July 28, 11:37 a.m.

Bamford, Western North Carolina

Deke crouched behind a large tree, his AR15 at the ready while he waited for his team members to get into position.

Eleven months. That’s how long it had taken him to get to this point.

Eleven months living as Dan Wimberly, a gun store clerk looking to make a quick buck.

Eleven months currying favor with a greedy lowlife who cared nothing for the things Deke had dedicated his life to for the past decade.

Eleven months away from family and friends. Away from Evie.

He sensed more than heard his second-in-command, Keone Akana, move into position twenty yards away. “Team check,” Deke whispered into his mic.

Voices from the other five members of his team chimed in his ear.

“All appears quiet inside,” Keone said.

“Too quiet.” Deke flipped his night goggles in place. Everything turned into shades of green and shadow. He searched the area around the large red barn and two outbuildings. Nothing stirred. Not even an insect.

“Are you sure you got the right night?” Keone asked.

Forty-eight hours ago, his confidential informant had warned him that the Distributor would be moving his inventory from this location at midnight. Deke assessed the barn. It had to be at least five thousand square feet. A lot of space to store illegal contraband. A lot of senseless deaths.

The muscle in Deke’s jaw tightened. No matter how many of these busts he made, he would never get used to walking into a room full of animal pelts and parts. Never.

Had his CI screwed up the date or time? Had Deke’s cover been blown?

“We’ll soon find out.” Deke squashed the coil of uncertainty in his gut. “Move in, on my mark. Three…two…one. Move.”

His unit advanced as one toward the barn. Deke didn’t need visual confirmation to know it. They had trained together for a year in a half before their first mission. Their tactics came to them second nature, though each man and woman brought their own expertise to the table and acted accordingly. As long as each member achieved their individual missions, Deke left it to them to determine the best method.

Deke and Keone flanked a door on the east side of the building. Trying the latch, the door creaked open. Their gazes met, grim.

With a hand gesture, Deke gave his partner the go signal.

Keone eased through the opening and entered the barn. Deke closed in behind him.

They’d barely cleared the door when Keone yelled, “Get down!”

A whish followed by a thrump split the air.

The force of the arrow spun Deke around, throwing him off-balance and buckling his knees. Steel ripped through muscle and tendons. Searing pain stole his breath. Blood pounded in his ears, deafening him to the outside world. For several precious seconds, he lay on his back, disoriented.

“You okay?” Keone pulled him clear and propped him against a stack of empty crates.

“Fine,” Deke panted, holding his injured arm against his body. “Warn the team.”

“Shooter!” Keone fired back in his mic. “Stay sharp—”

“Fuck!” someone roared into Deke’s earpiece.

“Matteo’s down,” Wes said in his usual can’t-rattle-me tone. “Arrow to the leg.”

“I’m on my way,” Raelyn said.

“Rae’s the best. She’ll patch the new kid up.” As usual, Keone could sense Deke’s turmoil before he could. The Hawaiian had a deep connection to the entire team’s inner workings. It was damn uncomfortable at times.

“Have you located the bastard?” Deke peered through the slats in the crate.

“No, but I see a spent crossbow mounted against a support beam.”

“Sonofabitch.” He spoke to his team. “The entrances are booby-trapped. Team check.”

Everyone’s voice came over the mic, including Matteo’s, though the engineer’s was strained.

“Commander,” a more distant female voice called through Deke’s earpiece.

“Go ahead, ComOne.”

Intelligence analyst Marisol Vega continued, “Satellite imagery is picking up some activity about a half mile south of your location.”

“What kind of activity?”

“Two large trucks and nine subjects.” Typing echoed in the background. “No buildings in the area, though there appears to be…”

“What’re you seeing?”

“Sorry, sir. The image is unclear.”

“Taj, Jax, check it out.”

“10-4,” Taj said.

Deke got to his feet. “Let’s continue our sweep.”

“Hang on a second,” Keone said. “I’ll get Rae over here to take a look at your injury.”

Deke glanced down at the arrow protruding from his shoulder. Bad idea. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “Leave her with Matteo.”

“But—”

Not in the mood to argue, he brushed past his second, but within minutes Deke knew the mission was a bust. The barn sat empty, except for some wooden crates and metal shelving units.

Frustration burned through his veins. Eleven months’ worth of work vaporized before his eyes.

“Loft and perimeter empty. Entrances clear,” Keone said, rejoining him. “We’ve got a damn rat in our midst.”

Deke lifted his goggles and rubbed his eyes, the exhaustion he’d been holding at bay finally breaking through. “Appears so.”

“Any ideas?”

“Not offhand.”

“Any chance the new kid made a mistake? Maybe he inadvertently passed on intel?”

Although each team member came to SONR with a specialization, everyone had to put in field time. Which meant undercover work. Some were naturals, some stuck out like a red M&M in a peanut bowl.

“Anything’s possible. But from what I’ve observed, Matteo can hold his own.” Into his mic, he asked, “Matteo’s status?”

Raelyn replied, “The arrow’s lodged deep in his thigh. He’s going to need surgery.”

“Load him up. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“The Distributor got wind of our arrival somehow,” Keone pressed. “And our circle of trust is damn small.”

Distributor. Not very original, but it was the name the team had adopted for the elusive mastermind behind a multimillion-dollar wildlife and plant trafficking scheme. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service established his elite team, SONR—Special Operations for Natural Resources—for the sole purpose of taking down empires like the Distributor’s. The problem was, no one knew the guy’s identity, and Deke had only found one who would dare cross him.

Could someone within SONR have betrayed the team? He’d trained, eaten, slept, trained, shot, killed, and trained with these agents. How much money would it take to turn comrade against comrade?

“You think one of us tipped him off?” The words scraped along Deke’s throat like slivers of glass.

“No—yes—maybe. Damned if I know.” Keone’s brown eyes passed over a few members of the team filtering into the main room of the barn. “We’ve got enough shit to sift through. The last thing we need is a dirty agent.”

“Commander,” Taj said in his ear.

“What’d you got?”

“We’re too late. All that’s left is a set of large tire tracks leading out of the woods.”

Dammit. “Head back. We’ll return tomorrow for a better look.”

“Tire tracks aren’t all that’s left,” Jax said, snapping her gum.

“What’s she talking about, Taj?”

A mountain of silence followed.

“Someone talk to me.”

“Looks like the Distributor left a message for you,” Taj said.

“What?”

“Probably your CI,” Jax interjected.

“Bald, scruffy beard, reeks of stale smoke?”

“You got it.”

“I’ll be right there,” Deke said. “He’s got some explaining to do.”

“Not gonna happen, boss,” Jax said around another bubble. “His throat’s slit.”