Cade
I barreled through the doors to Shadow Force MMA, turning right at the reception desk to the office wing. The gym was an old 1940s strip mall that had been bought in our names and renovated, complete with a warehouse in the back for the fighting cage with plenty of room for spectators, locker rooms, and a gun range. On the left side of the strip mall were the dorms, set up for us to sleep in during long cases that required round-the-clock monitoring. Most of the team members had their own houses or apartments, but we had an individualized space set up for each of us and an occasional guest just in case.
I’d bought a house about an hour outside of the city, a refuge of sorts to go to when things were slow. That was seldom, but the small cabin on the lake was the perfect getaway. My mind shot to Piper and what it would be like to take her there. She’d always loved the water. Would she be impressed with the place?
Those thoughts would get me nowhere. For all I knew she was married or a hardened criminal. The way she’d handled that situation had not screamed innocent bartender.
Scanning my card and placing my palm on the biometric scanner, I entered the office suite and rushed down the hall to Ryder Blake’s computer room and office. He was a computer genius—a little wet behind the ears and the youngest among us at twenty-seven, but no one compared to him when it came to anything technological. We’d stolen him from the CIA shortly after we started Shadow Force, and his former superior was still spitting nails over it.
Ryder was at the bank of computers, hard at work on some task Levi no doubt had him on. I hated to interrupt, but I needed answers.
“Hey, Blake!”
Ryder’s attention never wavered from the monitors. “Yeah, Montgomery, what can I do for you?”
Straight shooter. I liked that.
“I need everything you can find on a Piper Jo Collins, thirty-one years of age. I need a current address, which is somewhere here in Atlanta, and what the hell she’s been up to for the last twelve years.”
Ryder’s fingers stopped moving momentarily as he turned his attention to me. “Is this personal?”
“Not entirely. I knew her a long time ago. Ran into her at the bar. She claims she’s a bartender, but the way she just handled two of Chavez’s men and four members of El Sangre, I’m going with federal agent or former military. No way in hell she’s just a bartender.”
Levi leaned against the door of the computer room, arms crossed over his chest. “I thought I heard you come in. What’s up?”
“Remember my foster sister I told you about?”
“Yeah—Pippa or Poppy or something like that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Piper.”
Levi smirked. “Yeah, Piper. You had the hots for her. Came back to Atlanta to whisk her away, and she’d split.”
“Thanks for the trip down memory lane. Something like that. Anyway, she’s a bartender at Tino’s—only I got the distinct impression she’s not just a bartender. Juan Carlos and Santiago killed two members of El Sangre tonight. Somehow, she managed to stand down both Chavez’s guys and the two remaining gang members. Police were called. I managed to get Juan Carlos and Santiago freed, but she still had the gun trained on the two El Sangre guys when I left.”
“You left her there with two gang members from El Sangre. Unprotected?” Levi looked pissed, but he hadn’t seen her in action. No one was getting by her. I could see the resolve in her eyes. If they had moved, she’d have shot them.
“Police were close. She had it under control.”
Levi jerked his chin in response. We trusted each other. If I said she had it under control, he trusted my judgment. It’s why we worked so well together.
“So, you’ve got Blake running tabs on her?”
“Yeah. I need to know what she’s been up to the last twelve years since we saw each other. I have a feeling she’s not a school teacher.”
“Feels kind of fishy that she wound up here in the same neighborhood as you. That connection to your past could bite you in the butt.”
I’d already worried about that. My cover wasn’t very deep. Nothing was hidden except who we currently worked for. I was a disgraced DEA agent, let go for an op gone bad. Varga would be the only one who would question my current loyalty. But he hadn’t been heard from nor seen since the night he’d blown up that warehouse. We’d traced him to a small private airport in Miami, but the flight log had been deleted. Whether he was dead or just on the run was anyone’s guess.
“Let’s find out who she is and what she’s doing here. Or at least who she works for. Then we can make decisions from there.” If she was legit, it shouldn’t take long to figure that out.
“Sounds good. You ready for tomorrow night’s fight?”
I’d never stopped practicing MMA, even after I landed the job with the DEA. Fighting was how I’d paid my way through college. I kept up my skills and had earned a reputation as one of the best amateur fighters out there. With the launching of Shadow Force MMA, we’d stepped things up a bit, and I was in the best shape of my life. Going pro wasn’t an option for me, but that wouldn’t keep the gym from producing some legit fighters in the future. For now, I fought the big opponents, bringing in a ton of money for the gym.
“I’m ready. About to hit the bag now and spar with Oscar later on.”
Oscar Cortada was another operative on our team. He’d been in the Army Special Ops stationed in South America, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic working side by side with the FAST team for the DEA, a foreign-deployed advisory and support team to intercept drugs on their way to the United States. Henry Washington, advisor to the president and the person we reported to, had sent his profile to us a few short months after we were operational, and we’d jumped at the opportunity to bring him on board. It hadn’t hurt that he could hold his own in the ring.
“Think he’ll kick your butt this time?”
“Hasn’t happened yet,” I smirked as Levi slapped my back. “Let me know when you find something, Blake.”
“Sure thing.”
I worked my way back to my dorm room and changed into my workout gear. Grabbing my hand wraps and gloves, I stayed in the middle portion of the gym where we had rows of bags sitting across from a state-of-the-art weight room and machine area with mirrors that lined the walls.
I slammed my fists into the bag, adrenaline leaving my body through the sweat rolling down my back. I imagined Varga’s face as my gloved hand landed a solid blow to what would have been his cheekbone. I envisioned the sound of the bone cracking under my skin. It wasn’t a cage fight I was picturing. No, it was a fight to the death. His death.
My mind shot to Piper Collins, and I faltered, missing the bag and nearly landing face-first against it. Breathing heavily, I thought about the last time I’d seen her before I’d left. She had promised to wait for me. We’d made plans to explore the tension that was snapping between us, to see what it was and where it might lead. I’d been gone for nine months, and when I’d pulled into the drive of my foster father’s home, he’d met me on the porch.
Piper had left. She wasn’t interested in a life with me. She’d wanted nothing to do with me. And I’d walked away—never looking for her even though it killed me. I knew I’d never be able to see her happy with a husband and kids. It would ruin me. So, I lived in ignorance, never expecting to see her again.
And now she was in Atlanta. Why? Did she know I lived here? Was she looking for me? I tamped down the hope that was trying to spring up in my soul.
I released the bag, swinging it back and driving my fist through it so hard the chain holding it broke, and the bag fell to the floor.
Piper Collins had broken my heart once before.
I wasn’t about to let her do it again.