Page 1 of Kane (Ghost Ops #4)

Chapter One

The bell on the front door tinkled as a patron entered One Shot Tactical. The building was arranged with the store in front, where guns and ammunition were displayed in glass cases. Holsters, targets, concealed carry purses, and other items were on racks in the center or shelves against the wall.

“Welcome to One Shot Tactical,” Daphne Bryant said with a sunny smile as she stood to greet the newcomer.

Her desk sat behind one of the counters.

She was the receptionist during business hours, but she did so much more.

She also took care of scheduling self-defense classes for the six men who owned the range, and she booked security consultations with other businesses in town and over in Huntsville where most of the defense contractors were located.

She also did the ordering for supplies that weren’t guns or ammo, and Alex had recently let her start working on the books.

Not all the books, since the gun ordering and weapons inventory was separate, and that was fine with her. She had a line item for those orders when they happened, but the actual details were up to the One Shot guys.

Alex hadn’t blinked when she said she had accounting experience.

It was maybe too close to the life she’d left behind, but the truth was that no matter how rewarding it was to work for these guys and live in gorgeous Sutton’s Creek, her skills were a little wasted taking calls and booking appointments.

He’d asked her to go over the spreadsheets and give her conclusions.

Next thing she knew, she was handling the business expenses. Which she did carefully and diligently.

The man walked over to her counter. He had a range bag slung over one shoulder, hands in his jeans pockets, and a look of concentration on his face. “Hey. You got any open bays?”

“We do.” Daphne stood. “We have a class in two hours, but you can shoot until then if you want. It’s twenty-five an hour if you aren’t a member. We also rent guns. Ten for one or twenty for up to five. You have to purchase the ammunition from us.”

“Got anything interesting?”

Daphne shrugged. “A Desert Eagle. Most guys like to give that one a try.”

His eyes narrowed. She got the feeling he was studying her more than thinking about the weapon. A coil of unease unwound itself in her stomach.

“You know much about guns? Or are you here for decoration?”

The question was rude and misogynistic, but that wasn’t why it bothered her.

A narrow line of sweat beaded beneath her breasts, across her lip.

She wasn’t about to tell him she could disassemble that Desert Eagle and reassemble it in under five minutes.

She didn’t tell anyone that kind of information.

Not even the men she worked for.

“I work here. Bound to know a little. Why do you ask?”

He nodded and the truth came out. “You look familiar. Not sure why.”

Fear crawled up her throat and wrapped icy fingers around her neck. “I’ve heard that before. They say everybody’s got a double somewhere, don’t they?” She smiled to sell it. “You want to try that Desert Eagle or you good?”

“I’m good. Got my own gear.”

“All righty then. You want one hour or two?”

“Just one is fine.”

Daphne’s fingers trembled as she reached for the paperwork. “Need you to fill this out and I’ll need ID. Driver’s license, military ID, pistol permit, etcetera. Take your pick,” she said as she pushed the clipboard toward him. “We take cash, credit, PayPal and Venmo.”

The man took the clipboard, turned it. But he didn’t stop looking at her. “I never forget a face. It’ll come to me eventually.”

Daphne forced a laugh. “Some people think I look like a younger version of the actress on Yellowstone. You know, the crazy one?”

She was talking too much. She needed to stop. But fear had her in its grip. She didn’t recognize the man, but if he knew her father and brother, then he wasn’t anybody she wanted to spend time with.

“Don’t watch that show so I can’t say.”

“Well, she’s kinda famous and her face is everywhere so that might be it.”

He shrugged. “Could be.” He finished the paperwork and pushed it toward her with ID and cash. When she’d processed everything, she gave him a pass and targets, then explained the procedures for entering and exiting the range.

“Bay Five,” she said. “Your range safety officer is Chance.”

“Thanks.” The man hefted his bag, grabbed the targets, and headed for the entrance to the shooting bays.

Daphne waited until he was inside before she sank onto her chair and let out a shaky breath.

She’d been in Sutton’s Creek for six months.

She’d told herself it was too remote, too hidden, for her family to find her.

It was a risk working in a gun range, but what were the chances some criminal associate of her dad’s would show up in a tiny town in a tiny corner of Alabama?

Besides, she hadn’t started out working at One Shot Tactical.

She’d been cleaning rooms at the Wheeler Inn, figuring that was lowkey enough, but then she’d lost her job and ended up squatting in the Sutton building where the guys found her one night.

They’d taken her in, offered her a job, shelter, and safety.

It’d been a risk, but she’d had no other options at the time.

She didn’t know for sure this man was somebody from her old life. She focused on the paperwork again, studied the details.

Nathan Fader.

He wasn’t from New Orleans, which was good. Destin, Florida. Self-employed. She hadn’t asked why he was in town, but that would’ve been a red flag if she had. Or an invitation.

Her stomach twisted into knots. She told herself he might have been flirting, that his idea of a pick-up line was to say she looked familiar. That was usually followed with the comparison to a celebrity, which he had not done. But maybe he was just bad at it.

Daphne chewed her lip and glanced at her phone. Another fifty-five minutes before she was out of here. The range closed at six but she was leaving early because it was book club night. She’d be gone before he finished shooting, thank God.

Maybe by then he’d have forgotten about her anyway. Chance was charming when he was on RSO duty and he’d get the guy talking, find out more about him. Maybe even tell him about the Dawg and direct him there for dinner.

Thankfully, the Bookalicious Besties Book Club was meeting at the library tonight. There was a new librarian in town and everyone wanted to welcome her. Miss Hettie had finally retired after sixty years, though she was still planning to work part-time as needed.

When she wasn’t lounging around in Orange Beach, Alabama, where her son had a holiday condo, that is.

The Besties were having a potluck dinner as well, which meant Daphne needed to head home and pop her casserole—bought from Miss Mary’s Diner, of course—in the oven before walking over to the library.

The main reason why she was leaving an hour early.

Most of One Shot’s clients were range members anyway.

Whenever anyone came in, one of the guys would come from the back to check them in.

They got the alerts for the door, and there were cameras.

Nobody entered the building without everyone knowing.

In fact, she’d thought when Alex first hired her that it was out of pity—and it probably was—but she’d set out to make herself indispensable and prove she could be an asset to the business.

Which she’d done.

Daphne stared at her computer screen, not really seeing the inventory sheet she’d been working on.

Maybe she should have moved on a couple of months ago, once she’d saved up enough money to travel, but she liked her apartment, dammit.

And she liked Sutton’s Creek. Not to mention she’d found friends, not just in the guys, but in the women who’d trickled into their lives.

Emma and Rory had been a package set even before Chance and Rory got together, but now there was Callie and her teenage sister, Nikki, too.

Not to be confused with Waitress Nikki at The Salty Dawg Tavern, who was older and had a raspy smoker’s voice.

Whenever they all went to the Dawg, the two Nikkis joked with each other about being twins—Big Nikki and Little Nikki.

Sometimes Little Nikki followed Big Nikki around the restaurant and took orders with her like they were a matched set.

It was silly fun for both of them, and the patrons never seemed to mind.

God, she’d miss these people if she had to leave.

Daphne put her head in her hands. She didn’t want to go.

Sutton’s Creek was home, even if the people in it would be horrified if they knew where she’d come from.

The kind of shit her family was involved in.

She was tainted by association—and she was tainted by participation. That was the worst of it.

“What’s wrong?”

Daphne jerked her head up to find Kane watching her. He’d emerged from the hallway that led to the offices and she hadn’t even noticed. Kane Fox was the last man she’d want to know about her past. She sniffed and straightened her spine.

“Nothing at all. I’m just thinking about the book club tonight and what I need to do.”

He rolled toward her with that easy gait he had that spoke of confidence and power.

All the men of One Shot Tactical were gorgeous, but Kane did something to her insides that none of the rest of them did.

Then again, he had that effect on women.

So many women who came for classes and then kept coming back, asking for Kane, sighing and giggling when he emerged to talk to them about their bullshit excuses for returning.

It fired her up and made her determined not to be one of them.

Which would have been difficult anyway since Kane insisted on treating her like the little sister he’d never had.

He was thirty-five and she was twenty-eight—though her fake ID said she was younger—but he treated her like she was fifteen.