“Yeah.”

“With rush hour, it’ll probably take me an hour and a half to get there.”

“Roger that. And thanks.”

Shane disconnected without a reply.

Pulling the phone from his ear, Rixey prepared to eat his next big helping of crow. His next of three. Only question was whether Beckett Murda, Edward Cantrell, and Derek DiMarzio would give him the same chance as Shane.

And there was only one way to find out.

BECCA CAME AWAKE on a gasp, the sensation of being watched sending her heart into an immediate sprint. After her bath, which she’d had to keep on the shallow side because of the stitches, she’d curled up on the couch and turned the TV on for background noise while she’d waited for Nick to finish with his calls and his friend Miguel to arrive. But the combination of her recent lack of sleep and the aftereffects of the attack at the hospital had made it impossible to keep her eyes open. Her nap hadn’t been particularly restful, though, as nightmares kept jolting her into bleary-eyed consciousness. She pushed up onto her elbow and found Nick standing at the foot of the sofa.

“Sorry,” he said.

She shook her head and slid into a sitting position in the corner, her knees tucked up underneath her. The puppy was curled on the floor in front of her, and she only opened her eyes long enough to make sure Becca was still there. “Everything okay?” she asked. Nick’s expression was like a storm, dark and turbulent, but she had no idea what could’ve caused it. Before her bath, he’d seemed quiet, almost pensive, but not agitated the way he did now.

“Everything’s fine.” His hands curled into fists.

She wished she knew how to help him, how to lighten whatever load he carried. Oh, who was she kidding? The load she’d pretty much dropped on top of him. Becca patted the leather cushion. “Sit with me?”

On a tired exhale, Nick settled into the far end of the leather sofa. He braced a still-booted foot against his knee. After hours of being in his own home, he still hadn’t fully relaxed. She was half surprised he wasn’t wearing his holster.

For a moment, she allowed herself to admire him—the strong profile, the curl of dark hair at his neckline, the band of ink around his thick bicep, the way the black denim clung to the bulk of his thigh muscles. He was so freaking gorgeous, it was hard not to look at him.

But it wasn’t just the physical, impressive as that was, that drew Becca in. He wore weariness like a second skin, maybe one he didn’t even realize he’d donned. She saw it in the tense set of his broad shoulders, like they bore an unseen weight. In the shadows of his yellow-green eyes, which never quite reflected humor or happiness even in those rare instances when he smiled. As someone who’d experienced way too much loss, Becca knew what grief felt like, the way it both hollowed you out and weighed you down. As a nurse, she was used to seeing people in pain. She knew what it looked like. The loss, the grief, the pain—it was sitting right in front of her. And it made her feel closer to him, or at least it made her want to be closer.

“I’m sorry about all this,” she said.

He looked her way. “What?”

Becca shifted toward him. “I pretty much just crash-landed into your life.”

He studied her for a long moment, something dark flashing behind his eyes, then he nodded. “I just hope I can help.”

“You already have.”

Without the least attempt to shield it, Nick ran his gaze over Becca’s body, clad in a plain lavender shirt and jeans. She shivered under his avid interest, as if it had been his fingers responsible for the exploration. Heat ran over her flesh, remembering all too well how good his touch felt. God, they’d come so close to having se—

“Are you okay, Becca? When I came into that room, and he had you halfway out that door, a blade in your side . . .” His hand gripped tight around his ankle and he looked away.

She scooted herself onto the middle cushion but stopped shy of touching him. His body almost vibrated with tension. “Nick, look at me.” When he did, she smiled. “We don’t know each other well, right? But I promise to be honest with you.” His brow furrowed, and she rushed to explain her words. “I want you to know that, especially with everything you’re doing for me. So, in the spirit of honesty, I’m ready to crawl out of my skin over Charlie, my joints ache, these damn stitches sting like crazy, and my headache still hasn’t gone away. And I’m pissed as hell about . . . all of it.” She reached out and placed her palm on his forearm, stroking her thumb over the corded muscle. “But I’m okay. By morning, the worst of the aches will be gone. Until then, ibuprofen is my friend.”

His jaw ticked and his gaze fell to her hand. “I don’t know all the details yet, but I think Miguel’s worried we can’t trust the police.”

Can’t trust the police? Blood rushed through her ears until it thumped out an echo of the quickening pace of her heart. She forced herself to take a calming breath, not that it really worked. “Then how can we—”

“I called some friends, the remains of my team. Your father’s team,” he said, an odd tenor to his voice.

Her mouth dropped open. She’d never met any of the men on her dad’s A-Team. Heard a few stories, but that was about it. By the time she became an adult, her father’s deployment averaged over three hundred days a year. Sometimes she thought the other SF guys were more his family than she was. “The other four.” Without meaning to, her gaze dropped to his tattoo. With the six soldiers.

He nodded. “They’re all on their way. Three of them will be here tonight.” He looked at the chunky black watch on his wrist. “Probably within the next hour or so. The fourth is flying in tomorrow morning. These guys are the best. We’ll come up with a plan to figure this thing out.”

The news was good, a relief even, and prickled over Becca’s skin. “Wow. That’s . . . amazing.” But didn’t it also mean that . . . “Wait. If you guys are going to go after whoever has Charlie, whoever attacked me . . .” She searched his gaze. “Without the police . . .”

“If Miguel’s suspicions pan out, there’s no other way to do this now but off the grid.”

Becca’s stomach dropped. “But you could get in trouble. If something happened, you guys could—”

“You’re already in trouble, Becca. We can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt that.” She shook her head. “But why would they do this for us? Me and Charlie, I mean.” Why were these strangers dropping what they were doing and coming here? And how could she ask these men who’d already sacrificed so much to give even more? She frowned, guilt making her head throb harder.

“Because I asked them to. Simple as.” Something dark and protective flashed behind his eyes.

It’s for Charlie, Bec.

Becca latched onto that thought and hugged it tight. Maybe their camaraderie with her father drew them to this, the desire to help their fallen commander’s family? “Okay,” she said, finally. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you. Any of you. I don’t think this is the kind of thing where a case of your favorite beer suffices.”

“Don’t thank us yet. Come on, why don’t we go downstairs?” He rose, scaring the puppy awake. “I’ll introduce you to everyone when they get here. In the meantime, you can harass Jeremy.”

Becca smiled. “Well, with an offer like that.” She scooped the shepherd into her arms and stood, her muscles protesting the movement after lying there so long. “What do you think of Phoebe?” When he frowned, she nodded to the dog.

He grimaced. “Too . . . dainty. Or something. And the ‘ph’ is weird. How ’bout Spike? After those ears.” He rounded the couch and headed toward the door.

She followed after. “I’m not sure you get this whole naming concept. Boys get boy names. Girls get girl names. She can’t be a Spike.”

He shrugged as he opened and closed the door for her. “Better than Phoebe.” They made their way downstairs, where, much to Nick’s consternation, they had to pause to let the puppy out back to do some business.

The evening air had a chill to it as they stood in the gravel watching the dog sniff every blade of grass around the edge of the lot. Where are you, Charlie?

“I need to get a leash and a collar for her. And food. And all the other stuff a dog needs,” Becca said, trying to distract herself. Jess had run up to the convenience store and bought a small bag of food earlier, but it wouldn’t last long. “You know, when I decided to keep her this afternoon, I thought I’d be going home again.”

His gaze cut to hers. “It’s no trouble.” He shrugged and watched the dog’s dark silhouette. “We always had dogs growing up.”

She hugged herself. “Yeah? Us, too. What kind?”

“Just mutts. But they were awesome.”

Becca nodded and pressed her lips together to keep from uttering the awww that nearly slipped out. Something told her Nick wouldn’t love being thought of as sweet. “Come on, puppy,” she called, clapping her hands. The dog loped out of the darkness toward them.

“What about Killer?” he said as he opened the back door. “That’s gender neutral.”

They crossed the stairwell hallway, and Becca couldn’t decide whether to laugh at Nick or ask if he’d been dropped on his head as a small child.

Inside Hard Ink’s lounge, Jeremy sat at one of the tables drawing against a sheet of dark purple tracing paper. “What are you crazy kids doing?”

“I’m trying to pick a name for the puppy, and your brother isn’t helping.”

Smiling up at her, Jer said, “You can put her down if you want.”

“I don’t know. Last time I did that she ended up uncovering sex secrets.”

Jeremy barked out a laugh as Jess called from one of the tattoo rooms, “I heard that!”

Joining Jer at the table where he was tracing a large cross with a banner and flowers around it, Becca put the dog on the ground. “What are you doing?”

“Creating a stencil that will transfer the outline of the design to a client’s skin.”

“Oh. So you don’t just freehand it?”

“There is a style of tattooing called freehand, but that refers to drawing with markers directly on a person’s skin instead of stenciling on the design. Either way, the tattooist has a guideline on the skin. You really gotta know what you’re doing to freehand without any lines. I’d never do it. The skin’s just too pliable.”

“Oh.”

Flicking at his lip piercing, he looked up at her. “You got any tattoos, Becca?”

“No.”

He grinned. “Want one?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She glanced at Nick, who was studying her, like he was waiting for her answer, too. Man, the thought of his hands drawing on her . . .

“Well, you just ask, darling, and I’m your man.”

Nick unleashed a sigh that was almost a growl, and Jer just laughed. Most of the time, Nick was so reserved. She kinda adored his brother’s ability to get under his skin, not to mention Nick’s apparent displeasure at Jeremy’s flirting.

“So, I have another question,” she said, changing the topic. “What do you think of Phoebe for the dog’s name?”

He finished tracing a line and glanced up at her, his face thoughtful. “How the hell do you spell it?”

Nick held out his hands. “See.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, yeah.”

Jess stuck her head out of her room, her shoulder-length black and red hair braided to the side. “I still vote for Tripod.”

Becca chuckled. “That’s . . . terrible.”

Jeremy snickered. “Or Hopalong.”

“You guys!”

“Skippy,” Nick said, a smirk forming on his sexy lips.

“Three-Speed,” Jeremy said in a completely serious voice.

Both the guys burst out laughing.

“Hey, what about Trinity?” Jess called.

Becca glared at the idiot men. “Thank you! A semi-serious name, finally.” She held her hand out to the dog, who came over and gave a few wet kisses. “You guys be nice or I will totally sic her on you. Look at her, you’d never even know she was missing a leg the way she gets around.” And it was true. She was mostly pretty steady on her feet.

The older Rixey finally managed to pull himself together, though it was hard to really be mad at him when he almost never laughed like that. He leaned his elbows on the table and looked her way. “Becca? I’d like to catch Jeremy up on everything if you don’t mind.”

She glanced between them. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Jeremy paused from his drawing. “What’s up?”