Shane was concerned that Zenko might hear about the FBI raid on his apartment from one of his cronies at Fort Bragg. If the guy was at the cabin, he’d be in the wind before the FBI caught up with him again. Shane not only wanted Zenko to pay for his crimes, he was also pretty sure the guy would roll on this Evi1Geni-us asshole faster than green grass through a goose.

He glanced sideways.

Yael was not exactly chatty Cathy. He was used to Cowboy riding shotgun and, off duty, the guy never shut up. Or Scotty… His gritted his teeth together to fight the punch of emotion that wanted to hit him, over and over again. Each blow felt like a fresh wound.

And now Kurt Montana…

Fuck.

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten through the last twelve hours. Mainly by not thinking about his friends and concentrating instead on this case. Finding Scotty’s killer was his entire reason for being right now.

He’d told Sloan that he was going to assist Yael with online searches. The task force leader had looked relieved he was getting out of her way. So he’d misled both women and now he felt like a giant asshole, but at least he was a strategic one.

If they didn’t find anything at the cabin then neither Sloan nor Yael would be any the wiser that he’d been a little economical with the truth. If Zenko was at the cabin, then HRT could be deployed while Shane and Yael observed from a safe distance. The task force would be so happy with the rapid break in the case that Sloan wouldn’t ream him out. This was the theory anyway.

Shane had decided to drive his own vehicle. It looked a lot less government issue than Yael’s SUV and although it might not sport bulletproof glass, he was confident in his ability to keep her out of immediate danger. They’d stopped by her house to grab rain gear, then his place to do the same. He’d insisted she come inside because leaving her in the truck seemed like an unnecessary security risk. It had felt weird though and he didn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman there. He wasn’t big on entertaining. He was on-call almost all the time which tended to ruin any social life except grabbing a beer or watching a game with his FBI or HRT buddies.

He’d quickly changed into black tactical pants, hiking boots and a lightweight fleece and had come into the living room to find her staring at the framed photographs he had of his family hanging on the walls. He hadn’t seen any photos at her place but she’d only just moved in.