Chapter 4

It was closing on seven that evening, the brilliance of the sun was fading and easing over the

mountains as the mechanics left, staring back at Noah, as though afraid to leave her there with

him.

At least the sheriff hadn't shown up, which meant Mike wasn't pressing charges. Yet. His truck

had been delivered to the bank while he was still there, and if luck was on her side, she wouldn't

have to deal with him again for a while.

Noah Blake, on the other hand, she was more than ready to deal with. The blood had pumped

furiously through her veins all day, leaving her nerves heightened, a feeling almost like

excitement digging sharp claws into her chest.

He had worked hard, steadily, and kept the other men working faster. But she didn't need him

there. She didn't want him there. She didn't need him interfering with the structured, ordered

existence she had created for herself. And she didn't want the excitement or the feeling of tension

she could feel tightening inside her.

The men working for her would accept taking orders from her eventually or she would do as she

had done the past three years. Fire their asses and hire others. She'd fired plenty of them since

taking over, another here and there didn't make a difference to her.

Toby delayed as long as he could until Sabella had to push him out the door before turning to

face Noah. She jerked the money bag from the desk and shoved it in her purse before slinging the

leather bag over her shoulder and glaring back at him.

This was it. He could get the hell right back out of her life now and she could stop feeling so

alive.

"When you see Rory, tell him I want to talk to him. Immediately," she snapped. "And if he isn't

back to work tomorrow, then as far as I'm concerned he doesn't have a job any more than you

have one. I won't have a maniac working in my garage and attacking my customers." She held a

hand up as he started to speak. "Whether they deserve it or not."

He stared back at her, his eyes raging, wild, twisting with color in an expression that could have

been carved from stone.

His gaze flicked over her body and she flushed. She could feel her own hardened nipples beneath

her shirt and bra. She could feel the flesh between her thighs tingling and she hated it. She hated

feeling that and she hated him for making her feel it.

Her gaze flickered to the parking lot as a vehicle pulled up and she almost grimaced. She'd

forgotten about Duncan. Nice, safe, easygoing Duncan Sykes with his dark blond hair, brown

eyes, and steady smile. He wasn't dangerous. He didn't have the power to destroy her sanity or

her self-control.

"I'll be here in the morning." His lips thinned at the sound of a car door closing. "With Rory."

Sabella smiled at the thought of getting her hands on Rory. Oh, her brother-in-law was in some

serious trouble.

"You do that," she told him softly as Duncan approached the door, a frown on his face. "And be

ready to ride out the same way you rode in. Now, thanks to you, I'm late, and I'm not ready for

my date. You deserve to be fired for that alone."

She put a smile on her face as the door opened and Duncan stepped in. And of course, she

compared the two men. Not that there was much comparison. Noah was hands down harder,

tougher, sexier, more vibrant and imposing than Duncan would ever be.

"You're not ready." Duncan grinned, amusement dancing in his eyes despite the curious glance

he flicked to the other man. "Why did I have a feeling you'd forget our date if things got busy?"

"Because you know me." She grinned back, aware that her amusement was more faked than she

would have liked.

Her gaze flicked back to Noah.

"New employee?" Duncan asked, turning to Noah as though he weren't a rabid maniac on the

loose and holding out his hand. "I'm Duncan Sykes. I own the electronics store in town."

A shiver of foreboding raced through Sabella at Noah's smile. It was the chill in his eyes, the

flash of teeth, that warned her he wasn't nearly as friendly he was pretending to be.

"Noah Blake," he introduced himself.

Duncan glanced back at Sabella.

"It's good to meet you." Duncan nodded then smiled back at Sabella. "We're going to be late if

you don't hurry and get dressed. Do you need me to lock up?"

Oh, she really didn't think so.

"Everything's ready, I just have to lock the door behind us." She turned to Noah, her eyes

narrowing as he continued to stare at Duncan. "Noah, I need to lock up."

A flash of dread raced up her spine as he turned back to her. His eyes were flat and cold, his lips

unsmiling, his expression too still. Too calm.

"Have a nice night," he told her quietly before leaving the office and moving to the black, wicked

Harley parked outside the garage.

Sabella was barely aware of the breath she had been holding until it released silently and she

turned back to Duncan. "You'll have to enjoy a glass of wine while I get ready. Time got away

from me today."

"You're always worth waiting on," he told her as they stepped from the office and she locked the

doors. "Besides, we've been seeing each other long enough, Belle, that I know to build in time

when I make reservations."

Sabella grimaced. She was always late. She had never been late for anything until her husband's

death. It seemed as though she had been running late ever since. Trying somehow to go back

rather than forward.

As she slid into the passenger seat of Duncan's car for the ride up to the house, she couldn't help

but notice that Noah was still there. He was bent next to the Harley, fiddling with something, no

doubt being nosy, because his gaze wasn't on the bike, it was on them.

"I'm going to assume Rory hired him," Duncan stated as they drove past the Harley.

"You assume right," she breathed out roughly.

Rory was always pulling in strays. Thankfully, they never seemed to stay long. She had a feeling

she was going to have trouble getting rid of this one though.

Nothing else was said as they pulled into the driveway in front of her house.

"Come on in." She moved quickly from the car, house keys in hand. "You know where the wine

is, go ahead and get a glass, I'll get showered and be down in half an hour."

She opened the door and rushed in, making for the stairs at a quick pace.

"I'm timing you," he said, laughing. "Twenty bucks says it will take an hour."

"You're on.'" She threw him a quick smile, but ducked her head, knowing that smile wouldn't

reach her eyes.

She couldn't stop the feeling that somehow, some way, she was being unfaithful to the husband

who had died more than six years ago. She had fought that feeling for a year, ever since the first

date she had accepted with Duncan. The first time she had promised herself she was going to get

over Nathan's death.

Each time she and Duncan left the house she had shared with Nathan, she had felt the queasy,

sick feeling that she was betraying the man she loved. The man who had loved her.

It was insane. She had to assure herself daily that Nathan would have wanted her to be happy,

that he wasn't staring down from heaven, feeling hurt and angry because she had turned her back

on what they had shared.

She hadn't turned her back, she told herself as she stepped beneath the shower. He had been a

warrior, and he hadn't returned home. He was dead and gone, and she was still alive. Wasn't she?

Noah had a meeting to go to, an operational briefing that he knew he should already be heading

to. Instead, he was standing in the tree line outside the home he used to share with Sabella, a pair

of military binoculars in his hands, staring at the house.

No matter how much he had bitched while they were married, Sabella still left the blinds and

curtains open until dark. They were open now.

Duncan Sykes was in the kitchen and, be damned, but he was opening a bottle of wine. His lips

tightened. That was his wine, no matter who he was or wasn't. He'd spent years building his

collection of wines, rarely opening a bottle, enjoying the sight of the little wine cellar in the

basement as it filled up.

Now that son of a bitch was opening one of his best bottles and pouring a glass. By God, if he

caught that bastard in his bed, with his wife, there would be murder.

He blew out a hard breath. Wasn't his business, he reminded himself.

The hell it wasn't. Jagged, forked spikes of pure fury buried themselves in his brain as he felt the

control he had built over the past years beginning to crack. If Noah saw Duncan touch her, he

wouldn't be able to control the rage.

Noah was aware of Rory coming up behind him, following the order Noah had given him when

he called from the garage. His brother wasn't happy. And that was just too damned bad, because

Noah had never in his life been further from "happy."

"How long has this shit been going on?" he bit out, keeping his eyes on the house rather than

glancing at Rory.

"What shit?" Rory eyed him warily.

Noah flicked his hand at the house. "Sykes."

"'Bout a year." Rory flopped down at the base of a tree and yawned as though he were safe.

Noah flicked a look down at him. "And you didn't stop it, why?"

Rory looked up at him in surprise before scratching his cheek thoughtfully. "Hell, probably

because he's the only one of the men she's gone out with that I actually like."

Noah's jaw clenched. "How many have there been?"

Other men. Not just one man. Other men had gone out with his wife. Stared at her smile, lusted

after her. He couldn't imagine one of them touching her, or he'd have to kill them all.

"Just a few." Rory shrugged as though it didn't matter. "They never last long. A few dates here

and there. Then she'll get all guilty feeling, wear her wedding band for a while, and bury up here

in the house when she's not working before she forces herself to try again. She hasn't worn her

wedding band in over a year now though."

Rory picked at a blade of grass as Noah went back to watching the house.

Sykes was still in the kitchen, probing around, looking through drawers. The bastard straightened

a cup on a hook and paced to the far window to look down on the garage. There was a look of

pending ownership on Sykes's face, as if he were already imagining exactly what he intended to

change in Bella's life.

Yeah, Noah knew him, well. Duncan hid his strong will from most people, but he was no one's

fool. He'd been seeing Sabella for a year, then he was serious about it. He had every intention of

owning everything Noah had once possessed as Nathan Malone.

"You left her," Rory stated with a hint of anger. "It wouldn't be any of your business if she had

fucked half the town, anyway."

He didn't say anything, because Rory was right. He had left her. He had taken that mission

knowing there was a chance of failure. He had failed and he hadn't come back.

"What happened with Grant?" he asked Rory. '"He tried to take the garage and the house after

promising he would take care of her if anything happened to me. Why?"

"'Same reason he ended up with Grandpop's stuff, I guess." Rory sighed. "Because that's just how

he is. Grandpop still excuses him. Says Grant is doing what he thinks will protect her. Grandpop

always excuses him though. Calls it layers."

Layers upon layers, he had always told Noah a lifetime ago. Nothing is as it seems. With Grant,

Noah couldn't imagine how it could be anything less than total selfishness.

"And Mike Conrad?"

Rory snorted. "That pig. He's pissed off because Sabella wouldn't screw him or sell him the

garage. He seemed to want both. He chased after her for over a year until she had to threaten to

sue him for harassment. Then he started getting ugly. He wanted the garage worse than he

wanted her though. Tried to turn the town against her for a while, but that didn't work out too

well. You had too many friends. Once she pulled her ass out of grieving for a man that just didn't

want to come home, she threw herself into the business and pulled it back up. She does good

now."

"Keep sniping at me, Rory, and you're not going to be able to walk for a while."

Rory snorted. He was quiet for long minutes before saying, "Grandpop went to your grave today.

Usually he just walks out and talks to Grandma. But today, he went to your headstone and just

stood looking down at it."

Noah didn't want to hear this. He pushed the rage and pain back inside himself and continued to

watch Duncan prowl the kitchen.

"Strange thing about Grandpop, I just never figured it out until now."

"He didn't grieve," Noah answered for him.

Hell, he should have known better than to think he could fool the old man. Jordan should have

known better. Grandpop had always known what was going on before it ever happened.

"That's true." Rory nodded. "Not even once. And not like Sabella did. I used to stay up at the

house some. She would wake me up every night screaming your name, swearing there was blood

on her hands, or swearing you were hurt. Begging me to save you."

Rory jumped to his feet. "Screw this. I'm going home."

"She was right."

He felt Rory still.

"What?" his brother asked carefully.

"She was right. I was hurt, Rory. Damned bad. And by the time I was rescued, I was barely

alive." He watched Sabella walk into the room and smile at Duncan.

The other man finished his wine, kissed her cheek, and they headed for the door. Duncan's hand

was at the small of her back, touching her, leading her. Damn, Noah was going to enjoy killing

him.

He pulled the binoculars away from his face and stared at the house silently for long minutes

before turning back to Rory.

"Grandpop should have grieved," he told him, his voice low. "Because the man I was died in a

cell in a rotting jungle. Her husband, your brother. Son and grandson. It all died inside me, Rory.

I'm not the man I was, and I never will be."

Rory gazed back at him for long moments. "That's not what happened," he finally said. "All of

you didn't die, Noah. Trust me. All that stupid, testosterone-driven, arrogant-bastard pride of

yours that you always hid from Sabella is still alive and breathing." Rory shot him a scornful

look. "That part survived just fine."

Noah's lips quirked at that. Maybe, in a way, Rory was right there. He'd always hid parts of

himself from those he loved, but Rory was a Malone, he knew that side of himself just as he

knew the side Nathan had held back. Until now. That dark inner core, the dominant arrogance

and powerful will had always been kept hidden, toned down. He had been civilized. Noah wasn't

civilized.

"Follow them," he ordered Rory.

"Do what?" Rory exclaimed, outraged shock in his eyes. "What, you want her to kill me or

something?"

"Do you want me to kill you?" Noah was in his face, his voice low, demanding. "Which one of us

can hurt you more?"

He wouldn't really hurt Rory. Hell, that was his kid brother. He almost grinned at the man his

brother had grown into. He felt affection. Fondness. Where Noah had felt next to nothing

emotionally, for years, he now felt flooded with emotions. Emotions that tore at his control, that

made a mockery of the years behind him.

Rory shook his head, his hands propped on his hips, as he lifted his gaze to the heavens. "I pray. I

go to mass. I even remember to respect my elders and help little old ladies across the street. What

the hell did I do to deserve this?"

Noah clapped his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You breathe, Rory. Remember that.

When Malones breathe, shit happens. It's cosmic. It's their fate."

"You suck, man." Rory grimaced. "Bella's gonna kill me."

"Beats me killing you," Noah grunted. "I can make it hurt worse."

Rory glared at him. "Man, you are so clueless. You don't know Belle at all, do you?" Then he

grinned rakishly. Noah remembered that smile. A smile he had once had himself and it didn't

bode well for Noah. "You are in for such a surprise."

Jordan watched as Noah stalked into the briefing room, nearly half an hour late, but the vision

that met Jordan's gaze had his eyes narrowing.

Dangerous. Powerful. Like a big jungle cat, all smooth moves and predatory awareness. This

wasn't a cold-blooded shark. His eyes weren't icy. They would never again be that Malone blue,

laser surgery had darkened the color to a navy blue rather than that neon sapphire blue they had

once been. The color of Jordan's, and his brother Rory's.

Those eyes had been hard, cold for five years now. Until tonight. Tonight, they were wild, fierce,

as Noah paused and stared back at him.

"We need to talk." There was a snarl, an animal quality to the tone that had Jordan's brow lifting.

"Hey there, wild card." Tehya chose that moment to move behind Noah and pat his butt.

Jordan knew what the other woman had done, but he didn't expect Noah's reaction. Tehya had

been patting Noah's ass for years, mostly to piss Jordan himself off, and Noah always ignored

her. This time, he caught her wrist, loosely, and stared down at her.

"Don't." He said the word softly, gently enough, that Jordan came slowly to his feet.

Tehya's impudent smile was enough to make a man grind his teeth.

"Oh, all that testosterone." She pretended to shiver. "Watch it, Noah, I'll start thinking you're

claimed or something."

Or something. Jordan sat down as the minx carried the stack of files to the briefing table and

winked back at him. "The others will be up in a few minutes. Ian and Kira were running late as

well."

As she moved through the door, Noah turned, closed it softly and locked it as Jordan leaned back

in his chair, propped his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers in front of him.

"You have a problem, ?" Jordan asked.

Noah turned back slowly and those eyes raged.

"You knew she was dating," Noah stated.

Jordan contained his smile as he nodded. "It was in the report I give you every month. You know,

the one you toss in the trash can after simply asking me if she's safe and if she's alive?"

Noah paced closer. Danger surrounded him, fury pulsed inside him.

"She's dating." His lips pulled back from his teeth furiously.

Jordan tilted his head and stared back at him. "And this is your business how? Nathan Malone is

dead, wild card. Remember?"

Noah flinched. He jerked back as though stung, his expression instantly closing.

"Unlock the door," Jordan ordered him coolly. "We have a briefing and a mission to complete."

He turned his attention to the files Tehya had brought in. "Noah." Jordan lifted his head, staring

back into those furious blue eyes. "Her husband didn't want her. Did you think she'd wait on him

forever?"

Perhaps that was exactly what a part of him had believed.

Noah took his seat slowly, forcing back emotion, forcing back the rage. He'd worked too many

years at putting his past behind him, but somehow, in all those years, he'd never imagined Sabella

allowing another man to touch her. Likely because Noah had never been able to touch another

woman.

He had sworn himself to her. Heart, body, soul. All he was, all he could ever be, belonged to that

woman.

The man that had been born from the ashes of hell in no way resembled Nathan Malone. He had

known that the day he found some clarity in his mind, months after his rescue. He was no longer

the man Sabella had married. But the man he had become still claimed that one part of Nathan

Malone's life. Noah Blake claimed Nathan's wife.

As the others filtered into the room, Noah stared at Jordan Malone. He'd even forced himself to

forget the fact that this was his uncle. That Rory was his brother, that Grandpop had been his

base all his life. He'd let go of everything but the wife.

"Okay, here's what we have." The lights dimmed as Tehya passed out the files and Ian and Kira

Richards stood to the side of the large-screened LCD monitor that hung on the wall across from

the briefing table.

Five dead men, American, Russian, Israeli, Australian, and English. They were the Elite

Operational Unit, code-named, marked by the sign of rebirth and of death. A black sun and a

scarlet sword. Dead men. They had signed their lives away for the chance at vengeance.

Jordan and Ian commanded the group. The rest of Durango team, Reno, Kell, and Macey, were

their backup. They knew who he was, what he was, what he had walked away from.

"The Black Collar Militia." The first of the photos began to flash.

"Angelina Rodriguez, the wife of a Mexican-American Texas Senate hopeful, killed, their brand

on her hip. 'BCM' was indeed branded on her slender hip. Emilio Rodriguez dropped out of the

senatorial race when his wife's body was found and a message indicating that his twin daughters

would be next. The FBI covered the murder to allow an investigation into the BCM. Stated cause

of death was accidental, due to the fact that she was found in her vehicle, in the bottom of a

ravine not far out of Odessa where she had been visiting."

The photos glared back at them from the screen. The woman was pretty. Long black hair, dark

brown eyes. A generous smile in life, a grimace in death.

"Added to her death." More photos, these of illegal Mexican aliens found throughout Texas and

New Mexico. Victims, Noah knew, of illegal hunts. The BCM brand was buried on the flesh of

their backs, some on the buttocks.

"We have a dozen hunts and deaths," Jordan stated. "We have three dead FBI agents sent to

investigate the information that BCM is based in Alpine. Two men, one female. Their bodies

were mutilated beyond recognition, teeth pulled, fingers removed. DNA identified the bodies."

The photos were horrifying. Burned, hacked, faces beaten until the features were obliterated.

"The Black Collar Militia is being coined a white supremacy group; they're actually closer to a

homeland terrorist organization." Ian stepped forward at that point. "You have all the information

in your files. Black Collar is centralized in Texas, but it's moving swiftly into neighboring states.

Rodriguez was only the most public figure they've targeted. Several so-called accidents at plants

and manufacturing firms that use legal as well as illegal aliens have occurred. Owners have been

kidnapped, tortured, their family members have had a variety of suspicious accidents, some fatal,

some not."

"And no one has identified the members?" Travis Caine, formerly British Secret Service, spoke

up then, his light blue-gray eyes narrowed as he stared back at Ian, then Jordan. "Isn't that a bit

unusual?"

"Each investigation focusing on them has ended in cases abruptly closed, or agents dying. This

group has at least one highly placed government informant, perhaps more."

"Public support of immigration laws is growing," Nikolas Steele, formerly Russian Special

Forces, said then.

"Nothing's perfect," Jordan breathed out roughly. "But this." He pointed to the image of the dead

agents. "Has to stop. Our job is to identify and interrogate the commander of the group located

here, in Alpine. All signs lead here."

"We have an Israeli, an Irish immigrant, and a Russian," Noah said. "We should be able to target

interest."

"We also have this," Jordan stated, and the screen flipped a satellite view of the garage Rory and

Sabella owned.

Noah stared at it silently, aware of the looks directed his way.

"We keep her out of it," he grated out.

"That's not possible, Noah." Jordan sighed. "Her name is already in it, as you know. The garage

itself is a target. Profitable, a central point for gossip, and in the past months showing a measure

of growth. The last report those field agents sent in was that Malone Service and Repair was a

target. Owned by Rory and Sabella Malone. That report stated there were plans to either

incorporate Sabella Malone into a marriage with one of the central figures or kill her and Rory.

We can't overlook that report, and we can't just keep Sabella Malone out of this."

"Why target a gas station?" the Israeli Mossad, hard-core ice, Micah Sloane, asked the next

question. "It's not busting millions. Why not open their own station and use it for whatever they

need Malone's for?"

"Malone's is established," Noah answered the question. "Started by Nathan Malone, a man most

people in that town either respected or feared. It would be above suspicion for the movement of

arms or the laundering of funds."

"Bingo." Ian stared back at him coolly. "Several suspected BCM members have tried establishing

relationships with her. The only one to have shown progress is this man."

Duncan Sykes's picture showed up on the screen.

"Duncan Sykes. Owner of a profitable electronics business in town. Never hires aliens, illegal or

otherwise. Known to have been a close, personal friend of Nathan Malone's before his death.

Sykes as well as Mike Conrad, another friend of Malone's. were mentioned in that final report,

which, I should point out, disappeared within days of transmission to the D.C. office, just before

the agents' disappearance."

"High level," John Vincent murmured. Code-named Heat Seeker, the Australian Special Forces

soldier had pissed off the wrong group in Australia.

"Very high level." Jordan nodded. "Alpine is a central base, we bust it, gather their head generals,

and we can backtrack it straight to D.C. and our leaks. That's our mission, gentlemen."

"Nik and I will be in the garage," Noah stated, still staring at the aerial view of the garage. "Initial

information is that two of the mechanics are BCM. If Malone's is one of their primary targets,

and Sykes is a general, then we'll see how they like being screwed back."

Sykes was gone. Noah would make certain there wasn't a chance in hell that Sabella would

continue that little friendship.

"First phase, information only," Jordan ordered them. "We'll meet back here in a week, see what

we have and then go from there. Travis will be at the college as a professor of English history.

John, you and Micah will cover. You're just drifters out for a good time. Target the bars, the

college hangouts where they recruit from, and you'll also be backup."

Micah and John nodded to that. They made damned good shadows. All of them did, but Micah

was a master at it.

"Durango team is in place to provide backup as well if we encounter trouble. Other than that,

we're on our own," Ian told them. "We have six weeks to complete this mission, because in six

weeks, we have this."

The screen changed again. The letter was simple, to the point. Addressed to the owner of a

manufacturing firm in Dallas that hired legal aliens from around the world. The message was

clear. He had six weeks to ensure his firm hired naturally born Americans only, or he'd pay the

price.

"The owner of this firm is who?" Micah asked.

"The owner of this firm just happens to be a financial supporter of Helping Hands, an

organization that encourages multinational growth and harmony." Jordan smiled tightly. "Boys,

meet one of your employers."