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Palms out, I continue forward. Sweat drips down my temples and slips down my spine. Even with the cooler spring weather, it's fucking hot in Texas. How these people live here I'll never know.

A faint waft of gunpowder sweeps down the alley, bringing forth a buried memory. My nostrils flare with each deep inhale. My pulse races as I fight to keep the memories from those few deployments in the Middle East at bay.

Randi needs me. This is the mantra I hold onto to keep from slipping into war mode. She needs me here, not disoriented in my own mind. It’s not often that a trigger is strong enough to pull my focus, but when they do, typically only a bottle of Blanton’s can chase them away and bring me back to reality.

With each deep breath, I urge my body and mind to relax. The last thing I want is to react too fast, putting us all in danger.

I pause several feet away from the hood of the SUV, directly in the bright beams of the headlights, putting me about ten feet from the huge dude staring me down. Even with the draping shadows, there's no mistaking his type of build. Large bulky shoulders, thicker middle, tall as hell. The tattoo up his neck is a pretty dead giveaway too.

Seconds tick by, but neither of us says a word. What's the protocol here? Do they speak first or me? Leave it to Randi to put us all in new, unchartered situations.

You know what, fuck it.

“You guys lost?” I ask.

No response. Not even a blink.

Definitely Russian. They're the only ones immune to my humor. Any type of humor, really. As I wait in silence, something clicks.

“Were you the ones following her daughter?” My tone is more menacing than I meant for it to be.

The man tilts his head. “Da. She was alone. No protection. Not safe.”

“And you followed to protect her.” Right, and I have a ten-inch dick. “I’m not inclined to believe you, friend.”

“I say so, means so.”

“That doesn't really clear things up for me.”

He cocks his head. “We no threat to girl.” This makes him laugh. “Why we want girl?”

“You just happened to be here.”

“We been here. Told to watch, protect. We watch, we protect.”

“Well, that's just plain ominous.” The man doesn't crack a hint of a smile. Fucking hate Russians and their stoic asses.

Shouting pulls my focus from him to our SUV. Narrowing my eyes, I try to see through the windshield.

“Let's just say I believe you. What's with all this, then?”

“We have message.” Without turning, he holds out a hand. I flinch, readying to grab my sidearm from the holster under my suit jacket as another man steps forward and slaps a large manila envelope in his hand.

“For her,” he says, jutting it out toward me.

This could be a trap, but hell, now I'm curious. What's that saying, curiosity killed the cat? Good thing I'm no pussy, because I'm curious as fuck.

Keeping my eyes on him but my attention everywhere, I take the remaining few steps between us and snag the envelope from his extended hand. But his hold only tightens.

“These are bad men your vice president is mixed with. Watch her back. He like her.”

The memory of the note from Munich slams to the forefront of my mind just as he releases his tight hold.

“Who is he?” I demand. Kyle? Shawn? At his silence, I take a calculated step closer. “Who. Is. He?”

The concentrated malice behind the man’s cold eyes sends a chill down my spine. The silence from his side makes it clear he’s not willing to divulge the curious identity of the ‘he.’

Glancing at the envelope in my hand, I lift it in the air. “It's not laced with anthrax or anything, right?” I say as a joke.