In His Sights

The dead guy was in his midthirties, obese and starting to bald. His features were familiar, but he wasn’t sure from exactly where.

There was no way anyone from the Gray Wolves could have known where he would be, or with whom, unless they had been following him. It didn’t seem possible. This man had to be here for her.

Which brought him back to the reality that, regardless of any feelings he held for the woman, he couldn’t do anything about them. He had to find out the truth and that was that.

He sent a quick email, with picture, to his people at the CIA and followed it up with an email to Zoey. Between his teams, it would only be a matter of time before he had an ID on this guy. Meanwhile, he had to get her out of this apartment and out of New York.

Only one safe place came to mind—Montana.

The Widow Maker Ranch, his family’s new acquisition, was the safest place he could think of. There, they would be surrounded by family and out of the limelight.

However, if Mindy was more involved in the underbelly of the gun world than he assumed, it might well be like inviting the fox into the henhouse.

There were plenty of people on the lookout for him and his family. There had to be a bounty on their heads.

He couldn’t bring trouble back to his family.

But where else could he take her? She was a somewhat well-known figure in the world, had been in her fair share of magazines as an up-and-coming heiress to the H&K fortune. He had even once seen her on the pages of People at a benefit at the Met. Anonymity would be hard to come by.

She was a major liability no matter where they went or what he chose to do with her.

His phone buzzed with an email from his handler at the CIA acknowledging what had gone down. Thankfully, they would take care of the body and get rid of any evidence once he and Mindy left.

At the far corner of her closet, there was a rack of men’s suits and incidentals. He glanced down at his towel. He had planned on calling out for fresh clothes, but they didn’t need anyone else coming or going from this house.

He grabbed a pair of the suit pants and a white button-up shirt. He’d have to go commando. Even if he found some skivvies around there, putting on another man’s underwear was a step too far. The pants were a size too large and the shirt was a bit snug in the shoulders, but both would work well enough to get them out of this place and onto a flight—anywhere away from here.

He grabbed her a pair of jeans and a comfortable-looking shirt. The top had little blue flowers, bright and cheery but still tasteful—just like the woman it belonged to. Hopefully, he wasn’t way off the mark and she’d like what he’d picked out. He glanced down to the clothes she had dropped on the floor. They were similar. Good. But what if they would remind her of what happened?