She saw more people come into view. They were all wearing black balaclavas.
They started grabbing the artifacts and stuffing them into canvas bags.
“No.” In her head her cry came out loud and outraged. In reality, it was a hoarse whisper.
“Bag everything,” the cold voice behind her said.
No. She wasn’t letting these thieves steal the artifacts. This was her dig and these were her antiquities to safeguard.
She pushed up onto her hands and knees. “Stop.” She swung around and kicked at the knee of the man closest to her.
He tipped sideways with a cry.
“Uh-uh.” The man with the cold voice stepped into her view. All she saw were his shiny black boots. Before she could do anything else, a hand grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.
The pain made her grit her teeth. Tears stung her eyes. She twisted, trying to pull away from him.
“A spitfire. I do like a feisty woman. Shame I don’t have time to play with you.”
He was behind her and she couldn’t see his face. She tried to jerk away but a hard fist slammed into her head again.
No, no, no. Her vision dimmed, the sound of the thieves’ voices receded.
Everything went black.
Declan Ward strode into the warehouse, his boots echoing on the scarred concrete. Colorado sunlight streamed through the large windows which offered a fantastic view of downtown Denver.
He was gritty-eyed from lack of sleep, and he was still adjusting to being back on Mountain Time.
He’d gotten in from finishing a job in South East Asia sometime around midnight. He’d unlocked his apartment, stumbled in and stripped, and fallen facedown on his bed.
Now, he was headed to work.
Lucky for him, it paid to be one of the owners. He lived above the warehouse that housed the main offices of Treasure Hunter Security.
Most of the open-plan space that had been a flour mill in a previous life was empty. But at the far end it was a different story.
Flat screens covered the brick wall, all displaying different images and scrolling feeds. Some sleek desks were set up, all covered in high-end computers.
There was a small kitchenette tucked into one corner, and next to that sat some sagging couches that looked like they’d come from a charity shop or some college student’s house. Just beyond those, near the large windows, were a pool table and an air hockey table.
“Dec? What are you doing here?”
A small, dark-haired woman popped up from her seat at one of the computers. As always, she was dressed stylishly in dark jeans, a soft red sweater the color of raspberries, and impossibly high heels.
“I work here,” he said. “Actually, I own the place. Have the mortgage to prove it.”
His sister came right up to him and threw her arms around him. He did the same and absorbed the non-stop energy that Darcy always seemed to emit. She’d never been able to sit still, even as a little girl.
“You just got back. You’re supposed to have a week off.” She patted his arms and frowned. She had the same gray eyes he did, but hers always seemed to look bluer than his.
“Finished the job, ready for the next one.”
Her frown deepened, her hands landing on her hips. “You work too hard.”
“Darce, I’m tired, and not really up for this rant this morning.” She had this spiel down to a fine art.
She huffed out a breath. “Okay. But I’m not done. Expect an earful later.”
Great. He tweaked her nose. He’d done it ever since she was a cute little girl in pigtails and dirt-stained clothes tagging around after him and their brother Callum. Dec knew she hated it.
“Hey, Dec. When did you get back?”
Dec clasped hands with one of his team. Hale Carter was a big man, topping Dec’s six-foot-two by a couple of inches. He’d been a hell of a soldier, was a bit of a genius with anything mechanical, and a guy who managed to smile through it all. He had a wide smile and dark skin courtesy of his African American mother, and a handsome face that drew the ladies like flies.
But Dec knew the man had secrets too, dark ones. Hell, they all did. They’d all been to some terrible places with the SEAL teams. All had seen and done some things that left scars—both physical and mental.
Dec never pried. He offered jobs to the former soldiers who wanted to work—ones where they normally wouldn’t get shot at while doing them—and he didn’t ask them to reveal all their demons.
Some demons could never be vanquished. He felt his gut tighten. Dec had accepted that long ago.
“Got in last night. Nice to be home.” But even as he said the words, Dec knew it wasn’t true. He was already feeling the itch to be out, moving, doing something.
It had been two and a half years since he’d left the Navy and stopped heading into the world’s worst war zones. Hell, he didn’t leave—they’d booted him out. He’d just barely avoided a dishonorable discharge, but they’d wanted him gone anyway, and he didn’t blame them.