P.J. had vanished. It frustrated him to no end. He’d spent a lot of time canvassing her neighborhood, talking to people about her. The problem was, no one really knew her. The bartender and waitress at the pub where he’d gone to see her that first night said she had been a regular but kept to herself and never talked to other customers.
Cole had even gone so far as to see the commander of her S.W.A.T. unit. It had taken all he had not to lose his temper and get some payback on P.J.’s behalf, but getting information had been more important than his fury over her betrayal.
It had been like hitting a brick wall, though. At the mention of P.J.’s name, the commander had clammed up and refused to discuss anything having to do with her. Cole told the asshole what he thought about him and his team of dickheads before taking his leave.
Six months of no sleep and endless frustration were catching up hard with him. He walked to the entrance to the war room, punched in the pass code and then entered. As he walked down the short corridor into the main room, he rubbed at his eyes and then scuffed a hand over his short-cut hair in an effort to look somewhat presentable.
Everyone was present and accounted for, which meant Cole was late. Not that he gave a shit. He grunted in the general direction of his teammates and slouched into a chair.
“Glad you could make it,” Steele said, a hint of anger in his voice.
“You said it was important. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here at all,” Cole snapped.
He glanced around, frowning as he noticed new faces. There was a guy standing close to Swanny and Joe, arms crossed, his stance stiff, like he was expecting a fight at any time. He was about Garrett’s size with tattoos running up both arms, disappearing behind the short sleeves of his T-shirt.
He looked like he’d been in a few too many bar fights. Cole pegged him as a boxer or perhaps a mixed martial arts fighter because he had the telltale beginnings of the cauliflower ears and his nose looked like it had been broken at least once.
Cole tensed when he noticed the female standing between Nathan and Swanny. She was about P.J.’s size but with honey blond hair and deep blue eyes. She looked young. Far too young to be working on a mercenary team.
Then he was struck by a terrible thought. His stomach churned and a knot formed in his gut.
What if they’d called him in to announce that they’d hired someone to fill P.J.’s position on the team? What if this was some stupid meet and greet? A “let’s make the new recruit feel welcome.” Bullshit. He wasn’t going there.
He glanced at Steele, looking for some clue, but Steele’s expression was hard and cold. Cole could get a chill just from looking at his team leader.
“You didn’t hire her to replace P.J.”
He didn’t make it a question, and his disgust was evident for everyone to hear. He didn’t care. He was in a surly, piss-poor mood and he didn’t really give a fuck who knew it.
He didn’t want to be here. Especially if he was going to be told he had a new teammate. This chick couldn’t hold a candle to P.J. Cole didn’t care what her qualifications were.
Steele’s eyes narrowed, and then he glanced back at the woman before turning back to Cole.
“She’s a recruit for the new team,” Steele said.
Cole’s eyebrow went up. “What new team?”
“If you’d spent any time with your team over the last few months, you’d know that KGI has formed a third team comprised of Nathan, Joe and Swanny and two new recruits, Skylar Watkins and Zane Edgerton.”
Cole dismissed them in a glance. He wanted to know what the big, hairy deal was that made Steele call him up. Two new recruits for a team that wasn’t his own couldn’t have been what made Steele call him in.
Donovan, who’d been on the phone in the corner, stuffed the cell back into his pocket and then walked over to where everyone else was gathered.
“We have a lead on Brumley,” he said. “We know where he’ll be in three days’ time. He has another deal going down, one important enough for him to resurface.” Donovan took a breath and leveled a serious stare at the others. “This one’s big. Much bigger than past ones. He’s gotten a hell of a lot bolder. It’s thought he has well over thirty girls. A mixture of nationalities and all under the age of fifteen.”
There were grimaces and noises of disgust. Skylar’s nostrils flared and her eyes burned with anger.
Cole’s pulse accelerated, and his stomach churned. He’d dreamed of having that son of a bitch at his mercy. He’d conjured up some pretty harsh images of all the ways Brumley would die a long, painful death.
He glanced up at Steele, noticing the savage glint in his eyes.
Cole sat forward, propping his elbows on his knees. Yeah, he wanted in, but his first priority was finding P.J. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by revenge. Killing Brumley wouldn’t bring P.J. back, as satisfying as seeing the bastard die would be.
He started to get up, his intention to leave. Being here with all the members of KGI just highlighted P.J.’s absence even more.
The entire idea of a mercenary group was to be detached. Do the job. Don’t get emotionally involved. Their success hinged on being able to turn off their emotions.
But KGI—his team, headed by Steele—was different. It was a hokey bunch of bullshit, but the entire KGI organization wasn’t the average gun-for-hire group. They had a conscience. Their missions were righteous. At least from their perspective, and that was all that was important. At the end of the day, if they could look at themselves in the mirror and not flinch away, it was all good.
“Sit down, Cole,” Steele said. “You need to hear this.”
Cole’s jaw tightened, but then he saw the glint in Steele’s eyes. It wasn’t anger over the fact that Cole had been about to walk out. There was keen interest. Anticipation. Like something big was about to go down.
It made Cole stop in his tracks.
Donovan picked up a folder from the table and opened it before addressing the occupants of the room.
“We’ve been looking for Brumley for months. He disappeared, and it seems he’s been hiding. Which is interesting enough—given his arrogance and the fact that he has so many connections, he’s never concerned himself with being too obscure.”
“He’s got a damn horseshoe stuck up his ass,” Garrett bit out. “The son of a bitch is lucky.”