Chapter Twenty-One
“We’re a klick up the beach. Ready when you are.”
He crossed to the windows overlooking the shoreline and lifted a pair of high-range binoculars. “Give me a bit to clear the way. I’ll call you when it’s time.”
Earlier, they’d spotted one of the men from the SUV sitting on the beach in jeans, heavy boots, and a T-shirt under a black hoodie. If he was trying to blend in, he wasn’t pulling it off. Everything about him—his clothes, the way he carried himself—marked him as out of place.
The other two were still in the Explorer, parked half a block away in front of an empty house for sale.
From where they sat, they had a clear view of the front of the house and the end of the driveway, but nothing beyond that.
After signing out of work and changing into jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap, Brian had returned about a half hour ago and was now positioned two blocks away in his own truck, watching from a distance.
Lowering the binoculars, he called Sheriff Griffin and asked him to send the beach patrol to move the guy along.
It took about fifteen minutes before a sheriff’s beach patrol pickup came into view, rolling easily across the sand with its big tires toward the target.
The deputies handled it like routine business, approaching without urgency and giving the man a reason to leave that wouldn’t raise suspicion.
KC watched until the guy was off the beach.
His phone buzzed a moment later, and he answered it.
“All three are back in the vehicle,” Brian said.
“Thanks. Let me know if that changes.” He ended the call and reached T3 again. “You’re clear. Make it quick.”
“Copy that.”
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to Moriah. “Are you ready?”
“I guess so.”
Even if the quiver in her voice hadn’t clued him in, her anxiety was written all over her face.
Placing his hands on her shoulder, he looked her straight in the eye.
“Everything’s going to be okay. We handle situations like this all the time—not usually this close to home, though.
Stay with Uncle Dan and keep your head down.
We’ll take care of the rest. I promise this is all going to work out. "
He sent a silent prayer up that it was one promise he didn’t have to break.
He held her gaze a moment longer, then drew her into him. The kiss wasn’t quick or casual. He let everything he felt show in it, not caring that Sean was across the room.
When he pulled back, he didn’t go far. “I love you.”
Her smile came, even with the nerves still there. “I love you too. Please be careful.”
“I will.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Stay here until we’re ready for you.”
She nodded, and he stepped out onto the deck. Spotting two ATVs coming down the beach, he waited as they slowed to a stop on the other side of the dunes. Moments later, two figures climbed the path toward him.
T3 led the way, dressed in back cargo pants and a green long-sleeve T-shirt, a large military duffel slung over his shoulder.
Behind him, Rigby Banks followed, wearing gray sweatpants and a black zippered sweatshirt with the hood pulled low, keeping his face obscured from anyone watching at a distance. He carried two duffels with ease.
KC opened the door and stepped back to let them inside.
Introductions were quick. T3 greeted Sean with a firm handshake before turning to Moriah, offering her a brief, friendly smile that softened his otherwise imposing presence. “Ma’am.” He set his bag on the dining table and unzipped it, already getting to work.
Peanut pushed his hood back and smiled at Moriah, his Southern drawl coming through. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He turned to Sean and held out his hand. “Long time no see.”
Sean clasped it. “Good to see you, Rigs. We appreciate the help.”
“No problem. Always glad to lend a hand.”
Moriah blinked in surprise when Peanut started pulling off the outer layer of his clothes, then relaxed when it became clear he had a T-shirt and shorts underneath. He handed her the sweats. “Here, put these on. This is where you become me, and I become you.”
At her uncertain look, he reached into one of the duffels and pulled out a wig—long, straight, auburn hair that matched hers closely enough to pass at a glance. She let out a small laugh as she took it in, pulling the sweats on over her clothes.
“Don’t worry,” Peanut said. “I brought my own outfit.” He grinned wildly before adding, "But I wouldn’t mind going through your unmentionables."
Her laughter grew, lightening the tension in the room for a moment.
KC growled. "If you do, I'll kill you myself."
His teammate smirked before pulling out more items from the bag.
When Moriah finished getting dressed, KC pulled the hood up and adjusted it around her face, making her features indistinguishable from a distance. She looked up at him, concern filling her Caribbean blue eyes. “Be careful, please.”
He brushed his thumb along her cheek, doing what he could to ease her worries. “I will. Now, let’s get you out of here. Tobias will take you up the beach to his truck and drive you to Dan’s. Stay out of sight until you hear from me.”
With a nod, she rose onto her toes to give him a quick kiss, and then she was out the door with T3 at her side.
KC watched her go before glancing at Peanut. A grin pulled at his mouth. No matter how many times he’d seen his teammate in disguise, it was still hilarious. But Peanut took the others’ ribbing in stride and never let it bother him.
Dressed in bright pink sweatpants and a zip-up jacket, he’d added enough padding under his shirt to give him the outline of a woman. It was convincing enough.
He headed toward the hallway bathroom with the wig in hand, ready to finish the job. Once it was in place and paired with a large set of women’s sunglasses, the resemblance would hold from behind and at a distance. It didn’t have to be perfect—just enough to keep eyes where KC wanted them.
When Peanut came back into the living room, he struck a pose and batted his eyes, pitching his voice higher. “See something you like, big boy?”
KC rolled his eyes. “Knock it off.”
It wasn’t long before T3 returned via the beach with “Trouble” in tow. They’d stashed the ATVs between the dunes of an unoccupied house a few lots north.
Troy Mason stood six feet two and carried solid muscle without an ounce wasted.
Blond hair, blue eyes, and a confident edge made him stand out, whether he wanted to or not.
His reputation matched it. When asked about his nickname, the explosives expert usually gave the same answer.
“Because I bring trouble down on the enemy before they ever see us coming.”
Once they were settled back inside, KC called the sheriff and had him pull beach patrol out of the area.
T3 pulled a handful of small cameras from one of the duffels, each no bigger than a matchbox. He moved through the house, placing them high in the corners of the main room and hallway, angling each one to cover the entry points.
After setting the last one, he handed KC a tablet and kept another for himself. “Live feeds. We’ll be able to see everything from the bedrooms.”
KC took it, watching as each camera came online. Clean angles. No blind spots. Good.
Now they were ready.
Sitting on the sand, Leo kept his attention on the house where they’d followed Special Agent Malone earlier, watching him meet with three other men and Moriah.
The others were unknown, but one carried a weapon in a shoulder holster and didn’t look like someone who’d hesitate to use it.
That had been enough to make Leo hold off for now.
He still needed her alive long enough to find out where the money was.
The two morons he’d been stuck with were in the stolen truck on the road, watching the house from a distance. As much as he hated the sand clinging to his clothes, it beat being stuck in the truck with them and their insults and body odor.
Scowling, he shifted, trying to get comfortable on the uneven sand.
He’d never been to a beach before, and he didn’t see the appeal.
Earlier, he’d wandered down to where the waves rolled in, only to find clumps of seaweed and a few jellyfish washed up along the shore.
It had been enough to turn him right back around.
The air carried a faint fishy tang, the grit got everywhere, and there wasn’t a thing to do but sit and wait.
It was dull, and patience wasn’t exactly his strong suit.
Movement to the north caught his eye. A truck with a lightbar on the roof came down the shoreline, tires cutting through the sand and kicking it up behind. As it slowed beside him, the Dare County Sheriff’s Department markings came into view.
He went still, his gaze flicking toward the path he’d used to get onto the beach. Close enough if he had to make a run for it.
Two uniformed men sat inside, and the driver rolled down his window. “Sorry, sir, but this is a private beach. Someone called it in. You’ll have to move along.”
Leo pushed to his feet but kept his distance from the vehicle. His gaze flicked toward the house Susan’s sister was in before returning to the driver. “Who made the call?”
“Don’t know. Dispatch didn’t say. There’s a public access about half a mile south if you want to head that way.”
“Yeah. Got it.”
He turned and walked back toward the house he’d been using for cover, two lots down from his target.
The narrow path between the dunes led up to the patio and driveway—the same way he’d come in.
At the top, he glanced over his shoulder.
The patrol truck had parked near a jetty, the two men settling in like they planned to stay a while.
Damn it.
He continued along the path, cut across the street, and reached the Explorer. Goon One looked over from the passenger seat as Leo climbed into the back.
“What’re you doing back here?”
“Got pushed off the beach by the cops. Have to wait until they leave before I can get back in position.”
The man’s expression twisted in annoyance as Leo leaned back against the seat, keeping his thoughts to himself. No point stirring things up now. There’d be time enough for that later.
An hour after being kicked off the beach, the patrol vehicle was gone, and their friend from Chicago had returned to his post, this time farther down on a jetty.
Brian called to update KC. The other two had pulled off surveillance, driven into town, and stopped at the local deli. Not long after, they came back with food and parked in the same spot along the road.
Inside, T3, Trouble, and Sean stayed out of sight while KC and “Moriah” stepped onto the porch. They kept their bodies angled so the man on the beach would only see Peanut from behind. Leaning against the railing, they passed a few minutes with casual, meaningless conversation.
A moment later, Sean came out of the house carrying his overnight bag and briefcase—the case now holding two communication headsets—and made a show of saying his goodbyes. As he headed down the steps toward the street where his rental sat, KC and Peanut went back inside.
From the window, Trouble kept watch through the blinds. “He’s on the phone. Probably telling his buddies you and Moriah are still here and alone.”
Peanut pulled off the wig and changed into black tactical clothes. KC dropped onto the couch, forcing himself to relax even though every instinct pushed him to end this sooner rather than later.
“Good,” he said. “Sean will hook up with Brian. If these idiots are as predictable as they look, two will come in, while one stays with the vehicle. We’ll handle the ones inside. My brothers will take out the driver.”
Having known the Malones a long time and trusting them, Sheriff Griffin had agreed to keep patrols off their road unless something went wrong. Brian would give him the signal when things started.
They settled in to wait.
Time dragged. The overcast sky kept the light flat, and as the afternoon wore on, the area grew quieter. Fewer cars passed along the road, and pedestrians and bicyclists had all but disappeared. The beach was deserted, too, except for their lone observer.
Inside the beach house, they stayed relaxed, but the watch never lapsed. One man remained at the window at all times, eyes on the guy out on the jetty, then traded off with the next without needing to say a word. Updates remained brief and low-key, enough to keep everyone informed.
KC moved through the kitchen with purpose.
Between him and Moriah, they’d stocked the place well enough for a few days, so there was enough food for everyone.
He put together a few sandwiches, set them on the counter with chips, then grabbed drinks from the fridge and passed everything out as the others rotated through.
At one point, they fired up the gaming console, and for a while, the low hum of the system and low-volume sounds from the TV filled the room.
They played in short bursts, passing the controller when it was time to take over at the window.
Even then, whoever wasn’t watching stayed aware, listening for any change from the man on watch.
Conversation came and went—nothing important, just enough to pass the time. They settled into a rhythm—watch, switch, and wait.
As evening crept in, the gray sky darkened further, and the road out front grew quiet.
One by one, they fitted their comm sets into place, the small microphones resting along their cheekbones. Everything was ready.
Now it was up to the men from Chicago to make their move.