The clap of Brogan O’Neal’s boots echoed off the steps on his swift ascent to Hank Patterson’s porch at White Oak Ranch, breaking the silence of the peaceful Montana morning. His new boss, an old SEAL buddy, had summoned him from his place, thirty-three miles east.

“Thanks for getting here so quickly.” Hank met him at the top step with a firm handshake and a grin.

He nodded. “Figured it was an emergency if you were calling me in.”

Brogan had recently accepted Hank’s bodyguard job offer to keep from going stir crazy on the ranch he’d inherited from his grandfather two months ago. Although he enjoyed working with his hands and made a decent living taking over Charlie O’Neal’s woodworking business, it fell short in the adrenaline rush department, unlike the firefights and bomb defusals of his SEAL days. Still tackling the stack of orders backlogged when his grandfather fell ill late last year, Brogan lacked enough free time to make Brotherhood Protection a full-time gig. For the moment, he could only sign on as a last-resort type call up.

A quick glance around his buddy’s broad shoulder to the other men rising from their Adirondack chairs confirmed his theory. “Seeing as you have several staff here, I’m guessing I’m right.”

Hank’s chuckle filled the air. “True. I called in anyone not on assignment. I believe you know a few of these ugly mugs.”

“Indeed.” He released his boss’ hand to turn and greet the grinning blond hulk who’d served with Hank. Their teams ran a few joint missions. “Axel. Good to see you again.”

The man flexed his right hand before grasping his for a shake. “You, too, Sonic. ‘Bout time you came down off the mountain. Been trying to get you to join us for a beer for weeks now.”

Another casualty of his busy workload.

“Sonic.” He smirked. “Haven’t heard that in a long time.”

The old nickname wasn’t something his grandfather had ever entertained calling him, so when Brogan left the teams last year to take care of the dying man, he’d left the nickname behind, too. He also promised to continue the family legacy and not return to the Navy.

“I still go by mine.” The big blond smiled. “So feel free to call me Swede.”

“You never were good at time management, O’Neal.” Behind Swede, the Delta smartass Brogan encountered on a handful of missions snickered and stepped forward.

“Someone had to keep you D-Force wimps on your toes.” He grinned and held out his hand. “How’ve you been, Duke? Last I heard you were still pulling duty out of Texas.”

Their handshake stilled a second before Duke released him. “Nah. Been here a month now.”

He frowned and glanced back at Swede. “You’re right. I have been up on that mountain too long.”

“Damn straight,” Hank said, then turned to introduce the man on his right. “This is Taz. He’s a former Ranger.”

“Good to meet you, Taz.”

“Same,” the man replied, his grip firm and sure as they shook hands.

Army Rangers cleared the way for Brogan’s team on numerous missions. Without them, SEALs and Delta would never achieve their high success rates. There was a good chance they’d unknowingly pulled a few ops together.

“I’m Bear.” A large man standing off to the side moved close with his hand outstretched. “Another D-Force wimp.” To prove it, the guy increased his hold as they shook hands.

So did Brogan. “I can tell.”

A second later, Bear released him and grinned. “You’ve got a pretty good grip…for a frog.”

“Yep. Definitely Delta.” He smirked, resisting the urge to shake out his crushed fingers. “Smartass seems to be a prerequisite.”

Swede and Taz snickered, while Duke and Bear nodded, pride puffing out their chests.

“Now that the muscle flexing is done, let’s go inside, and I’ll introduce our client.” Hank pushed away from the post he leaned against and headed for the door.

Swede’s brows shot up. “He’s already here?”

Hank nodded. “Arrived a half hour ago. He told me to call in all able bodies, but didn’t tell me why. A few of you will recognize him.” His gaze met Brogan’s a second before he opened the door.

In that minuscule space of time, Brogan knew whoever stood on the other side was important in his past. And since both his father and grandfather were dead, that only left two people who held his highest level of respect.

Both were former commanders. One he owed his life.

Which one was inside? And why would he need a bodyguard?

The absurdity of that unspoken question tugged at Brogan’s lips. No way would either of the capable, stubborn men ever allow someone to shadow them for protection.

With curiosity and concern mixing, he entered behind Swede, unease gripping his shoulders.

“Commander Crawford?” The large SEAL halted in front of him, forcing Brogan to sidestep to avoid a collision. “Great to see you, sir.” Swede quickly recovered and strode across the room to the middle-aged man standing in front of the fireplace.

A former SEAL himself, the man had commanded Brogan’s team with a hard head, iron fist, and fair heart. A true leader who had shaped him into the man he was today. Hell, he wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for Commander Crawford. The hardened veteran had saved Brogan’s rookie ass on his first assignment straight out of BUDs training when the mission fell to shit on bad intel.

He owed the man his life and a big debt. Whatever the commander needed today, he was all in.

He stepped up next, hand outstretched. “Sir. Good to see you.”

Despite a few gray hairs and an increase of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, none of the commander’s strength had diminished. Still broad, fit, and sharp as ever. In fact, his grip was strong enough to take on Bear.

“You, too, O’Neal. Glad you’re here.” Crawford paused their handshake for an extra beat, his gaze boring deep, before he released him to greet the remaining men.

Brogan moved off to the side and stood next to Hank, silently contemplating the meaning behind the commander’s actions.

Nine years ago, when they’d been tasked with taking down the leader of a sex slave ring operating out of Somalia, Crawford had worn the same expression.

Hell bent and pissed off.

The commander’s then college-bound niece had been the same age as some of the victims. That leader—and his entire network—were no longer breathing. And somehow, the commander had managed to get it all sanctioned.

Brogan suspected it had a lot to do with his other former commander, SOG Knight, recruited by the CIA for their elite Special Operations Group. Crawford and Knight had once served on the same SEAL team together.

Wherever the orders had come from, Commander Crawford had been meticulous in carrying them out. The same determination that had been in his gaze back then, glinted in his eyes right now.

Brogan almost felt sorry for the people trying to cross the guy.

“Let’s head to the kitchen so the commander can brief us,” Hank said, leading the way.

Adrenaline already kicking in, he entered the spacious room and strode past a massive granite island bigger than his entire kitchen.

“Take a seat, men.” Crawford waved at the extra-large table centered in front of a trio of sizable windows overlooking the front yard. “I want to brief you before she gets here.”

She?

So, he was right. The commander wasn’t hiring them as his own bodyguard.

“She, who, sir?” Swede asked, squeezing between Bear and Taz on the other side of the table.

“My niece, Katharina. Kat,” Crawford replied.

His niece?

Brogan stiffened a second before settling in a chair next to Hank and Duke.

All he’d known—all any of his team had known—was she’d moved in with Crawford’s mother after the poor girl’s parents had died. That had been a good decade before Brogan had joined the teams. Still, the only contact the commander permitted the guys was through a photo in his office. On the rare occasion Brogan had stepped foot inside the room, he always looked to the credenza for an updated photo of the pretty brunette. Her easy smile, and the warmth in her mesmerizing brown eyes never failed to draw him in and make him feel…good.

For a guy who’d seen unthinkable atrocities, and walked on the dark side in the name of humanity, he’d basked in the rush of warmth that always washed away a chunk of negativity from his soul.

Now she was a target?

His insides fisted tight. Nothing was going to happen to her. Not on his watch. And certainly, not on the commander’s. The man had always been careful to keep her out of his military life. Even though he adored his niece, the commander never carried any pictures of her on his person, lest he be captured.

Not giving them a pawn, Crawford had always stated.

Yet now, apparently, somehow she was a target.

“Three months ago, I was handed the name of an arms dealer and given carte blanche to take him down and disband the network that sold guns to Syrian rebels.” The commander stood at the head of the table, arms behind his back, spine as rigid as his jaw. “We rooted out the final leader of that faction last week, and put the mission to bed.” He removed a photo from inside his jacket, stepped to Hank, and handed it over. “Apparently, I’ve pissed off a relative of someone we took down.”  

Brogan watched his boss’s jaw clench before he passed him the photo of a dead Syrian woman, her eyes lifeless, body naked and mutilated, the threat “Kat will pay for your sins” scribbled across the photo.

The knot in his gut twisted so tight his chest hurt. He’d seen too many similar bodies during his years as a SEAL. So damn senseless. Clamping his jaw, he swallowed the bile rising in his throat, and handed the photo to Duke.

“You know I don’t give a rat’s ass about threats leveled at me, but when they are brutal, and involve my family, I take it serious. Damn serious.” Crawford clenched and unclenched his fists, the sound of his cracking knuckles echoing around the room. “This bastard is going down for what he did to that woman and for even thinking about Kat.”

Taz, Swede, and Bear grimaced at the photo, before passing it back to Hank.

“How can we help?” After snapping a picture of the photo, his boss returned it to Crawford.

“I’ve no idea how they found out about my niece, but those sick SOBs aren’t going to get their hands on her,” Crawford growled.

Hank turned to meet each of their gazes. Brogan knew the man was silently asking if he was up for a full-fledged mission, and the answer was absolutely. He was all in. His grandfather’s unfulfilled orders would remain that way. Helping his former CO took top priority.

After receiving five unanimous nods, Hank faced the commander. “We normally provide bodyguard service, sir, but if you need something more, just ask.”

Relief eased a sliver of tension from the commander’s stiff frame. “I appreciate that, son. I truly do. You and your men are some of the most reliable, capable men I’ve had the pleasure to command. That’s why I’m trusting you with the important task. The vital one. Keeping Kat safe. Knowing she’s out of harm’s way will allow me to operate worry-free.”

Although disappointed he wouldn’t be part of the action he craved, Brogan understood the commander’s reasoning. The hunt and takedown weren’t possible if the commander’s niece wasn’t safe.

“You got it,” Hank said.

A smile twitched Crawford’s lips. “I should warn you, though. It’s not going to be that simple. Kat is a former NIO. Very capable. In fact, she could work right alongside you in this outfit.” A measure of pride entered his eyes. “So she’s not going to take too kindly to being a client.”

“Don’t worry, sir.” Hank straightened his shoulders. “We can handle her.”

The commander’s bark of laughter bounced off the beamed ceiling. “I know your men are highly capable and trained, but so is she. As much as I’d love to have a whole team of you guarding her, that isn’t wise. It’ll be too noticeable in your small town, even it if it is somewhat remote out here.”

“Agreed.” Hank nodded. “I think it’s best we let Brogan take her to his ranch up in the mountains. He works alone in his woodshop, and only employs help when it’s time to deliver a door or piece of furniture.”

Take Kat up to his cabin?

Anxiety and adrenaline mixed to increase the tightness in his chest. Given his strange reaction to the woman’s photo, he wasn’t sure being cooped up with her was such a great idea. And yet, a fierce, primal feeling surged through him. No way did he want anyone else to protect her.

“Perfect.” Commander Crawford flicked his gaze on him, approval glinting in his eyes. “I’m counting on you, son.”

“I won’t let you down, sir,” he replied, eager to start to repay his debt, even if that meant bringing a reluctant female to his home. A second later, his back stiffened as his old radar kicked in. A helicopter was approaching from the east. “You expecting company?”

Bear glanced out the window at the empty driveway. “What company? There’s no one out there.”

Crawford chuckled. “You always could sense them before anyone else.”

“Sense what?” Taz stared at him.

“A helo,” Swede replied. “Sonic has this gift of knowing when one is close by before anyone hears it.”

Although he didn’t exactly hear the muffled whoosh of the blades cutting through the air, he sensed their presence like a change in the atmosphere. It brought back a slew of memories from his SEAL days. Some good, some not so good. But now wasn’t the time for nostalgia.

He arched a brow at the commander. “Should we be alarmed?”

“No. Not really.” Crawford scratched his temple and grinned. “That’ll be Kat. Just remember what I said. She can be a bit stubborn. After all, she is a Crawford.”

Bear let out a muffled curse. “I’ll be damned. I hear it now, too.”

“Twice in one day.” Sadie McClain, Hank’s actress wife, appeared in the doorway, with a baby girl in her arms and a grin on her face. “Heck. Twice in less than two hours.”

Twice? Brogan hadn’t sensed the CO’s arrival that morning. His chopper must’ve come in from the west.

“I hope we didn’t disturb your little one.” The commander smiled at the baby girl.

“No, not at all. Emily was just getting up from her morning nap.” Sadie crossed the room to Hank, who rose to kiss his daughter’s forehead.

Given all that Crawford had divulged, Brogan wondered briefly if it had been wise of his boss to hold this meeting in his home. Talking to spoiled celebrities and politicians about a job was one thing, but convening with a Navy Commander, targeted by a radical foreign faction capable of unspeakable atrocities, was entirely different. 

The sooner the meeting commenced, the better.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Emily began to cry.

While the others fussed over the baby, he turned to the window to get a glimpse of Kat. The helicopter landed on a flat patch of grass halfway down the yard, but the two brunettes that emerged from the cockpit were too far away to discern which was the commander’s niece. His gaze shifted to the lone male exiting the back. He was immediately recognizable.

Straight shoulders, strong jaw, and sure stride—unmistakably Commander Knight.

It made sense. Crawford enlisted Hank’s help in protecting Kat, and Knight’s agency with taking out the threat.

“I do apologize, gentlemen,” Sadie said, regaining his attention. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting. I just needed to feed princess fussypants.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek and headed toward the refrigerator.

The woman hadn’t retreated across the room more than a few seconds when a knock sounded at the door. Brogan shot to his feet and followed the others into the living room, anticipation upping the flow of blood in his veins. His pulse hadn’t seen this much action in nearly a year.

Hank opened the door and stood back to let the others in. Brogan studied the two women closely. Both were around  five-feet-eight inches tall, exceptionally beautiful, with brown eyes, and long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, but that’s where the similarities ended. One had a lethal grace of a trained killer, and a darkness behind her eyes that bespoke of a tragic past. The other had a similar lethal grace, but her presence flooded his body with a familiar rush of warmth.

It may have been more than six years since he’d seen her college photo, but time had turned the pretty girl into a beautiful woman. And meeting her in person intensified the pull.

“Uncle Tom?” Confusion clouded her gaze as she dropped her backpack by the door and rushed toward the commander. “What are you doing here?”

“Kat. So glad to see you.” Crawford wrapped his arms around her for a quick hug. “Sorry to pull you away from your job.”

She drew back. “Pulled away? What do you mean? I thought that was why I was here.” Her gaze shot to Commander Knight and the other woman, before settling on Hank. With a slight lift of her chin, she stepped to his boss and held out her hand. “Kat Crawford. And you are?”

“Hank Patterson,” he replied, shaking her hand.

“Ah. The owner of Brotherhood Protection. Commander Knight briefed me on your outfit on the flight out,” she said. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

Ah, hell. Brogan’s chest tightened. The poor woman thought she was there for a job. Too bad it was only half true. She was the client.

Hank released her hand and glanced over her shoulder to the commander.

She stiffened and turned to survey the team, her brown eyes lingering on him a moment before returning to her uncle, but not before recognition had flickered through her gaze. Which wasn’t possible. They’d never met—he’d made sure of it. The recognition had to be a mistake. Or his imagination. Now that was possible. After all, their eye contact had been brief.

Although, it was certainly long enough to suck the air from his lungs, and slam his thundering heart into his ribs.

What the hell was that?