Kandahar,Afghanistan
Three weeks later…
Van satin the shadows of the quaint little coffee shop in downtown Kandahar. Watching. Waiting. And hoping like hell the intel his team had received wasn’t a steaming pile of bullshit.
According to the information he and his team had been given, their target frequented the local establishment, using it as a neutral place to meet with men she’d hired to kill. But it had been three days, and so far, there was no sign of Kaamisha Dawari.
Just as he’d done the past three days, Van kept to himself, not talking to anyone else around him. He’d purposely chosen this seat, not only for the low lighting in this area of the coffee shop but also for its proximity to its entrance.
If the Dawari woman showed, he’d know it. But so far…
“It’s been three days, Van.” Logan’s voice filled the tiny mic in his right ear. “Maybe we should call it and regroup when we have better intel.”
He used the now-cooled cup of coffee in his hand to conceal his moving lips. “We’re not fucking calling it,” he spoke quietly as he took a small sip. “She’ll show.”
“Is that your Spidey senses telling you that, or do you know something we don’t?” Lucky chimed in.
The grip on his glass tightened, but he kept control of his frustration toward his smartass teammate and his expression as casual as before. “I’m telling you; she’ll be here.”
He got that the other men were chomping at the bit to finish this thing once and for all so they could get back home to their wives. Hell, Logan and Nat’s kid was only a few weeks old, and Chase and Scottie had barely been married a month.
But this wasn’t about weddings or babies. This was about justice. For Hunter. For all of them. And he’d be damned if, after all this time, they packed up their shit and gave up.
Not now. Not when they were this close to catching the bitch responsible for Hunt’s death and the end of their careers as decorated SEALs.
“One more hour,” he compromised. “She doesn’t show up by then, we’ll call it a night and regroup.”
“One hour,” Logan agreed. “Not a minute more.”
Van settled back in his chair, prepared to spend the next sixty minutes hanging out in a place he was getting damn tired of seeing. While he sat here, trying not to look suspicious or like some creep, Logan and the others were living it up at a hotel two blocks over.
Thank God for satellite phones.
The thought took him off guard because, well, Van didn’t believe there was a God. There’d been a time in his life when he did, but…not anymore.
Oh, he used to believe. Was even known to pray to the Big Guy on occasion. But that was before everything he’d ever cared about was ripped viciously away. Before Van truly understood the true evil that was ever-present in this fucked-up world.
If there was a God, He wouldn’t have let Hunter die. If there was some higher being out there somewhere, looking over all those who were good and pure, then…
My wife and son would still be alive.
So, no. Van no longer counted on a supposed god for any sort of guidance. He hadn’t for a long damn time.
Instead, he relied on his extensive training, experience, and instincts to survive. They’d gotten him this far, and he didn’t see any reason to change course now.
The minutes ticked by as he sat waiting and hoping, but an hour later, there were still no signs of their target. True to his word, Van gave in, finally agreeing to call it a night.
They’d try again tomorrow. And the next day, if it was necessary. In fact, Van would park his happy ass in this same shadowed spot every day for the next fucking month, if that’s what it took.
Because this mission wasn’t like the others he and his SEAL brothers had taken on. This job was personal. A vendetta long-past overdue.
He started to get up, grabbing the half-empty cup he’d planned to toss on his way out. The door to the shop opened, and a woman walked inside.
Van froze, his heart slamming against the inside of his chest. It was her. The Dawari woman was standing less than ten feet from his table.
The woman who’d done more damage than she’d ever fucking know.
“She’s here,” he slowly sat back down, not wanting to draw attention to himself. “Our target just walked through the door.”