Mistletoe (K19 Security Solutions Book 3)

by Heather Slade

  “Onyx, Ranger, and Diesel, sir.”

  “Outstanding. This should be a slam dunk.” And it would be if Mantis miraculously materialized.

  It wasn’t long before Striker noticed his team’s tail. As soon as the Somali bastards turned the next corner, they’d ambush them, get Halo and Tackle, and leave the soon-to-be-dead Somalis behind.

  “Everything went like clockwork,” Striker told her. “Until we had to face the fact that Mantis was still MIA. Dutch had a mole in the city, whom he made contact with. After several hours, we were able to confirm that Mantis had, in fact, been kidnapped right outside the city.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Dutch ordered Onyx to bring me back to the States, and to be honest, with the shape I was in, it was the right call. He, Diesel, and Ranger went on to look for Mantis. With the information they had from the mole, they felt confident it wouldn’t take them long.”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  “I haven’t.” What he wouldn’t admit to Aine, or out loud to anyone, was that the team should’ve found Mantis and reported back to him several hours ago. That they hadn’t, filled him with dread. Something had to be wrong.

  He’d just pulled into his garage when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and looked at the screen.

  We found him, it said.

  Striker would’ve preferred Dutch had said, “we got him,” but he wasn’t going to quibble.

  Roger that, he answered. Good job.

  “What’s happened?” asked Aine.

  “They found him.”

  “Thank God,” she said, breathing out a sigh of relief that should’ve matched his own, but something still nagged at him.

  Striker checked his phone again, but there was nothing more from Dutch. There were a number of possible explanations why he hadn’t sent an update, and many of them were positive. He’d learned a long time ago not to speculate either way until he had hard evidence.

  He pushed the situation to the back of his mind, determined to focus on Aine, and the fact that it was still Christmas, and they were together.

  “Come on inside, baby,” he said, “I’ll grab your things.”

  Striker set the bag beside the front door and walked through his condo, turning on lights and upping the temperature on the thermostat. He leaned down and arranged a couple of logs in the fireplace, added kindling, and lit the fire.

  When he turned around, Aine had a gift bag in her hand.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told her. Striker took the stairs two at a time, knowing exactly where he had the gift he’d thought about giving her the whole time he was in Somalia.

  —:—

  Aine bit her bottom lip, hoping that Griffin wouldn’t think her gift was inappropriate given they hadn’t been seeing each other very long.

  When he eyed the bag in her hand and bounded up the stairs, she worried that he felt obligated to give her something too and had gone in search of something he could find at the last minute.

  “I brought you a gift. It’s just something little,” she said when he came back downstairs empty-handed.

  “I have something for you too.”

  “You don’t have to. I mean, just because I—”

  “I would’ve given this to you tonight whether you had something for me or not.”

  Aine felt the flush creep up her neck and into her cheeks.

  Griffin walked closer to her and put his hand on the back of her neck. “I know we haven’t spent as much time together as either of us would’ve liked, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a connection to you like none I’ve ever felt before. I know you feel it too.”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  Griffin pulled a small box out of his pocket and put it in her hand. “You first,” he said.

  Aine’s fingers trembled as she lifted the lid. Her eyes met Griffin’s when she pulled the bracelet out of the box. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It belonged to someone very special to me,” he told her. “The one person who always loved me unconditionally.”

  “Who was she, Griffin?”

  “My aunt. Her name was Dorothy, and she was my mother’s sister. She died a few years ago, but before she did, she gave me this.” He ran his finger over the charms, each one adorned with a garnet. “You share a birthday.”

  “We do?”

  Griffin nodded. “January third.”

  “How did you know?” she asked, immediately realizing the stupidity of the question. “Never mind,” she murmured.

  “Would you like to wear it?”

  “I’d love to.” Aine held out her wrist, and Griffin draped the bracelet on it and fastened the clasp.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Like you.”

  Aine felt her face flush again as tears filled her eyes. “It’s a family heirloom.”

  “One I want you to have.”

  “Will you open yours now?” she asked, handing him the bag.

  —:—

  Striker reached into the small bag and pulled out what looked like a pocket watch wrapped in tissue. He opened the brass cover and found that, instead of a watch, it was a compass engraved with a message.

  If you take me by the hand

  Open your heart

  I’ll help you

  Find your way back home.

  A.

  “Wow,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I love it.”

  “Do you?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.

  He ran his fingers over it and leaned forward to kiss her. “I’ve never loved a gift more.”

  “Me either,” Aine said, running her finger over the garnet charms. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had. Does that sound silly?”

  “Not at all,” Striker answered, pulling her in as close to him as he could get her. “It’s the best Christmas I’ve ever had too.”

  Epilogue

  Mantis, Alegria, and Dutch

  Alegria had spent most of Christmas Eve talking to Aine, reassuring her that the team who had gone in to search of Striker and Mantis, along with the two CIA operatives they’d been tasked with extracting from their Somali pirate kidnappers, were the best of the best. And that Striker and Mantis were too.

  She’d all but promised Aine that Striker would come back safe, and was as happy as everyone else when he and Onyx walked in the front door.

  Alegria held her breath, willing more men to follow, but none did. She waited, listening to Onyx give the condensed version of Striker’s rescue, knowing he was leaving out ninety percent of what had actually happened.

  “Can we talk?” she asked.

  Onyx nodded. “Where?”

  “Come with me,” she answered, walking out the front door and down the pathway to the guest house.

  “Where are Dutch and Mantis?” she asked once they were inside.

  “We weren’t able to get a fix on Mantis’ twenty when we got to Mogadishu, although we had been able to track Striker.”

  Alegria closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Go on.”

  “It wasn’t until we were able to intercept Striker that we realized Mantis wasn’t with him. Striker was just as surprised that Mantis wasn’t with us.”

  “Please, Onyx. Tell me what happened,” she implored, wishing he would just get on with it.

  “Dutch has a Somali source who was able to confirm that Mantis had been ambushed on his way into the city. The team agreed that I fly Striker, Halo, and Tackle back to the States while Dutch, Ranger, and Diesel went to extract Mantis.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “Nothing yet. Hold on. It’s been a while since I’ve checked.” He pulled the phone out and looked at the screen. “They found him.”

  “They found him?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “Not that they’ve got him?”

  “No, ma’am.” Onyx showed her the message.

  “Merde.”

  “I’ll follow up.”

  —
:—

  Donning his night vision device, Dutch could see Mantis along with two other men, who looked like they were also captives. All were heavily guarded, but that wouldn’t deter him and his team from going in and extracting them. They just needed to organize, and then they’d head in.

  —:—

  Mantis’ head was throbbing, and he felt nauseous. Whatever he’d last eaten was probably spoiled, or worse—poisoned.

  He’d been listening to the Somalis argue about the fact that, so far, no one had responded to their ransom demands.

  He doubted it would be long before they heard from either Doc or someone from the CIA, but it would only be to tell them they didn’t negotiate with kidnappers and to demand Mantis’ release.

  It had been clear that the group who ambushed him was as financially crippled as the one who had taken Tackle and Halo. Nearly everyone in Somalia was in the same situation. Whatever foreign aid came into the country, immediately landed in the hands of corrupt government officials rather than be disbursed to the dying people in their country.

  Mantis heard a sound that made his ears prick up. It sounded almost like a birdsong, and would to anyone else who had heard it, but he knew differently.

  All hell was about to rain down on this encampment, and not just from anybody; his best friend Dutch was here, and he was about to be rescued.

  About the Author

  Dear Readers,

  Thank you so much for your support—want to know more? Check out my website!

  Please signup for my newsletter so we can stay in touch. Click here to sign up now.

  Thanks so much,

  Heather

  Also by Heather Slade

  K19 SECURITY SOLUTIONS

  Book One: Razor

  Book Two: Gunner

  Coming Soon!

  Book Four: Mantis

  New Series Coming Soon!

  MILITARY INTELLIGENCE SECTION 6

  Book One: Shiver

  BUTLER RANCH

  Available Now!

  Book One: Brodie

  Book Two: Maddox

  Book Three: Naughton

  Book Four: Mercer

  Book Five: Kade

  COWBOYS OF CRESTED BUTTE

  Available Now!

  Book One: Fall for Me

  Book Two: Dance with Me

  Book Three: Kiss Me Cowboy

  Book Four: Stay with Me

  Book Five: Win Me Over

  Want more from Heather Slade?

  Keep reading for a short excerpt from

  Shiver

  the upcoming first book in the

  Military Intelligence Section 6 series.

  Shiver

  “Thornton, are you listening?”

  Shiver, as he was known to most outside of his family, turned away from the window, where he’d been looking out at the dormant gardens of Whittaker Abbey. The land had been handed down, heir to heir, since 1547, when the former Cistercian abbey was taken over by Henry VIII. Shortly afterward the estate had been given to John Whittaker as a gift from the king for his service.

  As a boy, he’d explored every acre of the forested estate and gardens, knowing that one day the care and maintenance of the land would be his responsibility. It had seemed a long way off then—not until he was an old man, when his father, the fourteenth Duke passed away.

  Until then, he would remain the Marquess of Bedford, and more importantly, a high-ranking agent in the United Kingdom’s Secret Intelligence Service, also known as Military Intelligence Section 6, or MI6.

  “I beg your pardon, Duchess,” he answered, looking lovingly at his mother, the woman who had been the guiding force of their family in the months since his father suffered a debilitating stroke.

  “What news of Almanzo?”

  Like him, his younger brother by two years, known to most as Wilder, was employed by “her majesty’s secret service.” However, he was on the national security side—MI5.

  Shiver sneaked a look at his phone. “He’s expected this afternoon.”

  “Very good. You and he will get the trees.”

  His first thought was to ask why the groundskeepers couldn’t handle it on their own as they’d had even before his father’s illness, but he understood his mother was grasping for any semblance of what she considered normalcy. Choosing the trees that would be brought into the abbey and decorated for the holidays was something he, his father, and brother had done together until Shiver had turned eighteen and left for university.

  “We will do,” he murmured, wondering how many trees his mother planned to decorate this year. Was more than one really necessary? It wasn’t as though they would be entertaining this holiday season.

  His mother, Duchess Victoria, was the eldest daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Cheshire, and still practiced what some believed to be archaic traditions of the English nobility.

  “Come, sit with me,” said his mother, holding her hand out to him. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

  Shiver sat, but he had no intention of telling her anything. He also had no intention of lying, so he chose not to say anything.

  “Have you seen your father this morning?” she asked.

  Shiver nodded. “I read the news.”

  His mother patted his hand. “You know how much he likes to catch up over his morning tea.”

  He wasn’t certain his father had heard a word he’d read, but as the doctor had told them, the important thing was that the family spent time with him and conversed whether the duke was able to respond or not.

  “There’s more,” he heard her murmur.

  “What’s that?”

  “Something is on your mind, Thornton, and whatever it is, its weight is heavy.”

  Even if he wanted to discuss it with his mother, he wouldn’t know where to begin.

  “It’s a woman.”

  Shiver leaned closer. “It’s nothing,” he said softly. “Let it be, Duchess.”

  “For now,” she said, standing and kissing his forehead. “I’ll check on your father.”

  Shiver nodded and stood, walking back over to the window.

  It had been a over a month since United Russia lifted the ten million dollar bounty they had on Orina “Losha” Kuznetsov’s head, and yet Shiver had no idea where she was and why she insisted on staying so far underground that no one could find her.

  He’d called in every favor—and there had been many—but so far he didn’t have a single lead as to where the bloody woman was hiding.

  “You best be driving in the gate,” Shiv said when he answered his brother’s call.

  Wilder laughed. “At least an hour out but before you blast me, I’ve spent the last half hour listening to Sir Ranald tell me how he intends to fire you.”

  Shiver laughed. “My Christmas wish come true.”

  “What in the bloody hell did you do?”

  Shiver pounded his fist on the desk of the office he’d been holed up in, cursing the impotence he felt as much as the walls surrounding him.

  Ten minutes ago, his boss had summoned him, but Shiver wasn’t any closer to giving him the answer he sought than he had been two weeks ago when Rivet asked for his decision.

  Sir Ranald “Rivet” Caird was a career British intelligence officer for MI6 who, four years prior, had been named chief. At the time, he’d been candid about his refusal to serve beyond a five-year term.

  The first in line to succeed him had been Merrigan Shaw, who was now Merrigan Shaw-Butler, happily married to Kade Butler, a founding partner of the private security and intelligence firm made up primarily of former CIA operatives. Merrigan had taken over as managing partner of the group and had made it perfectly clear that she wouldn’t return to MI6, regardless of any position offered.

  As much as that had infuriated their boss, Rivet had seen her departure coming as much as Shiver had, and couldn’t begrudge her all the happiness she and Kade had in their lives.

  With Merrigan out of the picture, Shiver had moved
to the top spot to succeed Sir Caird. His lack of enthusiasm along with his refusal to give the man an answer, incensed his boss.

  “He’s pacing,” said Patsy, sticking her head in Shiver’s office. “Would you mind?”

  “In a minute,” he snapped, immediately regretting his tone. Patsy was Rivet’s assistant and didn’t deserve his or anyone else’s wrath.

  “I take it you haven’t heard anything.”

  Patsy was well aware of Shiver’s search for Orina Kuznetsov, and had done everything she could to help. While her level of security clearance was as high or higher than Shiver’s, she couldn’t do too much digging without getting in trouble with Rivet herself.

  “Sorry, Pats. Not your fault or your problem.”

  “Go talk to him. Get it over with so we can all start enjoying the holiday.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he muttered, cursing himself again for his thoughtlessness.

  Patsy motioned with her head toward Rivet’s office and Shiver stood.

  “You’re not a duke yet,” Rivet barked when Shiver entered his office. “Until you are, I outrank you and I expect you to respond appropriately.”

  “Yes, sir. My apologies.”

  “The resources of MI6 are not yours to make use of for personal matters.”

  “Understood.” Now wasn’t the time to argue with Rivet, but other than making contact with several of their operatives, Shiver hadn’t used MI6 money to search for Kuznetsov.

  “That being said, I am authorizing a fact-finding mission.”

  “Don’t.”

  Rivet raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m not ready to give you an answer.”

  “You’re under the assumption that I’m authorizing the mission in exchange for your acceptance of the position?”

  “To a certain extent.”