No Safe Place
Chapter One
New Orleans
They came for Nick Broussard in the dark, guns drawn, harsh shouts shattering the night.
It was 0430 hours, a time in the morning that the navy referred to as "oh-dark thirty," when all but the most determined party animals or chronic drunks were asleep -- or at least passed out -- in bed.
As he'd been. Until they'd stormed onto his ketch, dressed all in black like ninjas, pistols drawn.
"On your knees!" one of them screamed, his voice cracking with the same nervous adrenaline that slammed into Nick's bloodstream like a Stinger missile. "Hands on top of your head."
"Hey, stay cool, cher. I know the drill."
Hadn't he been on the other end of it enough times? Both as a Navy SEAL and, more recently, before he'd been thrown off the force, an NOPD cop.
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