Wild Hearts (Novella) (3 page)

Knox shook his head. “They let us hang but send us off in a fucking
limo
? Are you kidding me?” He slid in next, leaving Rath and Julian eyeing the vehicle with the kind of suspicion that had saved the team a time or two. Risk knew what they were thinking: a gift from El Martillo, perhaps? Or even more sinister, would their government go that far to shut them up?

Rath’s dark gaze surveyed the civilian driver, checking for weapons. The guy looked like a weapon himself, six feet, four inches of solid muscle and sharp-as-a-knife
features.

“Already cleared it. Just get in,” Risk said.

Rath was probably considering whether he should flip off the gesture of the limo and walk. They each held a plane ticket to a destination of choice, another gracious gift from Uncle Sam, so the limo must be the transportation to the airport. Maybe it was supposed to throw off the press, who wouldn’t be expecting something so flashy.

Julian tore off his suit jacket and wrenched the tie away before getting in. He muttered a string of curse words in Spanish.

Saxby thumped him on the arm and pitched his voice high. “Oh, Jules, even dirty words sound romantic when you say them in Spanish.” They’d heard it enough times in the bars they frequented. Those two were the biggest chick magnets, pretty Latin boy and Mr. Honey-drippin’ Charm.

Salsa slugged Sax in the biceps, clearly not in the mood for the slightest bit of humor. They sure as hell could use a laugh about now. Damn, Risk would take even a chuckle.

Rath had ditched his jacket somewhere on the walk there. Heh. That would keep the security twinkies busy for a while, clearing the area and examining the pile of fabric. While Risk was usually the first into a situation, Rath was the one bringing up the rear—and watching their asses. He released a resigned breath and got in. Once the door closed, he felt around the roof for bugs or cameras.

“Look, we signed on to this SEAL gig knowing we could lose life or limb,” Risk said, though he obviously knew none of them wanted to hear it. “We lost our jobs instead.”

“And our reputation,” Saxby said.

“Our dignity,” Rath added.

More than that. They each had a personal reason for wanting to be the best, the toughest, the ones the Navy sent in for the most dangerous missions. The Navy had lost too, though; their commander had been none too happy about losing five of his men all at once. He’d hinted at possible reinstatement down the road, but Risk wasn’t betting on it.

Saxby had opened the mini-fridge and was pulling out a Heineken. “It’s not the end of the world.” He popped off the top with a bottle opener.

Rath sneered. “Not when you’re going back to your rich family to be adored and coddled. Some of us have a storage shed waiting.” And a good-for-nothing family they’d heard plenty about in stories that were funny and sad at the same time.

“We have to wade through the bullshit and go on,” Knox said. That short statement could refer to either their situation or the divorce his wife had asked for recently.

Rath leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Don’t you knuckleheads want to find out what really happened?”

Risk passed down the beers that Saxby kept handing to him. “It’s the military, dude. We aren’t going to know shit.”

Rath took the beer and swigged half of it back. “
I’m
going to know shit. I’m going to find out who the Wolf is. Then we’re going to have a little chat.”

Julian popped the top off his own bottle, bouncing it against the roof to land on Rath’s knee. Probably on purpose. “After we spend a few months on our Hogs forgetting about all this, right? Don’t tell me you’re changing the plan.”

Rath fell back against the seat, his mouth in a hard line. “No, we’re going. I need fresh air, freedom, miles of asphalt between me and this defuckle. ’Sides, it’s too hot to go back to Mexico right now.”

Julian and Rath had bonded over their Harleys, and Risk had bonded with both of them over their dysfunctional childhoods. Not that they sat around whining. It was just something you knew when you met someone who’d been through the same shit you had. The same way Risk would see a military guy and know the hell he’d been through, even if he wasn’t in uniform.

Knox tossed his empty beer bottle in the sliver of a garbage can. “I’d rather have lost a limb.”

“Yeah, you lose a leg, people feel sorry for you,” Julian said. “You die, you’re a hero. We’re failures.” He threw up his hands. “
Tanto nadar para ahogarse en la orilla
.”

“And what’s that mean?” Knox asked.

“Basically that we spent so much effort to swim only to drown right by the shore.”

Saxby’s usually laid-back expression tightened as he jabbed his finger at Knox.
“You think losing a limb is better than this, you’re fucked in the head. Spend one day in a wheelchair having people either ignore you because they’re uncomfortable, or give you a pity look, and you’d change your mind.”

Knox held out his hand as a shield. “Whoa, brother. You can step down from the soapbox. I got your point.” Risk could see the moment Knox realized that Saxby’s diatribe was fueled by the war injuries of his cousin Chad. Knox’s expression shifted to contrite, not one he wore often. “Sorry, Sooch.”

Saxby gave him a nod. “We need to keep this in perspective. Getting angry or wishing for grievous bodily injury isn’t going to help a damned thing.”

“But finding out the truth will,” Rath said. “The Wolf gave us false information. He—or someone he worked for—wanted El Martillo taken down a notch. Or scared into submission. Or at least they wanted the U.S. to get out of bed with them.”

The boys sank into that possibility, all going quiet. “That makes some sense,” Risk said at last. “Someone wanted Miguel and his wife dead, and they wanted the U.S. implicated.”

The limo came to a stop, and Risk realized they hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going. He felt all of them snap to attention, the energy bristling in that small space. They were in the back section of a mostly empty parking lot. The driver put the vehicle in park and got out. Rath’s hand was on the door handle, already pushing it open.

The driver pulled the door open the rest of the way, and a man Risk had never seen approached the open door. Risk could feel every one of them tense into fight mode, though the man’s body language appeared nonthreatening. The guy was tall and lean, dressed as a civvy but with a whiff of military to his bearing. He was probably early thirties and had obviously orchestrated the whole limo thing.

Bracing his hand on the roof, he leaned in, meeting each of their gazes. “My name is Chase Justiss. May I join you, gentlemen?”

“You a reporter?” Risk asked. “ ’Cause we got nothing to say.” Nothing they
could
say, bound by confidentiality as they were. No one was willing to chance treason to clear his rep.

The man shook his head with a slight smile. “Definitely not a reporter.” He lifted
his jacket to show that he wasn’t armed or wired. “Or a hit man. Or government. Or military. Did I cover everything?”

“I’m sure there’s something we missed,” groused Rath. “But you’re gonna explain it to us in”—he glanced at his watch—“two seconds, ’cause I don’t like guessing games. Or surprises.”

The dude didn’t seem a bit intimidated by Rath. In fact, his smile grew. “Whoa, soldier, hold your fire.” He slipped into the limo the same easy way Saxby had. Even this farm boy could tell the guy’s clothing was expensive, as if he’d stepped right out of one of those
GQ
mags Saxby flipped through during their downtimes.

The guy settled in between Julian and Rath, each giving him a wide berth. The driver slid back in and pulled away. “With the press hovering around like a bunch of vultures, we don’t want to attract any attention, and a limo sitting in a parking lot might do that.” He handed each of them a business card with
THE JUSTISS ALLIANCE
embossed on the gray vellum, and beneath that,
Security and Risk Management
. Chase Justiss was identified as the CEO.

Julian flipped the card back at Chase, and it landed on his thigh. “I have no interest in being a security guard.”

Chase didn’t react, keeping his expression neutral and his posture lethally relaxed. “My company is a private security firm on the surface. And we do offer security for certain individuals, but that’s not our primary objective. We obtain justice in situations that require maneuvering outside the constraints of the law. Sometimes we’re contracted by governmental agencies that need off-the-record help with cases they can’t crack. We also work with civilian companies and individuals. Occasionally, we do pro bono work for those who can’t afford our fees. Those end up being our most meaningful cases.”

“And you’re, what, offering to get us justice?” Risk asked.

“Afraid not. Exposing a military cover-up isn’t what TJA is after. I wouldn’t want the agency to come under that kind of public scrutiny—or government retribution. I’m offering you a job.” Chase’s gaze swept across them. “I need men with your skills.”

“Why would you want the likes of us?” Risk asked. “We went rogue, as the press likes to say.”

Rath stretched out his legs, appearing casual and relaxed. “Or batshit crazy, like
some of those politico bloggers are calling it. I like rogue better. Has a certain ring to it.” He dipped his chin, giving them the look Risk often saw right before Rath gave up interrogating and shot the tango—terrorist. “Or psycho. That has a nice ring, too.”

Chase smiled, not looking the least bit intimidated by Rath’s drama. “I know your team didn’t go rogue. You took the fall to save American lives. El Martillo—what’s left of them, anyway—thinks you’ve been punished and humiliated, and we hope that’s enough to appease the leader’s brother.”

“How in the hell do you know all this?” Risk asked, leaning forward. “No one released the information about Jose’s threat.”

“I smelled a cover-up as this whole El Martillo fiasco played out. I know how it works.” Something shadowed the guy’s eyes, there and gone in a flash. “I have a lot of contacts. The people who come to me for help are positioned in high places. Those relationships give me a certain amount of access.”

Chase continued. “As to why I want the likes of you, TJA is a relatively new firm, but word of mouth is spreading fast. I need J-Men—the term my operatives call themselves—on call and ready to head to a job at a moment’s notice. You’re all trained, have experience with weapons and dangerous situations, and you’ve no doubt killed when necessary. TJA doesn’t follow the red-tape road, which is why I need people who can think and act both as a team and independently. Who care enough about a mission to put their life on the line for it. Who believe in justice as much as I do. People who have been on the wrong end of justice usually make the best J-Men. Plus, as it turns out, you’re suddenly available.”

“Is that why you started the agency?” Risk asked.

“Yeah, what’s your story?” Julian asked.

Chase smiled, but there was an edge in his gaze. “I’ve been there, had my name and reputation ruined. I know what you’re going through firsthand. I won’t ask you to divulge your secrets, and I expect the same from you.”

He turned to Julian. “The Justiss Alliance takes cases selectively. No criminals, rock stars, or straight-out security work. Unless there are mitigating circumstances. If you sign on, you’ll be paid well, even for the pro bono work. And TJA will never throw you under the bus. The credo applies: No man left behind. So far I haven’t lost one
operative.” He slid them a sly smile. “But it’s been close a few times.”

Danger. Justice. The two tugged at Risk, the same way the prospect of becoming a SEAL had. “What kinds of missions would we be undertaking?”

“Corruption within governmental agencies. Drug rings. Human trafficking. You may hear about a situation that you think warrants our involvement. We discuss it and make the decision to pursue or not. There are some rules, but for the most part, I give my people autonomy in how they carry out their missions.”

Risk was watching out the window, keeping track of where they were going. “It sounds too good to be true.”

Chase smiled. “I grew up military, did my time doing the ‘yes, sir,’ ‘no, sir,’ shit. I don’t want employees who will agree with me to my face while planning to separate my balls from my body behind my back.” At the reluctant chuckles from the team, he said, “Yeah, I’ve had bosses like that, too. The loyalty I demand, I will earn.” He nodded toward the card Risk was rubbing between his fingers. “I wrote names and numbers on the back of your cards. Some of my current team. Ask them what Justiss is all about. You won’t find much on me or my agency if you’re sniffing around. We keep a low profile.”

“We.” The guy kept using that pronoun rather than “I” when he referred to his company. Maybe he meant the team part of it.

“What are the rules?” Risk asked.

“No drinking while on a mission. No drug use at all. I’d prefer my operatives live in Miami, where headquarters is. As in the military, you’ll be required to keep up your skills during downtime. We have resources on-site, like a range and hostage scenario training. And with an international airport right there, it’s convenient for travel. Your assignments will be all over the country, maybe even overseas. Most of my operatives don’t find relocating to Miami a hardship.” He shot them a smile.

The limo had driven around the block and now returned to the parking lot. The driver got out and walked to the door, but he waited outside.

“I’m not asking for a commitment now,” Chase said. “Get the piss out of your system. It’ll take a month or so to do that and reintegrate into civilian life. That’s the hardest part, especially when it happens unexpectedly. I don’t want angry operatives; I want determined, loyal, and dedicated operatives. You are all of those things. Don’t let
the government destroy that.”

He took them in with a level, sweeping gaze. “Call if you have any questions. That’s my direct line on the card.” He flicked the card back at Julian, and it landed on his lap. Then he closed the door and sauntered over to a black Maserati.

The boys didn’t say a word until they reached the airport. The driver gave them a half-smile as he handed them their luggage and bade them farewell. Then what he said was “See you later.” It wasn’t a casual send-off. He figured they’d sign on.