Page 1 of K-9 Guardians (New Mexico Guard Dogs #4)

They were coming.

Scarlett Beam stared at the security feed longer than she should have. Seconds ticked off one by one, putting everyone in this building in more danger the longer she refused to move. She had to be sure. To confirm she wasn’t seeing things coming off a twenty-four-hour shift.

Dust kicked up in front of the perimeter cameras and blocked out early morning sun coming up over the cliffs to the west. “Don’t make me do this,” she said to herself.

She couldn’t make the call until she had visual confirmation. Her hand hovered over the alarm she’d hand-wired throughout the building. One press. That was all it would take to start an outright war. She licked at dry lips.

The dust cleared.

Revealing four fully loaded—and most likely bulletproof—SUVs. Coming straight at Socorro’s headquarters. Every cell in her body spiked with battle-ready tension.

Sangre por Sangre had crossed the line.

Scarlett slammed her hand down on the alarm. Ear-piercing shrieks urged operatives into action. She backed away from the security console built with her own two hands and reached for her sidearm. Compressing the release, she caught the magazine and inventoried the rounds stacked inside as she headed into the corridor. Low shouts echoed off black walls, tile, artwork and ceilings and drove her toward the armory.

It shouldn’t have come to this. She thought they’d have more time.

Socorro Security’s orders to dismantle the most bloodthirsty drug cartel in New Mexico had come straight from the Pentagon. A year of intelligence gathering, close calls and surveillance hadn’t come close to an attack like this. Each organization knew the danger of provoking the other until the time was right. Seemed Sangre por Sangre had gotten tired of waiting.

Movement registered ahead as Socorro’s counterterrorism agent dashed ahead of her. Two other operatives followed after as she rounded into the armory. They were private military contractors. Trained in war, weapons, strategy, combat and intelligence gathering throughout their military careers. Each of them moved with efficiency as they pulled high-powered rifles from mounts and stashed extra ammunition in their vests.

“What do we got, Scarlett?” Granger Morais holstered a backup pistol at his ankle. The former counterterrorism agent knew all about surprise attacks, having worked the investigation of 9/11 and the ambush on the American consulate in Benghazi. If they were going to get out of this alive, it would be because of him.

“Four vehicles, upgraded, one mile out. I’m not sure how many hostiles inside. Assume your rounds won’t pierce the bodies or windows given Jones’s run-in a couple weeks ago.” Socorro’s combat coordinator had barely survived the encounter as he’d tried to protect a war correspondent who’d gotten herself in the cartel’s crosshairs. Scarlett strapped into her Kevlar as the tick of nails grew in intensity from the corridor. She really needed to trim those.

Competing growls told her the vet had sent out Hans and Gruber to back Scarlett up. The Dobermans charged into the armory, most likely having sniffed out her scent, and circled in tight rotations around her legs. The K9s had come from the same litter—brother and sister—and had learned to stick to Scarlett’s every order since she signed on with the company. There wasn’t anyone else she’d want at her side once they headed out into this mess.

“Damn it. They’re getting ballsy. I’ll give them that.” Granger sheathed an oversize blade into the holster along his thigh. No matter the situation, he’d be prepared. That was what made him one of the best. What made them all the best. “All right. Cash, you and Jocelyn take the high ground. I want as many targets in your scopes as you can manage in case this goes sideways. Scarlett, you’re with me in the welcome party. Bring the twins. They look like they haven’t bit anyone in a while.”

Cash Meyers—the operative charged with predicting the cartel’s moves before Sangre por Sangre made them—dragged two heavy-duty cases from the steel shelf at the back of the room and handed one off to his equally experienced partner, Jocelyn Carville. “We need to alert Chief Halsey and the rest of Alpine Valley the cartel is in the area. Make sure all civilians shelter in place until the threat has passed.”

“The alert was sent out the moment I hit the alarm. I’m sure Alpine Valley PD is already issuing the order.” Because that was their job. To protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. It was why Scarlett had signed on with Socorro in the first place. She secured her sidearm, hand pressed along the grip. It’d been a long time since she’d had to unholster her weapon, and that same dread that accompanied the last time infiltrated her focus.

“Good. Then let’s move.” Granger took the lead, with Cash and Jocelyn splitting off with their rifles slung over their backs into a separate corridor.

Hans and Gruber kept on her heels as they weaved through the maze meant to confuse and disorient unwelcome visitors. Though Scarlett had done everything in her power as Socorro’s security expert to ensure that never happened. Her gaze cut to the space where the ceiling met the wall, where she’d hidden the backup plan that would even any score should her team find themselves cornered.

Speckles of dust glittered in front of her face as she and Granger cut through the building’s front lobby and toward the double glass doors. Socorro’s headquarters had been set into the side of a mountain range in the middle of the New Mexico desert. Why the structure had a lobby at all—as though they were expecting visitors or potential clients—had never made sense to her. But gratitude shifted through her at the added space between her and the outside world.

Granger paused before hitting the door release, that unkempt swatch of facial hair hiding any tell around his mouth. “You good?”

No. She wasn’t. Injuries from two weeks ago still pulsed, suffered from taking on a cartel member much stronger and much bigger than her in an attempt to save Jones’s journalist. But she wasn’t about to back down. She hadn’t before. She wouldn’t start now. “I have one of Jocelyn’s oatmeal bakes in the microwave. Let’s get this over with so I can eat.”

Granger’s laugh took a bit of the uncertainty out of her nerves. He pushed through the doors and out into the open.

They moved as one, weapons raised as four SUVs skidded to a stop a mere twenty yards from the building. Sangre por Sangre had never before attempted to get this close.

Which meant something was very, very wrong.

Scarlett clocked Cash and Jocelyn taking up position on the roof, each tucked into their own corner for the best advantage. She and Granger were covered. No matter what happened next, her team had her back. And the Dobermans would eat anyone alive who tried to take her down. Sweat secreted around her grip and threatened to loosen her calm.

“Steady.” Granger leveled his chin parallel to the ground with all the confidence and authority she didn’t have. “We’re not going to be the ones to shoot first. Understand? Anything that happens today, we want them to make the first move. That way, any retaliation is sanctioned by the Pentagon.”

“Understood.” Her voice shook on that single word, giving away the earthquake shuddering inside. This was her job. What she’d trained for. She was good at this, yet there was still a small part of her that wished she was stronger. More in control. Made better choices. Coming to Socorro—supporting her team, taking responsibility for others—was supposed to be her way to make up for the past, but she still couldn’t shake the tremor in her hand.

Granger pulled up short. Waiting. The message was clear. One wrong move, and Socorro would do whatever it took to defend their territory.

Only the cartel didn’t make that move.

Seconds split into minutes, into what felt like an hour, as the rising sun glinted off the SUV windshields.

Impatience undermined her forced calm. She really did have an oatmeal bake in the microwave, and her stomach wasn’t too proud to admit its desperation for calories. “What are they waiting for?”

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t like Granger. Certainty had always been one of the qualities she most admired the few times they’d been partnered on an assignment together, but this was something neither of them had experienced. Sangre por Sangre had always moved with compulsion rather than strategy. This...this was something else.

The hatch of one SUV raised behind the lead SUV. A dark, heavy tarp rolled out of the cargo area and hit the ground. Dust exploded from the impact and punctured Scarlett’s resolve. She took a step forward. The Dobermans were ready to follow, but one throaty warning from Granger pulled them all up short. “What is that?” she asked.

The answer was already shoving to the front of her mind. Cartels like Sangre por Sangre lived for theatrics. Tires filled with accelerant and set on fire draped around victims’ necks, raids on innocent towns, underage recruits, bombings of high-level law enforcement officers, soccer balls packed with nitroglycerin that exploded on impact in civilian parks. More recently, the abduction and torture of a war correspondent who’d seen too much.

The cartel’s MO was bloody and violent and usually followed by weeks of media coverage. Sangre por Sangre’s leadership wanted their name to be known, to be feared. It was domination, manipulation and control in the purest form. Because as long as the general public feared them, there was no one brave enough to stand up to fight them.

But Scarlett was. She had to be.

Engines caught, one after the other. Daytime headlights lit up as the SUVs backed away from the package and retreated. Billows of dirt scattered into the air, surely making it hard for Cash and Jocelyn to keep the targets in their sights.

Scarlett stared at the tarp. Willed it to move.

“Wait.” Granger hugged his rifle close to his chest. The wear in his face was more evident than it’d ever been before. It was as though he’d aged a decade in the span of ten minutes.

This job... It was getting to him. To all of them. The constant threats, the need to be in the center of the action, the physical and mental scars that came with fighting an enemy a whole hell of a lot stronger and more violent than you. Who gained pleasure from hurting the very people you swore to protect. All she and Socorro had done was wait. And now the cartel had the upper hand.

“No. I’m tired of waiting.” Scarlett took that first step, breaking Granger’s order. Then another. She picked up the pace to a jog, then a flat-out sprint as she closed the distance between her and the elongated shape under the tarp. Her muscles ached as she pulled to a stop a few feet away.

Hans and Gruber dashed ahead, circling the package. A corner lifted on a dry breeze and gave her the first glimpse of what was inside.

A human hand.

She captured the tarp on the next gust and ripped it back as Granger stepped into her peripheral vision. But all Scarlett had attention for was the blade stabbed through a law enforcement shield and into the body’s chest. Her stomach knotted tight. “He’s a DEA agent.”

H IS PARTNER WAS DEAD .

King Elsher stared down at the body, not really seeing the man unmoving on the examination table. Adam had gone missing three days ago. No activity on his credit cards. No outgoing calls from his cell phone. It was as though his best friend and partner of three years had up and vanished.

Only that wasn’t true, was it?

Sangre por Sangre had finally found a way to get their message to King. Though why they’d delivered it to a private military contractor’s doorstep, he had no idea.

The DNA, dental records and fingerprints all lined up. There was no denying his partner was the one lying here in the middle of the Alpine Valley morgue.

Cold air tightened the tendons in King’s hand, making them ache. A blue papery sheet hid the stab wound centered in Adam’s chest. Two inches in length, a few centimeters wide. Photos taken from the scene where his partner’s body had been dumped showed the blade had gone through Adam’s badge. Something that would’ve taken a lot more force than your average stabbing. This had been methodical. Purposeful, even.

“Do you have any questions, Agent Elsher?” The medical examiner—a guy who looked on the verge of retirement if it weren’t for the fact he probably didn’t have a cent to his name—stuffed thin hands into his white lab coat. Round wire-framed glasses slid down a beak-like nose, and the examiner scrunched up his face to put them back in place. Practiced. This was a guy used to multitasking when his hands were busy.

“Who found him?” That wasn’t what he meant to ask. King had wanted to know if his partner had suffered. If he bled out in a slow crawl or if the blade did the job quickly.

But he already had the answer. Cartels like Sangre por Sangre—viruses that had no care for their hosts and fought against every vaccine in its path—didn’t believe in mercy. They would’ve ensured Adam knew what was happening, felt it. For as long as possible.

The pathologist broke his statue-like observation and reached for a clipboard off to the side of the examination table. He flipped through a few pages. “There’s a Scarlett Beam listed in the report. One of those private military contractors up at Socorro Security. I don’t see any contact information, but I imagine you and the DEA know how to get in touch with her.”

The DEA. Right. Because this was now an official investigation. Everything King had done to find a way into the cartel would come to light. There was no more hiding. No more unofficial requests or surveillance. No more covering his personal mission to dismantle the cartel on his own. Adam’s case was about to expose him in every way. Had that been Sangre por Sangre’s plan? To find a way to take King off the board? Hell. It would work. Unless...

Socorro and private military contractors like them had their own set of rules. They didn’t answer to anyone but the Pentagon. The past few weeks had proven that with coverage of a New Mexico state senator accused of using his own resources to render Socorro’s federal contract void, claiming the company was intentionally letting Sangre por Sangre increase in size and strength for the sole purpose of keeping operatives employed. The accusation lost its merit when a journalist widely exposed the senator for working with the cartel to achieve his goals.

If King played his cards right, Socorro could legitimize his investigation. Assuming Ivy Bardot and her operatives wanted to know who’d ordered the murder of a DEA agent as much as he did. Which, based off the reports he’d read on the company’s dealings with the cartel, collaboration between their agencies was looking like a good option.

King scrubbed a hand down his face, taking in the dry skin around Adam’s eyes, the darker coloring of a bruise settling along his partner’s jaw. No. Sangre por Sangre didn’t get to slink back into the shadows and use his partner as an example. Adam deserved better. His family deserved better. And King was going to make the people who’d done this paid. Starting with finding Scarlett Beam. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll be in touch.”

He shoved through the double freezer-like doors separating the morgue from the rest of the building and hit something solid on the other side. Red hair and a whole lot of tactical gear consumed his attention as the woman fell back from the impact.

King shot his hand out, catching hers to soften the blow. But the weight of her gear dragged him down with her. They landed on the tile floor with a smack. Pain ignited into his palm and through his wrist as he ended up pinning her against the floor. His breath shot free from his chest. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was anyone of the other side of the door.”

“You certainly know how to make an exit.” She grabbed for the back of her head, pulling her hand back as though looking for blood. Three lines cut across the bridge of her nose in a wince. Right before she set intensely clear eyes on him. “You’re welcome to get off of me anytime.”

“Oh, right.” King shoved to stand. Heat flared into his neck as he replayed the past few seconds over in his head. Nope. There was no rewriting this. No matter how many different ways he imagined it. Offering his hand to help her stand, he threaded the other through his hair. “Didn’t realize the zombie apocalypse was already here. I should’ve come more prepared.”

She didn’t bother taking his hand as she got to her feet. Recentering her vest, she checked to ensure her sidearm was still holstered. A SIG Sauer. Preferred military issue. Instinct had him filling in the blanks. Without any military bases this far into the desert, there was only one conclusion to come to. She worked for Socorro Security.

Wide almond-shaped eyes lined with black and framed by perfectly shaped eyebrows landed on him. “Sorry?”

“Your gear. The morgue.” King hiked a thumb over his shoulder toward the swinging doors he’d effectively used to ruin her day. “This is as good a place as any to make sure there aren’t any walking dead wandering around.” Another wave of embarrassment undermined his social skills. King offered his hand. “Agent King Elsher. DEA.”

She took his hand. Not at all as soft as he’d expected. As though she spent every day in the field rather than protected by shiny glass bulletproof windows. “Scarlett Beam. Socorro. And I figure it’s better to be constantly alert for the zombie apocalypse rather than find myself in the middle of an ambush.”

His laugh took him by surprise. A woman after his own heart.

“I take it you’re here about the agent the cartel dropped off at my doorstep this morning,” she said.

Tightness he’d always associated with the excitement of a lead knotted behind his sternum. Followed quickly by the dread pooling at the base of his spine. King released her hand as the latter won out. Reality punctured through the ignorance of the past few minutes. Hell. What was he going to tell his son Julien about today? How was a ten-year-old supposed to deal with the fact Adam wasn’t going to be there anymore? “He was my partner. His name was Adam. Adam Dunkeld.”

“I’m sorry, Agent Elsher.” Sincerity laced the low register of her voice, and King suddenly had the thought of what his name would sound like on her lips. Which letter she would enunciate over all the others. “I’m sure you’ve read my statement Alpine Valley PD took at the scene. I’m here to check in with the medical examiner about any developments, but I’m happy to take a few minutes to answer any questions you might have.”

“You’re working the investigation.” This was what he needed. What would save him in the end. Partnering with Scarlett could exonerate him in more ways than one. Could help him keep his job. And, hell, he needed this job. Suddenly finding himself a father of a ten-year-old kid he hadn’t even known existed until two months ago came with a weight he hadn’t expected. Financially, mentally, emotionally. He was still sorting through the responsibilities of being a father and how to balance his job with the first taste of a personal life. Working cases for the DEA—working to bring down the evil that threatened people’s futures, like his son’s—drove him to be the man he was. The kind of man Adam had been.

“No. There is no investigation. At least, not from my end. Socorro is a lot of things, but murder falls to local police and federal agencies.” A shift in her weight told him how uncomfortable she was one-on-one. The kind of steel it took to be in the middle of the action—one that couldn’t ever be forged on the sidelines—didn’t like to stand still.

They were similar in that respect. He’d always been more inclined to get his hands dirty rather than push paperwork. Though now that he was approaching forty, past fractures and aches he’d acquired in the field took a bit longer to shake off.

“I just wanted...” She paused. “I wanted to know who he was. See how I could help the case.”

She was right about the investigation. The DEA would partner with local police to stay up to date on Adam’s murder, but ultimately, Alpine Valley PD would make every call and run every lead. Didn’t matter that it was a federal agent who’d landed on the other side of these double doors. Seemed King had jumped the gun assuming Socorro would want in on the action. “I appreciate it.”

“Did he have a family? Anyone waiting for him to come home?” Scarlett asked.

King had the urge to run for the door. To put as much distance between him and this place as he could. But running had never solved anything. And damn it, he was the reason Adam had been abducted and murdered in the first place. He owed his partner this. “Yeah. A wife, couple of kids, another one on the way.”

“The medical examiner usually contacts next of kin.” Scarlett nodded toward the big doors that’d taken her down. “But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You want to be the one to tell them what happened. So you asked the ME to hold off on the notification.”

How had she read him so easily? As though they’d known each other longer than a tackle to the floor and a potential concussion. “I was his partner,” he said again.

“I understand,” she said. “I’ve been where you are. Lost people I cared about.”

He had to do this. For Adam. For himself. Hell, for his son’s future where the cartel didn’t haunt their dreams. And there was only one way to do it. Through Socorro.

King closed the distance between them, lowering his voice. “Then you know I’m going to do whatever it takes to find the person who stabbed him. Official or not.”

She held her ground. Not the least bit intimidated by his intentions. A hint of curiosity filtered into her eyes. “All right, Agent Elsher. In that case, what can Socorro do for you?”