Engaging his Enemy (Shattered SEALs #4) - Amy Gamet Page 0,33

of his control.

Everything that mattered was out of his control. He hated that it was true, that he couldn’t control his brother any more than he could control Davina or Wyatt, and he squeezed his hands into tight fists.

Sloan rounded a corner and walked toward them. “Fireworks,” he said. “Just like the manifest said. No actual explosives, just plenty of explosive material.”

Razorback shook his head. “They had to rig it to go off when the door was opened.”

“Of course, but so far, they can’t find any evidence to prove that. It just looks like one hell of an accident.”

“And the fifty-gallon drums?” asked Moto.

Sloan shook his head. “Acetone. Commonly used in the manufacture of methamphetamines. Not sure of the ignition source yet.”

Moto turned to Razorback. “What do we do now?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. Either there really is a ship full of drugs, and it’s still out in the ocean someplace, waiting to dock, or there never was a ship.” He shook his head. “I don’t buy that one. We know DeRegina’s distribution network was completely cut off when his operations at the Port of Savannah were shut down. It makes sense he’d have more on the way.”

“You think he did all this to throw the feds off his scent so he could bring in the real shipment without attracting any attention?”

“It’s possible. But I got a call from Agent Spaulding with the DEA about an hour ago. He not-so-politely told me to keep my men away from DeRegina in the future and to leave the detective work to the professionals.”

“Ouch,” said Sloan.

Moto knew how much that phone call must have cost Razorback’s pride, though it did nothing to reduce the respect he personally felt for the other man. “So, anything we do from here on out, we do ourselves.”

Razorback met his eyes. “Or we listen to Spaulding and stay away from DeRegina.”

Moto put his hands on his hips. “I’ve got to fight this fight, with or without HERO Force. It’s personal for me. I have to stop my brother before he does any more damage.”

“And what if you can’t stop him?” asked Razorback. “Like I said, you can’t control other people, Moto. You can’t strong-arm them into doing what you want simply because you want it.”

“I’m staying.”

“Then you know we’re on your six. But it’s going to be dangerous. DeRegina and his men are like a bunch of angry wasps, and the DEA’s been hitting their nest with a baseball bat. We go in there now, we’re not going to get away with a few extra scars and a fucking concussion.” He stood. “I’m going to check on Trace. See if we can get his banged-up ass out of here before nightfall.”

Sloan followed him. “I’ll come with you.”

Moto stared into space, the weight of all that had transpired resting firmly on his shoulders. Razorback was right. If they went after DeRegina themselves, someone was bound to get hurt. Maybe even killed. As much as he didn’t want to be responsible for that, he knew his HERO Force teammates would have his back no matter the danger that entailed. They were brothers, even more than his own flesh and blood.

Where the fuck was Ben? He covered his face with his hands and pressed his fingers into his temples. Maybe he’d never see him again. Maybe he’d show up during a showdown with DeRegina’s men, fighting for the opposite side. Maybe he was long gone, running real estate deals in a new town, laundering more of that bastard’s drug money.

His phone vibrated. He had a text from Ben, as if his thoughts had conjured the electronic message.

Confirming our appointment for nine a.m. tomorrow for the appraisal of your riverfront property.

His mind immediately conjured up a picture of a dilapidated wooden shack a half an hour outside of town, its beams damn near resting on the ground. His parents had bought the property the summer before their death, with great plans for its renovation.

Moto had no idea what happened to it after he left Houston, but he knew exactly what Ben was telling him. He wanted Moto to meet him tomorrow morning by the river, and he wasn’t able—or willing—to speak freely.

He texted Ben back.

I’ll be there.

18

It was unnaturally dark and pouring furiously by the time Moto knocked on the door of Davina’s house, his clothing drenched from the short walk from his car to the covered porch. A gust of wind blew hard at his back, bringing more water with it.

He’d