Page 51 of No Mistake

“But you know the name.”

“My sister knows him. She mentioned him when she was here. They’re friends. That’s it.”

Tracer smirked. The Ryan Baxter he remembered did not do “just friends” with women. There would be more to it than that. But he stayed silent. Now things were beginning to make a lot more sense. Explained why Ryan was at the sister’s house.

“Good to know.”

Chloe nodded, then walked into her room and closed the door. Tracer locked it, feeling like a fucking asshole, before he went downstairs to untie Perez and play nice.

SHARKEY’S WAS HALFWAY between Coronado and the new house he’d secured. Dawson was sitting at the bar when he walked in. The place was a dive. But everyone here minded their own business, more interested in getting wasted than who was sitting next to them. Tracer glanced around, checking to see if Dawson had brought anyone with him, but none of the patrons looked like special ops. As he got closer, he noticed a slight bulge in the waist band of Dawson’s jeans, under his t-shirt. Strapped. Interesting. Navy SEALs were not allowed to carry when not on a mission.

He slid onto the stool. Dex signaled for another beer without looking at him.

“Thanks for coming.”

“What can I say? You piqued my interest.”

“Then I’ll get straight to the point. You know anything about the Vitelli Cartel being here?”

“Why would I know about that?”

“You still do private security. Seems like a job you might take, if it was offered.”

“Work with a cartel?”

Dex turned to look at him. “If they pay the right price. Does it matter who they are?” he challenged.

Tracer felt the familiar anger bubble in his gut.

“And that makes me a bad person?”

“You tell me.”

Tracer took a swig of beer. “I didn’t choose to get booted out of SEALs. A man has to make a living. So you can take your holier than thou attitude and shove it.”

“You got injured, Tracer. Could have happened to any of us. You were out of SEALs, but you didn't have to leave the Navy. That was your decision.”

“What was I going to do? Sit behind a fucking desk for the rest of my life? I was never going to be cleared for active duty, and you know it. Men like you and me, we aren’t built to be paper pushers.” He unconsciously rubbed his leg. The dull ache was always there.

They drank in silence for a few minutes.

“I’ll see what I can find out about the cartel,” he said, testing to see Dawson’s reaction. It didn't take long.

“Bullshit. It was you at the fucking house, wasn't it?”

Was Dex testing him now? Fuck, he liked this man, always had. After his leg got torn up, Dex and Ryan visited him. They’d stayed in touch until he’d shut them down. Not wanting reminders of a life he was no longer a part of.

“You know, what I find interesting is what were Navy SEALs doing raiding a house on US soil? And why are you here now, strapped.”

“So, it was you.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“Special assignment.”

Tracer chuckled. “Shame. Thought maybe you’d gone the merc route. Was going to offer you a job.”

“There’s no amount of money that would entice me to help a fucking Mexican cartel sell weapons to be used against our brothers. Oh, and kidnap an innocent fucking woman.”

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