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  To all the men and women in uniform

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Starting a new series in a new genre is always tough. I have a lot of people to acknowledge for helping me make this book possible. My heartfelt thanks to:

  Julia for your help with the Russian translations and making sure I get it all right.

  Crystal and the SMP art department for the gorgeous cover that so rocks my world.

  Brant, Marissa, Amy, and the others in the marketing and publicity department—y’all are the bomb!

  Monique Patterson for continuing to push me because you knew I could do it.

  Natanya Wheeler for believing in this series and me.

  PROLOGUE

  Late July

  Natalie smoothed her windblown hair from her face as she entered the restaurant in downtown Dallas. Dakota’s had superb steaks, and it also happened to be one of her favorite places.

  She was seated at a table for two near the vast windows while she tried to contain her anxiety. Pulling out a compact from her purse, she checked her makeup and hair for something to do while she waited.

  Ever since the phone call two days ago, she’d been antsy. She had no idea why she agreed to the meeting. Or why the hell she was a ball of nerves.

  Liar.

  Natalie briefly closed her eyes and sighed. Fourteen years hadn’t dulled her feelings. Everyone said it was just a high school fling she would soon forget.

  To help her get over it, her mother attempted to push her to marry into Dallas society. Natalie’s answer was to leave Texas altogether for college. That’s where her life took a drastic turn and opened a plethora of possibilities.

  Somehow, she found herself back in Dallas. It still made her shake her head in wonder. Though she loved her job. It was the only thing in her life she did enjoy.

  “Natalie.”

  She looked up to find a tall man with cowboy boots, starched jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a gray tweed sports coat standing at her table. Atop his head of dark hair was a black Stetson. He hastily removed the cowboy hat and held it against his chest as he shot her a charming smile.

  “Darlin’, you’ve only gotten prettier, if that’s possible.”

  She smiled and started to rise when he placed a kiss on her cheek. Natalie motioned to the chair. “Orrin Loughman, you’re still a flirt. Please sit.”

  He pulled out the chair and lowered his tall frame into it before he bent and rested his Stetson, top down, on the floor. A quick glance showed that despite being in his fifties, Orrin looked better than most men in their thirties. When he straightened, his gold eyes caught and held hers.

  The waiter’s arrival halted any more talk. Once their drink order had been placed, the waiter walked away.

  “I bet you’re wondering why I wanted to meet,” Orrin said. The smile slipped. His tanned face had more lines of strain and worry than she remembered. His hair, so dark brown it was nearly black, now sported gray at the temples.

  But it didn’t detract. If anything, it made Orrin even more handsome.

  Natalie nodded at his statement. “It wasn’t as if you were at the ranch a lot. We rarely talked in the year I dated Owen.”

  Orrin began to speak but hesitated when the waiter appeared with their drinks. He accepted his bourbon with a nod while Natalie slowly twirled the stem of her wine glass.

  She hated that she’d brought up Owen. She’d sworn she wouldn’t. But when it came to Owen, her mind and heart did as they pleased.

  “My son was a fool to let you go,” Orrin stated.

  Natalie took a drink of the chardonnay and hated the flutter of happiness his statement caused. That joy she’d found so long ago was gone. She needed to remind herself of that.

  “But that’s not why I wanted to see you.”

  Of course, it wasn’t. Had Natalie actually fooled herself into believing Orrin was attempting to bring her and Owen back together?

  She hadn’t seen or heard from Owen since the night of their graduation when he’d dumped her so suddenly. After spending the summer in tears, she’d left him and everything to do with him behind.

  Or so she’d thought.

  She met Orrin’s gold eyes, determined to forget Owen. “Why, then?”

  “I recently learned you work for the Russian Embassy.”

  That caused a small hesitation before she gave a nod. “I do.”

  “In the past year, have you seen or heard anything about Ragnarok?”

  Natalie frowned as she leaned her forearms on the table. “You mean the tale in Norse mythology about the end of the world?”

  “I wish.” Orrin ran a hand across his chin.

  She would never forget how often Orrin had been gone on some mission for the Navy SEALs, leaving his three sons behind with their aunt and uncle on the massive Loughman Ranch.

  He never spoke about his assignments, but it wasn’t difficult to guess that whatever Ragnarok was, it had something to do with a job.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t give me more information,” she urged.

  Orrin’s gaze narrowed. His look was intense, as if he were attempting to read her mind. “Why Russia?”

  She blinked, taken aback by the question. “I learned I have a natural affinity for picking up languages. Russian and Italian are my favorites. I did so well, I was offered a job in St. Petersburg.”

  “And the embassy?” he pressed.

  “As a Westerner, I wasn’t always looked upon favorably in Russia. It became more and more challenging to work there. So, I returned to Texas. That’s when the Russian Embassy contacted me. I’ve been there for the past seven years. Now tell me what the hell this is about.”

  Orrin pushed aside his bourbon. “You’re sure you haven’t heard of Ragnarok?”

  “Positive.”

  “Do me a favor. If you do, call this number.” He pulled out a business card with the Loughman Ranch insignia and slid it across the table.

  Natalie picked up the card and turned it over to see a phone number. “Do I need to be concerned?”

  Orrin blew out a deep breath. “We all do, darlin’.”

  That didn’t help. If anything, it made dozens more questions pop into her head. They all rushed in at once, and while she was sorting through them, finding which one she wanted to ask, he carried on as if he hadn’t just mentioned a clue to something she suspected was highly classified.

  Orrin tossed back his bourbon.

  “Tell me more,” she urged.

  He opened the menu, winking at her over the top. “I’m starving.”

  That was Orrin’s way of politely telling her she would get nothing more from him. There was no more talk of Ragnarok, missions, or Owen. For the next hour, Orrin asked enough questions about the past fourteen years to keep her talking nonstop.

  But she didn’t quit thinking about Ragnarok or what it could be.

  By the time he walked her to her car, she wished she’d known Orrin better fourt
een years ago. The time with him today had been beyond pleasant. It made her long for the past.

  And worry.

  Whatever Orrin knew was important enough to seek out the ex-girlfriend of his middle son. Not something Orrin would do lightly.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Natalie walked into her boss’s office to get a stack of files when she saw an open report on his desk. Her gaze landed on one word halfway down the page—Ragnarok.

  CHAPTER ONE

  September

  The blades of the chopper cut through the air with a whomp, whomp noise that Owen Loughman had come to find soothing. He sat back with his eyes closed in the seat of the Blackhawk helicopter, trying to figure out why he’d been pulled from his mission with his SEAL team in Afghanistan.

  Not surprisingly, he’d been told exactly nothing.

  He cracked open an eye and glanced at the cockpit. The two men piloting wore solid black. No military designation. No adornment of any kind. Obviously CIA.

  Owen had witnessed—and experienced—his fair share of craziness since becoming a SEAL. CIA agents thought they kept themselves under the radar. It was the biggest load of shit. Everyone recognized them immediately.

  It wasn’t the fact that he hadn’t gotten details of why he and his team had their mission halted after a week in the desert. It wasn’t that he’d been shoved onto a plane in the Middle East without explanation. It wasn’t even that no one had so much as looked at him since he’d landed in the States and was promptly put on the Blackhawk.

  He was a Navy SEAL. He was prepared for anything—any and all surprises. No, the unease had everything to do with the CIA. He didn’t trust the government bastards.

  The disquiet feeling that saved his life countless times began to stir. He blew out a breath and opened his eyes as he turned his head to look out the open door of the chopper.

  Texas.

  He would recognize his beloved state anywhere. He hadn’t been back in … he had to stop and count … ten years. He couldn’t believe it had been that long. Where had the time gone?

  The last time he’d seen Texas was the day he’d graduated from the University of Texas and joined the Navy. From the time he was in junior high, he’d known he would make his life in the military. It was who the Loughmans were, dating all the way back to the Revolutionary War.

  He’d been the only one to follow in his father’s footsteps and choose the Navy, though. Wyatt, his older brother, chose the Marines, along with Cullen, his younger brother.

  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spoken to his brothers. Their family wasn’t close. He blamed it on their father, because it was easy. Though in truth, the fault lay with each of them.

  The chopper began its descent. His gaze took in the rolling hills and the cattle scattering to get away from the noise. Then he spotted the two-story, white house with black trim that brought back a flood of memories.

  Home.

  He rested his hands on his thighs covered in desert-colored cammies, wishing his gun hadn’t been taken from him in Afghanistan. Just what the hell was he doing back home?

  The Blackhawk landed a hundred yards from the house. The pilot turned in his seat and looked at Owen through the tinted screen of his helmet. “We’ve reached your destination, Lieutenant Commander.”

  He unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his pack before jumping out of the open doors, his gaze perusing the area as memories flooded back. No sooner had his feet hit the ground than the Blackhawk was airborne again.

  He glanced up, watching the chopper disappear. Then his gaze slid to the house. It looked … empty, desolate. Which couldn’t be right since his aunt and uncle lived there.

  Owen took a deep breath of the fresh Texas air. And stilled. He smelled death.

  He hurried to the side of the house and squatted, flattening his back against the porch railing. Quietly, he lowered his pack to the ground before he cautiously looked around the corner.

  Aunt Charlotte’s numerous hanging plants that she lovingly cultivated still dotted the wrap-around porch, swinging in the breeze. An empty rocker teetered.

  It was quiet. Too quiet.

  He silently crept to the front steps. If anybody was there, they were inside the house. He glanced behind him. The open landscape allowed him to see anyone coming. The scattered trees were large enough to hide a foe, but even they were too far away for someone to surprise him.

  Except for the oak out back. He would have to tread carefully there.

  He hurried up the five steps to the porch and flattened himself against the house beside the front entryway. Slowly, he opened the screen door. Just in time, he recalled the squeak if opened all the way.

  Keeping away from the glass inset into the wood, he rested the frame of the screen on his forearm as he put his hand on the knob. Then, with a deep breath, he twisted and gave a slight push.

  The heavy door opened noiselessly. When no gunfire erupted, he peeked inside the house. When he saw nothing, he quickly entered, his hand catching the screen to close it without a sound behind him. He moved to the side of the foyer and listened for any noise.

  The house remained as soundless and still as before. On silent feet, he walked to his left. He glanced up the stairs but chose to look around the ground floor first. The front room, the one his mother had used as a music room, had been turned into a formal living area by his aunt.

  His gaze searched the space. As if pulled to them, he spotted two holes in the wall. Bullet holes. A sinking feeling filled him.

  For long seconds, he stared at the marred drywall, hoping it was his mind playing tricks on him. But there was no denying the truth that was before him. Had his father’s work once more followed him home? It infuriated him that Orrin hadn’t taken precautions to keep his family safe as he’d promised.

  Moving to the wall, he touched the holes. The bullets had been removed, but by the size of the openings, he surmised they were 7.62mm. Military grade.

  His eyes slid to the next room. He knew what he would find. His mind screamed for him to turn and walk away. The house had seen so much death, and as always, he was the one to find it.

  He hadn’t run away when he was a boy. He wouldn’t do it now. Though his years with the SEALs had shown him unbelievable ways a person could kill—and be killed—nothing could compare to knowing it had struck your family.

  Again.

  Owen swallowed and walked through the doorway to the large living area with the eight-foot-wide stone fireplace. The first thing he saw was the blood. It coated the recliner, which was also riddled with bullet holes.

  He clenched his jaw, anger kindling in his gut. His fears were confirmed. Uncle Virgil and Aunt Charlotte were dead. As he stood in the living room where he and his brothers had watched TV, opened Christmas gifts, fought, and played, the primal side of him—the beast the Navy had shaped and trained—demanded justice.

  Justice his mother hadn’t gotten.

  He slowly turned the haze of rage and anguish into cold fury that could be directed with reprisal so horrible the screams of the men who had killed his family would reverberate in Hell.

  Pulling his eyes away from the recliner, he slowly moved around the living area. Debris from the gun battle littered the floor, making it so he had to carefully choose where to set his feet so as not to make noise.

  He reached the arched double entry into the kitchen and felt his chest squeeze in fury. The shooters had found Aunt Charlotte there. By the dough still on the counter, she’d been making her famous bread. The blood pool on the floor was large, as was the pattern of splatter on the walls.

  A floorboard creaked behind him. He whirled around, his arm jerking up and back to hit the intruder. At the last minute, he recognized the dark gold eyes and stopped his assault.

  “Wyatt.”

  His elder brother gave a firm nod in greeting. “Owen.”

  He frowned as he looked at Wyatt’s face covered with a thick beard. His dark hair was unkempt and lon
g. Wyatt stood still as stone, his gaze moving from one place to the next.

  Having gone undercover enough times himself, Owen recognized the reason for Wyatt’s appearance. His brother had always been quiet. A loner. Only the Loughmans knew the cause.

  And no one spoke of it.

  Now, Wyatt appeared even more serious, if that were possible. He was leaner than Owen remembered, more lethal and vicious. Wyatt wore black camo with no insignia. So that’s where his brother had disappeared to. Delta Force.

  Despite Wyatt’s icy demeanor, not even he could hide the anger that sizzled in his eyes or the way his hands clenched at his sides.

  Men like he and Wyatt knew only one way to seek vengeance—blood. Whoever had done this to their family was about to see just what the Loughman brothers were capable of.

  Wyatt stepped around him into the kitchen and stopped next to the pool of blood. His gaze remained on it for a moment before he met Owen’s gaze. “There’s nothing upstairs.”

  He opened his mouth to speak when the sound of another chopper filled the air. Both brothers hurried to the front of the house. Sliding against the wall, they peeked out the windows to see another man in green fatigues appear in the doorway of the Blackhawk.

  “I’ll be damned,” he murmured when Cullen jumped from the helicopter before it landed.

  Cullen’s cap was pulled low over his face as he stood staring at the house. He didn’t move even as the chopper took off, the sound fading quickly.

  Owen looked at Wyatt to find a frown on his brother’s face. Nothing ever changed. He pushed away from the wall and walked out the front of the house. The sight of his younger brother brought a smile. Too bad the reunion was tarnished with death. But that seemed to be the curse of the Loughmans.

  Cullen dropped his pack from his shoulder and smiled when he caught sight of him. Owen jumped off the porch and met Cullen halfway, enfolding him in a hug.

  They pounded each other on the back in greeting. He then held his younger brother at arm’s length and looked into hazel eyes so like their mother’s as Cullen removed his hat. If he thought Wyatt had changed, it was nothing compared to Cullen.