by Angel Vane
“He’s ex-military, right?” Isaac asked. “Makes sense that he’d work for an outfit like TIDES.”
“Old Navy buddy?” Grace shrieked. “Did Julian really say that about Sunny Tate?”
“Yeah, why is that a big deal?” Mena asked, walking toward Grace’s desk.
Grace’s fingers flew across her keyboard as she accessed her social media accounts online. Mena’s eyes blurred as Grace scrolled through her friends' list, then stopped on one small logo—the same trident-speared peach with a wave curving over it that Mena had seen on Julian’s folder last night. Grace clicked on the link.
“This is your man’s old Navy buddy,” Grace said, clicking on a picture, then magnifying it to fill the entire screen.
Sucking in a breath, Mena stared at the old Navy buddy—Sunny Tate. The woman was stunning, with dark skin, sparkling brown eyes, and a smile that had to be worth millions. She could have easily been a model on the runways of Paris and Milan, yet her bio stated that she was a retired naval special ops pilot, owner of TIDES, ATL native and self-proclaimed fashionista.
“She’s gorgeous,” Isaac whispered, stepping between Grace and Mena to get a better view.
Blood boiling, Mena couldn’t stop watching the monitor as Grace continued to scroll through Sunny Tate's social media page. Pictures flew by in a blur. Why hadn't Julian told her that the owner of TIDES was a breathtakingly beautiful woman from his past? Perhaps he hadn’t thought it was important, and maybe it wasn't. Why should she make a big deal about a pretty woman who’d served in the Navy with him? There was no reason for her to freak out—
"Looks like there's more to the story of Julian and Sunny," Isaac said, pointing at the screen.
Staring back at her was a young Julian Montgomery with an arm wrapped around Sunny Tate, dressed in a scantily clad bikini, on the beach in what looked like Destin, Florida to Mena.
Despite the warning bells clanging in her head, Mena couldn’t help but take stock. Sunny was curvy and voluptuous and infinitely more attractive than she was. A spasm of panic shot through Mena.
Reaching over Grace, Mena grabbed the mouse and magnified the photo. On the left of Sunny, a light-skinned black man with short dreadlocks and a sweet smile also had an arm wrapped around her, leaning his head on her shoulder. But Sunny’s arms were locked around Julian's waist, her head inches from his as she was caught mid laughter for the photo.
"The post says 'Hanging out with my favorite boys' and tags Julian Montgomery and Broman Garrison,” Isaac recited.
Mena felt dizzy. Julian and Broman with Sunny Tate. Sunny and Julian looked close, intimate in the photo while Broman looked like a third wheel. Had Sunny and Julian been a couple back then? Why would Julian think about working with his ex without giving her some kind of warning or heads up?
Grace quickly pressed the close button on the website, jarring Mena from her thoughts.
“Enough of that. No need to think about Julian working with Sunny. If you ask me, that charm bracelet says everything you need to know about where his heart lies,” Grace said, probably trying to encourage her out of the funk settling over her.
“I agree with Grace. A ten thousand dollar charm bracelet from Tiffany’s should be more than enough to make you feel secure, even with a gorgeous woman like Sunny Tate around,” Isaac added.
Mena glanced down at her bracelet, flipping the heart-shaped charm over to stare at the engraved J and M on the surface. Normally, staring at her bracelet made her feel overwhelmed with love, but today the jewelry struggled to work its magic.
“There really should be a lot more working going on in here,” Wangari said, a playful hint in her rebuke as she walked into the room.
“We’re working,” Grace said, fumbling to grab a mask resting on the corner of her desk.
Wangari gave her a skeptical glance, then said, “I received clearance to extend a special invitation to some of my staff for an event occurring at the museum. How would the three of you like to attend a special, private dinner being held tomorrow night to raise money for President Thairu’s re-election campaign?”
Starting in April, voters would head to the polls to choose candidates for the dozens of political parties across Kenya. Mena had noticed the buzz building across the city. There were still concerns, despite the peaceful state President Thairu had ushered in over the past four years, that violence could occur at polling stations around the country as rival parties and tribes clashed.
“You know, I’m in. I’m a huge supporter of the President,” Grace said. “I need to figure out who I’m going to bring as my plus one.”
“Who says you get a plus one? I was barely able to secure seats for the three of you, considering the background checks and profiles needed for all the invited guests,” Wangari said.
“Grace can have my seat. Thank you for the kind invitation, but I will pass,” Isaac said.
Mena remembered Isaac complaining about President Thairu in one of his spirited debates with Grace months ago. She figured he didn’t want to attend a fundraiser for a leader he didn’t support.
“Mena, how about you? Are you and Julian available?” Wangari asked. Mena couldn’t help but notice Grace pout as Wangari offered Isaac’s seat to her.
Mena wasn't sure what Julian would think about attending a Kenyan political fundraising event, but she wasn't about to say no to her boss's invitation. "Of course, we'd be happy to."
Chapter Nine
Julian smirked, as one by one, the members of the TIDES team dropped from the bar, unable to do another pull up. So much for him being out of shape. Dangling low, he looked over at Sunny, who was the last one hanging on with him and banged out four more wide-grip pull-ups. Sunny completed three then dropped to the ground. Just for good measure, Julian did one last set of four before he dismounted, landing with a thud on the soft grass.
“Damn! I can’t believe you were able to do that,” Enzo said, rubbing his arms. He’d been the first to tap out on the last exercise of the session. They’d started the morning with a 13.1-mile run, then followed with a half-mile swim before launching into sit-ups and finally to the pull-ups.
Julian felt good, showing up his new teammates on his first workout with them. They were strong, but none of them had gone through the rigorous SEAL training he’d endured for seven years.
“Looks like we snagged a good one,” Azalea Newton said, stretching forward to shake Julian’s hand.
“So much for the bugger being rusty,” Simon Newton said, rolling his eyes. Simon was the crankier, lesser-half of Azalea, who preferred to be called Zale. The couple hailed from Australia, and had both worked in special forces, but never been allowed on the same team. Growing disgruntled with the separation from each other, they’d decided to leave the military and work for a private security firm where they could do the work they loved together.
Before dawn, as the TIDES crew ran a half marathon, Julian had been an unwitting captive audience to their boring-ass story of falling in love. He’d gotten a brief respite from small talk during the swim, which he’d finished second in the pack, right behind Travis Glaze, the self-proclaimed intelligence officer of TIDES.
“Glaze was my Julian Montgomery until I got the real Julian Montgomery,” said Sunny after introducing them. “Like you, he can track just about anybody down and is a whiz at hacking cell phones and computers.”
Glaze had shaken his hand, looking at him with awe. Julian figured Sunny had regaled him with wild stories of their time in the Navy together.
Resting on the side of the lake, Julian and Glaze were shortly joined by Taye Babalola, a six-foot-five Nigerian. A behemoth of a man, he was the other pilot on the team.
“What was Sunny like back then, when you were in special ops?” Taye had asked.
“A lot nicer than she is now,” Julian had joked, but there was truth in his words. “About the same, really. It’s amazing how much people can change and still be the same.”
“She’s taught me so
much about flying and how to get out of dangerous situations. I know the Navy was sad to lose someone with her skills,” Taye continued.
Julian nodded, but the truth was … for every great Broman Garrison, Sunny Tate, and Julian Montgomery, there were dozens more that were just as good, just as fast and just as brilliant. The Navy had an endless supply of excellent operatives because they weren’t found. They were made.
“Let’s go! Time to get the sit-ups started,” Sunny had called out after the last team member, Shiloh Dayan, emerged from the water.
Shiloh was the quiet one of the group, observing but not engaging in much of the conversation. Julian noticed a reluctance in everything she did as if she was overthinking her every move. Hesitation could get her killed in a special ops mission. She had been a part of the Israeli Defense Forces and decided to leave to get more action, which Julian wasn’t quite sure she was ready for. Shiloh had finished last in every part of the training.
“Minimum of fifty, superstar level at seventy-five. Sit-ups, then pull-ups. Go!” Hakeem Underwood had called out to the team.
From what Julian could tell, Hakeem was Sunny’s second-in-command, assisting her in leading the team. He had a boisterous, comedic personality that didn’t seem to get in the way of him getting the job done. Lagging behind with Shiloh, he’d been assigned to make sure she wasn’t alone as the rest of the team proceeded through the exercises.
Julian had banged out seventy-five sit-ups, then ran over to start his pull-ups. He’d missed the competitive nature of working out with a team. The drive to be better than the rest had been instilled in him from his Navy training. Being last meant being dead, and he wasn’t keen on dying any time soon.
Not since Mena had come into his life.
Hakeem jogged over with a notepad, then clapped his hands.
“Good job this morning,” Hakeem said, a sly smile on his face. “I’m sure there’s no surprise here, but our new team member, Julian Montgomery, won the training today by a landslide.”
Julian laughed, then said, “So what do I win?”
“Bragging rights are all we give out, but I guess that’s not enough for a decorated Navy SEAL. Should we make you a star out of grass?” Simon said.
“I got enough stars. Don’t need anymore,” Julian responded, not appreciating the Aussie’s tone.
“You were impressive out there,” Shiloh said, walking over to him. “Really showed that we could be doing a lot better.”
Julian smiled at the diminutive woman. “As long as you know you’re giving your best, that’s all that matters.”
“Bullshit! My goal is to beat all of you,” Sunny said.
“But now that Julian is here, you’ve come in second, our fearless leader,” Hakeem said, playfully punching Sunny in the arm. She beamed back at him, and Julian wondered about the closeness between them.
“Did I get third?” Simon asked.
“Not this time. That honor went to your wife. Good job, Zale. Your time in the swim gave you the edge over your hubby,” Hakeem said.
“Yes!” Zale said, jumping around in a circle. “I beat you, babe!”
“What’s next?” Julian asked as the team meandered around the wide-open grassy knoll, trying to recover from the brutal workout.
“Nothing, you get to go home. I’ll call you if something pops up,” Sunny said.
Hakeem rested an arm around Sunny’s neck and glanced at Julian. “How about you let Julian take my place at that fancy fundraising dinner tomorrow night?”
“Why would I do that?” Sunny asked. “He just got here.”
“Hell, I think he proved today that he can jump in and outperform all of us. Just like all the stories you told me about him,” Hakeem said.
“Just the good stuff, I hope,” Julian added, wondering what exactly Sunny had shared with Hakeem.
“Mostly good,” Hakeem said, breaking into laughter.
“And what will you do with your night off if I make the swap,” Sunny asked.
“What I always do, find some trouble to get into,” Hakeem winked and kissed Sunny on the temple. “What do you say?”
“Montgomery? Ready to jump into action this fast?” Sunny looked at him, eyebrow raised. “It’s a formal black-tie event to raise money for the campaign of the current president, Noah Thairu, hosted by our clients.”
“Yeah, Sunny hit it big when Timothy Irungu hired TIDES to supplement his security detail. There’ve been some anomalies in his team, and he wants us to assess the guys he’s hired. He’s worried about an attack on his family with the primaries coming up in April. Wouldn’t be unusual for al-Harakat or one of the other tribes to try to take out Thairu’s supporters,” Hakeem explained.
“And who is Timothy Irungu?” Julian asked as Enzo jogged over, joining their conversation. As a SEAL, he’d had more than his fair share of run-ins with the jihadist terrorist group, al-Harakat. But he wasn’t up on the social elite of Kenya.
“Only one of the richest motherfuckers in Kenya. He owns a huge horticultural empire. You know what that is, don’t you? Horticulture. It’s like fancy-ass gardening, growing all kinds of flowers plus fruit and vegetable farming. But mostly flowers in his case. They’re one of the largest exporters of flowers to Europe. The family is worth billions,” Enzo said.
“He has one heir, a daughter named Wangari, who he is extremely protective of. You and Enzo would be there as her personal bodyguards,” Sunny added.
“Which is ridiculous. Wangari’s husband is the Director of Public Prosecutions, kinda like the Attorney General in the U.S. Secret service will be protecting him. Not sure why Timmy wants extra coverage for her,” Enzo said.
“Simple. Tim Irungu never wanted his daughter to marry Okeyo Lagat, and he doesn’t trust the guy,” Hakeem said.
Julian rubbed the back of his neck, his head spinning with the sudden influx of information about Kenyan politics and social elites.
“Look. Job is simple. Protect Tim Irungu’s daughter. That’s all you have to remember. What do you say?” Sunny asked.
Julian raised an eyebrow. He was going to be assigned to protect Mena’s boss. Mena had told him that Wangari was from a rich family, but she’d never mentioned that the Director of the Tribal Museum was one of Africa’s one percent.
With Mena likely to be working late on Wangari’s special assignment, Julian didn’t have anything better to do. Now was as good a time as any to do his first assignment with the TIDES team.
Julian said, “Count me in.”
Chapter Ten
Standing in the center of the ballroom, Mena watched in awe as African dignitaries, business elite, and celebrities milled about networking and clinking glasses. The energy was palpable in the air, an excitement and decadence that only slightly distracted her from the disappointment of Julian not being by her side, sharing in this extravagant experience with her.
“Now, that is Yosef Soyinka,” Grace said, pausing to tip her glass toward a medium height man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and had a kind smile as he talked to two women dressed in severe business suits. “He is the owner of several vessels and is the primary shipper of choice for Wangari’s family to transport their flowers to Europe. He’s worth high eight figures, buys art like candy, and definitely is worth an introduction.”
“Go ahead. I think I’ll sit this one out,” Mena said, ignoring Grace’s protests as she turned to walk toward the ice sculptures adorning tables along the ballroom wall. Her head was spinning from the whirlwind of introductions Grace had subjected her to throughout the evening. Mena was barely able to keep up as she kept her eyes trained on the door, waiting for Wangari’s arrival. The night before, she’d bubbled with excitement as she told Julian about being invited to this prestigious dinner only to find out he couldn’t be her plus one.
“I need a drink,” Mena mumbled under her breath. If Omar were here, he’d have a haughty quip and a glass of Hennessy to help shake her out of this funk.
“Perhaps this will do?”
Mena glanced to her left and saw the outstretched, tuxedo-clad arm of … Norman Gale? Could it really be him? The shining star of conservation that had burned out and faded into oblivion in recent years. What was he doing in Kenya?
“I know you,” Mena said, taking the flute of champagne from his hand.
“Do you?” Norman asked, raising an eyebrow as a hint of a smile played on his lips. He was taller and thinner than she remembered. The expensive tuxedo gifted him with a stateliness that suited him well.
“I was in grad school when you gave a riveting lecture on the future of conservation in the art world,” Mena said.
“Lasers.” Norman nodded.
“I changed my studies the next week, going all-in on laser conservation,” Mena said.
“Seems like that worked out well for you, Miss …?” Norman asked.
“Mena Nix, the current recipient of the Fellowship at the Tribal Museum. I’m a guest of Wangari Irungu,” Mena explained.
He extended his hand, which Mena shook.
“Norman Gale. And congratulations to you, Mena. It appears we have two things in common. I work for Ms. Irungu as well,” Norman said.
“We have a dubious third thing in common, which maybe I shouldn’t even mention,” Mena said, rolling her eyes.
“Now, my interest is piqued. Tell me,” Norman said, taking a sip of his champagne. His eyes glimmered with excitement as he waited for her to speak.
Mena took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure she should have brought the subject up, but it was too late to backtrack now.
“After you left the Genesis Gallery in St. Basil, I was hired to take over the conservation department,” Mena said, scrunching up her nose.
