“We’re wasting time,” Steele said impatiently. “Say what you have to say so we can move out. Every minute we waste is another minute Maren is in that bastard’s hands.”

Resnick nodded and stabbed another cigarette into his mouth. “Look, Mendoza is up to his ears in arms and drug trafficking. Thought KGI would find it interesting that he cropped up after you took Alex Mouton down and we dismantled his entire operation and seized his assets.”

Sam’s gaze sharpened. Alex Mouton had been his wife Sophie’s father—or rather her uncle since it was later discovered that Alex’s brother had actually fathered Sophie. The world was definitely a better place without the Mouton brothers. They’d caused Sophie—and KGI—no small amount of grief. But especially Sophie.

“He took up where Mouton left off. Took over his operations. Expanded rapidly.”

“It’s like fucking Whac-A-Mole,” Cole muttered.

Resnick nodded. “For every one we take down, two or more pop up to take their places. It’s a dog-eat-dog business. If we don’t take them down, they take out each other. The weak get culled and the strong, ruthless ones rise to the top.”

“What intel do you have on Mendoza?” Steele cut in, determined to get to the point. They were wasting too much fucking time with the idle chitchat.

“Cagey bastard,” Resnick muttered. “Slippery as a goddamn eel. He changes names and appearances like most people do underwear. I have profiles on him under a dozen different aliases, and those are just the ones I know about. There are probably just as many if not more that I don’t know of. Every government agency in the West has a major hard on for him. He’s number four on my agency’s most-wanted list, but if he isn’t taken down soon, he’ll be number one in short order. I want him. That’s why I’m here and my team is here. We’ll do whatever we can to assist. And if we nail Mendoza, I’m going to need to take DNA samples to verify his identity because he’s had plastic surgery multiple times and he even has his fingerprints surgically altered.”

“Then let’s quit fucking around and get on it,” Steele said in irritation.

“I’m with Steele,” Donovan said.

There were murmurs of agreement all the way around.

Resnick nodded. “Your call. Sam said this was your mission.”

“Let’s roll,” Steele said. “P.J., Cole, you two take Joe and Skylar with you. Get into position and pick off what you can when we helo in.” Then he glanced at Kyle Phillips. He knew the young Marine wouldn’t like taking orders from him, but that was too damn bad. “You and your team go in from the ground. The rest of us are going to helo in. When you see the helicopter, blast your way in but make damn sure Maren doesn’t get caught in the crossfire.”

“Yes sir,” Kyle said.

Kyle turned and motioned for his team and they headed out, melting into the woods that would take them to the perimeter of Mendoza’s holding.

Steele surveyed the remaining team members. With Baker, Renshaw and Dolphin left from his team and Nathan, Edge and Swanny from the other team plus Sam, Donovan, Rio, Terrence, Diego and Resnick that made a total of thirteen. They had sufficient numbers to ace this operation no matter how heavily armed Mendoza’s men were.

“You flying the chopper Rio brought?” Steele asked Donovan.

Donovan jerked his thumb toward Nathan. “He knows more about choppers than I do. I can fly pretty much anything, but he can fly them better.”

“Let’s go then.”

They did a quick weapons check, tested their radios and receivers and then lifted off. Steele ran down the checklist in terse tones until everyone was clear on their assignments.

The helicopter buzzed low, clipping the tops of the canopy of trees and then burst into the clearing where the compound was sprawled. The atmosphere inside the chopper was tense. Expressions were focused and grim. Rifles rose, gripped tightly as they prepared to do the helo drop inside the walls.

“On my signal,” Steele barked.

The chopper swooped in and hovered several feet off the ground. Below them, men scattered in all directions, taking cover.

“Go! Go! Go!” Steele shouted.

They dropped from both sides of the chopper, rifles up. From the corner of Steele’s eye he saw the men in the guard towers start dropping like flies. The snipers were doing their jobs.

They fanned out, chaos surrounding them. A heavy explosion rocked the ground, and smoke and pieces of stone blew into the courtyard. The staccato of gunfire filled the air. Hoarse shouts, a few screams. Fuck, there were women.

“Watch for the women,” he barked into his mic. “Take as few casualties as possible. I want a sweep of the entire house. Find Maren and make sure she’s covered.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Steele moved through the courtyard, his eyes peeled for any sign of Maren. Many of Mendoza’s men were on the ground, facedown, hands cupped behind their heads as KGI and Resnick’s team yelled for them to get down and stay down.

“Guard towers clear,” P.J. radioed. “We’re moving in to be your secondary.”

Steele hurried toward the glass doors that had already been shattered by gunfire. Once inside he stayed to the walls, moving stealthily through each room. When he got to the large living room in the center of the house, one of Mendoza’s armed guards appeared carrying a machine gun. As soon as he signaled his intent to shoot, Steele dropped him. He stepped over the body and hit the stairs.

No one was upstairs. It was quiet and the rooms were empty. He made quick work of the bedrooms and the two bathrooms and came upon what appeared to be Mendoza’s study last. Finding it empty, he swore. Where the hell was Maren?

“Report,” he said into the mic. “Upstairs is clear. No sign of Maren.”

There was a lengthy silence, and then one by one the others checked in. No sign of Maren or Mendoza.

“I’m coming down,” Steele said.

“Downstairs is clear,” Donovan reported.

Steele took the steps two at a time and burst back into the living room where Donovan, Sam and Dolphin were standing.

“Where the fuck is she?” Steele demanded. “We have to be missing something. Bastard must have a hidey-hole he stashed himself and her in when we hit the ground.”

“The outside is secure. Kyle Phillips and his team along with the rest of ours are rounding up the riffraff now,” Donovan said.

“This was too damn easy,” Sam growled. “I would say they were expecting us, but judging by the panic and chaos when we started shooting, Mendoza’s guards were caught with their pants down. Doesn’t sound at all like the man Resnick described.”

Steele had a very bad feeling about this, and his gut never steered him wrong.

Resnick burst in, and for once he didn’t have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He looked pissed and frustrated.

“We got nothing out there,” he said. “Grounds are secure. Apart from the guards in the tower, we have minimal casualties. They couldn’t give up fast enough when the shooting started.”

“Pull in everyone who isn’t standing guard over Mendoza’s people,” Steele ordered. “I want a thorough sweep of the entire area.”

An hour later, the members of KGI gathered in the living room all wearing grim expressions. Dolphin bounded down the stairs with Baker and Renshaw on his heels just as Rio and Terrence appeared from the kitchen area.

“I found this,” Dolphin said, holding out a folded piece of stationery. “You better read it, Steele. You’re not going to like it.”

Steele snatched the paper from his teammate’s hand and quickly opened it, scanning the contents.

Mendoza knew about KGI from one of his men. They knew everything about me, including my connection to KGI. Mendoza told me we were leaving and that his current personnel were expendable. He was counting on you to get rid of them for him. All I know is that he’s going to Paris for plastic surgery and then he’s relocating to start over again. He’s promised not to hurt me if I cooperate with his plans. I’m scared out of my mind, but I don’t have a choice but to do as he’s ordered me to. He wants me to oversee his recovery after his surgery. If you find this, please know I would have done anything I could to prevent this from happening. I hope to see you again and I’m putting all of my faith in you not to give up and to find me again.

Maren

The paper shook in Steele’s hand. The others crowded around to read and Sam took it from Steele, his expression growing more furious as he read.

“Son of a bitch!” Steele swore.

He wanted to put his fist through a goddamn wall. This was bullshit. He knew he shouldn’t have waited for the other teams to be pulled in. Now, because he’d waited, Maren had slipped through their fingers and was enduring God knows what at Mendoza’s hands.

The handwriting had been shaky and unevenly scrawled as if she’d been in a hurry, and as her letter stated, scared out of her mind. She’d taken a big risk in even writing it. If Mendoza had discovered it, she could have gotten herself killed.

He didn’t want to imagine her in such circumstances. A pawn, powerless in Mendoza’s grasp. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman. He didn’t believe for a moment that Mendoza’s interest in her was purely professional. It made him sick to think of her frightened, intimidated, threatened.

He had to get a grip before he lost his fucking mind. He was torturing himself with all the possibilities. He had to turn it off. Had to find the calm, rigid exterior that had carried him through so many missions before.

“Shit,” Resnick muttered. “This isn’t good. It isn’t good at all. Our chances of finding him again are slim at best. This was the closest anyone has been able to get to him. He’s always one step ahead of the game. Every time we get close, he disappears again. This has been going on for years.”