not deployed.”

“That must be difficult?”

“It’s tough after spending so much time with him.”

“I think he means more to you than any dog you’ve handled.”

“It’s that obvious?” She nodded. “I was always able to move on from other dogs I’ve worked with, but ever since I got Echo, it’s been different. I try to tell myself that I can’t get attached, but how can you help it.”

She smiled and squeezed his forearm. “You can’t. I’m attached to all my animals. They have a way of worming their way into your heart.”

“Even BFA?”

“Well, the jury’s still out on that one.”

“You know, when he brings you those dead things, he’s trying to get into your good graces.”

“Oh, yeah. I thought he was just telling me to fuck off.”

He chuckled. Cowboy was a lucky bastard to have found Kia. Hopefully, he was smart enough to hold on to her. “I think interactions with cats are much different than with dogs. Cats think we’re just a larger, clumsier version of themselves and their behavior toward us shows it. Dogs know were different, separate, but they overlook our flaws.”

“BFA can’t overlook my flaws? Is that it?”

“No, he just wants attention and is worried about his bond with Triton. He clearly loves the dog, and I think for him, Triton’s his territory. Then you come in and start bonding with him, leaving BFA alone.”

“Wes said something similar, but BFA is so nasty.”

“He’s just scared and in defense mode. He’s probably always had to take care of himself. He’s incorporated Triton into his physical territory and at first, you were a trespasser.”

“I know something about being alone. What do you suggest?”

“Play with him. Start off with something that cats can’t resist. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small flashlight and handed it to her. “This is like catnip.”

“Thanks, Tank,” she said and her smile was so warm. Yeah, Cowboy was a lucky bastard. “So, if nothing happens after the reunion is over, you should be able to go back home.”

“If Cowboy thinks that’s a good plan. Do you know anything about self-defense?”

“No, I asked Wes to show me how to throw a punch, but we’ve been busy.”

“I’ll show you, but I’ll kennel Echo. He’s trained to attack if I’m in danger.”

She puffed up. “You think I’m dangerous?”

He laughed. But, yeah, this chick was dangerous, and he wasn’t going down that road. She was Cowboy’s girl. “Echo won’t care. I’ll be right back.”

He called the dog and kenneled him before going back outside. “Okay, disclaimer, although knowing the fundamentals doesn’t exactly make you Rambo, but should help in defending yourself. Just don’t go out and pick a fight. Unless you’re in prison, then deck the biggest person there or at a big girly sale and some Amazon has just grabbed the dress you want.”

She laughed. “Okay, got it.”

“I’m going to teach you the right way to make a fist, how to orient your wrist, what part of the person you should hit and what you should do after the punch.” Her attention was riveted on him. “You need a fist, but your thumb should always be on the outside. If not, you will break it. Most people think you should hit a person with the flat of your fingers, but that’s a good way to hurt yourself. You want to aim to use your knuckles and not the ring finger and pinky combination, but the index and middle together.” She made a fist and he repositioned her thumb and touched the soft knuckles of her hand.

“Angle your wrist slightly down, but keep it aligned with your forearm. This is going to keep you from injury and allow you to make correct contact. Your shoulder will automatically rise and help you to block, too.” He raised his hand palm out to her. “Hit me.”

He was impressed with the way she picked up on it. “Good. Now, we’re not going to aim for one punch, but not on the face.”

“No?”

“No. Knocking a guy out is usually a lucky punch. I would suggest a body shot or neck. Groin works as a great finishing move if you really want a head start. Also, if you want to distract and run, you can go for the nose. I do suggest that if you come up against a more experienced opponent, go for the neck, then follow through with a cross punch. It will disturb the attacker’s breathing and give you time to bolt. That’s your mission, and what you do after you punch. You run away.”

She giggled. “Exactly.” Then she got serious. “That’s not what you do.”

“No, but I’m spec ops and the guys that are usually trying to kill me have automatic weapons and any close work is done with a knife. If I have no other option, then, yeah, it’s a beatdown, no quarter, no mercy.”

“You’re fighting for your life. Makes sense.”

“Okay, try to hit me to get a feel for it.”

She got into the fighting stance and got ready. Tank focused on her. Then Cowboy yelled, “Tank, what the hell are you doing?”

That distracted him for just a split second and was enough for Kia to clip him on the chin, which rocked his head back and made him lose his balance. He stumbled.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Kia said as he regained his balance and rubbed at his chin, glaring at Cowboy who was laughing loud and hard.

He came up to Kia and held up his fist which she bumped. “Way to go, slugger.” Kia thumbed her nose, then danced around like Rocky.

Tank could tell that Cowboy wasn’t too keen on Tank getting near his girl. He grinned. Too bad. He liked Kia.

* * *

They arrived at the tailgate early to make sure all the nifty dinner boxes for their reunion attendees would be available during half-time.

When dusk settled and the lights brightened the field, they all assembled at the designated spot to go to their reserved area up in the bleachers.

The game got underway and the teams came onto the field amongst a lot of cheering and fanfare. During half-time, everyone enjoyed their boxes and with the home team winning, were in great spirits, the conversation lively. Kia noticed that Tank was conversing with Sally Jean who had come out for the game. The way Wes had looked at him after he’d taught her how to throw a punch, it made her wonder if he was worried about the big man getting under her skin. She curled her arm through his. That would never happen. Tank was a nice guy and although she could admire him as purely a gorgeous male specimen, she liked him like a brother. No tingles or heart palpitations there.

When the game wrapped up, Kia headed with them toward the exit, but then realized she’d left her sweater at her seat.

“Oh, my wrap,” she said.

“I’ll get it,” Tank offered and took the steps two at a time to reach their bench. She waited with Wes in the middle of the small stadium.

Suddenly, a man attacked Wes and when Tank went to come down to aid him, another man appeared and challenged him. Wes and his attacker were in a vicious fight, punching and wrestling. Tank was now facing off with the other guy. From behind her she heard footsteps. A man in a ski mask was running toward her.

She took off and the only way to go was up. When she reached Tank’s level, he called out, “Kia!”

He elbowed his attacker, and he went down. She pelted toward him as fast as she could go with Ski Mask right on her heels. Tank grabbed her up and without even missing a beat tossed her in an arc down the rows toward Wes. He pushed his attacker hard and caught her on the run against his chest. She scrambled for a handhold on his neck. Ski Mask ignored Tank and came after them, a knife glinting in his hand. The other man was already in pursuit of Wes.

“Tank,” he yelled and Tank started to come down the bleachers until he was about three up, and Wes’s attacker was almost on them. She felt his muscles bunch, then with a powerful thrust, he propelled her up the three rows, the metal benches glinting in the moonlight, as she hung for a split second airborne, then landed right into Tank’s arms. She hit with an oomph knocking the wind out of her.

What the hell was she? A football?

Tank rolled her up his body without breaking a sweat and draped her over his shoulder, facing Ski Mask. She couldn’t see a thing as she gripped his belt and held on for dear life.

Suddenly, he whipped her around, and she was unceremoniously tossed back to Wes, who set her down right behind him.

Ski Mask knocked Tank over, and he tumbled down a few rows before righting himself, but he was too far away. Wes, dispatched his attacker, and it was only Ski Mask left.

He grabbed her hand and dragged her up and away from the prowling assassin until they were at the top.

Ski Mask’s eyes glittered in the holes of the mask, but when he swiped at Wes with the knife, Wes grabbed his wrist and hurled him over his shoulder. Ski Mask sailed over her head and off the edge of the bleachers, his shout cut off abruptly only moments later.

Wes turned around and looked over, leaving nothing to chance. Tank was calling the police after dragging the two unconscious men together.

Wes pulled her hard against him. “Are you all right?”

“Other than feeling like a cross between a sack of potatoes and a football, yes.”

He laughed softly, and she buried her face in his neck as sirens sounded in the distance.

Once the sheriff and several deputies arrived, Wes, Tank and Kia had gone down to where the dead man lay. Wes bent down and removed the mask, and she got this sick sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.

“He’s been in The Back Forty,” she whispered, her skin crawling. “I’ve served him.” But that wasn’t the only place she recognized him. He’d looked familiar even then, but she couldn’t place him. She realized if someone wanted her dead, whomever that someone was would send another killer. Her only hope was to figure out who was after her and end the threat once and for all, or she wouldn’t be able to get back to her life.

Wes and Tank couldn’t stay here indefinitely and guard her.

Once again, as reality intruded, she was on her own and in much more danger than she had anticipated. She’d have to get proactive.

* * *

Special Agent Paige Wilder closed down her computer, eager not to be late to meet her gorgeous husband, Ashe for dinner and their planned long weekend. In her haste, she left her phone buried under a file folder. Just as she stepped into the elevator and pushed the down button, the display lit up with an email from Sheriff Jerry Jones.

Oblivious to the break in her case, she checked her hair in the reflection in the console as the doors slowly closed.