Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) by Laura Griffin

She’d met some nontalkative men in her life, but this one was practically mute.
    He drove a Ford F-250 in gunmetal gray, and she followed it back to Liam’s ranch, scarfing handfuls of Skittles as she wondered how the hell she was going to get anything useful out of a guy who barely spoke.
    On the other hand, just visiting the ranch again was useful. Even if Jeremy told her nothing of value, she’d get another chance to check out the living quarters of one of their prime suspects. And, as Tara had said, another chance to investigate Liam’s connection to the victim.
    She followed Jeremy through the gate and up the curving road through the pines. Instead of hooking a left toward the main house, he turned right and led her to a corrugated-metal building painted forest green.
    M.J. parked her car and got out, glancing around. The building was tucked into some trees, and she hadn’t even noticed it on the previous trip. Rock music emanated from inside, and a floodlight switched on as Jeremy stepped toward the door. M.J. glanced up.
    “Motion sensitive,” he said, pulling open the door.
    The inside was loud and bright and smelled of sweat. In the room’s center was a boxing ring, where two tattooed, shirtless men in sparring helmets were viciously going at it. They paused what they were doing to watch as M.J. followed Jeremy to a back room.
    “Those guys live on the ranch?” she asked.
    “Temporarily.”
    “How many are here right now?”
    “Four.”
    “Where’s everyone else?”
    “We’ve got teams in Austin, Dallas, and Aspen.”
    He reached another door and tapped a number into a keypad, then ushered her into a room.
    “Whoa,” she said, stopping short. All four walls were lined with glass-fronted gun cabinets. “There must be, like, a hundred rifles in here.” She walked over to the nearest cabinet to check out a heavy-duty rifle that looked like an A-15. The guns in the neighboring case she definitely recognized—all were MP5s like she’d trained with at Quantico. She did a slow 360-degree turn. “Damn, it’s like an armory in here.”
    He cracked a smile. “It is an armory.”
    “And all this is for you guys?”
    He shrugged. “There’s a lot of us. We run training camps in the fall and spring. Usually fifty people at a time.”
    He was starting to loosen up. Maybe being surrounded by his favorite toys put him at ease.
    M.J. glanced around. “What is that—knives, too?” She walked over to a table where tactical knives were lined up by size. She reached out and traced her finger over a long black handle.
    “That’s a Ka-Bar knife, standard Marine issue.”
    She heard the pride in his voice. “You know how to use it?”
    “Sure.”
    She glanced around at the cabinets. “What’s your favorite handgun?”
    He looked at his feet for a moment and rubbed his jaw. Then he crossed the room to a small access-controlled cabinet and took out a pistol.
    “An H and K MK23. It’s a favorite in the spec ops community.”
    “Nice,” she said, knowing it was an understatement. She wasn’t really a gun person, but anyone could see it was a beautiful weapon.
    “It’s an ultra-rugged gun, takes a lot of wear and tear. And you can’t beat it for accuracy.”
    He flipped it over in his hand and passed it to her, grip out. She hesitated.
    “Go ahead.”
    She took the sleek black weapon. It was heavier than her Glock, but for a large pistol, it felt pretty compact.
    She glanced up as he walked into yet another room. She followed. It was the practice range, and it consisted of six stations, each equipped with a storage shelf and ear protectors. Paper targets were clipped at the far wall, all human silhouettes.
    She looked around, sponging up details to share with Tara. Tara was a gun person, and she’d love this room. Everything was state-of-the-art, even the earmuffs.
    “Looks like Liam spares no expense,” she said.
    “Tools of the trade.” He was standing in front of a shelving unit packed with