Stranger Mine: a Base Branch novel Read Free

tossed the monocular into an exterior pouch on his ruck and wiped the sweat from his brow. Silently, he dragged in deep, steady breaths. From the illumination of the rear porch light of the main building, Ryan checked the time. One minute until check-in, a.k.a. midnight. Talk about cutting it close.
    He had exactly thirty minutes to exterminate the rest of the staff, set a rucksack full of explosives, and blow the joint. Before shoving him out the door, the pilot had told him, “Extraction at 0230. You’re not here, we blow you a peace sign to the winds and we’re outta here.” That gave him just enough time to haul ass over a live minefield and swan dive into the Hawk.
    “Fantastic,” he whispered.
    He understood the tight schedule. When running a simultaneous op, you had to run tandem time or run the risk of forewarning your targets. In Ryan’s case, if he stayed too long the full security force could fall on his head and do more than muss his already wild mop. This facility ran on a skeleton staff since the next shipment wasn’t due for two weeks. Plenty of time to cancel the round up when they discovered they didn’t have anyplace to put them. Ryan wiped the smile off his face and checked the time again. Midnight on the dot.
    But not even static crackled the comm-link.
    Ryan’s gaze scanned the area. Not a person in sight. The main house flashed like a pre-cut diamond among dirt. A fancy pad that didn’t belong in the middle of the desert. Truth be told, it didn’t belong anywhere. Too much everything. From the multi-level cascading arch, terracotta roof, and the six-bay garage to the perfectly manicured flowerbeds surrounding the mansion, it screamed Beverly Hills—not Sonoran Desert hills.
    Ten seconds past midnight and still not a word. Apprehension niggled. He studied the circular drive of brick pavers at the back of the house, meeting the garage at the side, and snugging up to the makeshift jailhouse. From earlier visits he knew the front of the house also boasted a paved circular drive. It all made a fancy highway system with gravel walkways and bits of bright green grass between.
    “Team Alpha go.” Khani’s voice sounded over the airwaves. Ryan released the breath he’d held on lock-down.
    Khani Slaughter, his sometimes partner, sometimes head honcho, transferred from the UK division six months ago. She’d said the move was to stay close to her brother, Zeke, who’d taken a spec-ops job stateside, and to get back in the field. The move had given Commander Tucker some dependable back-up while he was away on business and gave him the option of vacation. Not that he’d have shit to do without the job. However, rumor had it she moved to avoid someone very specific.
    Right now, the tall beauty was set to attack the biggest drug trafficking organization in Mexico’s history, the Sinaloa Federation, with a handful of elite warriors and an army behind them.
    After the other four teams gave the go-ahead, Ryan gave his. “Zeta go.” And he went. Hard and fast.

3
    P iper had always hated running . Amazing how circumstances changed a person’s point of view. She’d give Émile Gabrone’s left nut to run ten miles without slowing. Shoot, she’d give that for nothing at all. But Lord, she wanted to run full out. To inhale fresh air. To feel the dry heat slap her in the face. A smile spread across her sweat-slicked mug. One more interrogation and she’d have everything she needed. Then she could do away with the bastard. The only decision left was how she wanted to end his atrocious life.
    The chain clanged in time with her hops. Maybe she’d choke him to death with her jump rope. Jump chain, really. The makeshift exercise tool worked to a point. Double-unders were out of the question. She’d already beamed herself on the forehead too many times to count. A whack on the shin hurt ten times worse. As a result, her timing and jumping skills had grown ten-fold in the last two months.
    Damn good thing