Downstairs Neil appeared to be mobilizing for some kind of war. He and Dillon moved all the surveillance equipment into Blake’s study, along with several large black boxes Gwen assumed held weapons.

She’d given up asking Neil for details. When he’d run into the house and found her packing a suitcase instead of a bag, Neil shoved a bare minimum of clothes into a satchel and rushed her to Malibu.

Dean followed him into the house and the two of them talked for half an hour before Dean left.

All Gwen wanted to do was sleep. Refill her energy reserve and sort out what had happened on this never-ending night.

She took a long, hot shower before climbing into the plush, welcoming bed. As she closed her eyes, she forced the images of hot tubs and death from her mind and focused on the memory of Neil’s embrace.

It took Neil some time to remove the tracking locators for his phone, and on the cars they would be leaving in that night. He set the house system to produce static for ten minutes when he was ready to move. He was doing everything possible to leave the house and keep anyone from knowing about it.

After returning from the Tarzana home, his first thought was to hold Gwen in the ivory tower known as the Malibu estate, and find the man responsible for the neighbors’ deaths…for Billy. Yet as he moved his equipment into the house and rebooted the system, he noticed two stealth cookies locked onto his system.

His state-of-the-art system had been hacked. Hacked so damn well that Neil couldn’t find a physical bug. It had to be there, but he couldn’t see it.

He knew now the reason he never found a problem with the Tarzana lines was because the problems manifested from the outside. The equipment used was beyond his knowledge. Every year the military came up with even more spectacular stuff to make their jobs easier. Ever since the invention of a bug, engineers worked to make them smaller and harder to detect. Well, this one he detected. Neil just couldn’t find the damn thing.

With the news of Billy’s death and the trail of dead ravens following Gwen, Neil knew he wasn’t dealing with just anyone.

Whoever was behind the hot tub murders had a background in intelligence.

Since Billy was dead, Neil had to assume the person could overpower Billy physically as well.

Sitting in the Malibu house was a trap. Neil knew that now. Who knew how extensive this man’s reach was?

Neil’s brief conversation with Blake was met with resistance.

“I’ll fly Gwen back here. She’ll be safe at Albany.”

Neil didn’t agree. The only safe place for Gwen was at his side until he caught this dirtbag and took him down.

“She’s safer here. With me. And before you suggest it, no. Don’t come home early.”

“Bloody hell, Neil. You expect me to sit here while people are ending up dead there?”

No. He expected Blake to come back as soon as the plane could lift off. But that would bring more people to watch over…more people for the killer to go after.

“Remember when we met, Blake?”

Of course he would. It had been the lowest moment in Neil’s life. Six months had passed since he’d limped what was left of his team to safety. Three team members had been blown into so many pieces Neil couldn’t identify them. Billy and Smiley carried Linden out, his left leg severed mid thigh. He died on the way home. His body couldn’t handle the blood loss.

Neil never thought he’d have survivor’s guilt.

Yet he did. He was alive and his men were dead…all because he said to hold the shot until they got closer.

“I remember.”

Neil pulled in his memories, tried to keep what he said as cloaked as possible. Chances were, the man responsible for tonight was listening right now.

“What did I do the next day…after I sobered up?”

They’d met in a bar. And not a place Blake would normally walk into. Blake had returned to the States after his father’s funeral and wanted to remain anonymous while he proceeded to get hammered.

They toasted each other for hours. Two strangers hating life and commiserating with a bottle. Neil had spent six months drinking to forget. He remembered saying that much to Blake.

Neil still wasn’t completely sure just how much he’d told Blake about his time in the military. But somewhere at the end of the bottle, Blake pushed the wrong button.

“So that’s it,” Blake said. “You’re done with life. Gonna spend the rest of it in a shithole like this until you’re one of those vets on the street with a f**king cardboard box?”

Neil took a swing, connected his fist with Blake’s jaw. Blake was on him in seconds. Managed a few good hits, too, but even drunk Neil outmaneuvered the man and had him pinned in seconds. He could have taken the fight further but the problem was, Blake was right.

Neil let Blake go and walked away.

In the light of the next day, once the fog lifted and his headache stopped screaming like a bitch, Neil remembered Blake Harrison and his shipping business. He also remembered Blake saying he thought his personal phone line was bugged but that none of the men he’d hired found a thing.

Within a couple of hours, Neil had a residential address for Blake Harrison and was on his way to Malibu.

He hid under a hat, posed as a gardener, and got on the property without even a dog sniffing at his feet. For a man as rich as Blake Harrison, his security was shit. Neil’s own grandmother could walk on the property and jack his phone line in her sleep. And Nana was in her seventies.

Neil found the tap on the phone, removed it, and waited for Blake to come home.

Neil cornered Blake before he made it to the front door.

“What the hell?”

Neil tossed him the small tap disguised as a line clip.

Blake scrambled to catch it.

“That’s your tap.” It was Neil’s way of apologizing for taking a cheap shot the night before. And maybe a thank-you for waking him up. Because while he was locating Blake, sneaking onto the man’s property and taking out a tap, Neil remembered how much he loved to live. And he forgot…if even for a short period, he forgot about dead friends and body parts.

Blake stared at his hand, turned the clip over a couple of times. “No shit.”

Neil turned away. Ready to walk from Blake’s life forever.

“Hey. How’d you get in here, anyway?”

Neil huffed. “Your security is shit, Harrison.”

“Want a job?”

Neil took the job. But not for the money. Neil had money…blood money is what that felt like. Blake invested Neil’s salary into his own company under Neil’s name. “A retirement fund,” Blake had told him.