It had been his own choice to leave the CIA and take a job with a private security company in San Antonio. He was hoping that he wasn’t going to regret it. He walked into the San Antonio airport—weary from the delayed Washington, D.C., flight—with a carryon bag and looked around for his brother Bob. He was tall and big, dark-eyed and dark-haired, with a broad, sexy face. His brother was an older version of him, but much slighter in build. Bob approached him with a grin, a young boy of six held firmly by the hand. “Hi,” Bob greeted him. “I hope you just got here. I had to bring Mikey with me.” The towheaded boy grinned up at him. He had a front tooth missing. “Hi, Uncle Lang, been shooting any bad guys?” he asked loudly, causing a security man who was talking to a woman at the information counter to turn his head with a suspicious scowl. “Not lately, Mikey,” Lang replied. He shook his brother’s hand and bent to lift Mikey up onto his shoulder. “How’s it going, pardner?”
