Colton's Deep Cover

  Tate hesitated.

  “You need me,” Derek said firmly. “And I’m not letting you do this alone. I’m going with you, bro.”

  After a moment, Tate caved. “Fine. But we do it my way. If I say jump, you jump. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” He had an afterthought. “Should we bring Emma in on this?”

  Tate’s features hardened. “No.”

  “Why not? I thought the department was working with the Feds on this case.”

  “We are, but...” Tate’s voice went hoarse. “We don’t know who the girl is, Doc. I don’t want Emma there, in case...”

  It dawned on him then. “In case the girl is Hannah Troyer,” he finished quietly.

  Derek understood Tate’s reluctance to involve Emma. Hannah was the younger sister of the man Emma loved. Who knew what condition they would find Moreno’s patient in? If the girl was Hannah, Emma would be the one to break the news to Caleb Troyer.

  “It can only be you and me,” Tate said in a tone that invited no argument. “For all we know, you could’ve misunderstood Moreno’s side of the phone call. This mysterious surgery of his might not have to do with the case.”

  “Yeah, it might have something to do with Chloe,” Derek said harshly.

  Tate hesitated. “What’s going on with that, anyway?”

  “Nothing really.” Ill at ease, Derek drifted toward the kitchen, hoping his brother wouldn’t follow him.

  But Tate stayed right on his heels, his blue eyes burning a hole in Derek’s back.

  In the kitchen, Derek slid onto one of the tall stools at the eat-in counter, while Tate leaned against the fridge, continuing to study him with suspicion. “What do you mean, ‘nothing really’?”

  “She’s still staying at the ranch.”

  “And?”

  “And she’s decided to file for divorce and get a restraining order against Moreno.” He gritted his teeth. “She’s determined to go back to California to straighten everything out.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

  “I don’t want her anywhere near that psycho,” Derek snapped. “She can straighten things out here. She doesn’t need to put her life at risk by facing that man.”

  Tate let out a soft whistle. “Wow.”

  “Wow what?”

  “You’re really protective of her. Like more protective than usual.”

  Derek shrugged, focusing his gaze on the ceramic bowl of apples on the granite counter. “Your fruit is starting to rot,” he remarked. “You should toss it.”

  “And you should know better than to change the subject.” Tate leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”

  “That’s none of your business, Tate.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” His brother cocked his head. “Are you in love with her?”

  Panic streaked through him. “Of course not.”

  “Why do you say it like that? Would it be so bad, being in love with her?” Tate asked quietly.

  He swallowed. “Chloe is a wonderful woman, okay? She’s smart, kind, beautiful. And I...I respect her.”

  “That’s it? You respect her?”

  “I like her,” he amended. “I like her, respect her, desire her, but love? That’s not what this is about.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  Derek faltered. Damn it. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings for Chloe. Not when he himself didn’t even understand them.

  “I don’t know,” he finally said.

  Tate must have decided to take pity on him because he dropped the subject. “Are you sticking around here until we go?”

  Shaking his head, Derek slid off the stool. “No, I want to head back to the ranch and talk to Chloe first. She was trying to book a flight to L.A. earlier, and I’m not convinced I managed to talk her out of it. I want to make sure she stays put until we investigate this warehouse thing tonight. If Felix is involved with those missing girls, I don’t want Chloe confronting him just yet.”

  His brother shrugged. “And if he is involved, she might not have to confront him at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’ll be in jail and out of her hair.” Tate shot him a pointed look. “And then she’ll be free to be with you.”

  Derek’s answering silence had Tate sighing again.

  “Look,” Tate said roughly, “I don’t know Chloe very well, but I saw the way she looked at you when she came over for dinner and again when I stopped by your place the other night. The woman cares about you, Doc. She cares a lot.”

  Derek swallowed.

  “And you know I’m not one to dish out love advice, but clearly you need to hear this. Women don’t like to guess what the man in their bed is feeling. So if you love Chloe, tell her.” Tate’s expression went somber. “If you’re not honest with her, Derek, you’re only going to lose her in the end.”

  * * *

  When Derek walked through the front door a couple of hours later, Chloe instantly knew something was up. His face was grave as he said, “We need to talk.”

  Of course. She’d been expecting this ever since he’d hurried out of the kitchen earlier as if he were being chased by a wild dog. She knew her decision to go back to California had upset him, but Chloe didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t stay at the ranch any longer. Derek’s inability to tell her how he felt about her or what he wanted out of their relationship told her more than she wanted to know.

  As he led her into the living room and gestured for her to sit, a feeling of foreboding rose up her spine. His sober expression and unblinking eyes hinted that more was at stake here than the uncertain status of their relationship.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded as she settled on the couch.

  “You can’t leave the ranch.”

  She frowned. “We already talked about this. I’m going to California—”

  He cut her off. “This isn’t about California or the divorce or anything we talked about this morning. This is serious, sweetheart. You need to stay at the ranch, at least for one more night.”

  “Why? What’s happening?”

  “I followed your husband today.”

  She gave a sharp intake of breath. “What? Why?”

  “I wanted to confront him,” he said roughly.

  Her eyes widened. “I told you not to do that!”

  “I know, but I wasn’t going to let you go back to L.A. I planned on taking care of it, but things got...complicated.”

  “What does that mean? What the hell is going on, Derek?”

  With a deep exhale, he told her.

  Chloe’s pulse raced as his words registered in her brain. “Felix might be involved in the disappearance of those girls?”

  “It sure as hell sounded that way.”

  Wave after wave of shock slammed into her. Her head spun like a merry-go-round, making it difficult to focus on any one thought. Her husband was a potential player in a sex ring. How was that even possible?

  If it were true, then that meant Chloe had never really known her husband at all.

  “Wait a minute,” she burst out, suddenly grasping one of the details Derek had sprinkled in during his explanation. “You and Tate are going after him alone?” Disbelief flooded her belly. “That’s insane! You need to involve the police.”

  “Tate can’t get a warrant to search the warehouse. So we’re going to investigate on our own and call for backup depending on what we find.”

  “Fine. Then I’m coming with you.”

  Derek blanched. “No way.”

  She shot to her feet, angrily bearing down on him. “Yes way. If what you’re saying is true, and Felix is performing a surgery, then you’ll need another medical professional on hand. Who knows what shape the girl will be in?”

  His features strained. “This is too dangerous for you.”

  She glared at him. “But it’s not dangerous for you?”

  “Chloe—”
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  “I’m going with you,” she interrupted. “You might need my help with the patient.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. It took Chloe a second to realize that what she saw in those gorgeous brown depths was not anger but awe.

  Her cheeks heated. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  His eyes shone brighter as he took a step toward her. Lifting a hand to her cheek, he ran his fingertips along her skin. “I’m looking at you because I’ve never met a woman as strong as you.”

  He shook his head in amazement. “You constantly surprise me, Chloe. The way you jumped in and helped me tend to Violet’s injuries last month. How you opened your heart to Sawyer even though he reminds you of everything you’ve lost. Your determination to raid a warehouse tonight just in case a patient might need your help.” His fingers traced the seam of her lips. “Tell me, sweetheart, how could you ever consider yourself weak?”

  Surprise and pleasure mingled in her blood. “Maybe I just need to start seeing myself through your eyes.”

  When Derek leaned in to kiss her, she couldn’t find the willpower to resist. His lips brushed hers in a fleeting caress, evoking the familiar rush of heat, the sensation of pure and utter belonging that Derek instilled in her.

  Breaking the kiss, Chloe touched his cheek and smiled. “Thank you for seeing the strength in me.”

  His voice came out gruff. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now, about tonight—”

  Her expression hardened. “I’m coming with you,” she reiterated. “If that kiss was meant to distract me or make me forget about your plans, it didn’t work, sweetheart.”

  His lips twitched in humor.

  “I’m serious, Derek. If Felix is hurting those girls, I’m going to help you stop him.”

  * * *

  This entire “operation” was a bad idea.

  As Tate glanced at his two passengers, he wondered how the hell he’d gotten roped into bringing along not only one civilian, but two. Nevertheless, he had to give Chloe Moreno credit—she refused to back down, even when Tate had threatened to throw her in the trunk of the car if she didn’t go back to the ranch.

  In the end, she’d agreed to wait in the car while he and Derek investigated the warehouse, although not before she’d weaseled a promise out of Tate that if her medical skills were needed, he’d call her in.

  Tate had parked the sedan across the street from the warehouse, behind an oversize Dumpster that ensured they remain out of sight. From his vantage point, he spotted three cars in the gravel lot on the other side of the road, including Felix Moreno’s Lexus. There were no windows on the north-facing exterior of the building, but a pale glow spilled from under the front doors, indicating activity on the inside.

  Reaching into the glove compartment, Tate handed Derek a nine-millimeter Beretta. Although Derek was the only Colton who’d chosen a career that didn’t involve a gun, Tate knew his brother had a permit to carry.

  “Remember how to use this?” Tate asked briskly.

  Derek rolled his eyes. “You think I can ever forget all those times you and Gunnar dragged me to the shooting range?”

  “It’s a precaution,” Tate reminded him. “Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to.”

  “Damn. I was hoping to go on a shooting spree.”

  “Was that a joke, Doc?”

  “He’s been doing that a lot lately,” Chloe piped up from the backseat. “I know, right? I didn’t think he was capable of humor, either.”

  Tate hid a smile. He suspected Derek’s mellowing had everything to do with the woman who’d just spoken, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He didn’t understand why his brother couldn’t admit that he had real feelings for the pretty blonde, but Tate was confident Derek would smarten up soon. He usually did.

  All traces of humor died as he cast another look at the warehouse. Dread circled his gut like a school of sharks. What would they find beyond those doors? Who would they find?

  “All right, let’s do this,” Tate said in a low voice. He glanced over his shoulder. “Stay in the car, Chloe, and don’t get out unless Derek or I call. You’ve got your cell?”

  She held up her phone, her expression all business.

  “Good.” With a nod, he slid out of the driver’s seat, then adjusted the shoulder holster containing his weapon.

  He and Derek both wore black shirts, trousers and boots. They had no coats, but Tate barely felt the chill in the air as they cut across the street toward the warehouse. Earlier in the day, he’d managed to get his hands on the blueprints for the building, thanks to a far-too-trusting clerk at the city’s zoning office. He’d discerned that there were two ways in: the double doors out front and a door in the rear. The back entrance involved a series of hallways that eventually led to the main space of the warehouse; Tate figured it was their best option in terms of catching anyone off guard.

  “Stay behind me,” he ordered.

  He and Derek crept alongside the chain-link fence bordering the side of the building, making their way to the back. A minute later, Tate let out a soft curse when he discovered the rear door was boarded shut.

  “Front door it is,” Derek murmured.

  They rounded the building, staying close to the wall as they neared the entrance. Not a single guard manned the double doors; obviously Moreno and his people didn’t feel they needed any protection. Unless the bulk of their man and firepower waited beyond those doors, Tate thought uneasily.

  Tate signaled for Derek to watch his back, then ducked through the front doors, praying they wouldn’t creak. Fortunately, his entrance was soundless, and he didn’t encounter a solitary soul as he stepped into the warehouse. A single lightbulb dangled from a string above the entryway; its glow revealed paint-chipped walls and a floor covered with dust and wood splinters. The building used to house a woodshop, according to Tate’s research.

  He stepped deeper into the cavernous space, Derek hot on his heels. Both men drew their weapons when murmured voices wafted out of a hallway to the left.

  Exchanging a look with his brother, Tate slunk toward the source of activity. The voices grew louder, words becoming less muffled and more terrifying.

  “She’s under.”

  “Vitals?”

  “BP, one-twenty over eighty.”

  “Jesus, look at what that animal did to her...”

  Tate felt queasy. Unwittingly, the image of Hannah Troyer’s

  beautiful face flashed across his brain. He’d never been a religious man, but in that moment he couldn’t help but utter a silent prayer.

  Please, God, don’t let it be her.

  Standing flat against the wall, he peered into the corridor. Crap. A bulky man clad in camo pants and a bomber jacket stood guard in front of one of the doorways in the hall, a sleek black Glock in his hand.

  Tate ducked out of sight. “Guard at the door,” he said in a barely audible voice. “Need to take him out.”

  “How?” Derek whispered.

  He set his jaw, his gaze scanning the floor. When he spotted a splintered piece of what looked like a chair leg, Tate bent down and picked it up. Taking a breath, he threw the piece of wood at an aluminum ladder leaning against the wall a few yards away.

  Derek jumped as the ladder toppled over with a deafening crash. “What the—”

  A second later, the guard burst out of the corridor. Just as he turned the corner, Tate came up behind the beefy man, clapped a hand over his mouth and slammed the butt of his gun into the back of the man’s head.

  Unconscious, the guard dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

  “Nice,” Derek murmured, looking impressed.

  Tate offered a small grin, which faded the moment he made his way to the doorway the guard had been covering.

  “Vitals are stable,” came a crisp female voice.

  Inhaling, Tate opened the door and peered into the room.

  And nearly keeled over in shock.

  He felt like he was watching a mac
abre episode of some medical television drama. An impromptu operating room had been set up in the high-ceilinged space. Overhead surgical lights illuminated a large operating table surrounded by stainless-steel tables bearing surgical instruments, an anesthesia cart and various blinking monitors.

  Three people occupied the room, all wearing lime-green scrubs, white surgical masks and booties on their feet. One sat near the patient’s head, the anesthesiologist, Tate deduced. The other two hovered over the table, talking in hushed whispers. Moreno and his nurse.

  “Retractor,” the surgeon barked.

  The female next to him placed an instrument in his gloved hand.

  Tate’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he watched Moreno lean forward. The silver instrument he held gleamed in the overhead lights, flickering like a mirror in the sun as he lowered his hand to his patient’s face.

  The patient.

  Tate couldn’t see the patient.

  Wait...there. Moreno shifted, revealing a still figure lying on the table. Her face was red and swollen, unrecognizable. A white plastic cap covered her hair.

  Tate’s mouth went dry. God, what color was her hair? Hannah had such beautiful red hair. What color was the girl’s hair, damn it?

  “Scalpel,” Felix ordered.

  As the nurse placed a silver blade in Moreno’s open palm, Tate snapped out of his panic-induced trance and sprang into action.

  Charging toward the table, he raised his gun and yelled, “Philadelphia Police Department! Put your hands in the air!”

  A shocked silence fell. The only sound in the room came from the monitor next to the table, a sharp, steady beeping indicating the patient’s heartbeat.

  And then chaos broke out.

  “Oh, God!” the nurse shrieked.

  The anesthesiologist jumped off his chair and tried to make a run for it, only to halt like a deer in headlights when Derek raised his own weapon and shouted, “Don’t move!”

  The man froze.

  “Step away from the table!” Tate snapped at Moreno.

  He rushed forward, keeping his gun aimed at the surgeon and nurse and leaving Derek to handle the remaining man.

  Thanks to the mask he wore, Tate could only see Moreno’s eyes, those dark pupils that suddenly flashed with fury.