Veils: A Killers Novel, Book 4

by Asher, Brynne

  “I get it. But he mentioned your dad more than once. It might be time to drop the damn grudge and call him. He might know more. Something similar happened a long time ago. Someone thought they got wind of what we do, they poked around but, in the end, had no fucking clue. It finally died off. But he approached me with Saylor. It upset Keelie. I won’t allow that to happen so the guy needs to back off completely or we’ll force him to. I don’t care how it goes down, but it needs to happen.”

  Dammit. I don’t want to call my father. I haven’t spoken to him since right before l was discharged when he threw a fit. And, it’ll give my mother false hope that we’re the happy family we’ve never been. Either way, I’m fucked. “I’ll reach out to him.”

  I think about the woman I just put on a plane for Africa. My father might’ve been a controlling asshole and did everything he could to make sure I was his clone, but he never lost it with me. I have no reason to complain.

  “Call me when you learn something. But if that asshole approaches me again, especially when I’m with the kids, he’s going to regret it,” Asa adds.

  “I’ll take him down myself if that happens.” And I’ll enjoy doing it. No one in this organization will be unsafe because of me. No fucking way. Definitely not when it comes to their families. “I’m on another trip, so I won’t bother you again. Wanted to call before I go dark. Tell Keelie hi and enjoy your time, old man.”

  “Fuck you,” Asa responds with a smile in his voice. “Stay safe.”

  We disconnect and I toss my phone to the passenger seat. I don’t know how I got on Prosk’s radar to begin with but he better have a good fucking reason to be snooping around.

  It’s the middle of the night back in the states. I’ll call my father tonight when I get settled in Paris. If my mother finds out she’ll think this is some sort of reunion since I can’t tell her why I’m really reaching out to the old man. It’s safer for me to call him at work.

  I pick up my cell and bring up Gracie’s location. She’s over central Europe already.

  I haven’t had a distraction in a long time. Hell, what am I thinking? I’ve never had a distraction.

  She’ll do what she needs to do and then she’ll be home. And when I get back, we’ll pick up where we left off and I can work at figuring her out.

  * * *

  Entebbe, Uganda

  Gracie

  The fresh, warm African air hits my skin like a caress. I’m anxious, nervous, and excited to finally be here.

  I offer my hand to the man holding up a ratty old piece of cardboard with two other names X’ed out and mine written at the bottom. “Hi. I’m Grace Cain.”

  The middle-aged man takes my hand, gives me a warm smile but his drawl hits me even warmer—maybe southern with a hint of Cajun. “Grace, it’s good to meet ya and welcome to Uganda. I’m Dr. Gourdeaux but you can call me Dal—it’s short for Dallas even though I’m from Louisiana. My mama was a Cajun who loved to read westerns and she saddled me with a cowboy name.”

  His accent and friendly greeting feel like a gentle, familiar hug, and given my nerves, I’m grateful. “Thanks. It’s good to finally be here.”

  “We’ve got you for two whole weeks. I bet my last two dollars you won’t even recognize yourself at the end of it.”

  He has no idea how much I need that to be true. But instead of agreeing because I don’t want to sound desperate, I say, “I can’t wait. It’s been a dream to do this since before I became a nurse. I can’t believe I’m finally here.”

  “Believe it.” His response is as quick as a boomerang as he reaches for my suitcase. “Gimme that bag and I’ll get you loaded up. We’ve got a two-hour drive ahead of us.”

  “It’s okay, I can get it—”

  But before I can argue further, Dr. Dal has tossed my huge bag into the bed of a truck that Grady would be unhappy about me riding in for safety reasons.

  “Thanks.” I move to the passenger side and climb onto the cracked, vinyl bench seat at the same time the energetic doctor is slamming his door and turning the key. The beast of a vehicle rumbles to life and I’m grateful the seatbelt still works.

  I get my first look at the city of Entebbe and take in its raw beauty. Beyond the busy airport, everything is green and Lake Victoria spans as far as I can see.

  Dr. Dal breaks into my memory in the making. “You’ve never been to Africa before?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve never left the US before.”

  “You picked the right place to spend your time. It’ll be hard work and long days, but you’ll love it.”

  “You’re spending your sabbatical here?”

  The friendly doctor pulls out into traffic. “Yep. Six months. I needed a change and was able to take some time off from my practice.”

  I take in the locals, feeling like a fly on their wall as I watch them live their lives. “I wish I could stay longer.”

  “We have lotsa return volunteers. Trust me, the people of this country will steal your heart and you’ll wanna come back, Grace.”

  We come to a stop in traffic and I look over at him. “You can call me Gracie. All my friends and family do.”

  “Gracie!” His voice booms through the small cab and his wise eyes crinkle with delight. “I like ya even better now. Gracie it is.”

  I frown when I feel my phone vibrate because there’s no way I can have a connection.

  My insides clench when I see what it is and open the lonely notification sitting on the screen.

  Unknown Number – I got you an international plan. You’re welcome.

  I cannot even believe. The man is seriously as creepy as he is sexy. How does he do things like this?

  Me – How did you get access to my account?

  “Everything okay?” Dal asks as we start to move again through the busy streets. “Impressed you got a signal. That won’t work once we get out of the city toward camp.”

  “I…” I don’t even know what to say. “Yeah, I’m surprised I have a signal, too.”

  Unknown Number – After all you know about me, and given the fact I work with your brother, you’re really asking me how I got access to your account? You must be more jet lagged than I thought. Perk up, Gracie. You’ve got a job to do.

  Me – I might just turn off my phone.

  Unknown Number – I can still find you but I’d rather be able to talk to you.

  Me – You and everyone else are really making this independent thing hard to do.

  Unknown Number – You’ll be fine. Happy you got to Entebbe in one piece. Hit me up later.

  Me – I’m turning my phone off.

  Unknown Number – Miss you already, Lover. Don’t cut me off.

  My fingers freeze over the screen, paralyzed. I’m not used to people talking to me like this because I never let anyone get close enough to get to the point of missing me. Noah’s invasive tendencies are a real, legit problem.

  Unknown Number – Do me a favor and don’t turn your phone off. I can do a lot of shit, but I’m not Harry Potter—I can’t turn your phone on remotely and make you answer it. I’m just going to have to trust you wouldn’t do that to me since I give good orgasms.

  I peek up at Dr. Dal and hope he thinks the heat in my face is from the muggy day and not the sex god I can’t seem to shake. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude—this is a friend just wanting to make sure I got here okay.”

  “No worries, Gracie-girl. You take all the time you want but just know, you’re gonna lose that signal soon.”

  Shit.

  I look back to my screen and let my fingers fly.

  Me – Okay. I won’t turn my phone off but you cannot talk to me about orgasms. I’m with Dr. Dal and I’m pretty sure he’s old enough to be my father. And secondly, you like Harry Potter?

  Noah Jarvis does not seem like the Harry Potter kind of guy.

  Unknown Number – I refuse to agree to the anti-orgasm bit. Don’t be so negative. And who doesn’t like Harry Potter?

  True. I
’m sure only politicians and terrorists don’t like Harry Potter.

  Me – Dr. Dal says I’m going to lose connection even with the crazy-expensive international plan you put me on.

  Unknown Number – Message me after you get settled and find some WiFi. And Gracie?

  I watch another bar disappear from my connection.

  Me – What now?

  Unknown Number – Chase hard, baby.

  Shit. My insides feel funny and it has nothing to do with the long trip or me starving, because that’s sweet.

  Unknown Number – And I can’t wait to give you more orgasms.

  That’s it.

  I toss my phone into my bag without sending another word to Noah. Talking to him is like riding the Pirate Ship at an amusement park—so much back and forth, I can’t keep up.

  “You good, Gracie?”

  I look over at Dr. Dal. “I’m good. Now, tell me all about my new family for the next two weeks.”

  Chapter 10

  Abstraction

  Paris, France

  Jarvis

  My relationship with my father was always turbulent.

  Okay. Maybe not always. When I was a kid, I have to admit, I idolized him. Wanted nothing more than to be like him—and not him the dad because he was hardly around. But him the Navy man that everyone else was practically wetting themselves to be.

  Alexander Patrick Jarvis.

  He spent his career in the Navy before getting one hell of an offer to move into the private sector. Between that and his retirement benefits, he’s making a living that finally stands up to his elephant-sized ego. I know this because I keep tabs on him. I also know what he brings in every year doesn’t touch what I make in a month.

  But when I hit my teens, I realized the only things he gave a shit about in life was what his peers, or the upper brass, or even his fucking golf buddies thought of him. Not my mother, me, or even the damn dog—that’s when I began to see him for him. As the years clicked on and I got older, it became clearer. I saw my mom through mature eyes—desperate for his attention, eager to appear the all-American family everyone outside the walls of our house thought we were. We weren’t even close. Even after my father was finished with deployments, it only became more tense at home. His office wasn’t on some ship in the middle of international waters. It was at the Pentagon located in the outer ring.

  Being a Rear Admiral has its perks.

  Being Alexander Jarvis’s son, on the other hand, did not. Even as much as he tried to convince me it did when he insisted I apply to the Naval Academy.

  For me, being accepted into the Academy was as easy as getting a library card. I had the grades in the classroom, the skills on the football field, lightning-fast reflexes, perfect eyesight, and no allergies. Not even a fucking hang nail. Those billboards and ads and pamphlets for Navy recruitment? I might as well have been their poster child.

  But old Alex was enough of an asshole to take credit for my getting into his alma mater, which might not have been the end of the world, had I wanted that life—his life—but I absolutely did not.

  The Fighting Irish wanted me, and by that time, I wanted nothing to do with the man who helped give me life. I was still seventeen when my father interceded for my well-being and contacted Notre Dame behind my back, informing them I’d decided to follow in his pretentious footsteps and go Navy.

  My scholarship was given away before I got wind of what happened and so were my other offers. Alexander Jarvis paraded me straight into the President’s office—they were old buddies from some conflict for which they’d both received medals, merits, and honors, which just gave them more reason to live out their glory days over expensive bourbon. That’s where I was forced to sign my life over.

  I wish I had the balls to stand up to him at the age of seventeen. But in the middle of my senior year of high school when everyone was expecting the star quarterback to get a full ride—which I deserved but my father shot a missile into every option laid at my feet—I wasn’t only between a rock and a hard place, I was wedged between a boulder and a slab of granite.

  So I signed.

  I went to the Naval Academy and didn’t get the college experience I wanted, which was to get out from under the military thumb that suffocated me my whole life.

  And I swear, just a phone call to the man brings it all back.

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Jarvis is in a meeting right now. May I take a message?”

  I shake my head as I look out over the Paris landscape from my seat on the wide veranda of what Crew calls an apartment. If this is an apartment, I’m Taylor Swift. This is the penthouse and I feel as tall as the Eiffel Tower I’m staring at—lit up like a rocket ship getting ready to explode into outer space.

  “Tell him Noah called.”

  “And your last name, Noah?”

  “He’ll know who it is.”

  “Um,” she stumbles over her next words, “and a phone number where you can be reached?”

  “He’ll know that, too.” I sigh before going on. “I’m his son. Just tell him I need to speak to him. I’ll be out of pocket soon and he won’t be able to reach me.”

  “Of course.” I can’t tell whether she’s curious or surprised. “I’ll give him the message right away.”

  “And do me a favor,” I pause before going on. “Tell him he’d better not tell my mother I called. This is confidential.”

  “I—”

  “She can’t know,” I insist.

  I have no clue if she knows my mom, and if she does, if she’ll bust my balls and squeal herself. “Yes. I’ll add it to the message, Noah.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  And I hang up without saying more because I don’t need anyone else nosing into my non-relationship with my father. The last time he and I spoke was right after I was honorably discharged and I refused to tell him why or where I was going. He was especially pissed I hadn’t fulfilled my time because it was an embarrassment to him. He was still Rear Admiral and even he didn’t know how I got released.

  Really, I think he was over the fucking barrel because something was sealed tighter than even his power could reach. My discharge was labeled top-secret. Even those above him had no idea how I got out or where the hell I was going.

  Years ago, when Grady approached me about working for Crew’s outfit, I didn’t bat a fucking eye at his proposal. I’m a SEAL and had been on more missions than I could count. Working for Crew Vega didn’t make me a killer. I already was one. Hell, Grady didn’t even need to sell me on the job. I would’ve done it for less pay than I was already getting from the Navy at the time and that’s saying something. I signed with more enthusiasm than a pubescent teen jacking off to his first online porn experience.

  Little did I know I would have to sell Crew and Asa on my less-than-charming and more-than-arrogant self. I’ve been put in my place more times than I can count since the first day Grady drove me onto Crew’s compound. I’ve had my ass kicked too many times and it took me longer than most to get Crew to finally turn me loose.

  Daddy issues are as real and ugly as an STD and I wore mine on my shoulder with a chip as big as Mount-fucking-Rushmore.

  Speaking of daddy issues…

  I look away from one of the most iconic structures in the world and pick up the beer that was waiting for me in the fully-stocked fridge. As I take a swig, I open the app to see where Gracie is. When I switch to the satellite view, it shows she’s in a small building, if you can call it that. I haven’t heard from her for at least five hours but she should be with her team by now.

  I pick up my beer, head back into the penthouse, and switch apps.

  Hmm. My little Lover found some WiFi. It shows she’s online.

  Me – You get settled?

  Trying not to get antsy, I wait for a response from the woman who’s becoming an obsession quicker than I care to admit. Obsessions are for fools. Or the weak. Or, even worse, weak fools. I know this because I once was one, but my obsession had noth
ing to do with pussy or smaller-than-average humans who want to change the world—even if she does have an irresistible pussy. My preoccupation was solely devoted to sticking it to my father, I was just waiting for the right moment and Crew was the one who offered it up with training, silencers, power, and big, fat paychecks.

  I sink into the deep gray sofa and prop my feet on the bare coffee table while I wait for Gracie. This place is as huge as it is sparse. The ceilings go on forever, the doors to the veranda make me feel as big as a five-year-old, and other than the bits of furniture and wood floors that might date back to Napoleon, everything the eye can see is white. Stark-white. White walls, white curtains, white kitchen, white bedding. All the white is in complete contrast to what’s down the hall and around the corner—the storage room where everything is black. Firepower, ammunition, vests, supplies, right down to lock-picking kits.

  This place is European command central for the organization. I’m here about once a month—sometimes more, sometimes less—but I’ve never seen another face and I’m happy about that.

  Just like I told Crew, I work alone. I don’t like depending on someone else to get me where I need to go on this assignment. It’s not the first time he’s forced his contacts on me, but it hasn’t happened often, and I’m not looking forward to it.

  I look to my phone.

  Nothing.

  Shit.

  I take another swig before leaning my head back and shutting my eyes, focusing on the sounds of the city drifting up and through the open doors. I travel so much, I have no problem with jet lag. I sleep when I can and the rest of the time, I’m ready.

  My eyes pop open when my phone vibrates where it’s resting on my thigh.

  Only not with a message. A call.

  My insides twist into a knot worthy of standing up to the strongest storm as I slide my finger across the screen and greet the man I haven’t spoken to in nearly four years. “That was quicker than I expected.”

  Silence, before his controlled tone slides through the phone to me, stating one word that slices sharp, “Noah.”