“I had places to be.” Guess clearing his mind didn’t work. “Where the fuck is everyone? I thought this was an ops meeting, or was I wrong?”

“When did you start wearing a watch?” Parker spun round in his chair, regarding him with even more curiosity.

Shit. Should he just wear a sign that said hook, line, and sinker, or just fess up that there was a woman in his bed he wasn’t fond of leaving. He rubbed a hand over his face.

“Never mind. Just ready to wrap this up. This job’s been a headache.”

“Dude, you are a headache. Since when did you give a shit about complications? I thought you fed off pandemonium.”

There were Grade A assholes who’d fucked with him and Mia. He could forgive someone going after him. But not her. Messing with her earned a place in his crosshairs.

Winters flashed Parker a shut-the-fuck-up glare when Jared walked into the room, filled to his eyebrows with the usual piss and vinegar. He was an Army Ranger and had been trained by the best to be the best. The military got all they could out of him before he took his Chief Motherfucker in Charge attitude and turned into a very tidy profit for all involved.

“He has a point, Winters.” Jared studied a topography map on the table.

“What? That I don’t wear a watch? Or that first one in didn’t turn on the coffee?” Winters glared at Parker.

A few other men shuffled into the room, and they all took seats around a large table, bitching about the ungodly time of day. Parker spread out a handful of glossy papers, and everyone shuffled through the pile. Jared nodded to Parker, signaling for him to begin.

“I retrieved shots from the traffic cameras, toll booths, and security footage at the places Winters stopped.” Parker took some photos from the men and arranged them in chronological order. “Airport. First motel.”

Everything looked legit. Parker could pull any picture anywhere there was a camera. That was for sure.

He pointed to additional shots on the table. “These two men followed Winters from the Nation’s Capitol to Derby City. They’re employed by Juan Carlos Silva. A Colombian cartel. They trade mostly women and drugs.”

Jared growled. “I’m sick of cartel kingpins trafficking girls.”

Aren’t we all?

Parker tossed out another photo. “This ugly fucker is Diego Cortes, reportedly one of Silva’s top men. He was behind the grab at the airport. Probably panicked after you dismembered his team and hired a couple of street punks to fill ranks. He also came after you at the second motel.”

The guys were shuffling through the eight by ten glossies. Winters didn’t need to see them. He lived it. He caught a smirk from Parker.

Parker laid out another photograph, very deliberate, and tapped it. “Here’s the karaoke bar where Winters engaged them. Police records indicate Cortes and another man were found dead in a car trunk.”