Navy Seal Six Pack. Elle James

daughter-in-law.”

      “I heard about that,” Sawyer said. One of the six SEALs at the table, he knew the most about politics. As the son of a former US Senator, he kept up with the political scene, though he claimed he couldn’t care less.

      He always amazed Montana with his insight on what was going on in Washington, DC.

      After the fiasco in Cancun, where someone had attempted to kill him and his father, Sawyer had been a little less adamant about his distaste for politics. With his father now in the equivalent of the witness protection program, starting a new life as someone else, Sawyer had volunteered for this mission, determined to find the person or persons responsible for trying to kill them. “Harmon Whitlow was the undersecretary for political affairs in the US State Department,” he stated.

      Geek nodded and pointed to another dot, this time on the map of the US. “On this date in New York City, a bomb went off near a set of bleachers during the NYC Marathon. Two people died in that attack, over two hundred people were injured and one went missing.”

      “Who?” Kate asked.

      “Emily Brantley, daughter of Trevor Brantley, multimillionaire.” Geek pressed a key on the laptop, displaying a photo of a pretty young lady standing between a man in a suit and a well-dressed woman. “She was running the marathon. When the smoke cleared, she was gone. Her bodyguards had been killed not by the bomb, but by bullets that expertly pierced their skulls.”

      Montana knew about Brantley’s missing daughter. It had been all over the news, with pleas and a reward posted from the Brantleys for their daughter’s safe return.

      Fontaine interjected, “The authorities assumed it was a terrorist bombing by members of ISIS, a copycat of the 2013 attack at the Boston Marathon. We think it was a diversion allowing the bombers to kill the bodyguards and nab the Brantley woman.”

      “How soon after the bombing was Trevor Brantley murdered?” Montana asked.

      Geek pointed to a larger dot on the map in the vicinity of Washington, DC. “On this date, at this coordinate, less than two weeks later, Trevor Brantley was gunned down in his mansion here.”

      Sawyer pointed at the double dots on the Yucatan Peninsula. “Were those the dates and locations of the attempts on my life and my father’s?”

      Geek nodded. “Yes. Obviously those attempts weren’t successful.”

      Becca Smith, her face pale, asked, “Was one of those dots on the nation’s capital the day my father was killed near his apartment here? Is that why there are more dots in the DC area? Multiple killings?”

      Geek’s lips twisted. “The date your father died and the date there was an attempt on his colleague Oscar Melton’s life were both on that list, with the coordinates of the attacks.”

      Montana’s teammate Quentin Lovett slipped an arm around Becca’s waist. “We know the connection between Marcus Smith and Oscar Melton. What connection is there between them and all the others?”

      “Besides investigating the drug and human trafficking issues worldwide, the two CIA agents were investigating these codes. I can only assume they thought they were connected. Marcus Smith was able to mail the disk containing the information to Becca before he was killed. Oscar Melton is still in critical condition in a coma.”

      “We suspect Sawyer’s father, Rand Houston, was targeted because he was on the Subcommittee for Terrorism, Drug Trafficking and International Operations,” Fontaine said. “What we can’t connect is Trevor Brantley and his family to the others. Which leads me to one more introduction, for those who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her.” He turned toward the door, smiled and held out his hand. “Perfect timing. Please, come in.”

      A woman with long dark hair, wearing a tailored gray skirt suit, stepped into the room. Montana remembered her from their operation to rescue women in Cancun. She’d come undercover as a potential buyer. Montana recognized the man following her as Rex, her bodyguard.

      Fontaine took the woman’s hand. “This is Mica Brantley, Trevor Brantley’s widow. Since her husband’s death, she’s made it her mission to find and bring her stepdaughter, Emily Brantley, home.”

      Mica nodded at the roomful of people. “Thank you for volunteering for this mission. I won’t rest until Emily is home safe and my husband’s killer is brought to justice.”

      “Mrs. Brantley was not in the country on the date her husband was murdered in their home,” Fontaine said. “She’s had multiple attempts made on her life but managed to get here despite her pursuers.”

      Mica nodded. “Since Trevor’s death, I’ve lived aboard my yacht and traveled, searching for Emily. I’ll never give up hope of finding her. I love the girl as if she were my own.”

      Fontaine nodded. “She’s taken a huge risk to come back to DC, offering herself as bait to catch the killer.”

      Mica gave a brief, sad smile. “I’ve spent a lot of money and time searching and thus far haven’t found the source of all the tragedy. Royce has been in contact with me since the incident in Cancun. When he learned about the disk, he thought I should know.” She lifted her chin. “I’m tired of running. If I can put myself up as the target, maybe we can flush out the killer, or catch one of his hit men and interrogate him.”

      “That’s a dangerous proposition,” Kate said. “You’re willing to risk your life for this effort?”

      “I am.” Mica turned to Fontaine. “With the understanding that, should I die in this attempt, someone continue to look for Emily.”

      Fontaine nodded. “We’ll do our best to keep you alive and find Emily.” He glanced around, making eye contact with everyone in the room. “We’re all in this together. We have to stop those behind all the murders and attempted murders in this case.”

      As one, everyone in the room nodded.

      Montana’s sense of justice refused to let him back down from this mission. He’d seen the women held captive for auction. No woman, or her family, should be subjected to the horror of human trafficking. He wanted to get to the bottom of the case as much as Mica Brantley did.

      Montana tipped his head toward the screen, ready to get on with solving the case. “What about the rest of the dates and coordinates?”

      “We connected the dots with a couple of ‘accidents,’” Geek said. “Richard Giddings drove off a bridge into the Potomac. He worked with Senator Houston on the same subcommittee. Percy Beardon, an avid cyclist, fell from his bike at this coordinate on the date indicated.”

      “What’s the deal on Beardon?” Duff asked.

      Fontaine shook his head. “His claim to fame was that he was one of the survivors of the Syrian attack on the US Embassy in Turkey a couple of years ago.”

      “Most of the dates are past,” Sawyer said.

      “Like notches on a bedpost?” Quentin asked.

      Montana’s lips twitched. Trust Quentin to make it about sex. The man was an expert ladies’ man and charmer. At least until he’d met his match. Becca had been good for him. She made him work to woo her. And now that they were in a committed relationship, they were seldom apart.

      Montana was glad for his friend. Quentin had needed someone to come home to. He’d settled down and quit going out as much. Too bad they worked so far apart, with Becca based out of Virginia and Quentin out of Mississippi. But then Fontaine didn’t care where his SOS operatives lived, as long as they could deploy at a moment’s notice. Montana suspected Becca would soon base out of Mississippi, to be closer to Quentin when she wasn’t working an assignment.

      Familiar with those conditions, Montana didn’t envy Quentin and Becca’s relationship. As often as SBT-22 was deployed, and given the nature of Becca’s work, the two would be hard-pressed to get together on a regular basis, even if she was based out of Mississippi.

      Montana