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Patrick “Hawk” Nakai scanned the area through his night vision goggles as his team moved through the dark shadows, avoiding the glow from streetlights on their way to their intended target. Remy, his two-year-old black Lab partner, kept pace with them, the dog’s body humming with excitement at the idea of getting to work.

To avoid drawing attention, his Dark Ops team waited to move in until after midnight. The sound of their gear clicking against their tactical vests with each step was joined by a deep hoot hoot from high overhead.

Nighttime ops were always the most dangerous, and there was a sense of urgency around this one that added an extra layer of concern.

They’d received some last-minute intel that ten girls and eight boys, all under the age of fifteen, were being held in a small house, located on a quiet street in a middle-class neighborhood. No one would suspect the innocuous-looking Spanish-style structure with the bird bath and mirrored, blue gazing ball in the front yard was actually a halfway point for human trafficking victims waiting to be transported to their final destinations.

They had to get those kids out tonight, because tomorrow, they were going to be sent off to parts unknown all across the US where they would be lost to a life of exploitation—either sexually or through forced labor.

The team was here to ensure that didn’t happen.

Cole Lambert, his boss and head of the OSI Dark Ops division of O’Halleran Security International, pointed toward a utility van parked by the curb across from the target house. They all nodded, crouched down, and hurried over to conceal themselves behind the vehicle. He raised his index finger, made a circular motion with it, then pointed two fingers toward the back of the retention house. Calliope Daniels, Eddie Calabretta, and Lucas O’Halleran split off from the group and ran across the street to take up position at the back door.

Thanks to Sammy, their tech wiz, they knew the house’s layout. Unfortunately, there was no intel on how many traffickers were actually inside the damn thing, but the Dark Ops team was ready for anything. They were a specialized group of covert operators who focused on human trafficking. Tonight’s mission was one of many since the group’s inception a little over a year ago.

Calliope’s voice whispered in their earpieces. “In position.”

Cole pointed toward the house, then looked over at Hawk and Viking Bailey. They nodded, his boss took point, and all three of them, along with Remy, dashed across the street and up the driveway. Their boots were silent as they moved across the wooden porch, until c reeeak. A wooden slat groaned beneath someone’s foot, and they all froze in place, including Remy.

After a few minutes, when no one burst from the house, they lined up against the wall, ready to breach the front door. Viking pressed a small amount of C4 explosive right next to the deadbolt, set the charging caps, and stepped to the side of the doorframe. Lucas was doing the same to the back door.

“Explosive set,” Lucas whispered.

“Prepare to breach,” Cole whispered.

Remy whined softly next to him, excited and ready to get in on the action.

Hawk looked down at him, put a finger to his lips, and his partner immediately quieted.

Remy was an ESD canine who was specially trained to sniff out electronic storage devices—hard drives, microSD cards, and other things like that. During a recent mission in Miami, he located a half dozen microSD cards hidden in a shoebox filled with mothballs and cedar chips. The damn thing was shoved to the back of a closet shelf in a hoarder’s mobile home.

The only way they were able to get through the house was by navigating around, up, and over stacks of old magazines and newspapers, stepping over pizza boxes, rotten food, and years’ worth of all kinds of other crap. Remy even had a standoff with a pretty well-fed rat right before finding the SD card.

They’d struck gold.

The cards had contained thousands of videos and images of child pornography created, then downloaded to the Internet by the asshole who lived there. Remy didn’t know or care about that; he just knew to sniff for triphenylphosphine oxide, a chemical used in the production of electronics. And if he found something, that meant he’d get a tasty treat and a chance to play with his favorite toy—a ridiculous stuffed duck with an obnoxious squeaker inside. Remy had chewed on the thing until he yanked out the squeaker, then he’d whined for hours, so Hawk bought a huge box of the exact same stuffed ducks and kept them in reserve.

“On my mark.” Cole began his countdown. “Three, two, one, mark.”

There were two simultaneous small explosions at the front and back doors. Viking slammed his size-sixteen boot against the door, and wood shattered inward. Rifle raised, Cole entered first, followed by Viking, then Hawk and Remy.

At the same time, his teammates Eddie Calabretta and Lucas O’Halleran burst into the kitchen through the back door. Calliope Daniels entered with them and immediately began to charge toward the sounds of the kids screaming.

“Get down, now!” Cole shouted at a man sitting on a couch, holding a can of beer in one hand and a partially eaten sub in the other.

The guy’s eyes became huge, the beer slipped from his hand onto the carpet, and golden liquid shot up through the opening. A tomato slipped from the sub and landed on the front of his black T-shirt.

“Drop the weapon!” In the kitchen, Lucas repeated the command. “Drop. The. Weapon!”

A second later, they heard the distinctive thwip sound of a gun with a suppressor.

There was a deep grunt, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.

“One down.” Eddie updated them from the kitchen.

Some obnoxious game show blared on the television, and Hawk grabbed the remote from the coffee table and clicked it off.

Viking moved forward and began clearing rooms, his rifle up and ready to fire.

“I said, get down!” Cole shouted and pointed his rifle at the guy on the couch. “Do it! Now!”

Finally, the moron tossed the sub onto the table, got to his knees, then sprawled out face-down on the floor, his arms stretched wide. Cole yanked zip ties from his vest and secured the asshole’s hands behind his back and his legs together at his ankles. He started digging through his pockets and pulled a semiautomatic pistol from his waistband.

“Here, take this.” He handed it to Hawk, who tucked it in a pocket on his vest.

“Who the hell are—”

Cole pressed his forearm against the back of the guy’s neck and leaned in close. “Shut the fuck up.”

He coughed and grunted, then decided it would be a good idea to do as he was told and shut the fuck up.

“All clear.” Eddie stepped into the front room.

“Found ’em!” Calliope called out from the back of the house. Some of the kids were crying, and she quietly reassured them. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

She was as tough as any man Hawk knew, and she had one hell of a reputation as a sniper. She also had a gift for dealing with victims.

In that way, she reminded him of Charlotte Cavanaugh. She was incredibly empathetic and compassionate with the victims she counseled. Though, unlike Calliope, he doubted Charlotte had ever climbed a tree, sighted in a bad guy, and taken them out.

Charlotte had recently begun consulting with Every Last Child, ELC. A successful nonprofit established by Dulce Lambert, Cole’s wife and the daughter of a very powerful US senator. ELC provided financial and material support to organizations around the world that worked to save people trapped in the human trafficking trade. Once they were liberated, ELC would help reunite them with family, if they had any, and would provide whatever follow-on care they might require, including medical treatments and therapy.

Which was where Charlotte came in.

Hawk wasn’t sure why he was thinking about Charlotte in the middle of an op. Lately, thoughts of her seemed to pop up multiple times a day.

She’d been to the Dark Ops facility several times to lead some training classes on how to deal with victims and things like that. Afterward, they would all go out for dinner somewhere, and he’d always made a point to sit next to her. But the closest thing to one-on-one time with her was the few times he’d convinced her to let him walk her to her car. It had taken three classes before he could convince her to call him Hawk instead of Patrick.

Unfortunately, their time together always seemed to fly by too quickly, and he’d hated watching her drive away.

Eddie had been goading him to ask her out, but his teammate was also the kind of guy who never committed to anyone. Calliope called him a man-whore, and she wasn’t wrong.

Unlike Eddie, Hawk was a very private guy, and he was pretty particular about the people he invited into his life.

“Coming out.” Calliope stepped into the hallway and stood at the front of the group, holding hands with one of the little girls.

“Right behind ya, babe.” Lucas brought up the rear, carrying another little one. “And what a behind it is.”

“You’re such a pig.” She shook her head, and her grin softened the sting out of the insult.

“Yeah, but I’m your pig.” Lucas and Calliope were more than just teammates at work, they were teammates in life, too.

Eddie held up his hand.

“Guys, hold up a sec.” He rushed into the bedroom, came out with a comforter, and threw it over the body on the floor. “Okay, bring ’em through.”

The kids were guided out through the kitchen, with Eddie and Lucas doing their best to block their view of the dead guy.

Once they were safely outside, Hawk and Remy got to work.

He led his partner from room to room, where Remy zigzagged back and forth. His nose twitched, and Hawk could hear him snuffling as he poked his head into nooks and crannies, scanning up and down, side to side. They moved into the kitchen—the last room left to search. Remy checked everything while ignoring the overflowing garbage and the lunch meat on the table. After a few minutes, his partner sat in front of the refrigerator and looked up at Hawk.

Hawk opened the fridge and let Remy sniff, but he didn’t hit on anything. He opened the freezer and was instantly suspicious when he discovered it wasn’t working. He tapped the top edge of the fridge door; Remy stood on his hind legs and placed his front paws against the door. Almost immediately, he sat again and whined.

Hawk pulled out his knife, flipped it open, and wedged it between the automatic ice maker and the side of the freezer. He pried off the cover and, hidden inside, wrapped in plastic and butcher paper, was an external hard drive.

“Good job, bud.” Hawk squatted in front of him, scratched his neck, and gave a couple of good solid thumps to his side. “Good job.”

Remy wagged his tail and did a little happy dance, knowing exactly what happened next.

“Here ya go.” Hawk dug out a good-size chunk of his homemade jerky from a pocket in his tactical vest and gave it to Remy. “Wanna go outside?”

Remy barked and hopped up and down, excited to play.

They crossed back through the house as Cole and Viking were lifting the creep off the floor.

“Found this.” Hawk handed the hard drive to Cole.

“Good work, Remy.” His boss bent over and gave Remy some attention. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

All of OSI’s teams, including Dark Ops, were covert. In other words, they didn’t exist. Once an op was done, they disappeared, and the feds and locals took care of the aftermath. Because, unlike the feds and local law enforcement, OSI’s teams operated in the gray area, where the rules were more … fluid.

Hawk loved that about his job.

“Come on, you piece of shit.” Cole tightened his grip on the trafficker’s elbow, causing him to wince, then he and Viking escorted the dirtbag outside.

Hawk followed, jogged down the porch steps, and tugged Remy’s stuffed duck toy from a pocket on the leg of his pants.

“Sit.” He waited until Remy sat, then he drew his arm back and tossed the toy. “Get it!”

Remy took off like a shot, ran over to grab his toy where it landed on the grass, and trotted back to him with a smile on his doggy face, not a care in the world.

Hawk envied his partner.