Covertly Strong (The Strong Series Book 1)

by N. A. Alcorn

  But is that really why she chose this life?

  Sloan doesn’t allow herself to contemplate this difficult question. Otherwise, she would have to face the stark realization that maybe her reasoning for giving up the chance at a normal life had more to do with the devastating losses she has faced than the actual pride she gains from serving her country. She lives her life by focusing on the present—the here and now. She concentrates on her assignments—her top-secret career. She refuses to allow anything to get in the way of her job and the fact that she continually operates at the highest level without fear.

  Agent L-55 is highly trained. She can hack into any computer and gain intel on anyone. She can face some of the world’s most despicable human beings head on without showing an inkling of terror. She can kill a man in fifteen different ways, and even though her kill count in the CIA is classified, it goes without saying that she’s had to put those defense skills to use on more than one occasion.

  Bottom line, Agent L-55 is a badass in her own right—really fucking amazing at her job.

  Tonight, Sloan will be Dr. Felicia Santora.

  The thirty-two-year-old plastic surgeon who prides herself on running a charitable organization known as Project Smiles. She travels to third-world countries to perform surgeries on children born with facial birth defects, primarily focusing on cleft lips and cleft palates. Consistently known as a phenomenal surgeon who graduated at the top of her class from Harvard Medical School, she also writes a small medical column for one of the biggest newspapers in the country.

  She will be giving a speech this evening at the Navy Compassionate Warriors Dinner commemorating the men who risk their lives for the good of her country. Project Smiles has received many donations from the US military to support their ongoing cause to provide underserved countries with proper medical care. And that’s the sole reason Sloan will be in attendance tonight.

  From a secret agent perspective, she has doubts about attending this dinner. There are underlying concerns that any known connections with the United States military could be used against her, but she reminds herself that Dr. Felicia Santora would not worry about this. She would accept any and all help to support her passion for helping others.

  Her bare foot rests on the coffee table as she sits comfortably on the small, brown, leather loveseat inside the barren studio apartment that’s a few blocks from Fisherman’s Wharf. Sloan doesn’t really have a home per se. She has places of residence scattered across the United States, but none of them are actually home. Her parents’ house in San Diego could be considered home, but unfortunately, it’s still a place that’s too painful for her to visit. She’s never had the heart to sell their house, and she’s hired numerous people to maintain the gorgeous, Spanish-style two-story, but it’s been years since she’s stepped foot there.

  She only keeps four small tokens of her past with her at all times.

  Her father’s medals.

  A picture from high school graduation—Sloan dressed in her cap and gown, wrapped inside her parents’ ecstatic embrace.

  Her mother’s necklace—a heart-shaped locket that holds a picture of Maria Walker beautifully pregnant with Sloan. The back of the locket is inscribed with her father’s words. My love, My life, Always - JW

  And the last piece of her past is a letter she’s kept with her for over fourteen years.

  It’s not just any letter, but a letter that reminds of her a love that was so strong—so deep—that she’ll forever be reminded of the boy with the gorgeous blue eyes and contagious smile.

  The only person who could make her heart skip a beat.

  When she looks back on the past—on her relationship with Nixon West—she knows with certainty that he was her first love. And it wasn’t because he was her first date, or first kiss, or the first person she gave herself to—it’s because he is the one guy she forever compares everyone else to. The one person she will never really get over even though she’s convinced herself she’s moved on.

  She’s never found that kind of connection with anyone else.

  The letter is a bittersweet reminder of the one and only part of her past that still manages to make her feel sentimental and wistfully aware of all of the things that might have been.

  Of course she’s had the urge to track him down over the years…

  But what would be the point in that?

  Yes, she has the resources at her disposal to pinpoint his exact location and find out what he’s doing with his life, but her affiliation with the CIA would make it impossible to ever lay eyes on him again. At times, she’s toyed with the idea of just finding out where he is, what he’s doing, what his life is like, but the idea of him happy and married and living the life Sloan knows she’ll never have would hurt too goddamn much.

  She walks into her bedroom and pulls the small, brown box filled with her past from the back of her cedar closet. The past beckons her to remember, to savor the memories of the life she no longer lives. She swipes her hand across the top of the lid, her fingerprints leaving track marks through the dust. Her heart beats loudly in her chest as she slowly opens the sentimental box. The musty smell assaults her nostrils, leaving her feeling reflective and reminiscent.

  Tears prick at her eyes as she affectionately smiles down at the picture of her graduation day. Her father grinning proudly at the camera, his gray eyes filled with pride. Her mother’s smile gentle and warm, encompassing the tenderness of Maria Walker.

  “I miss you both…so much,” Sloan whispers into the stillness of the room. “I’d do anything to have just one more day with you.”

  Peaceful silence fills her ears as she holds her mother’s locket in her hand. Her thumb rubs back-and-forth motions over the sentimental inscription. If Sloan lived a normal life, she would wear this locket close to her heart every single day. It would be a lovely, poignant reminder of her mother—the one woman who gave her unconditional love and was always there for her no matter what. She was her shoulder to cry on, the one person she could tell anything.

  She misses that the most—Maria Walker’s wise words, gentle heart, and open arms. If she could have her mother back for one day, she’d want to spend it in her parents’ old house, sitting at the kitchen table, listening to her mother talk about life, love, and everything in between.

  The wise words her mother once told her when she was young and devastated over missing Nix echo inside her mind. “If you really need him, Sloan. If you’re both meant to be—fate will bring him back. It might not be tomorrow or next week or even a year from now, but he’ll come back, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes find the crumpled envelope that holds the letter—the only letter she saved from Nix. The last letter she received from him before everything fell apart. She hates that she’s never received closure from that relationship. Even now—so many years later—Sloan doesn’t understand what happened.

  Was it the distance? Or did he just stop loving me?

  She has tried to convince herself that the distance is what made it impossible for their relationship to continue. They were young and had zero control over the life circumstances that seemed to continually be placed in their path.

  When she reflects back on her relationship with Nix, it’s hard for her to believe that they met so young. Sixteen is hardly old enough to understand real love, but in her eyes, that’s exactly what they had. They had a love that was almost too strong for their naïve minds to comprehend. She regards that period of her life as one of the best.

  When she moved to Honolulu, she was furious that it was halfway through her sophomore year of high school. She was exhausted of being the new girl everywhere she went, but she knows now that she got damn lucky that year. She met him. A boy who took her under his wing and made the year she spent in Honolulu the best year of her teenage life—her whole life.

  God, did I love Nix.

  There is still a small ache deep inside her chest when she remembers that period of her life—the point in time when everyth
ing was ripped apart at the seams because her father was transferred to Naples. Despite the promises they’d made to each other, their love story was cut short. To this day, she still has questions.

  Why did his letters, his phone calls just stop?

  The only other time in her life where she felt more pain was the day she lost her parents. The pain of losing your first love is something you never really get over. And it’s even harder when that relationship ends without a goodbye, without closure, with so many unanswered questions.

  Sloan received her final letter from Nix one year after her family had relocated to Naples. Shortly after that, her family was on the move again. John Walker was transferred to Naval Air Facility Misawa in Honshu, Japan. She tried to convince her young heart that this was the final straw for Nix. She told herself that he just couldn’t handle the ridiculous distance anymore. That always seemed like the better choice in reasoning rather than trying to comprehend that he might have stopped loving her.

  Her family didn’t move back to the States until after she had graduated high school and was getting ready to head off to college. That was when her father finally retired from his Navy career and when her parents settled down permanently in San Diego.

  She pulls her unfocused eyes back to the present as her brown gaze takes in the letter, scanning over the masculine handwriting. “My Meli.” The sentimental nickname spurs so many memories from deep inside her soul. She can still picture the tattoo. His tattoo.

  She stands in front of her bedroom mirror, lifting up her T-shirt and gazing at the ink on her rib cage. Her tattoo—the permanent reminder of him. Her brown eyes stare at the reflection, her fingers tracing the black ink as she remembers the day she got that tattoo—one month after her parents died. She still doesn’t quite understand why she did it. Maybe it was because it was supposed to be a happy reminder of a time in her life when everything was right. Maybe it was supposed to bring her some sort of closure.

  But it never did.

  The tattoo merely serves as a painful reminder of her past—a permanent scar of what could have been. The black ink signifies that, at one point in her life, Nixon West was her world, her entire reason for living, for breathing, for waking up every single day. And now, it only seems to make her feel angry that their love was wasted. A love that was so undeniable, so tragically beautiful, was just thrown away.

  As ridiculous as it sounds, she’s never really gotten over him. And she’s never moved on—never opened her heart up to the possibility of anyone else. Her love for Nix seared her, claimed her, and left an imprint on her heart forever, and the fact that, over fourteen years later, she still finds her chest aching over thoughts of him is evidence of this.

  Just reading through his letter has Sloan feeling like the young girl she used to be—a girl who she has tried so hard to forget. God, just forget about him. He is just a memory now, she strives to tell herself. She slides the material of her T-shirt back down and focuses her thoughts on her parents, desperately trying to put Nix where he belongs—in the past.

  She remembers her loving mother and father.

  She remembers the time they spent together after her dad retired. She lived in their San Diego home for two years before she moved across the country to finish undergraduate school at Georgetown University. Her parents loved her with everything they had, and she’ll never forget the last words her father spoke to her.

  “Sloan, your mother and I are so proud of you, baby girl. So goddamn proud. I love you, sweetheart, and I can’t wait to come out and visit you for Thanksgiving.”

  They died two days later.

  Tears prick her eyes again. The liquid emotion slowly seeps past her lids and spills down her cheeks. She hates that she’s allowing her mind to dwell on the past—to think about Nix and her parents. It’s uncommon for her to reminisce, but lately, the past has been on her mind. Sometimes she wonders if she’s missing out on living life to the fullest by constantly hiding behind a façade…

  The telltale ringtone of her Blackberry buzzes on the coffee table, pulling her focus away from her long walk down Memory Lane. It’s the call. The call she’s on standby for every second of every day.

  “Yes,” she answers immediately.

  “2555 Seaport Drive. Meet time is thirteen thirty-five. Black Range Rover will be waiting for you at the south entrance.”

  Instantly, the line goes dead.

  This is the standard protocol. Only one person knows the number to the phone—Chief Dubois. This is the man who hired her, the man who saw her potential and trained her to be one of the CIA’s most valuable agents within the Clandestine Affairs Division—a division whose sole focus is to fortify the United States security by collecting human intelligence through covert action and espionage.

  She checks the clock that sits beside the small flat-screen TV that rests on a scuffed-up wooden stand. Thirteen hundred hours. Only thirty-five minutes to get to the location. This is the norm, and it’s honestly surprising that she’s been given more than fifteen minutes.

  She quickly changes into a pair of black yoga pants and a loose, white track jacket and slides running shoes on. Her long, brunette locks are brushed into a ponytail and a USC ball cap placed over her head. Her attire always serves one purpose—to blend in. Never stand out.

  She’s permanently flying under the radar and her location in San Diego makes it easy to appear as a typical jogger enjoying a nice day in the sun. Nothing about her clothing or choice in foot transportation will appear suspicious.

  Sloan slips her CIA-issued Glock 23 into the discreet holster that rests underneath her right arm and heads for the door. She knows every road, every street, every building in the area. It’s her job to have an ironclad grasp on her whereabouts. Seaport Drive is a long, rarely traveled road that’s filled with several vacant buildings. Therefore, it’s the perfect location to receive information for her next assignment.

  That’s what the call always means. She will be shipping out soon.

  Sloan leisurely strides out of the main lobby of her apartment building and stretches in the parking lot. As an agent who is constantly being put in high-risk areas, her physical conditioning must always be top notch. Ninety percent of the job is mental, but the other ten percent can be very physical. Sometimes, she needs to rely on her physical stamina and strength to give her the edge over the enemy. Needless to say, sometimes shit gets real.

  THE RUN TAKES HER NO time at all. Her eyes glance at the watch secured to her right wrist. Three minutes and thirty seconds to spare. She’s certain that no one followed her. See, that’s also part of the job—to always be aware of her surroundings. Always know who’s around, what’s around, and calculate all possible jeopardies she could face in a matter of seconds.

  The black Range Rover is nondescript and unmarked. Tinted-black windows, standard license plates that are not registered in the name of anyone here. The vehicle is parked in the south lot behind a vacant building. There are several large trees and a fair amount of overgrown weeds that protect them from being spotted by tourists enjoying a day at sea. Her eyes wander towards the brush as she discreetly walks closer to the SUV. The sound of the engine is drowned out by cruise ships preparing to dock.

  The passenger’s side door opens.

  A baritone voice welcomes her as she gets comfortable in the backseat. “Agent 55.” The man sitting beside her pushes a button next to his door so the partition—soundproof, black glass—keeps their conversation private from the driver.

  “Chief.” Her response is terse as she pulls off the USC ball cap, using the sleeve of her track jacket to wipe off the sweat that lingers on her brow.

  “I hope you enjoyed your previous time in Guadalajara, because I’m sending you back. The information you provided us with has proved that we’ve got unfinished business.” Chief Dubois slides a few pictures from a manila folder onto her lap.

  Her eyes peer down at the shots of various men she’s become very familiar with. La Famil
ia Arturo. A name that’s become synonymous with international drug trafficking.

  “Since your departure, we’ve had several reports of gang- and drug-related activity just outside of Guadalajara, Mexico. This isn’t the norm for this city. As you know, Chapala is only thirty minutes away from Guadalajara, and the US government has already issued warnings for tourists to avoid this area at all costs,” he updates accordingly.

  Chapala has become a very popular retirement and vacation spot for Americans and Canadians. This was once considered one of the calmest, most nonviolent areas within the Mexican border, but that all went to shit once La Familia Arturo set up residence in a small compound just outside the city of Guadalajara. This ‘familia’ has become notorious for the violence it’s bestowed upon the Mexican people. They have recently gained a reputation in targeting innocent tourists—kidnappings for ransoms have begun to pick up in the area.

  Agent L-55 was in Guadalajara over six months ago to gain intel on this Mexican drug cartel. She found leads that provided the CIA with key information and proof that La Familia Arturo was beginning to delve deep into drug trafficking—gaining connections with other cartels throughout the world. Colombia, Costa Rica, The Philippines, and Russia seem to be their primary sources. The Arturos have been moving heroin, cocaine, marijuana, and methamphetamine into southeastern and southwestern United States for the past three years and only seem to be getting stronger, bigger, and more precise.

  Chief Dubois pulls a picture from the pile that rests on her lap, placing it front and center. “Hector Arturo—he’s taken the reins since his brother Juan died. There is high suspicion that Hector actually killed off his own brother just so he could take control of the Arturo Family. We’ve linked him with the Al-Asaad-Amad, a known terrorist group that currently resides in Pakistan. We need to know what his relationship is with them. That’s where you come in.”