One dead girl, one scared witness, and two men trained as Navy SEALs. Whether searching for justice or revenge, the final showdown between them is the same–explosive.

The sequel to Guarding Morgan

Dale MacIntyre, former Navy SEAL, works for Sanctuary. He's the acting handler for a member of the Bullen family's inner circle. He's close to obtaining the evidence he needs to prove Elisabeth Costain's death was ordered by them… until someone gets in his way.

Joseph Kinnon, active Navy SEAL, is back on US soil for the first time in months, and he's told the tragic news that his stepsister is dead, gunned down in an alley by an unknown assailant. He's determined to find out who murdered her… until someone gets in his way.

They both want the same thing but have different methods of accomplishing their goals. They both want the Bullen family brought to account, but one wants justice and the other wants revenge.

What happens between them, however, has nothing to do with either.

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“Morgan Drake?” he said firmly. The guy didn't move, and Joseph took another step and poked with the muzzle of his gun at the sheets. Nothing there except a tangle of cloth, and he straightened just as he felt the press of a muzzle against his neck. Fuck. Rookie mistake. So focused on the lack of the witness he had misjudged the scene. He knew better than to approach a situation halfassed and exhausted.

“You can drop the gun now, sailor,” a strong firm voice said simply.

Joseph weighed up his options. The press of the gun was firm, controlled, and the owner of the gun wasn't shooting outright. Clearly he didn't want Joseph dead; otherwise, that would have happened already. He processed the action needed to bring the guy down.

“Why should I do that?” Joseph wasn't letting this lie. The more they talked the more intel he gathered. “I could have just shot the guy I thought was in the bed,” he said softly.

“He's not the person you need to be pointing a gun at.” Still the same smooth tone from the owner of the gun aimed at his throat.

“If it had been Morgan Drake, then I would have kept him alive to ask him questions,” Joseph said softly.

“Hand me the gun, Joseph.” Ah. So it was like that. Whoever had him at gun's length knew who he was. Interesting development. In a split second decision, Joseph flicked the safety and placed the gun in the small of his back. He didn't need firearms to deal with whomever the fuck this was anyway. He was happy to holster the Sig, but hell if he was relinquishing the gun. Slowly, hands raised, he turned to face his assailant, who took a step backwards but still had a gun unwaveringly aimed directly at Joseph. The man's face was in darkness, but Joseph could make out the form as being bigger than him, also taller and wider. What they said was true though; the bigger they are the harder they fall. He knew that better than most. He could have this guy on his knees and begging to live in the time it took for a breath. It was just a matter of waiting for the right time.

The man interrupted his thoughts calmly. “He isn't here. Protocol had him moved as soon as you breached the perimeter. He left with his handler ten minutes ago, and you got me instead.” Joseph hadn't observed the exit, but that didn't prove anything. The guy with the gun took a step forward, and the streetlight filtering in through the windows half lit his face. They stood in silence, and Joseph catalogued as much as he could in the gloom. Way tall, way wide and firm in stance, the enemy stood silent and was judging Joseph in equal measures.

“Why does he need a handler?” Joseph chose to ask this out of all the questions in his head. The answer to that would at least give Joseph a direction to move.

“That's classified.”

“Bullshit,” Joseph snapped back quickly. “He wasn't called to give evidence; Headley admitted to the murder. Clearly some shit is going on. Is there a hit out on him? Tell me what Drake knows.”