CHAPTER ONE

ANote from the Author- Thank you for downloading Chaos. If you would like to read the Dogs of War prequel Genesis , which gives you background on the main heroes in the series, you can visit my website here . Or you can order it from the retailer of your choice.

Can I help you?

Aiden froze at the sound of the woman’s voice, smoky and bluesy, behind him. There were only three times he’d ever been snuck up on, this being the third, and he was shocked. Had his skills degraded that much? Fuck…

Slowly, he turned around. A staggeringly beautiful woman stood less than twenty feet behind him, well within killing distance. The afternoon sunlight shone on her bright strawberry-blonde ponytail, a light breeze playing with the bangs hanging over her forehead. The look on her heart-shaped face suggested she’d just stumbled across something interesting. She had one lean hip cocked, but something about the way she stood told him she was more than she appeared. He could have been dead.

Not a bad way to die really, at the hands of such a beautiful woman.

One hand tugged open the side of her jacket, enough for him to see the badge at her waistband. I asked you a question. Is there something you’re looking for here?

Her unflinching, blue-gray eyes narrowed, waiting for a response.

Cop. Figured. Only seeing too many things put that kind of experience on a face. He was sure his looked the same. Actually, his face must look worse… much worse.

She shifted her stance and Aiden realized he had tightened his own, as if readying for a fight. Deliberately, he took a relaxing breath and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Within a split second, the flame-haired woman drew down on him with a steadiness and speed that spoke of true familiarity with her weapon. Hold it right there, she ordered, her voice losing that sexy edge.

Aiden had fired enough Sig Sauers to know that the weapon she held in her hand would more than injure him. If she targeted correctly she could kill him with one shot. Maybe.

Taking cautious steps, she advanced on him. You need to remove your hands from your pockets. Left first.

Aiden eased his hand out and up, pissed at the ridiculous situation. And his own stupidity.

Now, right.

He did as he was told until he stood with his hands in the air. I should not have moved. That was my mistake.

Yes, it was. Interlace your fingers behind your head.

Aiden stilled at her steady words. He would allow her to pat him down if she felt she needed to but he would not allow her to handcuff him. I’m not carrying anything, he told her steadily. And for the first time in a long time it was true. Guilt had been riding him and he hadn’t been thinking clearly when he’d headed here.

Can’t take your word for that, sorry.

You should take my word for it though, he told her clearly. I’m safe to you. I promise.

He didn’t finesse her, although he did put enough suggestion into the words that she should have been mollified, but she completely ignored what he said and moved in behind him.

A firm touch patted its way down his body, from collar to waist to ankles, leaving no area untouched. He felt the warmth of her body shift behind him as she moved lower, patting down his pant legs. At any point, Aiden could have taken her down with ease, with a single thought, but he allowed her to confirm her safety. And she did it with a commendable thoroughness. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so easy to take her down…The woman stepped back.

And he missed the feel of her touch.

You may lower your hands but no sudden movements.

Dropping his hands to his side, he waited for her next order.

Turn around. And tell me what the hell you’re doing here.

She had holstered her weapon, but her hand rested on the butt of the gun, ready. Aiden clenched his jaw, hating the need to lie his ass off. Again. He could give her a partial truth at least. I was looking for someone. A homeless guy that used to hang around out here. Somebody said something bad had happened and I just wanted to check on him.

She cocked her head, her blue eyes narrowing in consideration. What’s the homeless guy’s name?

Aiden didn’t hesitate. Roman. Older guy, gray beard, usually has a gray hat on. Used to be a librarian.

The woman continued to stare at him and Aiden actually shifted in discomfort, before he forced his body to stillness. Roman was a real guy, he just hadn’t hung around in this area for months.

But did she know that?

This guy was full of shit.

Angela Holloway narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, debating whether or not she could take the man in for questioning. Technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just acting weird, hunkered down and looking at where all the blood had been. As if he had known exactly where the puddle had been. When he’d first turned around there had been desolate sorrow in his chocolate brown eyes.

She’d thought he was one of the homeless, with his dingy black sweatshirt and ball cap, but now she wasn’t sure. His deep set eyes were clear, and he didn’t appear to be under the influence of alcohol or drugs. But he definitely seemed to want to fly under the radar. His clothes were nondescript enough to fit in almost anywhere, especially in Colorado, known for its rugged nature and even more rugged people. He seemed to be decently good-looking, even though he’d tried to hide most of his face with a thick dark beard. Longish nut brown hair hung over his shoulders. Honestly, he looked like every other Hipster she dealt with every day. The only reason he’d drawn her attention was because of where he was.

She actually knew the Roman this guy was talking about. An old Vietnam vet who’d been on the streets for at least eight years. As long as she’d been a cop and a reserve officer. But he didn’t hang out in this neighborhood and he hadn’t for the better part of a year.

Roman stays closer to downtown these days, closer to the Mission so he can get out of the chilly nights.

She watched the skin around his eyes tighten and his gaze flick away. He didn’t like that she’d called him on his information.

Ah, okay. I’ll go check around there then. Thank you.

She stopped his movement with a halting motion. I’m not quite ready to let you go yet. Do you have ID on you?

The dark bearded jaw tightened and he sighed. I don’t, actually. I didn’t expect to need it.

She frowned. Did you drive here?

No.

Why don’t you have identification on you?

The man glowered, dark brows lowered over his dark eyes. Then, abruptly, his expression changed and he gave her a sardonic smile.

Angela registered the change and sighed inside. Damn. He was going to try to charm his way out of it. Ugh, really?

For some reason, men always thought they were cuter than they actually were. Time after time she’d had suspects wiggle their brows or roll their hips toward her. When she’d been a uniformed street cop, they’d come at her, hands held out in front of them begging to be handcuffed. Sometimes she’d taken them up on their offer, depending upon how much of a nuisance they became. It had been a running joke in the squad room. Send the sweet-faced rookie to deal with these yahoos and she’d haul their asses in. Angela was actually very proud of her arrest record.

This one actually was kinda cute, though, if a little rumpled. His clothes were dumpy and nondescript, his boots well worn. He had that bored, I-don’t-really-care-what-you-think air, but his voice was really something. Soft and a little seductive, his words enunciated perfectly. If she’d been in a bar, she probably wouldn’t have turned down a drink from him. She might even have let him steal a kiss. She didn’t mind beards, especially when they come with that kind of voice.

I just wasn’t even thinking about my ID when I walked here. I only ever carry cash in my pockets.

Pulling a pad and pen from her jacket pocket, she lifted a brow at him. Name, please?

The easy going light left his eyes and his chin tipped up. Angela had seen the obstinate look before on other suspects. If you don’t tell me your name and social security number, I have to haul your ass downtown. Do you understand what I’m telling you?

He shook his head. I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.

Without hesitation, she started to move in on him. Face the wall and put your hands behind your back.

He turned and faced the wall, but it seemed too easy. Angela dropped her notepad and pen to the ground and reached for the cuff-case at the base of her spine. Before she could even swing them around, the man had turned and wrapped his arms around her. She opened her mouth to yell, but his mouth settled on hers.

Shock rendered her mute. But the anger quickly began to move in.

Until his lips started to move on hers, and the beard began to tickle.

Chills shuddered down her spine as the man tightened his arms around her, snugging his hips into hers. She knew she needed to pull away but something besides his arms held her immobile. As his lips moved, she was struck with a sense of familiarity. No, she didn’t know him, but it seemed deeper than that. Like her body recognized his.

Angela strained against his hold but he deepened the kiss and she forgot what she’d been doing. The man tasted like sex. Raunchy, pounding, messy, wonderful sex. And peppermint toothpaste. In spite of what her brain was telling her, her body began to respond.

And so did his. If she had been the only one affected by what he was doing, she would have noticed that. But he was absolutely interested.

Turning her, he urged her back against the wall, pressing her hips with his own. Angela gasped at the feel of the hard ridge pressing against her. Somewhat instinctively she pushed back.

The man inhaled sharply and the restraint was suddenly gone from her arms. His broad hands cupped her face, angling her jaw as his mouth moved. The tip of his tongue teased at the seam of her lips and she opened to taste him.

A rush of arousal hit her square between the eyes. Her nipples went hard against his broad chest and things lower in her body tightened, then loosened. His hands glided down her body, cupping her hips.

She heard the snick of handcuffs and a chill ran through her. When the man pulled away, there seemed to be genuine regret in his dark brown eyes. I’m sorry I had to do this, he told her, clearing his voice. He backed away, hands held out.

Angela felt tightness on her waist and she jerked. What the hell had he done?

"You, you…" she sputtered, totally, immediately pissed.

He winced and stared at her for a long moment, like he was waffling in his decision, then his eyes cooled and he turned away. As he disappeared around the corner of the building, Angela reached behind her to feel what was holding her. The man had handcuffed the belt loop of her jeans to a utility pole running horizontally across the building.

With a cry of outrage she dug in her pocket for the knife she always carried. It took her less than a minute to cut through the heavy fabric of the belt loop. As soon as she was free, she bolted after the suspect but he was gone.

Aiden did what he did best. Disappeared. The less conflict he was involved in, the better. The Kansas City incident had been a wake-up call.

As he turned the corner into an area with more pedestrian traffic, he slowed his pace to try to blend in. He surveyed the area from beneath the bill of his cap wondering where the hell he was supposed to go.

Nostalgia had taken him to that alley. Nostalgia and guilt. Because he had been the one to send his friend there.

When TJ Rector had contacted him two winters ago about bringing him the thumb drive, Aiden had been ready. He’d run into dead end after dead end with the one he had, and he was ready for some kind of change in their situation. The four of them had escaped the Spartan Research Program and the compound where they’d been held and had been completely underground for the better part of two years now, recovering their health, surveilling, and dodging Collaborative operatives. Wulfe Terberger, their German counterpart, had been surveilling the Silverstone Collaborative headquarters in Arlington, Virginia. Drake Fontana had been the distraction, constantly on the run from Silverstone property to Silverstone property, plaguing them with a rash of burglaries and security threats, drawing their attention. TJ Rector had been chasing down leads on other Silverstone misdeeds, trying to confirm or deny. And Aiden had been mostly in Denver, protecting his brother and his family and trying to decrypt the thumb drive he’d kept.

They’d reached a point where they needed to do something. The longer they were out of Silverstone Collaborative control the more desperate the company became, and the more operatives they sent after the men. It had reached a boiling point when they’d attempted to kidnap Wulfe’s brother, a wealthy tech mogul and philanthropist. Nikolas’ own security team protected him but it had been a near thing.

Now, one man short, they were going to try to take the corrupt corporation down. He didn’t have time to be distracted, but he’d visited the same alley several times over the past several months. Did he think he could appease his guilt by visiting the location? He had no idea, but something in his heart or mind wouldn’t let the guilt go.

When Rector had gotten to town, Aiden had given him the location of an alley in the east side industrial district which was close enough to walk to but distant enough from crowds to give them some privacy. It had been snowing that night, but not nearly as cold as usual. The plan was that Rector would pass off the information he had then keep going, because he knew he had a tail. But on his way to the meet, Aiden had been hit telepathically with image after image of Rector being attacked. Rector was a good fighter, but he’d been outmatched by the lean, dark-haired man Aiden had seen in the images. Aiden had staggered to a stop, knowing that his friend was losing but still too far away to do anything about it. Rector managed to slide a knife between the other man’s ribs, but he hadn’t squared himself soon enough. Ignoring the knife in his side the operative turned and slammed his own knife into Rector’s unprotected chest.

It was a killing blow. Aiden had known that as soon as he’d seen the position of the black hilt coming toward Rector. Even with the recuperative skills that they’d developed in the Spartan Program, there was no coming back from such a debilitating injury.

Aiden, Rector called.

You’re okay, kid. You’ll be all right.

Forcing himself to move, he’d gotten to Rector just a few minutes later. The younger man was panting, forcing his eyes to stay open as he waited for help. Blood pooled around him, soaking the snow, too much to ever recover. The hilt of the knife quivered in his pounding chest. As soon as he’d seen him, Rector had grabbed his hand.

You have to get him, Aiden. He has two drives. My information and the logo drive. You can’t let them get the information. It’ll ruin everything. He paused, his voice fading. I’ll be okay. Go.

Adrenaline and fury pounded through Aiden and he didn’t allow the pain of TJ’s impending death to stop him. The chest wound was too severe to fix, even if he’d had the greatest doctor here right now in this alley.

He nodded, gripping the man on the shoulder and squeezing tight. I’ll get him.

There was an easy, visible track leading away from the alley, along with the occasional drop of blood. A child could follow this trail. The man was moving fast, yes, but he was injured and Aiden was faster. Jogging, he dodged cars and patches of ice. He could tell he was gaining, because the other man was losing blood more rapidly. He was now seeing several drips at a time.

Then he rounded a corner into a parking garage and saw TJ’s attacker approaching a vehicle. With the barest glance around to make sure they were alone, Aiden stormed after him, knife in hand. He’d attacked the man with a vengeance, but the other had been stunningly good at his job, even wounded. Navy SEALs fought with this kind of tenacity, and Aiden knew the fight would not end until one of them died.

In the end, TJ Rector had been the one to die, and it had sent a brutal, debilitating bolt of pain across Aiden’s mind, stunning him. He’d fallen to the ground, unable to make sense of the blinding vise-grip of pain around his head. Immediately he’d started building a metaphorical brick wall in his mind, to cut himself off from TJ. The unknown operative had moved in while he’d been immobile. It was literally a stroke of luck when Aiden raised his arms in a defensive move, and accidentally caught the operative on the inside of his arm, slicing through tendons. Blood spurted and the operative had suddenly been the one scrambling, his dominant arm useless. Aiden had rolled to his knees, then pushed to his feet and pressed the attack, managing to slice him across the other arm, then on the thigh as the other man had fallen to the ground. With a hard lunge, Aiden had sliced high on the opposite thigh. The other man had refused to give up though. He’d pounded Aiden in the ribs and head, grappling for Aiden’s knife. But he’d managed to fight him off. Then the lean, dark-eyed man had made a fatal mistake. He’d tried to knee Aiden. Catching the leg, Aiden had drawn a vicious swipe up the thigh, through the femoral artery. Within seconds the operative was too weak to even stand. He collapsed to the ground, losing consciousness. Aiden knew the man would be dead within minutes. Fuck him. Digging in the man’s pockets, he found the drives and shoved them into his own pockets.

Then the shockwave of TJ’s death had swelled over his protective mental wall and Aiden went to his knees, gripping his head in his hands. It felt like his skull was about to rip apart. The pain was so debilitating that he couldn’t breathe. Black spots swam in front of his eyes.

It took him several long minutes to even get up off the ground. He needed to get away from this body. Shudders wracked him and for the first time that night he felt the cold.

In the muddled chaos of his mind, Aiden had one clear thought. Protect the drives. Struggling, leaning on alley walls and trees, he took them blocks away from that location and hid them in another alley, just in case he was being pursued. His head was too messed up to feel danger approaching so he would find a place to hide, recover, then come back for the drives. He’d taken off, trying to get away from the pain in his head. There was no recollection of how he’d ended up in the back of the semi-trailer, let alone how he’d ended up in Kansas City.

If it hadn’t been for Duncan Wilde and the cash card he’d left him at the hospital, Aiden would have been sitting out there until he’d scrounged enough funds to make his way back to Denver.

In the back of his mind, though, he’d been worried about TJ’s body.

Now that he’d been to the alley where TJ had been killed, he realized the only way he would get any info on what had happened there was if he talked to the detective that had responded to the original call. She’d know whether or not there had been a body there. Aiden didn’t think there had been. The Collaborative would have been monitoring their operative, if not Rector somehow, and would have cleaned up the crime scene.

Coming to a small, derelict park, he settled onto a bench as the world swung back into focus. So much of the past several years were foggy to him. When he’d been approached by a government type four years ago, he hadn’t thought much about it. He’d been happy as a SEAL. Did his job well. Kept his guys out of trouble for the most part. So he’d passed when the suit had approached him in the desert and offered him a new challenge. At the time he’d thought the guy had been nuts. Hell, he was in the Navy SEALs, what kind of new challenge could there have been that he hadn’t already done?

Oh, if he’d only known.

The suit left him alone for several months, then, after that harrowing experience in Kandahar when they’d gotten their asses royally kicked, the guy had approached him again, this time offering a huge bonus. Aiden had listened more closely that time.

Damn it.

He scrubbed his face, wishing he could change the past four and a half years. When he’d finally given the guy the nod that he would accept the job, things had changed drastically. He’d left Afghanistan the next day and been flown to Washington for a huge meet and greet ass-kissing session. They’d thrown him into a training program with nineteen other guys, all similar in their bearing and experience, but dissimilar in the fact that they all seemed to have come from different special forces. Navy SEALs, Army Rangers, Force Recon Marines, they were all there. Two other guys had been SEALs, but one Aiden hadn’t had a chance to talk to before he’d died in that godforsaken jungle. The second SEAL was running around right now being their distraction, and Aiden considered him one of his best friends, a Dogs of War teammate, a brother.

Aiden glanced up and down the street as surreptitiously as he could. Though there was nothing to see, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Time to go.

The reason for his unease turned the corner, heading toward him. Aiden dropped his head and slumped a little until the cruiser had passed. The neighborhood wasn’t a great area. Surely it was just a random patrol.

Aiden refused to believe that anything was as innocent as it seemed. That had been beaten out of him long ago.

The softness of Detective Holloway’s lips under his