Brandon Rayne lay with his cheek close to the dirt, wind whipping sand into his face like someone intent on sandblasting the skin from his body. Thankfully, he wore protective glasses that kept the sand from reaching his eyes. They also kept the heat and humidity contained inside the rubber seals. Sweat dripped from his forehead and down his nose.

He waited, his gaze intent on the scope, lined up with the door to a building believed to be the current location of a high-ranking Islamic State leader in Iraq.

“Holding steady, Boomer?” Irish said into his headset. Declan O’Shea, one of the more experienced members of his team, was positioned closer to the small mountain village north of Mosul.

“Holding,” Boomer whispered.

“If the shit hits the fan, no worries, man,” Fish said. “We’ve got your six. We’re in position and ready to roll.” Jack Fischer, the team lead for this mission, had the others ready to enter the village on command.

The main purpose of their current mission was to decapitate the head of the snake. In other words, to take out this particular leader of the Islamic State wreaking havoc on grounds once controlled by the American and Iraqi military.

With the sun setting behind him, shadows lengthened, making it more and more difficult to make out shapes and specific faces.

Taped to the inside of his gloved palm was the image of the man. His target. He couldn’t miss. So many lives depended on his taking out this murdering Islamic State militant who’d orchestrated the sacking of many cities and towns, raped women, slaughtered children and destroyed centuries of historical structures and relics. He had to be stopped.

Black SUVs pulled up to the structure. Thankfully, at the angle from which Boomer was positioned, he still had a direct shot at anyone emerging from the entrance.

A moment later, the door opened. Two men in solid black uniforms, their heads and faces swathed in black, carrying semi-automatic rifles, stepped out. Behind them was a more portly man dressed in white, his face exposed, his long dark beard, thick mustache and even thicker dark brows making him easy to recognize.

Instead of the fitted black uniform, he wore the long white robe and turban of an imam. Abu Ahmed had a fierce reputation. Those who dared disagree with him were beheaded as a lesson to others.

Through the lens of his high-powered sniper rifle, Boomer locked in on his target and squeezed the trigger.

As the bullet released from Boomer’s weapon, the man dressed as an imam looked up as if to stare into Boomer’s scope. In that same moment, a woman carrying a baby stepped out from behind him.

A second later, a bright red dot appeared in Abu Ahmed’s forehead, and he crumpled, falling at the feet of his guards. The baby in the woman’s arms jerked and went limp.

The woman screamed and looked down at her baby, her eyes wide and terrified.

The black-garbed guards crouched, bringing their guns to the ready.

Fish, Irish, Nacho, Gator and the rest of the team moved into action. From their positions closer to the structure, they picked off the guards. More militants poured from the building, overrunning the woman holding the limp child.

Boomer focused on the other militants, pushing to the back of his mind the woman, now crouched on the ground, rocking back and forth, her wails echoing off the hills, her baby pressed to her breast.

He locked on another militant, squeezed off a round and watched as the man in white fell to his knees then flat on his chest.

Soon, the SEAL team converged on the structure and entered.

Boomer’s job was to cover their six in case more ISIS soldiers arrived.

Soon, the team emerged, carrying backpacks filled with documents and artifacts of their operation. Fish and Gator led a man at gunpoint. He wore the black uniform of the Islamic State militants, an angry glare pushing his thick black brows together.

Women emerged from the building, clutching the hands of small children.

One woman, who didn’t have a child clutching her robes, pulled something small from beneath her abaya, grabbed the top of the item and jerked her hand.

It all happened too fast for Boomer to react.

The woman tossed the grenade into the group of SEALs.

Fish scooped up the grenade, cocked his arm and threw it as far as he could before dropping to the ground. The other SEALs followed suit and dropped where they stood.

The grenade exploded in mid-air, spewing shrapnel in a three-hundred-sixty-degree radius.

The women threw their hands up to cover their faces. But the damage was done. Anyone within twenty feet of the explosion took a hit of tiny, deadly fragments of sharp metal.

From where Boomer lay, all he could do was watch and pray his team hadn’t suffered any deadly injuries.

Women and children dropped to the ground, blood running like little rivers from the many wounds inflicted.

The man the SEALs had escorted out of the building clutched his throat, sank to his knees and keeled over on top of Boomer’s original target.

Women and children cried. Many lay unmoving.

Boomer whispered into his mic, “Fish, Gator, Irish?” He swallowed hard and held his breath. Someone say something.

“Fish here. I’m okay. Flesh wound to the right shoulder, and maybe my right thigh. Can’t tell where all the blood’s coming from.”

“Irish here,” Declan’s voice came across the radio. “Took a hit to the calf. Flesh wound. I can walk out.”

“Bit in the ass.” Gator laughed, the sound strained. “Won’t be sitting down on that cheek for a while.”

One by one, the team reported in with their statuses and injuries. Gator called in support from the 160^th Night Stalker Black Hawk helicopter team. Within minutes, three choppers landed near the small village. Medics rushed to triage and help the injured SEALs, women and children.

From the top of the hill overlooking the small Iraqi village, Boomer continued to provide cover, the image of the woman holding her dead baby replaying in his mind, over and over. He’d been tasked to take out an Islamic State militant at all costs. The man had been responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people.

Boomer closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. Yes, there was bound to be collateral damage in just about any operation they conducted. But that didn’t make him feel any better. The bullet, meant for Abu Ahmed, had taken out the ISIS leader and the baby behind him.

A baby’s cry pierced Boomer’s consciousness. He opened his eyes and stared up at a ceiling he didn’t immediately recognize.

He cursed softly.

The cry sounded somewhere outside the walls of the room in which he lay in a soft, comfortable bed. Sunlight wedged through the window, nudging aside what remained of the night’s darkness and the cobwebs of memories lingering in Boomer’s mind. He wasn’t in Iraq anymore, and the baby’s death had been well over seven months ago.

A lot had happened since then.

A light knock sounded on the door.

“Boomer? Are you going to get your lazy ass out of bed?” Hank Patterson’s deep voice sounded through the door’s wood paneling.

“Tell me you’ve got work for me, and I’ll think about it.” Boomer scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Oh, I have work. Get dressed and come meet your new assignment.”

Boomer pushed to a sitting position, the weight of his dreams still pressing hard against his chest. “I’m up.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood naked in the bright light of dawn. As the sun crept above the horizon, light filled the room through the window shades he’d left open the night before.

Boomer jammed his legs into a pair of jeans. He scrounged in his duffel bag for a T-shirt, sniffed, approved and pulled it on. When he stared at himself in the mirror, he shook his head. The T-shirt’s logo read FUN IN THE SUN IN COZUMEL.

Boomer snorted. The last time he’d been truly happy had been his vacation in Cozumel. Before his last assignment. Before the death of that baby. Before he’d left the military.

One reason the vacation had been so special was the woman who’d set his world on fire. He’d spent the entire week with her, laughing, playing and making love into the wee hours of every morning. On her last night, she’d slipped out of his bungalow and out of his life, disappearing so completely, he’d often wondered if she’d only been a figment of his imagination.

Boomer had spent the next two days of his vacation desperately searching the island for her, but it was as if she’d never existed. The airport showed no woman with her name having booked a flight off the island. Her hotel room had been completely cleaned of all of her belongings, and no one could tell him where she’d gone.

He reached for the hem of the shirt, ripped it over his head and pulled on a solid black T-shirt with no logos and no associated memories. Montana and this gig with Hank Patterson and the Brotherhood Protectors was a new start at a life, post-military. Granted, he’d still be utilizing the skills he’d honed as a SEAL. Hank had insisted he wanted an expert sniper on the team he’d assembled.

Why Hank needed a sniper in the wilds of Montana’s Crazy Mountains, Boomer didn’t know. He still wasn’t sure what his role and responsibilities would be. But considering Hank’s was the only job offer since he’d left the military, he couldn’t be too choosy. From what he’d been told so far, he’d be something like a bodyguard or a member of a special ops team, should the need arise to deploy more than one man at a time.

Other members of the Brotherhood Protectors team had filled him in on some of their assignments since coming on board as members of the Brotherhood Protectors, letting Boomer know the mountains of Montana weren’t all that peaceful, and there were some crackpot zealots in the area from time to time. Terrorist activities weren’t limited to the sands of the Middle East.

Boomer ran a hand through his hair, slipped his feet into socks and his worn black combat boots and left the sanctuary of the room Hank had let him camp out in since arriving two days ago.

Voices filtered down the hallway from the main living area with the killer view of the mountains. Two deep, male voices and two female voices from the sounds of it.

Then a baby’s cry brought Boomer to a complete halt.

His heart raced, his hands clenched and he broke out in a cold sweat.

How, after all this time could he still be having these insane reactions to the sound of a baby’s cry? Hank and his wife Sadie had a baby girl. He’d been around little Emma for two days, and he hadn’t reacted like this when she’d cried. Perhaps the lingering effects of his dream had him jittery.

The baby cried again, the sound somehow different from what he’d grown used to coming from baby Emma.

Boomer drew in a deep breath, willing the tension away. He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders and stepped out of the hallway into the spacious living area, the Crazy Mountains the main artwork on display through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun had risen, bathing the room in a bright golden light.

After emerging from the darkness of the hallway, Boomer blinked, giving his eyes time to adjust to the brighter lighting.

Hank and Sadie stood together. Hank had baby Emma in the curve of one arm. His other arm was wrapped around Sadie’s waist. He smiled as Boomer entered the room. “Good. Good. Brandon Rayne, I’d like you to meet Chuck Johnson, Navy SEAL retired.”

A big man with broad shoulders and salt-and-pepper gray hair stepped forward, his hand held out. The sun backlit him, making Boomer squint to see the man clearly. He gripped the guy’s hand. “Always good to meet a fellow SEAL.”

Chuck’s grin accompanied his firm handshake. “Once a SEAL, always a SEAL?”

“Damn right.” Boomer glanced toward Hank. “Are you telling me I have a partner for this assignment?”

Hank shrugged. “Actually, yes. However, Chuck isn’t a member of the Brotherhood Protectors.”

Boomer released Chuck’s hand. “I don’t understand.”

“Chuck needs help protecting a woman.”

Boomer returned his attention to Chuck. “What’s the situation?”

“My charge has been relatively safe under witness protection for the past year. Until two days ago, when her cover was blown. We lost a man on the job and had to make a run through the mountains. I’m afraid she’s in a whole lot more danger than I can handle alone. Since whoever has her number found her once, I’m betting he’ll find her again. I need help when that happens.”

“What did she witness?” Boomer asked.

“A murder.”

“And the murderer?”

“Has gotten away with several killings. He’s the son of a powerful politician with an expert cleanup team. Whenever the son commits a crime, his father cleans up the mess. His mop-up team is so thorough, they’ve left no evidence that can help us prosecute either the father or the son.”

“This witness doesn’t support a case?” Hank said, his jaw tightening.

“The body of the murdered woman never turned up. If my witness testified, it would be her against the son of a politically powerful man. They’d never get a conviction against the son. Which would also leave the father off the hook after all the laws he’s broken protecting his scumbag son.” Chuck shook his head. “She’s a loose thread they can’t afford to let live in case evidence of that murder ever does come to light.”

Boomer frowned. “So what is your role in all this? Are you a U.S. Marshall?”

Chuck shook his head. “I was working with the DEA when I ran across the witness and got her out before she became another speck of dust swept under the cleanup crew’s rug.”

“DEA? Since when does DEA do witness protection duty?”

Chuck’s lips twisted. “Well, that’s where all of this is a little tricky. I wasn’t really with the DEA. I was working on special assignment, following Harrison Cooper to get the goods that would nail the bastard and his father. When shit hit the fan in Cozumel where Cooper murdered a woman, I knew my witness had to get out alive. My assignment changed to protecting the witness.”

“Who do you take orders from?” Boomer asked.

Chuck shook his head. “I can’t say.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed. “If you told us, you’d have to kill us?”

“Something like that.” Chuck raised his hands. “But don’t worry. I’m one of the good guys. I’m still the same person who made it through SEAL training. I bleed red, white and blue.”

Hank nodded. “I believe you. You had my back on more occasions than I can count when I was fresh out of BUD/S training and working my first few missions as a member of SEAL Team Six.”

“Once a SEAL, always a SEAL,” Chuck repeated. “That’s why I came to you. I’ve been following what you’ve done with the Brotherhood Protectors. I knew that if we got into any trouble, you could help us out.”

Hank shot a glance toward Boomer. “You’re in luck. Rayne just hired on with the Brotherhood. He’s a highly skilled sniper, and has all the training you and I had. He’ll be an asset to your cause.”

“Good, because I’m not sure how long it’ll take for the people who breached our safe house to catch up with us. I need to get my girl to another safe location where we can see what’s coming and be ahead of the next attack.”

Footsteps sounded from behind Chuck.

The older SEAL turned with a gentle smile and held out his arms.

A woman with long blond hair and green eyes stepped into the room, an infant in her arms. She handed the child to Chuck and lifted her head to study the others in the room, her gaze moving from Sadie and her baby to Hank, and finally to Boomer.

She stepped closer, out of the glow of early morning sunshine, and her image solidified.

Her gaze met his at the same moment. The woman’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in a rounded O.

Boomer’s breath caught, lodged in his lungs, and his heart pounded a wild tattoo against his chest.

Holy hell! This woman couldn’t be the one he’d met and fallen so hard for on vacation in Cozumel a year ago. The woman who’d disappeared out of his life forever. She had the same long blond hair and vivid green eyes. Surely, there couldn’t be two women in the world who looked so much alike.

Boomer blinked, hoping to clear his vision of the mirage standing before him. Then she whispered, the sound carrying across the room, piercing his heart.

“You,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Boomer’s knees wobbled. He took a step forward. And another.

The baby in Chuck’s arms squirmed, reached for the woman and cried out when she didn’t immediately take her into her arms.

The tiny cry froze Boomer’s feet to the floor, and his chest tightened until he felt as though he was having a heart attack. His fists clenched so hard, his fingernails dug into his palms.

Chuck handed the baby to the woman and stood beside her, facing Boomer. “This is Daphne Miller, aka the witness, and her baby daughter Maya.” His gaze met Boomer’s, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “This job would require protecting both Miss Miller and her baby.”

“I know it’s your first assignment,” Hank said, “but it’s an important one. You’d be more of a backup to Chuck in his effort to protect these two ladies.”

Boomer heard Hank’s words but couldn’t move from where he stood. His gaze remained riveted on Daphne, the baby and Chuck, standing together like a family unit.

His heart sank to somewhere in the vicinity of his gut. A year ago, he and Daphne had made such a good connection, had spent every hour of every day they had in Cozumel together, getting to know each other and making love like there would never be another tomorrow.

Then she’d disappeared out of his life, only to turn up with this older SEAL and a baby.

A thousand questions crowded his head, but he couldn’t voice one.

“Boomer, are you up for the challenge?” Hank asked. “I know you’re new to the Brotherhood, but I don’t have anyone else available at this time.”

Boomer thought of all the reasons he couldn’t do the job, but none of them left his lips. Perhaps what he’d felt in Cozumel with Daphne had been blown completely out of proportion. She might not have been as attracted to him as he had been to her. Obviously, she’d moved on with her life, found someone else to love and had a baby. By the way Chuck handled the tiny infant, it appeared the someone else was the retired Navy SEAL.

As the anxiety of the baby’s cry dissipated from his consciousness, determination kept his fists tightened into knots. If Daphne could forget what they’d had so easily, so could he. Or at least he could give the appearance of having forgotten, even though a sharp pain seemed to have wedged itself into his chest near his heart.

Though he’d known every inch of her body, Boomer pretended like he’d never met Daphne, never made love to her, never thought he’d fallen for the pretty blond tourist on the small Mexican island.

“I can do this,” he said aloud, fearing it was more to convince himself than to convince his new boss, Hank.

Hank clapped his hands together. “Good. Then all we need to do is position you somewhere private where you can see the enemy coming from all directions. Others from the Brotherhood can be backup in a matter of minutes, but for the most part, it’ll be you and Chuck protecting Daphne and Maya. I’ll have my computer guru work on tracking data about the politician and his son. Harrison Cooper, you said?”

Chuck nodded.

Hank shook his head. “Senator John Cooper’s son. It’s hard to believe the senator would go to such lengths to keep his son out of jail.”

“Yeah,” Chuck’s lips thinned. “But again, we can’t pin the cleanups to him. We haven’t been able to capture one of the men. Whoever hired them got some pretty slick mercenaries to do their dirty work. They make it their business to disappear, only appearing when they have a job to do.”

“And their current job seems to be to eliminate their one live witness,” Boomer said, his gaze meeting Daphne’s. She was the job. Nothing more. What they had in the past was just that—in the past.

She had a new life, a child and Chuck.

Where did that leave Boomer?

The awkward, odd man out.