by Roze, Robyn
Sean considered the details of the plan, a 3-D schematic assembling in his head. The scheme was impressive in its simplicity, with a high probability of success. He liked it. And he liked Black, whose contributions to the outlined course of action displayed resourcefulness under extreme pressure. A man who, at this moment, stood tall and confident, daring to lock eyes with him instead of looking to the men around him for backing.
No wonder Dix considered him a threat.
Sean shrugged, indifference masking his face. “It might work.”
His impassive scrutiny shifted to Gunnar Reece, the black ops specialist in charge of the extraction operation. A man nicknamed Snake for his uncommon patience and cunning ability to infiltrate the toughest situations and environments unnoticed. He had been an irreplaceable asset in the Mexican jungle last year, getting them inside Hector Morales’ strike zone, undetected.
“Do you trust his input?” Sean glanced with suspicion at Black, then back to Gunnar.
The soldier’s bare, powerful arms, memorials sleeved in the ink of every mission he had braved, remained linked across his chest in a display of grit. His posture stiff, muscular legs anchored wide, the answer behind the thin slit of his lids would be unreadable to most. However, fifteen years of facing down death together meant Sean could read between those hard lines.
“Fancy pants here,” Gunnar smirked at Marcus, “has been inside the compound, more than once, and gave us handy intel on the security rotations, staff schedules, and alarm triggers. He had some candy-ass ideas to start with, but I cut those. This operation is solid now.” His ginger-topped head and crooked nose tilted toward Marcus. “The kid just needed my guidance is all.”
Marcus, wisely, held his tongue at the slur, and then Gunnar gave his edited version of the mission. “Pretty boy here’s gonna play dress up—his specialty, and worm his way inside the compound and locate the target. When he gives the all-clear, we’ll sweep in like a California wildfire and neutralize the security crew. No one’s gonna have time to get a warning off to those sick bastards on the boat.” He gave a curt nod of reassurance. “We got this, chief. No worries. Hell, it’s a kindergarten sideshow. A piece a’ cake,” Gunnar said, matter-of-factly.
Gunnar was not a vain braggart. His hard-nosed confidence was based on an outstanding record of accomplishment. Sean knew even the smallest job earned Reece’s fierce attention to detail and fine-tuned skills, including his uncanny ability to sniff out a rat in the ranks. Precisely the reason Sean had contracted him so many times in the past.
And why he had tasked him this time with monitoring Black.
This side operation had the smell of easy success, compared to the carnage they had survived together in Mexico. But it did not mean the detour was without risks. Getting the girl out had rerouted the original plan, reconfigured the assignment of manpower, and interrupted the hold-and-go points.
Sean’s circuitry blazed through alternatives, viewing an array of screens in his mind; some he cut, others merged. He augmented and calibrated the pitch Reece and Black had presented to him until the best plan solidified in his mind.
He zeroed in on Gunnar. “You know the drill. We will run this until we can all do it in our sleep. Drop any weak points. This rescue will change what we do going forward and how we achieve our final goal. The timing needs to be perfect. It all has to be perfect.”
“It will be. And even when it’s not,” Gunnar gave Sean a sly grin, “it will be.”
Sean’s telling expression mirrored Reece’s with the recognition of their long, hazardous, and successful history.
Then he returned his attention to Marcus and circled him, looking up and down the younger man’s sinewy frame, dark blotches under his eyes, dress shirt and trousers crumpled and stained with another man’s blood from two days ago. As expected, Gunnar had been making it rough for the draftee.
“Jesus, Reece. Cut the newb some slack. He looks like he needs his beauty sleep. And get him some clean clothes and a shower. He’s stinking up the place.”
The warehouse echoed with the deep rumble of male laughter, except for Marcus and Sean.
Sean finished his evaluation, standing a few feet in front of Marcus, and waited for silence from the others. “Your former boss surrounds himself with yes-men, so he can congratulate himself on being the smartest guy in the room. He’s failed every time he wanted you dead because you understand that about him. And because he doesn’t understand me, doesn’t understand that I don’t operate the way he does.
“You’re standing here right now because you’re smart. Because you’re not a yes-man. And because I can use you. From what I can tell, the dumbest thing you’ve done was getting involved with his second-rate outfit in the first place. You’re going to correct that in a few days.” He moved into Black’s personal space. “But if my men get even a whiff they’ve been set up, you can kiss your ass, and everything you care about, goodbye.”
Black didn’t flinch. He stepped closer.
If this wasn’t Sean’s last job, this guy would be on the next payroll.
“I have every reason not to fuck this up.”
“Yes, you do.” A tense, knowing look passed between them. “When this job is over, you’re free to go. Until then, I own you. And you owe me.”
“You’ve made that clear.”
“Good. I don’t like misunderstandings.” Sean’s hand extended in the narrow gap between them.
Marcus’ eyes flicked downward, his hesitation clear.
Then their hands connected, firm, like their gaze.
“Welcome to the team, Black.”
Chapter 12
Shayna entered the sleek lounge on the mega-yacht, aptly named Sea Palace. Their air escape from Singapore had landed them on the helipad of this luxury ship four days earlier. Since that time, Mick had restricted her roaming to a lockout zone on one of the five levels aboard the floating city, citing safety and security reasons for her isolation. Of course, she tested her confinement, turned away each time by the men guarding the entry and exit points of her plush prison.
The extravagant safe house, designed with skill and decorated with bold colors, long clean lines, and stylish, high-end furnishings was stunning. And each day the same crew member entered her space, assigned to her, following orders not to ask or answer questions unrelated to the day’s menu or the accommodations on Shayna’s deck.
After four days with no substantive human contact, no update on or from her husband, no phones, televisions programmed for movies only, and no land in sight from any direction, the situation was driving her insane, regardless of how lavish or comfortable the generous quarters were.
As evening drew near, Shayna’s bare feet padded with stealthy purpose across the ebonized wood floor as she followed the muffled sound of Mick’s voice down the hall. The man had been a virtual ghost since arriving, which had not helped her agitated mental state. At the door’s edge, she peeked with caution into the library, watching and listening.
Mick stood tall and imposing with a compact satphone to his ear, his broad back to the door, face at the window, the sun ahead dropping below the closing horizon. Even from the one-sided conversation, she knew who was on the other end of the call. Her heart raced with the agonizing knowledge.
How many times had he and Sean talked? And why in all these days had he not asked to speak to her?
“I’ve got company,” Mick said, no surprise coloring his tone.
His telling statement snapped away her brain fog. When he turned toward her, a hint of amusement marked his eyes. She had been delusional to think she could ever sneak up on someone like him.
Shayna marched across the room and planted herself on the opposite side of the glossy desk from him, her arm extended over it, fingers fluttering. “I want to talk to him.” She had raised her voice to a level she knew Sean could hear.
Mick appeared unfazed by her demand.
“I’ll be there soon,”
he said into the phone, while holding Shayna’s defiant glare. “I’ll contact you with the all-clear as soon as it’s done.” He ended the call and dropped the phone into his shirt pocket, the stubby antenna sticking out at the top.
Shayna stared at the outline of the phone like it was an oasis in a desert. She imagined getting her hands on it, redialing the last number, hearing the deep bass of her husband’s voice, and then giving both men a piece of her mind. Her eyes flitted up to meet Mick’s, and she registered the challenge glinting in them.
Was he laughing at her? Goading her?
“How dare you. How dare both of you!” Mick seemed taken aback by her sharp tone, punctuated with an accusatory aim of her finger. “Maybe you and Sean think the little woman,” she had air quoted, “should be perfectly happy in a gilded cage. Well, I am not. Neither of you can be bothered to let me know how he is. Or hand over the damn phone when I know it was him on the other end. Or even tell me when this will be over. Or, at the very least, tell me where in the hell I even am right now!” She dragged in a deep breath, shaken by the force of her own furious rant.
To regain both her sanity and civility, Shayna moved deeper into the room to distract and refocus her mind. She looked around at the array of books organized in built-in bookcases. The shelves also displayed colorful splashes of artwork and trinkets among the hardbound stories, spotlighted under the glow of recessed lights.
Then her aggravation deepened when she noticed something she had overlooked in previous days when returning books she lacked the concentration to read. Other lit spaces sat empty. Spaces where personal pictures undoubtedly belonged. Photographs removed for the owners’ safety. And hers.
No connections to real people.
No connections to the real world.
“Is Sea Palace real?” She recollected the name written in a sweeping script on the aft hull as their helicopter closed the distance on the day of their arrival. However, now she imagined a banner strategically placed over the registered name, a disguise of sorts. An efficient and clever way to camouflage something so massive in plain sight.
“What?”
“Is Sea Palace really the name of this yacht?” Her determined focus swung to Mick’s.
They locked eyes for seconds that ticked by like long minutes. Silence and a poker face were the only answers he gave. Typical. Hadn’t she learned by now?
Know when not to ask questions.
As a momentary distraction for herself, she pulled at the stretchy fabric gripping her breasts and straightened the jean shorts that hung too loose on her hips and bottom. Clothing that obviously fit another woman aboard this ship far better than it did her. She let out an exasperated sigh and counted to ten, reminding herself to continue putting one foot in front of the other amid all the chaos.
A few moments later, her mind now in a less frenzied place, Shayna turned her back on the standoff. With a deliberate stride to the door, she tossed a warning over her shoulder. “Tell him I’m not property.” She stopped outside the door and looked back at Mick, still standing behind the desk. The scrunch of his forehead and the angle of his ear suggested he needed clarification.
Her angry eyes pointed to the phone protected in his pocket. “You tell your friend on the phone I am not property, not his, nor anyone else’s.”
Then she stormed down the hall and out to the garden deck with its glorious canopy of evening stars.
The thump of heavy boots had stomped after her straight to the outside deck. Mick had said nothing, though, standing ever watchful and silent in view out of the corner of her eye.
Poor Mick. The man could handle life-threatening situations with expert skill. An infuriated woman? The wife of his lifelong friend and commander? That was a situation for which he could not have trained.
Shayna drew her gaze across the diamond-studded sky, stretched her legs across the cool fabric of the lounger and leaned back, resting her head on the hooked pillow. Mick still idled off to her side. “What do you want, Mick?”
He moseyed over to the railing, scanning below and above while pulling something from his shirt pocket and digging for something else in his pants pocket. When he turned around, hands out, asking for permission, she saw the cigar in one, a lighter in the other.
“Of course,” she answered with a nod.
Her eyes followed him down as he positioned himself on the wraparound seating nearest her and lit the roll of tobacco. With a casual air, one arm draped across the seat back, ankle perched on his knee, his fingers twisted the cigar between his lips as he puffed, sizing her up.
In almost five decades—a father, two brothers, and three husbands—she had learned how to read men. This one was sitting across from her, working out how to bend her to his will. A woman for whom he could not employ his usual packed arsenal of charms: the crooked smile hooked by a scar, the rugged good looks, the muscular body, the sense of humor. A combination of attributes she understood would, without question, disarm a more susceptible woman. They, however, appeared to be at an impasse under the silky screen of moonlight and stars.
Then one side of his mouth lifted in mischief. “Nice tugboat, huh?” His lips tightened in a sly smile around the cigar.
She blocked the instinct to return the humor, choosing instead to convey her displeasure with his attempt to poach a smile from her.
His thick brows raised behind the gauzy veil of cigar smoke. “Jesus, you’re hard to impress.”
“And even harder to play.”
He raised a hand in mock surrender, and, with the other, snuffed his cigar in an expensive, decorative bowl next to him.
“I came looking for you tonight to tell you we’re leaving.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow, after lunch.”
She clasped her hands in her lap and closed her eyes, nestling her head in the downy soft pillow. “Super.”
A few soundless moments passed, weighted with the bite of the unspoken.
“That’s it? You’re letting me off that easy?” Suspicion tinged his words.
Her lids remained shut. “Are you going to tell me where I’m being shipped off to?”
“No.”
“Who’s going to be at the mystery location I’m headed for?”
“No.”
“If it’s my final stop. Or just a detour along the way.”
“No and no. You know why that’s the answer to those questions.”
She faced him. “My ignorance makes me safer. I’m like a puppy who’s been collared and caged, because I don’t know enough not to pee on the floor.”
“Shayna—”
She cut him off. “Why did he do this? Why did he marry me knowing this would happen? He said he knew these people were coming, that he’d been planning for this operation. So why didn’t he wait to come back into my life after all this was over?”
“That’s exactly what I told him back then.”
His bluntness stunned her.
“Oh, yeah, he told me all about you a long time ago. I’d never heard him jack his jaws about any woman the way he did you.” He wagged a finger at her. “That’s when I knew you were trouble. Not the bad kind. But still trouble.”
He bent forward, elbows on his knees. “We’re like brothers, and there’s not much in the ole’ memory bank,” he tapped at his temple, “that doesn’t involve him in one way or another. We’ve had each other’s backs since we were snot-nosed kids on the playground. This situation is no different. I didn’t agree with his decision about you back then or now. He should’ve shipped your ass outta here a long time ago.”
Shayna’s mouth dropped open, but no words fell out.
“Yeah, I told him that too. But again, he didn’t listen. So, here we are making it work as we go.” His jaw ticked, and his expression hardened. “Make no mistake. It will work. You can count on it.”
The gutsy declaration injected her lagging confidence with the boost she needed after the
last few anguished days. “I believe you.”
The coarse lines around his eyes softened, and he patted the phone in his pocket. “My friend has his reasons for not wanting to talk to you right now. Trust him. Trust me. My job right now is to keep you safe. And except for that ugly, overbearing husband of yours, I’m the next best man for the job.” Eyes on her, his finger pointed to the deck floor between them. “That’s why I’m here doing this, so he can be back there doing what he needs to do.”
“I know that. I know how much he trusts you. How—” The remaining words froze in her throat, as a chilling event from the past flashed in her head to the revelatory tune of I’m here doing this, so he can be there doing what he needs to do. She searched for a meaningful answer in his puzzled eyes, then she flung her legs over the side of the lounger to lean in closer to him, fixated.
Was she right?
“It was you.”
“What?”
“You saved my daughter.” She had him pinned, and he looked genuinely uncomfortable. “Sean would have, but he can’t be in two places at once, like now. And I know where he was that night; what he did. Which means I know where you were. What you did.” She grabbed his beefy hand in both of hers and tugged on it, beseeching him to look at her, to confirm the truth she felt in her bones.
In the end, words did not matter. His body language said it all.
“I’m right. It was you.”
Her heart filled with an avalanche of gratitude she thought might burst from her chest. “Thank you, Mick. Thank you, thank you.” The heartfelt words seemed feeble and trite compared to what he had done for her, the hell from which he saved both Danielle and her.
He yanked his hand free and rose to his feet, his steely attention focused on the dusting of light flickering atop the blackened sea. Anywhere but on her, it seemed to Shayna.
“There’s a suitcase in your room. It has clothes and travel documents, a new passport. When we get on that chopper tomorrow, you’ll have a new identity until this is finished.”
He stepped around her to leave.
