Cell phone to his ear, Liam “Angel” Knight started across the street, moving away from the Ever After Boutique. The laughter and chatter of too many female voices made it hard to hear James “Mickey” MacBride.

“Say again,” he said, as he reached the far sidewalk.

“I’m getting married.” Yeah, that was what Angel thought he’d said. Convenient timing, considering Angel was only in New York for his sister’s wedding. The rest of his family, scattered across the globe would be making their way in this direction over the next few days.

“Congratulations man, didn’t you just get out like five minutes ago?” They’d served together for five years on the same team. They were brothers.

“Funny, but I got a great story—if you’re not busy in about six months, I’m going to need a best man.” The invitation was an honor. Laughter and satisfaction filled the other man’s tone. Not everyone handled retirement well, the adjustment period could be hell or so Angel heard. Sounded like Mickey hadn’t wasted any time on finding the next mission for his life.

“It would be my privilege.” A car horn honked, and Angel glanced toward the cross street. The boutique was tucked into a charmingly gentrified alley with a few other specialized shops. Storybook Square was what his twin sister called it.

“Where are you?” The man’s laughter quieted, and Angel turned to look at the shop. He never got to answer. The wave slammed into him, and lifted him off the ground. Shards of glass glittered before a bright light blanketed his vision. He hit the wall, the impact drove all the air out of his lungs. Training had him tucking down, eyes closed as he covered his head.

The rain of debris impacted against his back, shoulders, and hands. A dozen tiny cuts slicing into him. Heat flashed against him next like the hot breath of a dragon. Ears ringing, Angel lifted his head. Smoke turned the air hazy. Snow fell—no—fabric and ash drifted down and where the boutique had been…a black, charred hole.

Stumbling to his feet, Angel tried to get his bearings and he shook his head. Refocusing his blurred vision, he stared at the shattered shop front. His mind couldn’t quite make the connection—a woman appeared in his periphery and he wrenched his head to the side. Soot covered her face, and her eyes were wild. A man had a hold of her, and terror creased her expression. Blood appeared at the corner of her mouth, and she struggled, frantic.

The man wasn’t helping her. He had a vicious hold of her arm, and wrenched it behind her back. No sound penetrated the ringing in his ears, but Angel didn’t need to hear to recognize distress as the woman twisted and fought. Lunging to his feet, Angel staggered and weaved. It was as though the whole world played out in slow-motion. The debris continued to rain down. Slapping his hand down on the arm of the woman’s attacker, he broke the hold.

Training galvanized him. He only intended to restrain the guy, then her assailant flashed a knife. It arced toward him, and Angel deflected, took control of the arm and a second later the guy was down. Rising, Angel looked around for her, but she’d vanished into the smoke.

Belatedly, he realized he held onto a bag. It had been in the other man’s hands and sometime between intercepting him and slamming the knife into the jerk’s heart, he’d ended up with the item.

Was she all right? Where was she? Then he turned, and stared at the blackened remains of the shop.

Loss dug its own injury into his soul. His sister had been in there. Sound returned with a scream of a siren and Angel staggered forward.

Moira was in there.

He made it another two steps when his knee collapsed. Reality caved in on him.

Moira was gone. The shop destroyed. He bled from a dozen different places.

His sister was gone.

Six weeks later…

The slow, mournful wail of the bagpipes accompanied Liam and his brothers as they carried his sister’s casket on the final journey from the church to the cemetery. Her fiancé walked, shoulder to shoulder with him. The man’s devastation, shared by Liam’s whole family, had made him a brother. The day passed in a haze of eulogies, tearful hugs, and half-hearted laughter. There was a hole in his heart where his sister resided.

Moira would give him so much crap for the malaise he’d lived in over the past two weeks. The doctors weren’t hopeful about his hearing—the explosion had done more than cut his body, and break three of his ribs. It had also done something to his inner ear. The result—his balance was off and it also affected his coordination. Though the Knight family had been in mourning since confirming his sister’s loss, they’d waited the funeral until all the remains had been identified.

His SEAL buddies, both active duty and retired, had shown up for the funeral, too. They, along with others provided security so Angel could concentrate on his family. After the interment at the cemetery, they retreated to a private ballroom for the reception and more remembrances. Mickey, and his fiancée Arizona, along with Ben “Cannon” Stone, and Jesse “Flint” McCoy stood in a clustered group at the back and welcomed him with strong handshakes, and in Arizona’s case, an awkward if genuine hug.

“How you holding up?” Cannon asked, his expression sympathetic.

“Decent. Niall and Kean are with Mom, Jacey is with Dad.” One benefit to an extended family, the siblings could spell each other to take care of their grieving parents. Liam wasn’t ready to deal with his own grief. Not yet. He tossed back the whiskey, a last toast to his sister, and glanced to where Chris “Jammer” Kirkwood stood talking to his parents. Chin up and shoulders back, the army man wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to the world around him.

Grief, like a black hole, sucked at his soul.

“Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?” The bombing had claimed over a dozen lives, not counting the man Liam had taken out, and left more than fifty injured including Liam himself.

“According to a friend with the NYPD,” Flint said, his voice lowering automatically. A ringing in Liam’s ears prevented him from hearing the rest. It came and went, but when it intensified, the sound drilled right into his brain. He didn’t need to hear what Flint explained to their friends. Intelligence reported a heretofore unknown group bearing the moniker The Right Guard had declared the action a part of their campaign to wake America up from frivolity. What the hell kind of manifesto was that anyway? The right to celebrate life and to enjoy some frivolity was part of what Angel and the other SEALs fought to defend. People had a right to their lives.

The explosive had been identified, as had its location within the shop. No other bombings followed up and the story had slipped from the lead to fourth or fifth in the daily reports. A woman named Gertrude Wagner had reached out to him a couple of times, she was a producer for an on air news magazine—he didn’t remember which one—and she’d asked him a few questions about the incident. The only reason she stood out in a sea of other reporters and requests, was she never asked to take him on air for an interview. Instead, she’d been fact checking their reporting for accuracy.

The ringing ceased abruptly and only discipline kept him from shaking his head. “Angel?” Cannon nudged him, drawing him back into the conversation. The background chatter in the room rushed in.

“Sorry, what?” He hadn’t told anyone about what the doctors had to say. Worry that his hearing would never be quite right was the least of his worries. If the medical review board determined he wasn’t fit for duty any longer, then he would be mustered out and facing life not only with the loss of his sister, but the loss of his career as well.

“Just asked what you were planning to do next?” It was a straightforward question, but there was an underlying meaning. Did he plan to go after the bombers? Hell yes, he did—but first he had to identify them and he only had one clue.

“Not at the moment.” It wasn’t a total lie. He had a part of a plan, but to execute it fully he needed more info.

“We’re here for you, man.” Mickey didn’t need to say anything else. His guys had his back.

Wanting to change the subject, Angel said, “Tell me about your plans for the startup?”

It was common knowledge a lot of retirees didn’t make the adjustment to civilian life easily. More than one of them had gone into private security work, some for military contractors returning overseas with their expertise while still others worked at personal protection. Angel was familiar with several of them.

“It’s a work in progress,” Flint said. “We’re flying under the radar for now—kind of like Montana’s group.” Hank “Montana” Patterson had been on a different Team, but Angel knew the name and his reputation. “Arizona here was our first client…sort of.”

The woman in question snorted. “I’m their attorney now, too.” Mickey smiled at his fiancée then brushed a kiss to her forehead.

“She keeps us honest.”

The gambit worked, the conversation turned to their plans. They’d work from word of mouth, but they weren’t much further along than the discussion stages. The time spent with his brothers and his family only served to keep Angel distracted from stalking the investigators on the bombing case. He needed to talk to the other witness—the woman who’d disappeared into the smoke. As far as he knew, no one had come forward yet.

The only clue he had was the bag he’d been gripping when the first responders found him. There was no identification inside, but it contained other clues. Clues he planned to use to track her down.

A clinking of a glass dragged him back to the present. Their mother stood in the center of the room, and pulled all their attention. “We’re going to open the floor to more stories about Moira, then we’re going to turn up the music to celebrate her life. Moira was never a fan of the maudlin—she enjoyed a good laugh and this is how I plan to remember my baby girl…”

Angel’s vision tunneled, but he forced his breathing to regulate. He didn’t want to just remember his sister, he wanted to hold her hand and dance with her at her wedding. He wanted to come home and surprise her, sneaking up on her in her office or the kitchen. He wanted to hear her admonish him for being a jerk or offer him a beer as they played who had it worse.

The last pulled a reluctant smile from him as his mom told the story of their first day at preschool. Moira had punched a boy who’d sucker punched him. His sister had always had his back, always.

He’d won the who had it worse game—he was still here sans his twin. But he’d have her back, he’d find the bastards responsible.

It was a promise.

Six weeks later…

Katherine “Katie” Hennessy looked out the window toward the Crazy Mountains. After everything went to hell in New York, she’d run as far and as fast as she could to the only place that made sense: home. The Arches had been in the Hennessy family since her great-great-grandfather made his way west in the 1800s. Once he’d settled in these mountains, he’d never left.

Hennessys might wander, but they always came home. They might as well have cross-stitched the saying on the pillows in every room. Folding her arms, she leaned against the wall and tried to get warm. Nothing chased away the chill in her soul. Her cuts and bruises had healed, slowly, but she couldn’t shake the horrific memory or the horrible role she’d played in all of it.

Snow fell everywhere. The blanket of white had begun falling two days before and continued to drop at an intermittent, if steady pace. Not even nature’s pristine decoration could distract her from the guilt eating away at her. Her parents weren’t there, they’d gone to Europe for a much belated second-honeymoon—twelve weeks of wandering to all the places her mother had always wanted to see. They’d even spent Christmas in Paris.

As much as she wished they were present for her to hug, and hold onto, she was also grateful they hadn’t seen her in the condition she’d been in. With most of the house staff enjoying extended vacations, she’d been able to hide her bruised and abused self away until she’d healed. Only the ranch foreman had seen her, and Old Tom was a good man, he’d reminded her where the weapons were and said he’d keep an eye out. She was pretty sure he thought her boyfriend had beaten her up.

He wasn’t too far wrong.

Just the thought of Nash made her skin crawl. They’d been dating for nearly a year. He always seemed like the perfect guy, involved in his work and with his friends. They saw each other regularly, but he didn’t make unreasonable demands on her time. The latter had been important while she pursued her career. Hadn’t the whole point of her moving to New York been to score a coveted role in a Broadway production? Instead, she’d waited a lot of tables and danced in a lot of chorus lines if she got a role at all—many times on the same days.

Nash had always been the guy who made time for her when she was available. They’d explored New York together, and he always had a new place to go or something she’d never seen. He was the perfect guy—too perfect.

Touching a hand to her neck, she explored the lingering remains of the bruise there. It had been far deeper than she’d realized, though the swelling reminded her of the man who’d wrapped his hands around her throat and tried to kill her.

Kill.

Ice slithered up her spine and she pushed away from the window. In the year she spent with Nash, she only ever mentioned growing up in Montana, but not the name of the ranch or the fact her parents owned hundreds of acres. The day she’d packed her car to take her chances back east, her dad said “The world is full of people who hate, and people who are kind. You’ll recognize the former when you have nothing to give them. Be the latter, darling.”

It seemed too simplified a way to look at the world. Yet, two years in New York City illustrated her father’s point clearly. She only wished she’d understood how kind those who hated could appear…rubbing a hand over her face, she blinked back tears. She’d come home to The Arches to figure out what to do, and not just to hide. Or at least that was what she told herself.

A shower rinsed away the last dregs of sleep. Once dressed in jeans, and a long-sleeved open thermal top and heavy socks, she descended the stairs. The upside of the staff having the time off was privacy, the downside—she had to make her own coffee.

It was colder downstairs than up, so she paused at the thermostat to nudge it upwards. She could build a fire in the living room, then pull out her laptop and get to work on researching her next steps. Broadway was the dream that became a nightmare, maybe it was time to make her dad happy and return to ranching. A lot of local talent had returned home—megastar Sadie Mclain for one. Mom had been beside herself, not only because Sadie was a local girl, but also because Mom loved all her movies.

She married Hank Patterson, a retired military guy. They’d both been a few years ahead of Katie in school, but she’d heard all about them. The town had grown, but it wasn’t that big. Coffee started, she checked the fridge. She’d only gone into town twice since returning, and requested one delivery. Avoiding contact as much as possible hopefully would prevent anyone from asking questions about her bruises.

The black marks on her arms and shoulder had been the worst, but her throat would generate the most questions. Turtlenecks hid the evidence while she traveled, and being alone in the house let her do the rest.

While the coffee pot sputtered, she got the fire going in the hearth. Maybe she’d read a book today—no, she had to make decisions today. As provocative as hiding at The Arches was, she couldn’t stay here forever, never leaving the ranch, never seeing anyone who wasn’t her family. It was fine while her parents traveled, but when Mom and Dad came home…

Shaking her head, she returned to the kitchen. She’d removed a steak the night before, and got it grilling. Eggs and toast would complete the meal—provided she could keep it all down. Nerves had turned her inside out, and screwed with her digestion. A bad habit from her teen years that led to endless discussions about bulimia with the school counselor and her family doctor. She didn’t try to purge, her body just responded badly to stress.

And I wanted to be an actress…sometimes I’m so stupid. Except being on the stage let her be a self that didn’t experience ridiculous…the sound of an engine penetrated her self-castigation and she reached over to shut off the burner beneath the steak. Tom wasn’t scheduled to stop by—he’d kept his visits to every seven days, including when he brought the extra groceries up. Leaving the kitchen, Katie headed to the gun case. After entering the code and unlocking the door, she removed a shotgun and loaded it before making her way to the door.

Every muscle in her body was stiff by the time she reached the front window. The truck bearing down on the ranch house followed the snowy drive way. Tom and the other guys kept it mostly clear, but the fresh powder had dusted it. The big black truck wasn’t familiar, but her pulse double-timed and sweat dampened her back.

Panting, she kept a grip on the stock of the gun. Maybe it was just a neighbor dropping in—that would be normal. Though everyone knew her parents were gone and she’d kept her own presence as low-key as possible.

The closer the truck came, the tighter the band around her lungs became. The engine veritably growled. The snow and gravel near the turn toward the main house crunched. Would it keep coming or bypass the house for the barn—maybe it was a ranch hand. She didn’t necessarily know them all.

Air backed up into her chest as the truck cut into the circular drive in front. Closing her eyes, Katie pressed her forehead to the cool wood. She could do this…it wasn’t anyone from New York.

Please don’t be Nash…please don’t be Nash.

The truck came to a halt and the rumble of the engine cut off. Then the door opened. Forcing herself to look, Katie readied herself and the man who stepped out was big, thick shouldered, and wore a baseball cap. The hat didn’t fit, most of the guys went for a more traditional look—it also shielded their faces more from the weather and the sun. He had his back to her, but she didn’t recognize him from his build.

The snow continued to fall, the enchanting appearance taking on a more sinister quality. The door slammed and he circled the vehicle slowly. There was something off in the cadence of the way he moved—or maybe she was imagining things. Suddenly, he turned and looked right at the side window near the main door. As if he could sense her watching him, then his gaze locked on hers and Katie forgot how to breathe.

The guy had been there…he’d seen her.

He knew who she was.

The blood pounding to her head left her dizzy with pain. A gunshot exploded the air next to her, and then darkness descended.