Hard Target: A Cobra Elite Novel

by Clare, Pamela

  “What if he reacts by putting a bullet in your brain?”

  “He would have to be out of his mind to kill me. He knows what this organization can do. If he hears that we’re onto his connection with Qassim, maybe he’ll back off.”

  “I’ll contact his people, set something up. In the meantime, how’s Ms. Hamilton doing?”

  “She’s good.” Derek wiped the smile off his face.

  “You have it bad, cabrón. I say her name, and your eyes light up.”

  Derek glared at him. “My eyes do nothing.”

  Corbray got an idiot grin on his face. “If you say so.”

  Derek changed the subject. “The sooner we get her out of here, the better. I don’t want to give him another crack at her. If the driver of that vehicle had crashed into our gates and detonated the IED there, it would have taken out the gates, maybe even brought down the perimeter wall, and left us open to attack.”

  Corbray nodded. “We need all boots on deck to finalize her extraction. I want to meet her. If she’s special enough to turn you inside out—”

  “I am not inside out.”

  Corbray chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Nah, man, you’re not my type.”

  They met Doc Sullivan after that to see what he had to say about Jenna’s condition and ability to travel.

  “She’s going to be recovering for at least a month, with headaches and brain fog, so if you can give her another few days, that would be ideal.”

  With that information, they went to work, Derek popping upstairs for a moment to check on her. He found her in her bathrobe brushing her hair, just the sight of her making his heart beat faster. Hell, maybe Corbray was right.

  “How do you feel?”

  She set her hairbrush down and stepped into his arms. “The headache is better, but my brain feels like it’s full of cotton. I look like the Bride of Frankenstein.”

  “You’ve got a nasty bruise around your eye, but you look damned good.”

  She laughed. “That’s your gonads talking.”

  He inhaled her scent, the feel of her precious. “You should listen to them.”

  “I’m too busy listening to my own. They want you to get inside my pants.”

  Didn’t he wish? “Tell them to hold that thought. Javier Corbray, my business partner, wants to meet you when you feel up to it.”

  “Just let me get dressed and get some breakfast.”

  “Why don’t we meet you there?”

  Ten minutes later, she walked into the mess hall, wearing faded jeans and a soft lavender top that seemed to accentuate her curves.

  That’s your gonads again.

  They both stood, Corbray extending his hand, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Ms. Hamilton, I’m so glad I finally get to meet you. I’m Javier Corbray, co-owner of Cobra.”

  Jenna gave him that beautiful smile of hers. “It’s good to meet you, too. Derek has been taking good care of me.”

  Corbray grinned. “That’s what I hear.”

  Derek wanted to punch him.

  16

  Jenna could tell something had changed. There was a tension in the air and more people in the building than before, all of them closed-mouthed and in a hurry. Derek spent the day with Javier and their team behind closed doors with little time for anything else. Even Elizabeth was quiet.

  It left Jenna with butterflies in her stomach.

  She knew they must be working hard on their plan to get her out of the country, so she tried to occupy herself by reading one of the books that Elizabeth had brought for her. But her heart wasn’t in it. She needed to do something, to contribute in some way, rather than feeling helpless and afraid.

  She made her way down to the infirmary to see if she could help Sean, only to find the door locked and the lights out. Apparently, the infirmary wasn’t staffed unless someone needed medical help.

  From there, she made her way to the mess hall. It, too, was closed, the salad bar and steam tray empty, self-serve cookies, rolls, and fresh fruit sitting near the coffee pots. From the back, she heard the banging of pots and pans.

  She followed the sound—and the scent of roasting meat. “Hello?”

  A burly older man in a white chef’s uniform stepped out of the back room. “Can I get you something, Ms. Hamilton? We’ll be open for lunch in two hours.”

  “Can I help? I’m tired of doing nothing.”

  He seemed to hesitate. “Let me clear it with Doc.”

  A moment later he reappeared and handed her an apron and a hairnet. “He says it’s okay as long as you don’t do anything strenuous. Everyone calls me Cookie.”

  “Thank you, Cookie.” She put on the apron and the hairnet, careful not to disturb the bandage on her temple, then followed him into the kitchen, where she saw a few other staff at work—and a half-dozen frozen turkeys sitting in water in large steel sinks. “Wow! Was there a sale on turkeys somewhere?”

  “Thanksgiving is only three days away.”

  Thanksgiving.

  In the chaos of the past few days, Jenna had utterly forgotten about the holiday. Industrial-sized cans of cranberry sauce sat on the counter beside bags of potatoes and sweet potatoes and cans of pumpkin pie filling. “What can I do to help?”

  She soon found herself wearing rubber gloves and up to her elbows in hot, sudsy water, scrubbing out the big pans used to roast the beef that one of Cookie’s helpers was slicing for sandwiches. The monotonous work and the conversations around her were soothing and gave her something to do besides worry.

  “You think she’s gonna say yes?” said a man with a strong Brooklyn accent.

  “I sorta gave her a hint when I started saving up for the ring. She seemed to like the idea then.”

  “That’s not how you do it, man. You gotta surprise her, go down on one knee.”

  “I’d rather know before I ask whether she’s interested. Besides, women find it romantic even if they’re not surprised. Isn’t that right, Ms. Hamilton?”

  Startled to be brought into the conversation, Jenna looked up. “I don’t know. No guy has ever asked me to marry him.”

  “That right there is proof that’s something’s wrong with this world,” said the one with the Brooklyn accent.

  Jenna smiled at the compliment, the two men drifting back to their conversation and leaving her with her thoughts.

  What would she have done if Trenton had asked her to marry him?

  If she’d had any sense, she would have said no. He was too in love with his job and his status to have room in his life for a wife and kids. And, yet, here she was, half in love with a man who, like Trenton, had chosen his career over everything else. But unlike Trenton, Derek’s career took him far from the U.S.—and it might one day get him killed.

  Not that Derek was in love with her or would ask her to marry him. He’d made it clear that he had no interest in a wife or family. Whatever they had together now was all she was going to get. She needed to accept that, or she’d end up getting hurt.

  What if it’s too late?

  Then that was her fault.

  She finished scrubbing, helped unload the industrial dishwasher and stack clean plates, before joining the kitchen staff for a quick lunch. They were full of questions about her work in Afghanistan, conversation helping to pass the time.

  They cleared off their plates, and Jenna helped wipe down the tables. Soon, other staff filed in, but few sat. Most grabbed a tray, tossed on a sandwich, some fruit, and coffee, and disappeared back upstairs.

  Something was going on.

  Then Elizabeth hurried in. “Hey, Jenna.”

  “Has something happened?” Jenna’s headache was starting up again.

  “Sorry, but I’m in a hurry, and I can’t stop to talk.” Elizabeth grabbed a tray, piled three sandwiches, three bananas, a small carton of milk, a soda, and a cup of coffee onto it, and carried it out of the mess hall toward the elevator.

  Jenna sent a qu
ick text to Derek to make sure everything was okay.

  She waited, but he didn’t reply.

  * * *

  Derek sat in the front passenger seat of the armored Land Rover, taking mental note of the guards and security cameras. He’d come with a minimal security team—just Jones, O’Neal, and Cruz. This was a casual visit, after all. Arriving with the cavalry might give Kazi the idea that Cobra was intimidated.

  Derek wasn’t intimidated. He was angry as hell.

  They’d gotten an ID on the kid who’d driven the car bomb. He was Qassim’s oldest son, Perooz. It left no doubt in Derek’s mind that the car bomb had been either a test of Cobra’s strength or an attempt to force them to relocate Jenna. Neither one was acceptable.

  “Park here. O’Neal, stay with the car. Jones, Cruz, you come with me. Leave the hardware here.” Derek adjusted his tie—they were all dressed in business suits with body armor beneath—and climbed out.

  Kazi’s uniformed security met them at the bottom of the front staircase and escorted the three of them inside, where guards scanned them for weapons. The scanner didn’t pick up the wire that was stitched into his suit jacket.

  If the situation went tits up, O’Neal and everyone in the Ops room would know immediately and move into action.

  After the security check, Derek left Cruz and Jones at the entrance and followed one of the guards to Kazi’s reception room, his shoes clicking on polished marble, the sound echoing thanks to the large domed ceiling.

  Kazi sat on a gilded chair on an ornate Afghan rug, wearing a black suit, his beard short, his hair neat and trimmed. Years of violence seemed not to have left their mark on him, his demeanor like that of a benevolent prince welcoming peasants into his home. “Welcome, Mr. Tower. Won’t you join me for some tea?”

  It would have been unforgivably rude to refuse or to speak of business matters without first making conversation, so Derek thanked him for the tea, the conversation all small talk and bullshit. It would be another cold winter in Balkh Province. The Patriots might make it to the Super Bowl again. How wonderful that the winner of Afghan Star this year had been a woman.

  “We are making progress, Mr. Tower.” Kazi set his tea aside. “Why did you seek an audience with me?”

  An audience.

  The bastard thought he was a king.

  “We know who planted the car bomb outside our headquarters.”

  Kazi’s pupils dilated for a split second before he pasted a look of concern on his face. “Yes, a terrible thing. One of the victims in that blast has perished, I am afraid. You say you know who is behind this atrocity?”

  Derek handed Kazi the file folder with the drone images of Qassim from the abduction attempt on Jenna and of Perooz as he climbed out of the car. “The first images were taken during an unsuccessful attempt to abduct or harm a client of ours while she was out helping survivors of a Daesh raid on a village north of Bawrchi. One of the guards from the hospital, a man named Hamzad, appears to be working with Alimjan Qassim, a Uyghur fighter, who has been causing havoc in the rural part of your province with his militia.”

  Kazi studied the images of Qassim, a deliberate and fixed neutrality on his face. “You Americans and your drones.”

  He looked at the next image.

  “The young man in the second photo is Qassim’s oldest son, Perooz. He parked the car and disappeared around the corner ten minutes before it exploded outside our walls. We assess that he was working for his father. Perhaps Qassim meant to test our strength, or perhaps he hoped to force us to move our client. Either way, he failed and managed only to hurt and kill his own people.”

  A muscle twitched in Kazi’s jaw. “May I keep these? I will pass them on to my intelligence unit and demand to know why I have not heard of this man.”

  “Of course. We are always happy to share what we learn with you.”

  When it serves our goals.

  “I can assure you, Mr. Tower, that we will not rest until the guilty are punished.” He slipped the photos back inside the folder and handed it to the silent guard behind him. “How is your client? How is Miss Hamilton?”

  Derek had put Kazi off-balance, and Kazi was trying to do the same to him.

  But Derek didn’t bat an eye. “She’s safe. She hopes to return to her work when this crisis is behind her.”

  That wasn’t true, but it served Cobra’s aims to make Kazi believe it was true.

  Kazi gave a forced smile. “She is a brave woman.”

  He stood, clearly impatient to be done with Derek. “Is there anything else?”

  “No, that’s it.” Derek stood, too. He shook Kazi’s hand and found his palm damp. “I know how important it is to you to be aware of everything that takes place in this province. I knew you’d want these photographs.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Kazi didn’t look at all grateful. “See our guest out, please.”

  Derek turned to go, then stopped. “Oh, there was one other thing. It slipped my mind. It’s ridiculous, of course, but you’ll want to be aware of it.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Word on the street here is that Qassim secretly works for you.”

  * * *

  Jenna couldn’t believe it. “You went to see Governor Kazi?”

  That had taken balls of steel—or maybe Derek was nuts.

  “It was a tactical decision.” Derek sat on her sofa, wearing an expensive dark gray suit, as if he’d just come from a meeting on Wall Street. “We needed to send a message, and there was no better way to do it. After that, I had a debriefing with the staff.”

  “It sounds like a busy day.” Jenna sat beside him. “After you didn’t reply to my text, I couldn’t stop worrying. I could tell something was going on. Everyone was closed-mouthed and serious. The mess hall was all but empty at lunch and dinner.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t have that cell phone with me. If I was taken, I didn’t want Kazi having access to you.” Derek loosened his tie. “No one was trying to keep you in the dark, but none of us are used to having clients in the building. Usually, when we extract someone, we take them from wherever they are directly out of the country. We don’t bring them here. There are limits to what we can share, even with you.”

  “I get it. You’re a black-ops company.”

  “Private military company.”

  “Right.” Jenna wasn’t sure she understood the difference. “Do you think Kazi got the message?”

  Derek nodded. “When I left, the son of a bitch was sweating. I’m certain he’s behind all of this.”

  Chills skittered down Jenna’s spine. “Why would Kazi want to come after me? This all seems so crazy—like something out of a bad dream.”

  “I suspect it has to do with money.” Derek changed the subject, clearly not wanting to say more about it. “How are you feeling?”

  “The headache is better, but I swear my brain has turned to mud.”

  Derek caught her chin and turned her face so that he could see her cheek and temple. “That’s one hell of a black eye.”

  “Don’t you know how to flatter a girl?”

  Derek grinned. “Cookie tells me you went down to the kitchen and scrubbed some pans this morning. He said you did a good job.”

  “I was trying to be productive and not worry about you.”

  “I’d rather know you were resting.”

  “There’s only so much resting a person can do in a day. I am a medical professional, you know. I can tell when I need to lie down.”

  Derek took her hand, his touch soothing. “The next couple of days are going to be busy. I won’t be available most of the time. We’re going to move quickly now to get you out of the country. I need to stay focused, keep my head in the game. I can’t afford distractions.”

  Was he saying that she was a distraction?

  Of course, she was. How could she not be? He was risking his life to protect hers. This was a private military compound, not a hotel. She’d known their time together was temporary.


  She willed herself to smile. “Don’t worry about me. I told Cookie I’d help with Thanksgiving dinner. I’ll find some way to stay busy.”

  “Don’t overdo it.” He drew her close, kissed the top of her head. “Want to help me get out of this straight jacket?”

  “I thought you didn’t have time for—”

  He looked into her eyes. “I have time now.”

  That was good enough for Jenna.

  She stood, grabbed him by the tie, and drew him to his feet. Then she peeled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding her hands beneath the fabric of his undershirt to find… pockets?

  “For body armor.” Derek unbuttoned his cuffs, shed his shirt, then pulled the undershirt over his head and tossed it aside, offering himself to her. “Is that better?”

  “Much better.” She ran her hands over his chest with its smooth skin and slabs of muscle, need for him kindling to life inside her. “You have such an amazing body.”

  She leaned in, licked a flat brown nipple, and smiled when the muscles of his belly tensed. Then she unbuttoned the waistband of his trousers, pulled down his zipper, and helped herself, taking hold of his hard cock and stroking it, the feel of him such a turn-on. “I want to taste you.”

  She sank to her knees—and took him into her mouth.

  Breath hissed between his teeth as she explored him. She looked up, saw that he was watching, so she gave him a show. Drawing back, then taking all of him again. Flicking the underside of the swollen head with her tongue. Circling it like the tip of an ice cream cone. Sucking on it like a lollipop. Stroking the shaft with her hand from the base to her lips and back again.

  His gaze had gone dark now, the intensity on his face making her pulse skip.

  She stroked him now, her hand and mouth moving in tandem from base to tip. She tried to follow his cues—the thrust he tried to suppress that told her to go faster, the shudder in his breathing, the way his fists clenched in her hair.

  “Stop.” He drew himself away from her, his brow furrowed, his cock glistening. “I want to be inside you.”

  They both undressed her, clothes falling to the floor. Then Derek sat back on the sofa, his trousers still around his ankles and drew her onto his lap.