“This is not an easy situation,” Wyatt continued. “What we’ve been through will take years to decipher. I’m going to be honest with you though. I was attracted to you the moment I laid eyes on you,” he finished. At his words, delight radiated through her.
“I suspected as much,” she replied. Wyatt grinned, and she returned it with the most captivating smile.
“But once we’re stateside, all this might go away, and I don’t want to take advantage of any emotional state you may be in. Also, I don’t want to enter into anything that is going to add pain on top of what’s already there.”
“I understand,” she said. Her voice held a hint of sadness. “But if you are willing, and if there isn’t anyone waiting back home for you, I’d like to spend some time getting to know you.” Wyatt stood, inhaled deeply, and considered what she was asking. It wasn’t a matter of whether or not he wanted to try at a relationship with her; he most certainly would be overjoyed, but the circumstances surrounding the entire matter complicated everything. Surely, she had already considered those circumstances hovering behind her request. Shaw entered his mind, and Wyatt could hear him saying his usual line, Don’t give place to fear. He said it all the time, but did it apply now? Shaw would say so, but Wyatt was his own man. After a moment of dedicated thought, he came to his own conclusion, and Kathryn, still sitting on the bed, stared at him waiting for his reply.
“I’d like that,” Wyatt finally said.
“So, what now?” she asked, standing and moving close to him. Wyatt kept his gaze on her, and she reached for his hands. Her touch sent waves of affection through him. The urge swelled up within, and he couldn’t fight it despite his nerves screaming against it. He looked down into her shimmering eyes and leaned forward. Pausing just before their lips met, he invited her to kiss him. A smile spread across her lips before she gently pressed hers against his. They separated and laughed for a second as they rested their foreheads together. Wyatt had never experienced anything like that moment and hoped she hadn’t either. He had no way of knowing, though, he had just stolen her heart.
The Marine Raider wrapped a strong hand around her waist, pulling her close. She pressed herself against him and reached up around his neck. He felt the curves of her body through the robe as they kissed again, passionately, fearlessly. Wyatt’s knees almost buckled when they separated, and Kathryn kept her eyes closed as she caught her breath.
“I need to check in with my command,” Wyatt said, concerned that things might progress too quickly.
“Okay, don’t be too long,” she replied. Wyatt grinned and headed for the door. He stole one last glance at her before disappearing into the hallway. Kathryn brushed her lips with her fingers and smiled.
• • •
Dubai, UAE
Rian Mather-Pike sat on the edge of the couch with his gaze focused on the television. Romuald Affré also watched intently as the French team, nicknamed Les Bleus, attempted a try against the South African Springboks. Rugby was one of the few interests the two men shared. Mather-Pike, a dedicated and sometimes violent Springbok fan, cursed at the television as the Blues neared the Springboks’ in-goal area. Affré watched silently and showed little emotion when France scored a try. Mather-Pike swelled with anger but channeled it through a deep inhale.
“The game is not over, my friend,” Affré stated as the large man rose from his seat. He noted a heightened sense of agitation than what normally exuded from Mather-Pike, and it sparked his curiosity and concern.
“I’m just getting another drink,” he grumbled. He moved across the suite in the high-rise Dubai hotel. He passed the floor to ceiling windows and stopped for a moment to take in the evening scene. Fountains, hundreds of feet below, twirled and danced in an array of colors. Surrounding buildings sparkled in the setting desert sun. He couldn’t deny the beauty of the scene, but he also couldn’t deny his craving for another drink. He continued to the bar, poured another glass of Japanese whiskey, and before heading back to his seat, glanced at Silva’s bedroom door. The South African inhaled deeply to suppress his anger and sipped his drink before turning back toward the television. A woman’s shriek spun him around.
The door to the bedroom burst open, and Silva emerged dragging a blonde woman by her hair. The woman kicked and screamed while holding onto his wrist. Silva pulled hard and thrust her forward. She immediately balled up and whimpered softly at his feet.
“Ag man! What the hell is going on?” Mather-Pike demanded. Enraged, Silva shot him a threatening glare.
“Get this woman out of my sight and take her to her room!” Silva ordered. Mather-Pike, with both palms displayed outward to defuse the situation, approached the woman slowly. She wore nothing but the sheets from the bed, and blood flowed from her left ear. Naked, Silva stormed past Mather-Pike and headed for the bar. He quickly poured himself a glass of the same Japanese whiskey and exhaled forcefully before he drained it.
Mather-Pike, kneeling before the woman, feared he would not be able to contain his anger.
“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” he whispered. The woman, upon hearing the tender words, nearly leapt into his arms. He gazed upon her face, and the anger flared hotter. He forced an exhale through gritted teeth in an attempt to control himself.
“Mather-Pike, what did I say?” Silva’s impatient and aggravated tone was not lost on the bodyguard, and it further enraged the man. Affré, concerned, watched the ordeal unravel before him. He did not know Mather-Pike too well, but he knew him well enough to predict the breaking point of his temper. Even then, he wondered which side he would pick if the two decided to clash. He had good reasons to pick Silva and good reasons to side with Mather-Pike. He hoped he wouldn’t have to choose, but he palmed the grip of his concealed handgun just in case.
Mather-Pike cradled the woman in his arms and rose to his full height. She whimpered against his broad chest. The scene angered Silva even more to see Mather-Pike display such tenderness as he headed toward the door.
“Wait,” Silva hissed. Mather-Pike had half a mind to continue onward, but he obeyed the command. “Ella, don’t ever refuse me or talk about quitting again.” She cried harder as the fear drew the emotions out of her. Silva wore a smug smirk and met Mather-Pike’s gaze. The man easily saw the warning and turned to leave. “Affré, go with him.” Without a word, the Frenchman followed and quickly caught up with his South African counterpart who waited for the elevator.
“He sent you to check on me, hey?” Mather-Pike asked without looking at Affré. The Frenchman remained silent and made no attempt to make eye contact either. Mather-Pike finally looked at him and could visibly see the uncertainly in his expression. They proceeded into the elevator in silence and maintained that vocal distance until they both arrived at Ella’s room. Affré produced the hotel key and opened the door, and Mather-Pike pushed past him headed directly for the king bed in the center of the room. The room was a far cry from Silva’s suite, but it was still nicer than any other hotel room Mather-Pike had ever seen. It didn’t matter though; he directed all of his attention toward the woman in his arms; the woman who always managed to steal his breath.
“Ella, are you okay?” he asked as he set her down on the bed. She had regained much of her composure once out of Silva’s reach, but Mather-Pike could see she was still quite shaken. His heart ached and yearned for her, and hatred for Silva simmered as his anger grew stronger.
“My ear,” she managed as she reached up to touch it. The pain pulsed with each heartbeat.
“Let me see,” Affré interjected. Mather-Pike’s eyes shot him a warning, but Affré’s confident expression relaxed the South African. Affré approached and gently cradled Ella’s head in his hands as he examined her ear. He snapped his fingers twice.
“Can you hear that?” he asked. Ella nodded. “Well, it’s impossible to tell without the right equipment, but you likely have a ruptured eardrum. Did he hit you?” Ella nodded again. Mather-Pike’s anger flared once more. “Any vertigo
or nausea?”
“A little,” she answered.
“I think you will be okay, but the hotel has a doctor on call. I shall contact him to examine you.”
“Thank you, Romuald,” she said.
“Of course, Ella. I’m sorry this happened.” Tears rimmed her eyes once more as she recalled the event. She shuddered, drove her face into Mather-Pike’s chest, and sobbed once more. Mather-Pike stroked her hair and glanced at Affré, and the Frenchman shook his head.
“Ella, will you be okay if Rian and I step outside for a second?” She pulled away, wiped her eyes, and nodded. “Thank you.” He stood and motioned for Mather-Pike to follow. As soon as the door closed, Affré lit into him. “You’ve got to get yourself under control,” he snapped. Mather-Pike fumed before him. “You don’t yet know Silva fully.”
“And you do?” Mather-Pike countered. The comment stirred up a painful memory.
“Yes,” the Frenchman replied sternly.
“Let me ask you something,” Mather-Pike said quietly but forcefully. “How do you justify what happened today?”
“I don’t,” Affré answered.
“But you were a Legionnaire, hey?” Mather-Pike countered.
“Is that supposed to make me a saint?” Affré retorted.
“You were also DGSE.” The Frenchman sighed and uttered something in his native language that Mather-Pike didn’t understand.
“What?”
“That was a long time ago,” Affré translated.
“But Silva just killed a bunch of US Marines and now this,” Mather-Pike argued. Affré grew annoyed with the train of conversation.
“No, Al Amiri and his men killed a bunch of Marines, Silva just supplied the weapons. This is how it’s done, Rian. What did you think the weapons were being used for?”
“To free the oppressed and provide arms for those under tyranny.”
“You are a South African mercenary. Don’t tell me you have a conscience?”
“Maybe I do,” he countered. Silence grew between them, and Ella entered Mather-Pike thoughts again. He saw her just about every day, but seldom spoke to her. To do so would incur the physical wrath of his employer. He couldn’t deny how much he desired her. Her blue eyes held such warmth and innocence, and he could only hope she felt similarly toward him. The more he thought about her and her mistreatment at the hands of Silva, the more a new course of action arose in his mind. A question formed on his lips, “How much is Silva worth?” Affré stiffened.
“What?”
“He’s got to be worth a couple hundred million, hey?”
“Where are you going with this?” Affré asked.
“Look, I’m sure we can … ”
“Rian, stop,” Affré interrupted sharply. The Frenchman’s tone unnerved the South African, not an easy feat. “I don’t want to hear any more of this. Silva drowned your predecessor in the Nile for far less than what I’m sure you are thinking, and he was far more capable than you.”
Mather-Pike held Affré’s gaze, and Affré witnessed the conviction in Mather-Pike’s blue eyes, beckoning him to seek justice for his fallen friend. Mather-Pike certainly couldn’t have known any of that, but perhaps Affré psyche was filling in the gaps.
“I’m smarter than I look, Romuald,” he said. It was the first time the South African had used Affré’s first name, and it intrigued the Frenchman.
Maybe the South African was on to something. The action against the United States helicopters had surprised Affré as well. It was a risk Silva would not normally have taken, and Affré felt Mather-Pike’s predecessor’s punishment was too severe. It didn’t make sense to the Frenchmen to kill a man for taking a little off the top, but then again, he wasn’t paid to make sense of Silva’s life or business decisions. Still, he missed his friend, and Silva was to blame for that loss. Even more concerning, Affré couldn’t help but feel that Silva’s new direction might lead to an early grave, and that was something he could not tolerate. The Frenchmen glanced up at Mather-Pike.
“What are you thinking?” he asked in a hushed tone.
12
“I know we’ve gone over it already, but you’re sure you were being tracked?” Natalie asked Lincoln within the security of her office. She sat in her chair as she listened to the Ranger pacing before her.
“We all saw this guy, Hale. He looked at us like we had murdered his first-born son,” Lincoln said. His frustration grew. “He knew who we were. Too much connects for it to have been a coincidence,” he argued.
“And you want me to evacuate this outpost,” she said.
“I want you to be ready to evacuate at a moment’s notice. You are here hunting terrorists, and our nearest allies are hours away.” Natalie sighed. “And if it so happens to be this guy,” Lincoln said pointing at al-Amiri’s name on the white board, “who knows what resources are at his disposal.” He made a strong point, and his vocal volume grew with his emotions. “I’ve got five contractors and a Raider to defend this place. This isn’t a fortress, it’s an Alamo.”
“I get it!” Natalie exclaimed. “And I don’t care for your tone, Scott.” She rarely used his first name. He removed his hands from her desk and again paced around the room. He ran his hand down his face. His skin was fair and his eyes hazel. His dark hair, cut short, plumed in the front from dried sweat. He was tall, maybe six-three, and his muscles bulged under his gray t-shirt. He still wore his gear, and his rifle lay in the corner of the office.
Natalie knew well his gift of persuasion and charisma, but also his demeaning attitude toward her command. Though not yet forty, he was an old-fashioned man, one who didn’t quite appreciate a woman’s leadership. It didn’t help that she was younger than him by a few years.
“I appreciate what you’ve brought to me, and I will send it up the chain of command. You know better than anyone that I’ll make the right call when the time comes,” she said.
“I just feel this in my gut,” he said.
“But your gut hardly passes for actionable intel,” she countered.
“I know!” he shouted.
“Do you need a minute to calm down, Ranger?” That blow hurt. Lincoln backed away and threw up his hands.
“Fine, I’ve said my piece,” he started.
“Yes, you have,” Natalie interrupted. Lincoln scooped up his rifle and stormed out of the office. The French doors slammed against the walls and rebounded back to hang partly closed. Natalie sighed and ran both hands over her hair and down her braid before resting her eyes on her secure line to the CIA Annex in Sana’a. Lincoln spoke truthfully, and as much as she wanted al-Amiri, her team must come first. She scooped up the phone and initiated the call.
• • •
Washington, D.C.
The light from the streetlamps dimly passed through the sheer curtains and greatly annoyed James Caldwell. Sleep evaded him. He sighed and glanced at his twenty-six-year-old wife. She lay on her stomach, and her bare back intrigued him but not enough for him to wake her. He stared at the ceiling. The fan spun slowly casting distorted shadows across the room and onto the far wall. Without consideration for his wife’s comfort, he threw off the covers and sat upright on the edge of the bed. The young blonde exhaled loudly and snuggled deeper into the expensive sheets.
Caldwell rubbed his eyes and rose to his feet. The sharp edges of his defined, yet aged, muscles caught the faint light as he moved across the ornate master suite. The naked man snatched his robe from its usual place on the antique coatrack before exiting the room. He donned the red, velvet garment and tied it in place as he moved down the hallway; the old hardwood floors cooled his bare feet.
He descended the wide stairs as they curved down into the foyer. Large oil paintings and a massive crystal chandelier would have left any visitor awestruck upon first entry, but the man didn’t give them a second glance. He pushed through two heavy, wooden doors and entered his study.
The room, painted rich olive, was decorated with original paintings depicting f
amous battles throughout history, and Caldwell’s life-sized portrait rose impressively behind his heavy, ironwood desk. He moved to the small bar and held up the crystal decanter filled with Macallan 25. He poured himself a glass and took a quick sip. Supposedly, it hosted flavors of peach, blood orange, and wood spice with intense tastes of coconut and vanilla and added tones of sultana, lemon, and peat, but he consistently failed to taste them. He drank it for the prestige and that alone.
The man, having just turned sixty, moved behind his desk and picked up the small sleek remote. He clicked play before sitting in the baroque, leather chair, and Tchaikovsky slowly crescendoed throughout the room. He took another sip and closed his eyes, resting in the beauty of the music. His eyes snapped open as one of the doors swung open.
“Hey, Baby?” the young woman called. Caldwell sighed and rose from his desk.
“Yes, Love?” he responded. Vanessa Caldwell strode into the office dressed in a black, silk robe, hemmed mid-thigh, and holding his ringing cell phone.
“Your phone’s ringing. I think it may be work,” she answered. Her blue eyes blinked to ward off sleep, and her curly, strawberry-wheat hair dangled loosely around her shoulders. Caldwell rose from his seat and met her halfway across the room. He gave her a quick peck and traded her his glass of Scotch for the phone. She took a big gulp and turned to leave. He watched her go, and, before leaving, she leaned sensually against the door. “Don’t be too long,” she said after the burning liquid awakened her. She took another large swig and twirled out of the room. Caldwell smirked and answered the phone.
“Caldwell,” he greeted.
“Director, there’s a situation with the annex in Yemen. Station Chief Mills is requesting an evacuation of the Aden compound,” the man on the line said. Caldwell, the Director of the Directorate of Operations within the CIA, creased his brow.
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