Page 27 of Deadly Force

A wry smile tugs at her lips. “How long have you worked for Hightower?”

“Nice try.”

Her lower lip pushes out in a pout that’s more tempting than it should be. “Is everything about you classified?”

A laugh catches in my chest. “Nope. Plenty of things we can talk about.”

“Just not your work?”

“It depends.”

“On what?” she presses.

I start to answer, but the sound of a car door slamming outside cuts me off. Brooke’s back goes ramrod straight. I thumb the safety off, blood alreadypounding harder. With a sharp jerk of my head, I herd her to the wall, keeping myself between her and the door. I fix my gaze on the shadow slipping past the window, praying it’s backup. Preparing for it not to be.

A knock splits the silence. Three quick raps.

“¿Quién es?” I call.

“Soy Santa Claus. Traigo regalos.”

Of course Silas found me a wise guy. I lower my weapon but stay wary as I open the door a crack.

“What kind of gifts?” I ask.

A smile curls at his lips as Mateo Cruz steps inside with two bags. “The best kind. Sorry I didn’t have time to wrap them.”

I chuckle as I shake his hand, assessing him and his grip strength. He’s a few inches shorter than me, built like a bull—broad shoulders, thick muscle packed under a worn tactical jacket. And he wasn’t joking about the gifts.

With a glance at Brooke, who’s giving me a questioning look, I pop the duffels and scan the contents: extra mags, rifle rounds, comms gear, soft vests, clean burners, backup weapon, fixed blade, trauma kit—tourniquets, gauze, seals. Roll of cash. Stack of fake IDs. No fluff. No waste. Just what we need to stay alive if we move fast enough.

I zip the duffel and nod toward Brooke. “This is Brooke. Brooke, meet Mateo.”

Mateo’s eyes cut to her. “Heard you had a rough night?”

Her smile is weak, but she sets her notepad aside and stands. “You could say that. So, you work for Silas Hightower too?”

He nods once. “I’m one of his contractors.”

Interest sparks in her eyes. Still chasing the story. I almost feel bad about leaving Mateo with her.

“Two hours. If it goes loud, extract her first,” I tell him.

Mateo gives a clipped nod, his voice sharp and sure. “Won’t move unless it’s fire or blood.”

Without a word, Mateo unpacks the gear. Fast, efficient. No wasted motion. No chatter. Mags, burners, body armor, all laid out clean across the bed like tools in a workbench. Ready.

Silas knew what he was doing when he picked a former Marine Force Recon for my backup.

“Can you grab my laptop? And I have an emergency bag,” Brooke asks.

I glance at her, then at the duffels. “Not tonight. It’s too hot to risk it. But I’ll get you what you need soon. I promise.”

She folds her arms tight, but her fingers tug at her sleeve until the fabric strains.

“Two hours,” I say, voice low.

Her nod comes too fast. Her voice, too high. “Don’t worry about me.”