by CV Silk
Author's note: You have no business reading this book if you are not legally an adult in your jurisdiction. All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
Synopsis
Palmer Fash is paid for one thing and one thing only: to protect billionaire heiress Kathleen Rhinebolt.
And that's the last thing she wants.
Kathleen is perfectly happy being an aid worker in Southeast Asia, helping villagers and teaching kids. She doesn't need a bodyguard, even one as rugged and handsome as Palmer.
He has to put up with her crap even though he's getting fed up. Every day she's throwing herself in more and more danger, always further apart from her cushy New York lifestyle.
But as rebels close in, there's something else Kathleen and Palmer have to fight: the growing attraction between them.
This standalone novella is raunchier than you can imagine. It's not your typical romance. There are steamy DIRTY scenes throughout this book. Really dirty.
Previously published as A Mercenary Heart.
Ready for Danger
By CV Silk
Copyright © 2014-2016 CV Silk
Previously published as A Mercenary Heart by Cheri Verset
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Have you read CV Silk's bestselling book "His Bad Influence"?
Prologue
Even though Palmer was only wearing a T-shirt under his bulky tactical vest and that the sun had gone down over six hours ago, he was still covered in sweat. It didn’t help that he was carrying 30 pounds of gear while traipsing through the Burmese jungle. His rough skin and considerable biceps were shrouded with dirt and camouflage paint. He was the essence of a warrior.
“Skyscraper, this is Hiker 1,” he whispered into his headset. “Give me a sitrep.”
“Hiker 1, this is Skyscraper. In position now. I have vantage point on the target and the place is quiet.”
“Roger, Skyscraper. Hiker 2, Hiker 3, Hiker 4 report in.”
Palmer took a knee next to a palm tree to minimize noise. He wiped the sweat off his hands and tightened his grip on the HK G36C Commando assault rifle.
“Hiker 1, this is Hiker 2. I’m one klick from the entry point. ETA 20 minutes.”
“Roger.”
“Hiker 3 here,” came a man with a British accent. “I’m just southwest of Hiker 2. Currently in position and awaiting the go code.”
“Roger that, Hiker 3.
“Hiker 1, Hiker 4. I’m in position, no tango in sight.”
“Roger. Check in again in ten.”
The four other members of his team acknowledged the order and Palmer resumed his walk. He normally wasn’t nervous when on an operation. Combat had a way of soothing him because he was in his element. He didn’t know how to bake a cake or rebuild an engine or paint a sunset in watercolors, but he was an expert in the art of war.
However, everything was different on this mission. For the first time in his life, he had a personal stake in the outcome. He wasn’t assaulting some terrorists he knew to be bad on paper. He wasn’t protecting some nameless dignitary or corporate shill.
No, he was rescuing Kathleen Rhinebolt who had been kidnapped by bandits and taken deep into the dead zone of the Myanmar backcountry.
He tried to push her out of his head but it was impossible. For months she had been his number one priority, always nearby, always moments away from doing something dumb or careless. And now she was in trouble by no-fault of her own. It was his own stupidity that had gotten her kidnapped.
He snarled at the blackness of the night and picked up speed. The jungle was still, even the animals were asleep this late at night. It was great to listen for enemy movements but the opposite was also true. The rebels would be able to see him coming, though that was unlikely.
He couldn’t hear the helicopter, which was a good sign. It was his first time working with the pilot, a young Indian guy who had recently discovered the private sector paid more than the armed forces of India. So far, he was proving to be a good asset.
He had seen action with the other members of this team. Skyscraper, the sniper currently lying face first in the dirt up in the mountain, was former Marine Force Recon. Hiker 2 used to be Canadian Special Forces while Hiker 3 was one of his best friends, a decorated ex-SAS operative. Hiker 4 had been a Navy SEAL until a fistfight with an officer had gotten him discharged. Palmer had hand-picked them because tonight he needed the best.
Kathleen needed the best.
Ever since the junta had been thrown out of power, the country was in disarray and people who had been in command, viscous killers who had been given free reign, had taken to the jungle to regroup. They smuggled precious stones, ran weapons and drugs, and kidnapped the few foreigners who dared venturing so far in country.
In hindsight, what had happened was inevitable. What had been less predictable was how Palmer felt at the moment. It was troubling him that he was taking it so personally.
It was troubling him that he felt so strongly about Kathleen.
He chased his feelings away and picked up speed. There was no telling what they would do to her before they made their ransom demands. He was so focused that he barely noticed when it started raining.
Chapter 1
THREE MONTHS BEFORE
Kathleen had been the architect of this school. It was basically a glorified carport – four pillars and a slanted roof with one full wall to hold the blackboard – but she was proud of it nonetheless. And today she was a schoolteacher as well.
“Tac, hnac, sum, le, nga,” she said, counting numbers while she pointed to the corresponding Burmese numeral on the board.
The 16 kids, sitting cross-legged on the braided bamboo mats, quickly repeated in a singsong manner Kathleen always found charming. Then she went on.
“Hkrauk, hku hnac, hrac, kui, hcay.”
They repeated again and it made her smile. Until recently, she had never been especially enamored by children. In her mid-20s and with no man in her life, she certainly wasn’t in a hurry to have any kids of her own. But being in this village and taking care of these little guys was making her mushy.
“That’s great!”
She tried mixing in some English even though her own Burmese skills were getting along pretty well. Children were usually terrific at picking up a second language before they reached puberty. They giggled every time she spoke English as if it was a made-up language meant to make them laugh.
“Okay, stop making fun of the white lady!”
They laughed again before she launched into a lesson on additions and subtractions. As an aid worker for an NGO, she filled many hats in this town. She coordinated with other organizations of course, but also she helped implement new infrastructures and she acted as a nurse. However, what she enjoyed the most was teaching.
She was about to leave math for geography when she heard a commotion coming from farther into this village. There was the distinctive sound of a truck and the townspeople congregating toward it. It was funny how the simple appearance of a vehicle was treated like Christmas around here.
And she was just as intrigued as everyone else. Coming from New York City, she had grown up around a constant stream of cars but here it was different. In this far-flung village, a vehicle meant new supplies, new people.
New problems.
She remembered a month ago when a young man had come
in from Yangon. He was a distant relative of one of the town elders. He had brought with him some cocaine which had led to three muggings, two fistfights, and one overdose. Following this incident, she was just as distrustful of newcomers as anyone else.
“Get your geography books and a look at chapter three,” she instructed in Burmese. “I’ll be right back.”
She left the school and joined the others surrounding the truck. A Caucasian man in his early 30s jumped out the back. He was dressed in a T-shirt and cargo pants, all very nondescript. There was a purpose about him, a confidence usually not found in aid workers arriving someplace new. This put her on her guard but what she saw next terrified her.
A pistol was strapped to his right leg.
Some locals shouted questions at him but the man was unfazed. He reached into the truck and produced two suitcases in addition to a rectangular aluminum Zero Halliburton case which could only contain some type of weapon.
The others weren’t as troubled by this as she was so she made her way forward to get some answers.
“Ka mya!” she exclaimed, pushing people out away. “Ka mya!”
She found herself standing in front of the stranger. He was about six feet tall and well-built though not freakishly so.
“Excuse me,” she said again, this time in English. “We don’t have any hotels here. I think you have the wrong village. I suggest you get back in the truck before it drives away.”
He looked at her and waited a few seconds before speaking. “You’re full of opinions, aren’t you?”
His accent was American, vaguely Southern.
“The people of this town are not too big on outsiders. And we’re not too fond of guns around here either. It would be best if you didn’t stay long.”
“I’m looking for a woman, her name is Kathleen Rhinebolt.”
“What?”
“Kathleen Rhinebolt, do you know her? Is she here?”
She nodded. “It’s me, I’m Kathleen.”
“Palmer Fash. Your father sent me to protect you.”
* * *
Grabbing his luggage, Palmer followed her away from the truck. She stopped by the school and dismissed her class in rapid fire Burmese that actually impressed him.
“This way,” she barked.
The village essentially had two roads laid out in a cross. Each was lined with houses built on stilts, no doubt to protect against floods common during the monsoon season, which was still a couple of months away. The houses were made of planks and had no doors or glass windows.
He followed her all the way to road number two. Professionalism dictated that he shouldn’t stare at her body as she walked ahead but it was a challenging task.
The woman was small but in no way delicate. In her T-shirt and shorts, her curves were spectacular, and even though she had a bitchy attitude he considered her quite attractive. He loved the way her ponytail bounced as she walked.
He hated himself for thinking this about his principal and focused on following her up the steps and into her house.
“Nice digs,” he said when they were inside, shielded from the scorching sun.
The place was perhaps 15 foot square and completely devoid of furniture. The walls and floor were covered with weaved bamboo strands and when he spotted a pile of blankets he figured it served as the master bedroom.
She spun on her heels and her expression had hardened even more. “What are you really doing here?”
“I told you, ma’am. Your father hired my security firm to keep you safe. I’ve been searching for you for two weeks. You’re a hard lady to find.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t want to be found.”
“It’s not my problem, ma’am. I’m being paid handsomely to do two things. One, I’m supposed to convince you to come back to New York. Your father says all is forgiven if you come back with me.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” Kathleen said, crossing her arms which only highlighted her generous chest.
“Your father said you would say that. So two, I’m to stay here with you to offer protection until you decide to leave.”
“That’s not gonna happen either. So you’re just gonna stay here in this village, for years if I want to?”
“I don’t have a family back home and the money is good. So yes, you’re stuck with me.”
“You have no right! My father has no right to keep tabs on me! I’m a grown woman and if I wanna spend my life doing humanitarian work that’s my business. Just because he runs that financial empire, that he’s the king of Wall Street, that doesn’t give him the right to control me like one of his damn portfolios.”
“There is a third option,” Palmer said calmly.
“What?”
He set his luggage down on the floor and ignored her inquiring look. He rummaged through his suitcase and pulled out a satellite phone. It was the middle of the night in Manhattan but his instructions were clear. He dialed a number he had memorized and waited.
“Mr. Rhinebolt? This is Palmer Fash from Greenbrier Global Security. Yes sir, she’s with me.”
He handed the phone to the woman and he took a step back to let them talk. It went as he expected, her protesting having a babysitter, arguing that she was old enough to make her own decisions. But Palmer also knew that a billionaire like her father was used to getting his way.
The phone call lasted $27 – it was a habit of Palmer’s to measure the length of satellite calls in money rather than in minutes. She gave him the phone back.
“So that was your precious third option?”
He shook his head. “No. The third option is if you refuse my protection, I’m to bring you back by force.”
She started laughing. “That’s funny. You’re kidding, right?”
“No, ma’am. My company has a rapid deployment team on standby. By the time I carry you back to Yangon, we’ll have a jet ready to fly you back to America. I have sedatives in my case if you resist.”
That shut her up.
* * *
Kathleen resented her father but her work was more important than anything, so she eventually agreed to the terms. The Neanderthal’s company had deep pockets and he managed to relocate an entire family so he could rent their house, located across the street from hers.
It surprised her that over the next several weeks he managed to blend in with the scenery. He didn’t dress like a soldier and for the most part his pistol was inconspicuous, hidden under his shirt. He didn’t hover like a Secret Service agent and although he was always within talking distance, he wasn’t always within sight.
She did her best to ignore him and went back to her duties. She taught the kids every day, she supervised the building of a well on the outskirts of town, and about once every ten days she made the long journey to Yangon to coordinate efforts with the Red Cross and agencies working with the UN.
She also often met with Bryce who did similar work in a nearby village. He was her only friend ever since he’d shown up a month before. He was a good diversion from her bodyguard. Life returned to normal but she still wasn’t comfortable having someone to watch over her constantly.
Chapter 2
Kathleen needed to relax. For once it was quiet outside but it was the opposite in her head. Thoughts were jumbling at a rapid pace and she had trouble thinking straight. Since night had fallen and there wasn’t anyone clamoring for her attention, she settled into her small, empty house and got the bottle of vodka she kept for emergencies.
It was actually Russian but a cheap brand that tasted like turpentine mixed with aftershave. She didn’t care, not anymore. It was amazing how humbling it was to live among real, down to earth people for a period of time.
She had practically been raised on caviar and champagne since birth and she was genuinely proud of herself to be moving on from that.
The world was simpler now. Here in this village, no one cared what she wore or what she said, what kind of impression she made on people. All she had to do was devote her energi
es to helping people in need. It was extremely rewarding because there was no judging here. The villagers, once they got over their pride, accepted her wholeheartedly.
But then there was the problem of Palmer. Having him hovering made her feel like a little girl again. She wasn’t sure who she hated the most at the moment, him or her father. She swallowed her drink and slammed the glass down on the floor.
“Angry about something?”
She looked up sharply toward the entrance. Bryce was standing in the doorway with an amused grin.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, instinctively wiping her mouth and tucking her hair behind her ears.
“I accompanied Mrs. Smith to see her sister, she wanted to spend the night.” Mrs. Smith was the nickname they had given to an old lady who was keen on wearing her jewelry like she was an English aristocrat. “I figured you could use some company.”
“Most of all, I need someone to spot me drinking this rotgut. There’s no telling when I’ll go into convulsions.”
“I’m your man then.”
As he came further into the house, she took a good look at him. He was younger than she was, fresh out of college. He was one of those easy-going millennials trekking through Southeast Asia looking for a good high and few responsibilities.
He wasn’t quite a pothead hippy – he had a good head on his shoulders and was great at helping others – but humanitarian aid wasn’t exactly a career choice for him.
He wore baggy shorts and a loose neon tank top. His light hair was long enough to cover his ears in waves. She found him attractive, in a slacker sort of way. He had nothing in common with Palmer’s robustness.
Oh God, why am I even thinking about that jerk?
“What’s with the scowl?” Bryce asked while he sat on the mat next to her. “You look like you’re passing a kidney stone.”
“Nothing.”
She filled her glass again and gave him the bottle for him to drink out of because she didn’t have other glasses.
