Normally the consortium met four times a year. This meeting was unscheduled and unexpected. With one member missing, Pappy knew something serious was about to be discussed. He also thought he knew what it was.

It was the tallest man in the Savile Row suit who said the dreaded word aloud. The word sanction ricocheted around the room. A unanimous vote on a sanction was nothing to be taken lightly since it meant death to the individual being sanctioned. Pappy waited for further details. They were so simple that they didn’t surprise him.

Normally, the men left such details up to Pappy. This time they were unanimous when they said the new class of trainees would take care of the problem as soon as their training was finished. The reason—all other agents were on overload. Time, they said, was not a problem. Nine months wasn’t that long to wait.

The man in the Savile Row suit stood up. Business was finished. He looked around for dessert, coffee, and the Havana cigars. They appeared as if by magic.

Another hour passed before it was time for the quartet to board the cable car that would take them to the foot of the mountain.

When the cable car made its descent, Pappy walked to his bench in the compound and lit a third cigarette before he handed Alpha his rawhide chew. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to figure out how he was going to enforce the sanction that had been ordered.

Chapter Eight

Eric Hawkins stared in outright awe at his teammates, knowing he was going where no man had gone before him. Five women were including him as one of their own while they plotted and schemed. If he hadn’t been so stunned at being privy to what they planned, he would have cut and run. He knew right at that second that every wild tale he’d ever heard about women was true. He also realized he didn’t have a devious bone in his body—unlike the five women who were eyeing him with suspicion.

“What?” Olivia snapped. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet over our little plan!”