Mistletoe (K19 Security Solutions Book 3)

by Heather Slade

  —:—

  “Fuck,” Striker spat when he counted the number of Somali pirates holding whom they believed were journalists. They weren’t. Not even close. They were two of the best operatives who’d ever worked for the CIA. Both had been part of his team, and he’d die before he’d leave them there to meet the same fate.

  He and Mantis were more than one hundred miles outside of Mogadishu, in Dinlave, a village on the Wabi Shebelle River.

  The pirates hadn’t brought their captives out here where there wouldn’t be any means to communicate with the rest of the world; it was just where they’d run out of money.

  Unfortunately, they weren’t strangers to the region, which meant their numbers had doubled.

  He rolled to his back on the hillside and looked up at the star-filled night sky. He closed his eyes and thought of Aine, like he did most every time he began to wonder what the hell he was doing.

  With no way to summon reinforcements, and lack of a trail for anyone to find them, he and Mantis had two options. They could leave, and likely never be able to locate the men again, or they could stay and craft a plan to rescue them.

  “What day is it?” he asked Mantis.

  “The twenty-first of December.”

  Which meant tomorrow would be thirty days since he’d last seen the woman who graced his dreams as much as haunted them.

  “I have an idea,” said Mantis.

  “Yeah? Is it a good one?”

  “I think it is.”

  Striker sat up. “Let’s hear it.”

  —:—

  Aine’s face hurt from the fake smile she had plastered on it.

  “I love this little house,” said Tara, rummaging around in the kitchen. “The main house is nice, but this is…cozy.”

  Aine turned around and rolled her eyes. She loved Tara, but cozy had never been her style. She thought the woman was going to have a panic attack when Pen volunteered the two of them to share the bedroom with twin beds.

  “It’s only fair. We’re crashing the party, so to speak.”

  They’d all agreed that Alegria should take the master bedroom when she arrived since she was still recovering from surgery.

  “The woman was shot,” Pen said to Tara when she protested. “When you get shot, you can take the big bedroom.”

  The memory the three shared of being kidnapped and held hostage, sat far too close to the surface, although they never spoke of it. Aine wondered if Alegria had been part of the team that rescued them. Probably, which meant they should thank her, but she doubted any of them would bring it up—especially not Alegria herself.

  “What time is dinner?” Tara asked.

  Aine checked her phone. “Twenty minutes.”

  “Should we walk over?”

  “Sure,” she murmured, stealing a quick glance of the only photo she had of Griffin and then wishing she hadn’t. It only made the pain in her chest hurt worse.

  “What is all that?” Pen asked, pointing to the pile of packages from their afternoon shopping spree.

  “Most of it belongs to Zary. We took her shopping today so she could get Christmas gifts. She’s never done it before.”

  “Given Christmas gifts or gone shopping?” asked Tara with a smirk.

  “Celebrated Christmas.”

  Aine told them Zary’s story, leaving out the part about her being the one who’d tracked her, Tara, and Pen to Washington where they were being held hostage by Armenians who wanted to lure her father out of hiding. She also left out the part about Zary being her and Ava’s half-sister—until Tara opened her big mouth again.

  “She seems weird.”

  “Tara,” admonished Pen.

  “What? She’s—”

  “She’s my sister, and she isn’t the slightest bit weird. She’s led a life none of us can imagine the horrors of, let alone ever be as badass as she is.”

  “Wait. What?” said Pen. “She’s your sister?”

  “That’s right, and the night we were rescued, she was kidnapped in our place.” That wasn’t exactly accurate, but it was close enough for her to make her point.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to touch on a nerve.”

  In that moment, Aine hated Tara. She wasn’t apologizing for what she said about Zary; she was being sarcastic—one of her friend’s worst habits.

  Every condescending thing that had ever come out of her mouth roared to the surface of her memory. “You’re such a bitch,” she said, storming out of the guest house’s front door. It wasn’t like her; Ava was usually the one to call people out on their shit. In the world of good twin, bad twin, it was Aine who soothed hurt feelings and helped mend fences.

  It was cold outside, and in her haste, she hadn’t grabbed a jacket. Aine picked up her pace and was almost to the main house’s back door when she heard voices.

  “No leads at all?” she heard Gunner ask.

  “None. Which is why the team is going in.” That was Razor’s voice.

  “I know I act like I can’t stand Striker, and sometimes he annoys the shit outta me, but he’s one of us and I respect him. Those Somali bastards can be worse than ISIS.”

  “I agree. I respect him too. As far as the Somalis are concerned, they operate without a plan. They kidnap without realizing who they’ve got and then issue ludicrous ransom demands. Remember a few years ago when a group of them kidnapped that journalist along with an Asian fisherman? They demanded twenty mil each. The fisherman’s family couldn’t have had more than twenty bucks.”

  “I remember it well. I was on the rescue team.”

  “That’s right. How did you find them? And before you go into detail, understand that what I’m saying is you should brief Dutch as soon as you can.”

  “Roger that.”

  When Aine heard a door open and close, she crept around to the front of the house and rang the bell.

  “Goodness, you’re practically frozen,” said Gunner’s mother when she opened the door and pulled her inside. “What were you doing out there?”

  Aine’s eyes met Gunner’s.

  “Eavesdropping,” he answered for her.

  —:—

  “I like your plan,” said Striker, “except I’m staying here. If you can’t make contact, keep going until you can, even if it means going as far as Mogadishu.”

  Mantis shook his head. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

  “We don’t have a choice. If the Somalis move, someone needs to be able to track them.”

  “It isn’t necessary to state the obvious, but I have no way to track you, Striker.”

  “We talked about this. I’ll leave a trail.”

  Mantis had been gone two hours when Striker heard the roar of a low-flying Orion plane. It filled him with as much dread as hope because, as he could’ve predicted, it sent the Somali pirates into chaotic panic. There was no question they’d be on the move before daylight.

  —:—

  Aine followed Razor into the upstairs bedroom, feeling like a petulant child.

  “Tell me what you heard,” he coaxed in a gentle tone.

  “Everything.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Ava, joining them.

  “Aine overheard Gunner and I talking about Striker’s mission.” Razor turned to her. “Ask me whatever questions you have, and I’ll do my best to answer them.”

  “Tell her everything, Tabon,” Ava pleaded.

  “The call that Striker got on Thanksgiving was to let him know two of his former team members had been kidnapped by Somali pirates. Striker volunteered to go in after them. Originally, Mantis was only tasked with transportation, but once he knew what the mission was, he volunteered to go in as well.”

  Aine nodded.

  “It’s been over a week without contact, so Doc called earlier about putting a team together to go in and look for them. Dutch Miller had already volunteered. Once he drops Alegria off here, he and Onyx will meet up with two other CIA operatives. The four of them will leave for Mogadishu shortly the
reafter.”

  “Do the pirates have Griffin?”

  Razor scrubbed his face with his hand. “We don’t know.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a few minutes.”

  “Of course.” Razor left the room, but Ava didn’t.

  “I’m so sorry this is happening, Aine, but Tabon believes they’ll be able to find Striker and Mantis.”

  “You knew already?”

  Ava nodded. “Not for very long, though. Tabon needed my help with Alegria. Her recovery is slow, and with Dutch deploying, she needs support from somewhere—somebody—else. He believes she’ll resist.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “Dutch has been forcing her to do her physical therapy, but he’s worried that without his insistence, she’ll give up.”

  “Pen is a physicians’ assistant.”

  Ava nodded. “You’re catching on.”

  “It wasn’t a coincidence that they showed up.”

  “No, but helping Alegria wasn’t the original intent.”

  “What was?”

  “Tabon asked them to come because he thought it might help cheer you up.”

  Aine wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Should she be pissed at him or grateful? “Did you know?”

  Ava shook her head. “No clue. I was as surprised as you were.”

  “Razor is a good man.”

  “The best,” agreed Ava. “So is Striker.”

  “What can I do to help with Alegria?”

  “What you always do, Aine. Be her friend and let her know you empathize in a way no one else can right now.”

  —:—

  Striker stayed low, doing his best to see whether the pirates were preparing to move, and if so, how many of them would leave the encampment. He didn’t see signs of mobilization, though, which puzzled him.

  The biggest issue he had right now was that Mantis had taken their only vehicle. If the Somalis did move, he’d have to steal one of theirs in order to follow them.

  He prayed his teammate had been successful in contacting Doc or someone else from K19 to give them the Somalians’ coordinates. If the kidnappers moved, he’d have to as well. He wouldn’t be able to wait for Mantis to return.

  Chapter 13

  Mantis, Alegria, and Dutch

  For the last three weeks, Dutch’s relationship with Alegria had been strained to the point of snapping. They hardly spoke except to argue, and the limitations she had to accept as part of her recovery made her beyond irritable.

  Dutch knew that wasn’t the only thing contributing to her overall cantankerous mood; no one had heard from Mantis in over a week. Neither she nor Dutch had heard from him since he walked out of Razor’s house on Thanksgiving.

  “We’re cleared to go in,” Doc said when Dutch answered his call.

  ‘‘I want to be the lead.”

  “Done.”

  “With Alegria grounded, Onyx is our only option to fly your team to Africa. I’ll have to contract a co-pilot.”

  “Let me talk to him and see if he has anyone he’d recommend,” Dutch offered.

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Hey, Doc, would you mind keeping this between us until I have time to brief Alegria.”

  “Say no more.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dutch had to figure out a way to tell Alegria not just about the mission, but who he was going in to extract.

  He went into the kitchen to grab something to eat, regretting that his time at the house he was rarely at, was coming to such an abrupt end after such a short visit.

  He’d purchased and renovated it back when he was stationed at Langley. Originally, he’d intended to flip it, but once he finished the updates, he decided not to.

  It had always been easy to rent given its close proximity to the base. Luckily, the last tenant had PCS’d right before Thanksgiving, and Dutch hadn’t relisted it.

  When they were getting ready to leave Cambria after Thanksgiving, Dutch asked Alegria what she thought about going to Newport News with him when she was cleared for travel.

  “If I could get home, I wouldn’t be such a burden to you.”

  “Meaning where? New York?” As far as he knew, she hadn’t set foot in the apartment her parents had purchased for her in more than a year, maybe longer.

  “Marseille,” she’d responded as though he were an idiot.

  “Manon…we need to talk,” he said when she walked into the kitchen.

  That got her attention. He rarely called her by anything but her Air Force pilot call sign.

  “About?”

  “There’s a mission…”

  Her eyes met his, and whatever anger she’d been feeling moments ago seemed to morph into worry. “What is it?”

  —:—

  Mantis was almost to Mogadishu when he saw the roadblock. Two decrepit-looking pickup trucks, both mounted with heavy, ancient artillery, were waiting.

  A dozen men jumped off of each and swarmed his Jeep, firing into the air all around him. They pulled him out, hit him over the head, and dragged him to one of their vehicles. There was blood seeping from a gash in his scalp, which his captors chose to ignore.

  He spoke enough Arabic to understand they were taking him north and inland to Cadaado, the opposite direction of Mogadishu and Dinlave, where Striker was waiting.

  Near sundown they arrived at their destination. Even after the sun had set, it was still at least one hundred degrees.

  Mantis was blindfolded and led to a foam mattress. He could hear several Somalis yelling and what sounded like other hostages being beaten.

  Merry Christmas, he thought to himself. Welcome to hell.

  —:—

  Before he’d even told her about the mission, Alegria had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. At first she thought it was not knowing whether Mantis would show up for Christmas like he had for Thanksgiving. This felt worse, though, as if something was terribly wrong.

  “When do you leave?” she asked, knowing it had to be soon.

  “Tonight. Look, I know it’s almost Christmas, and I’m sorry—”

  She held up her hand. “Don’t be. I understand.”

  “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Mantis had sprung something like this on you…”

  She rested her hand on his arm. “This is different. If the situations were reversed and he was telling me he had to go in and extract you, I would understand in the same way I do now.”

  Dutch reached out and stroked her cheek. “We’ll leave at sixteen hundred.”

  Alegria nodded and moved closer to him, wishing they hadn’t spent the last three weeks arguing as much as they had.

  “I’m worried about you,” he said, kissing each eyelid, her cheeks, and then her lips. “You’re very pale.”

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing. Probably withdrawals from the pain meds messing with me.”

  “The doctor told you it was too soon to stop taking them.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. It felt so good to just relax into his comfort.

  “Are you sure you want this?” he murmured before he brought his lips to hers a second time.

  Alegria backed away, taking his hand, and leading him into the bedroom.

  Once there, she pulled her sweater over her head, and then pushed her wool skirt down until it slid from her hips to the floor. Dutch’s eyes traveled the length of her body as she stood before him in nothing but her bra and panties.

  “Make love to me, Dutch.” She held her hand out to him as she sat on the bed.

  In seconds he was on her, as though he was hurrying to get her naked before he changed his mind. His fingers released the clasp on her bra and he pulled it from her body.

  “Lie down,” he said, taking her panties in both hands and sliding them down her legs.

  “Please, Dutch,” she begged as he stood above her, studying her body. />
  She watched as he undressed, walked to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a foil packet. He rolled on the condom and came to rest between her legs. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  She nodded, but she couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Manon…”

  “I’m sorry…I can’t…” she cried, tears running down her cheeks.

  Dutch got off the bed and went into the bathroom. He came back out seconds later, grabbed his clothes, and stalked from the bedroom.

  “Get dressed. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready,” she heard him say.

  —:—

  Dutch dressed as he went, storming out the back door, into the garage, and over to the punching bag that hung from the rafters. He slammed his fists into it over and over again, cursing his stupidity.

  She wasn’t his. She never really had been. Alegria used him to ease the pain of losing Mantis. Why couldn’t he accept that as the truth? Why did he talk himself out of it only to have the reality hit him in the face again? Because he loved her. As much of an idiot as that made him, he’d loved her since the day they’d met.

  She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. She was beautiful, brash, and smart as hell. She had a wicked sense of humor, and for a while, he’d believed he had as much of a shot at getting her to date him as Mantis had. Even then, he’d been lying to himself.

  Their drive to Annapolis was silent. When he turned on music, Alegria abruptly turned it off and sat with her arms crossed. She refused to look at or speak to him, although he had nothing to say to her either.

  —:—

  Sometime during the night, one of the Somalis woke Mantis and handed him a piece of stale bread, a can of tuna, and a bottle of water. After he ate, the same man led him to a hole in the ground where he motioned for him to urinate. After he had, the man led him back to the mattress, chained his legs together first, and then his hands.