Guarding Aisha

by Zoë Normandie

  “And then do nothing with it?”

  She sighed. “Pretty much. My father’s wealth and power are unimaginable—it would be dishonorable if I worked. But that will change now that I’ve left.”

  Jake nodded. “Once you get your green card, you’ll be putting that degree from France to good use to support yourself.”

  “I hope so,” she replied quietly, and an awkward silence overtook them.

  Jake felt her anxiety. There were so many unknowns. “Just focus on one step at a time, Aisha.”

  As she smiled, there was a loud pop outside, and the car started fishtailing on the slushy road. Aisha shrieked in fear, grasping desperately onto the door for balance. He instinctively laid his arm across her protectively. With the other arm, Jake angled the car into a controlled skid stop to avoid crashing into the wooden hydro poles that lined the road.

  The black SUV sped past their stopped vehicle.

  “Stay here,” Jake said. “Don’t get out of the car unless I say so.” He stalked the exterior of the vehicle, scanning the area for anyone, anything. They were alone once again. The tire on the rear passenger side was off-kilter. He inspected it further. The bolts were loose.

  How in the fuck?

  That explained the vibrating steering wheel.

  He scanned the area again, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

  The passenger door popped open. Aisha called out, “Should we call for help? Tow truck?”

  “I told you to keep the door shut!”

  “No, you told me not to get out.”

  Infuriating female, he thought. Strong Aisha was a hellraiser.

  “We can’t call for help. We don’t have a cell phone.” He examined the bolts further, unscrewing them with his fingers.

  God, they were loose. The tire was basically falling off at this point. That’s why they’d lost control. Any further and they’d be on three wheels.

  He was pissed. He should have caught this. Someone had loosened the bolts.

  It could have happened at the cabin because it would have taken several miles for them to loosen to a point of danger. He didn’t have answers, and prickles of anxiety rose on his neck. He did not like the feeling that they were being followed, watched. Someone was waiting for their moment.

  “What do we do now?” She asked from her open door. She was still sitting inside the car.

  He got up and pushed her door shut.

  Retrieving a toolbox from the back seat, he quickly tightened the bolts. Six foot three and hard as a rock, Jake was a beast. Big enough to stomp that wrench so those bolts would never fall off.

  He saw a flash of light from a nearby tree on the side of the road. He dove behind the car for cover, unholstered his pistol from underneath his button-down shirt, and barrel-rolled to get eyes on the target.

  Nothing. Nothing was there.

  He breathed in and out slowly, taking aim at the area where he’d seen the flash while still scanning with his peripheral view.

  A tiny bird flew back up to the tree, carrying trash from the side of the road. It was building a nest. And those wrappers in flight had reflected light. He took a deep breath, holstered his pistol, and hopped back into the driver’s seat. The engine started again with a roar, and he hit the road without making eye contact with Aisha.

  He had heard something, felt something. He couldn’t explain it yet, but after years in operations, he knew to trust his instincts. The answers would come.

  His heart was beating, and the prickles of anxiety hadn’t left his neck. He was used to riding and hunting in a wolf pack, or even as a lone wolf, albeit one that was prepared and equipped. Traveling with Aisha was different. When he turned his attention to her, he realized she had become oddly silent. Sullen.

  In fact, she was downright pissed off.

  He didn’t have the capacity at that moment to reflect on why, though he knew at some point he’d have to. He flipped on the radio, and all he heard from her for the rest of the trip was a light rhythmic tapping against the car door. His rational side supposed she was engaging in therapeutic tapping to keep herself from murdering him.

  For that, he didn’t blame her.

  “It’s something you wouldn’t understand,” he finally said.

  “What?” She stopped her tapping and waited for him to say something. Anything.

  He groaned, stopping the conversation altogether, and she kept her head turned to the window.

  Aisha sat erect and alert. Jake could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

  “No more questions, I guess,” Aisha lamented.

  “Perfect,” Jake snapped, increasing their speed.

  The car hurtled down the two-lane highway, heading up to the mountains on the bright, crisp day.

  “Except one.”

  Jake sighed long and hard.

  “Fuck. Fine. What?”

  “Are we being followed?”

  That was a good question, Jake thought, as he took an off-ramp toward their final destination. He struggled, lately, to differentiate between when his condition was acting up—and when he legitimately had cause for concern.

  After coming back from tour, Jake knew he was liable to freak out in public spaces, and especially in crowds. Last time he’d tried to get lunch, he’d almost drop-kicked a dude behind him who got too close. Those were the lasting effects of shell shock and battle fatigue.

  “I don’t know.” He clenched the wheel, not wanting to explain himself.

  “W-well, did—”

  “No more questions! That was the last one,” Jake concluded loudly, and he flipped on the hard-rock radio.

  She scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You’re damn right, I am.” His voice grew low. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

  She looked at him sharply, but he remained stone cold, staring out onto the road. She needed to keep her distance—for her own sake.

  Metallica blared through the speakers, and Jake settled in for a long drive with a high chance of turbulence. He refused to spend it talking about the shit that worried him. So they sat in silence, counting the trees as they flew by.

  12

  Jake pulled into a small mountainside gas station on the side of the highway leading into the ski town up ahead. They were so fucking close. And if the tank weren’t nearly on empty, he wouldn’t fucking stop at all.

  Up in the sky, northwest of their position, a small jet circled for landing. So although he didn’t have visuals on the nearby private airport, which was used to valet rich mountain-goers to their expensive chalets, he knew it was in operation. The weather had let up enough for a return to service.

  As he pulled the powerful Shelby up to the pump and turned off the engine, he heard Aisha struggling with her breathing, never a good sign. But this time, there was little mystery—deep down, he felt it, too.

  “Hey.” He turned to her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded her head quickly, feverishly, trying to assure him.

  Trying to be strong despite her swelling fear.

  “We are close now. So close.” She spoke rapidly, and her eyes darted back and forth between him and the outside.

  Something about how she shrank in her seat, full of worry, drew Jake in further. He’d been so busy keeping her out and pushing her away that he’d forgotten just how magnetic she was, especially with her raw, honest vulnerability.

  And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t spent the last hour of the drive wondering just how the fuck he was going to say goodbye to her.

  As he tried to find the right words, Jake eyed customers walking to and from their vehicles, especially anyone who walked too close to his car.

  “It’s going to be fine. You are almost there,” he said.

  Her breathing only got worse. “Are you going to leave?”

  That was a good fucking question. He watched through the windshield as that private jet disappeared into the mountain scenery, likely on its final descent. Soon, he would have to
leave her, and she’d be on her own jet. There was no way they’d let him go with her—not after the bullshit he’d pulled. And there was no way he could keep her from Kate forever. Aisha needed to fulfill her bargain.

  Flashing him those brown, hurting eyes, she hunched over and put her hands on her knees, struggling even to get air in.

  His hand moved to her back against his will. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know what I can do,” he replied through a tight throat.

  Something in his core twisted violently, his rage and despair having a fucking fistfight. Why was life so shit? He didn’t want to fucking leave her at all.

  A man whizzed by the car, and Jake flinched, but thankfully Aisha didn’t notice how he almost drew his pistol. There was no threat—the man had just filled a bunch of jerrycans in the back of his pickup, likely for snowmobiles. That checked out. Jake told his PTSD to calm the fuck down. He really had no evidence that they were being followed—nothing except for his own constant suspicions.

  His big hand teased her back gently, even reaching up to smooth out her long ponytail and twist the strands in his fingers. Touching her calmed him just as much as it calmed her. Either that, or the moment they touched made the rest of the world seem less important, less real. Hazy. Dreamy.

  Like she was being tugged by invisible strings, Aisha rose and settled back into the seat. Her eyelids grew heavier, and she began to breathe rhythmically through her nose.

  “Don’t leave me.” She shot him a sidelong glance with those dark pleading eyes, her pouty red lips full and lush.

  The visual was entrancing, and he suddenly felt pain in his chest. He was losing control. “I told you not to get too comfortable.”

  The words spilled out of his mouth before he had the sense to stop them. Things were just getting too raw. His time with Aisha was quickly drawing to a close, and he had zero fucking options for recourse.

  Jake should have noticed that everything around the car had become blurry—but his intense gaze focused only on the woman before him. She was the only person he wanted to see. Without his consent and against his own resolutions, his body leaned across the console. His hand was still planted on her back, and his fingers curled around her shoulder, pulling her toward him.

  Her mouth tilted upward, hopeful and expectant.

  He had to have those sexy lips just one more time. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get the chance again. But before he could close the final few inches, Aisha’s door whipped open, and a man ripped her out.

  Jake jumped out of his door, pulling his pistol and pointing it at the assailant.

  Charles.

  “I’ve been hoping you’d show your ugly fucking face,” Charles snapped at Jake, his pistol drawn as well. “Only a day fucking late.”

  Charles’s clutch on Aisha drew a shriek from her as he pulled her away from the Shelby and toward a grey SUV parked behind another row of gas pumps.

  Jake followed quickly, keeping his pistol aimed at his former colleague. How could he have been so careless? Where were his instincts?

  “Give her back, buddy,” Jake shouted, gaining the attention of a few customers who jumped for cover as he stalked Aisha, “before this gets ugly.”

  As he made the threat, Jake hoped Aisha would try that self-defense move he’d taught her, but her eyes remained bright and frozen. She was shaking. Was she even fucking breathing?

  If she could just disarm Charles, then Jake could gain control…

  “Fuck you. You disobeyed orders,” Charles yelled. “You are off this contract now.”

  The silver-haired Frenchman pulled Aisha toward the grey SUV and forcefully pushed her into the back seat. She screamed. With animal instinct, Jake lunged forward, but Charles pushed his pistol in Jake’s face.

  “You can’t fucking do this,” Jake bellowed, not giving a fuck about the gun pointed at him.

  “No, friend. You can’t.”

  Charles tried to pistol-whip him, but Jake was faster and younger—he grabbed the barrel quickly and disarmed Charles, much to latter’s surprise. In that split second, Jake had secured both guns and regained control, sending Charles to his knees in front of him. The old dog’s mouth dropped in fear as he looked up at Jake.

  As Jake loomed over the disarmed man, illegal ideas spread unchecked through Jake’s head, memories of what he’d done in the Sahel. He knew in that split second that he was willing to do every single one of those appalling, disgusting things to Charles.

  Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last another second.

  Jake heard a gunshot, and pain seared through his body—but he couldn’t place where or how. As he blinked, trying to process the situation, Charles jumped up, slipped into the SUV, and pulled away.

  Time seemed off-kilter as Jake took a deep breath and moved himself back to the Shelby, seeking cover. He knew for sure that Charles didn’t shoot him. There was someone else around. Someone who was a shitty shot but was trying to cause him fucking harm.

  Or even kill him.

  Wincing through pain that he now realized was in his ribs, he lunged to the side and grabbed one of the full jerrycans sitting in the back of the nearby pickup. Jake didn’t want to be a fucking thief—but he didn’t have time to fill up anymore. He got into the driver’s seat, threw the can on the passenger-side floor, whipped his car into beast mode, and burned through the goddamn parking lot.

  Pulling around toward the exit, he noticed a black SUV hidden beside the station, its driver slouched low. But he couldn’t investigate further. Not only was he bleeding down his ribs with a potentially life-threatening gunshot wound, but he had a former colleague to kill—and a fucking princess to save.

  13

  In full black ops mode, Jake stalked the perimeter of Charles’s mountainside, multi-tiered, navy-blue cottage. He’d followed Charles and Aisha there—but he knew where they were going once they got close. Jake had spent some weekends at the cottage in the past few years. Quiet, secluded—Jake could only guess they were using it as a layup point while they waited for the jet at the resort’s nearby airport. Charles definitely knew Jake would fucking show up, and he also knew Jake had the skills to do whatever the fuck he wanted. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t going to be a shit fight over Aisha. It was coming.

  Crouching in a row of overgrown pine hedges, Jake assessed the property—it was private, quiet, and surrounded by trees, like the rest of the resort. Absently holding the massive bloody patch of fabric covering his ribs, he shakily inhaled the crisp mountain air as he marked entry and exit points for different contingency plans. Multiple strategies rolled through his mind, but as he observed Kate in the master bedroom, helping fold clothing for Aisha and bringing her soup, Jake found himself drowning in doubt.

  Since when did he start thinking he was a hero, there to save anyone? If he hadn’t allowed himself to be so consumed by Aisha—so aroused—he wouldn’t have missed the signs that something was really fucking wrong at the gas station.

  As a SEAL coming out of Development Group, his head nearly exploded at the idea that he’d missed Charles stalking the Shelby and stealing Aisha away. Sure, Charles had his own skills, with previous lives in both French SAS and French intelligence. But they both knew Jake’s skills were superior in every fucking way. That’s why Charles had hired him.

  Jake’s eyes narrowed, watching the interaction between the two women in the second-floor window. Kate put her hand on Aisha’s back, and it wasn’t possessive, like how he would touch her. It was caring. Interested. Warm.

  They had a fucking deal. Aisha needed the CIA to get her green card. And she knew the risks.

  Jake could only fuck up that deal, and fuck up her chances.

  He exhaled slowly, realizing that he shouldn’t go storming in on a whim. As a possessive, intense man, he wanted nothing more than to rush in the cottage with guns blazing and steal back his girl, shooting everyone in the fucking face. But Jake was mature enough, sometimes, to acknowledge tha
t wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t what was best for her. The passion she inspired in him let too much out of the box, and he was battling hallucinations more and more.

  Maybe it was time for him to rip the bandage and just leave. But his feet wouldn’t take him back to the Shelby he’d hidden down the street. He remained in hiding in the hedges. If he was going to leave, he needed to be damn sure that his suspicions about leaks and threats were all in his mind. He needed to be damn sure that they had shaken their tail at the cottage, that the bolts on his tires had loosened magically on their own, and that the fucker trying to shoot him at the gas station was just CIA backup protecting the asset from a looming threat.

  Studying the backyard of the cottage, Jake noted a point of exit where the property sloped onto the resort’s ski hill. At first, he saw nothing unusual. All he could hear were the sounds of nature. Maybe the occasional bird. But suddenly a loud crack sounded from about thirty feet away—up the hill in the neighbor’s backyard. Jake’s knees crashed into the snow as he ducked down. He ignored the pain as the icy surface stung him through the fabric of his pants.

  He couldn’t make out what or who had made the noise. He picked himself back up and made his way in a crouch up to the edge of the neighbor’s yard, pistol out.

  As he stalked, all other distractions and thoughts became muted. Had her father’s men finally tracked her down again? Was he the only person around to do anything about it?

  The snow crunched beneath Jake’s feet as he crept closer to the potential threat, but he didn’t see snow. He saw sand. The cold air whipped around his black hoodie, but he felt the heat of a midsummer Saharan sun. The ski hill became a crumbled city. He was in full kit. He smelled burning garbage. He heard the distant voices of militants arguing. The rumbling of diesel trucks shook the ground beneath his feet.

  He heard the loud noise again, and again. This time, it sounded like assault rifles. It sounded like an entire group of militants. Insurgents.