Raider held the outside door open for the charming computer expert, his gaze automatically scanning the area for danger. Dim streetlights cut through the dark night, illuminating the barren area. The wind blew pine needles across the dew-covered grass, landing against an ancient picnic table placed beneath trees in an odd and deserted park next to the nearly vacant parking lot. The lone building, erected sometime in the late seventies, was set among trees about an hour outside of DC.

The Homeland Defense Department didn’t want Angus Force’s small unit to be comfortable, that was for sure. That was fine with Raider. He might wear thousand-dollar suits once in a while, but most of his life, he’d felt lucky if he had food in his belly and some sort of roof over his head—especially if nobody wanted to hurt him right at that moment.

Of course, pain came from unexpected places. He placed his hand at the small of Brigid’s back and then grinned when she jumped. “We’re engaged, Irish.” His hand remained in place. “You’ll need to get used to me touching you.”

She hurried her walk. “Whatever.”

Skittish, wasn’t she? He easily followed the redhead toward his truck, which was parked in the center of the lot. Her skin was warm beneath her blouse. Keeping her off balance was necessary. It’d be easier if she wasn’t so damn likable. They’d forged a natural friendship, and he actually trusted her, which was odd for him. It made his job more difficult.

She was smart, and now that she had her feet under her with the Deep Ops unit, she was starting to ask questions. Ones that showed she saw beneath the surface. He needed to be careful with her. With what he showed her. His single goal was to bring down the Coonan family, and if that included her father, so be it.

An energy-efficient light green car whipped into the lot, and Raider instinctively pivoted to put Brigid against his truck, blocking her with his body. The car lurched to a stop, rocking slightly. The door opened, and Clarence Wolfe unfolded his six-foot-six frame with the grace of a panther on the hunt.

Raider fought amusement. The guy looked like he’d gotten out of one of those crazy clown cars. “What the hell are you driving?”

Wolfe’s blunt features widened in a smile as he drew out a tray holding three lattes, complete with mounds of whipped cream covered in sprinkles. “I was undercover, watching Dana’s six. She was meeting with a source.”