by Misty Evans
She paused. Accusing a member of Congress—someone she’d trusted emphatically—wasn’t easy to do. “After hearing that phone conversation, I’ve figured out that I didn’t blow the operation. My intel was accurate and solid. I made the correct call, but someone else, namely Senator Halston, leaked information about the operation before it went live and that’s why the mission failed.”
Cal shook his head. “You got all of that from a simple sentence about a blue elephant and a reelection bid?”
Bianca had kept her cards close to her chest for so long, the thought of divulging more facts—the fact—that would trigger Cal’s understanding felt like betraying her country. She’d rather jump off the boat into the cold Pacific than expose the NSA’s secrets. “I’m the only blue elephant the NSA currently employs. The other one, Alisha Jamison, was killed in a freak car accident six months ago.”
Except for the storm, silence reigned. Bianca glanced at the screen, saw the SUV had made its slow crawl through the docks and parking lot and was now leaving.
Cal rubbed his knuckles over the slight growth of beard on his square jaw. “What does this have to do with Warfighter?”
“I’ve been with a sub-unit of SE2 for approximately nine months. During that time, I had one assignment. Track down Otto Grimes.”
Cal stiffened at the mention of the terrorist’s name. “You were on his tail?”
“I was tasked with finding—or creating—a scenario to take him out.”
“You?” Skepticism showed on his face. “Why isn’t the CIA handling it?”
They’d been “handling” Otto Grimes for years and not getting anywhere. President Norman had had enough. “Grimes was supposed to attend a birthday party for Prince Hamid’s son on board his yacht on August 23rd. The CIA had an asset—a crew member—on board the yacht. After careful analysis of all the players and the situation, I recommended the crew member see to it that the ship entered international waters after the party was over and the guests fell asleep. That would allow a SEAL team to board, take out Otto, and disappear. It was a solid plan, so when the birthday party happened, I made the call to send in the SEALs, and my boss agreed. So did the Secretaries of Defense and Homeland.”
“You made the call? Since when do you decide when and where a SEAL team goes?”
Since she’d been appointed to Command and Control as part of the President’s Threat Matrix team. Many people knew about the Threat Matrix team, but C&C didn’t exist on paper.
“President Norman pulled the plug on the operation at the last second. The timing was wrong, he said, even though every one of my analyses confirmed we had better than an eighty-three percent chance of success. The next day, Grimes called up three terrorist cells who set off bombs at multiple U.S. universities based overseas, killing fourteen Americans and injuring twenty-six people.”
Cal no doubt knew about the bombings. Everyone knew. They’d been all over the news with plenty of mudslinging at the president and his cabinet for letting it happen. Grimes had produced a new YouTube video calling POTUS a little boy hiding behind his mother’s skirts.
Cal’s forehead creased as he did the mental math. “That’s when my unit was called up.”
She nodded. “First, I was told to come up with a new approach to take out Otto.”
“To save the presidency and win Linc Norman a second term.”
Now he was catching on. “Blue elephant, second term for the prez. Still think the caller was talking about someone else?”
Cal got up, drank half the cup of coffee, and refilled the cup. “I’m still struggling with the fact you made the call to send in my team.”
The dog watched Cal’s every move. So did Bianca. He didn’t drink any more coffee. Instead, his jaw set and a muscle jumped under his left cheekbone as he eyed her.
Danger. It radiated off him like heat off a missile.
Cal would never hurt her. His intense stare, however, might make her melt. “I made the call to send in a team. I never know which unit will be picked—I’m kept in the dark, and that’s how it should be. Most of the time, I don’t even know if it will be SEALs or Marines or Berets. All I know is that a Special Forces unit will go in and get the job done. In this case, however, I forecasted it would be a commando unit such as yours who knew the terrain and the terrorist in question better than any other team.”
He stewed, still seeming to struggle to wrap his brain around her “desk jockey” job. “But you gave the order?”
“I’m an integral player behind the scenes when it comes to tracking and analyzing terrorists, international terrorism hotspots, and hunting down terrorists on Homeland’s most wanted list. It’s a critical piece in my job to keep POTUS safe.”
He zeroed in on her for a long minute, probably hoping she’d break under that intimidating stare.
She didn’t.
His gaze was unremitting and challenging. Was he blaming her for sending him and his men into a death trap?
He didn’t need to. She’d already castigated herself a million times. “Grimes has always been an unpredictable leader, as you know,” she said, “but he always rewards his lieutenants for a job well done. That’s the consistent thread I uncovered during my time tracking him. I knew after the bombings successfully went off at those universities, he would find a way to meet with his top lieutenants, Warwick and Meidi, to reward them. Based on my outcome analysis, your team had an eighty-nine-point-six percent chance of success of killing or arresting Grimes and at least one of them. An even higher percentage than the first SEAL unit had.”
He sipped the coffee, his dark eyes never leaving her. She could almost see the dozens of questions he had behind those eyes.
She tried to hold his gaze, but on the screen, she saw a dark shadow. The black SUV drove into the marina again.
“I have a lot more to tell you,” she said, rising from the bench. “But right now, the most important thing you need to know is that a call was made at three-sixteen this morning. A call to an assassin the CIA has used for off-the-book wet jobs for the past twenty years. His assignment is to kill me.”
She grabbed her briefcase and her damp jacket from the hook on the wall. Turning the screen so Cal could see it, she tried to stay composed. “He just pulled into the parking lot.”
Chapter Four
Cal was still so attuned to Bianca’s body, the moment she’d stiffened in response to something she saw on her phone, he had too.
Assess.
He’d turned up the heat on her and she’d responded by shutting him down. His ego smarted, but he’d seen the lust in her eyes, felt the energy pouring off of her in the tight quarters. She wasn’t immune to him any more than he was to her. Every time he was close to her, his chest tightened with love, and everything below his waist hardened with yearning. Hers, in typical fashion, always responded.
Figures I’d fall for a crazy woman. Beautiful but crazy.
“The CIA sent an assassin after you.” Saying it out loud made it sound even more ludicrous. On the phone’s screen that she was now shoving at him, he saw a dark vehicle driving slowly through the parking lot. “And he drives a Cadillac Escalade.”
Her body tensed even more, not from danger but irritation. She lowered the phone and got in his face. “I know you have a ton of questions, and I’ll try to answer them, but I’m not kidding, Cal. There is a man after me.”
He moved the curtain aside on the small, round window to his left. A tiny stream of water was leaking in through the worthless seal. Capillary effect. Water could find the smallest of cracks and the effect more or less acted as a water pump to keep bringing water in. Kind of like his and Bianca’s tumultuous relationship…they’d found each other’s cracks long ago, widening them over time with all their petty shit.
Water was also leaking in from a spot near the door. Another thing to fix on the boat. The capillary effect was why water could enter at one point, such as the window, and come out three feet away at the doorframe. Bianca’s
love did the same thing to him. The brush of her hand or the feel of her thigh next to his circulated heat and love and lust through his entire being.
Who’s the crazy one?
The storm had mostly blown itself out, the wind dying off to a light breeze. The rain continued in a steady drizzle.
Cal scanned the parking lot. The SUV was gone. “The CIA can’t harm an American citizen on US soil. You know that.”
“The CIA is not behind this.”
Maggie rose from her spot and walked over to the stairs. Her nose twitched as she sniffed the air. “You just said they were.”
Bianca was the queen of exaggerated sighs, yet this time, her sigh was contained. “The assassin is experienced in doing wet work for the CIA—that’s what I said.”
Through the window, Cal saw two men in trench coats carry a net onboard their small fishing vessel. Todd and Hurley. He wasn’t the only one in the marina whose work day had been put on hold. “Why would anyone want to kill you, B?”
“Can we talk about this later? We really need to get out of here.”
She started to turn away. Maggie whined. Cal reached for Bianca’s arm and stopped her. “Who is this assassin, and who hired him?”
“It’s—”
Everything happened at once. Maggie barked, Bianca whirled to look at her, and the window beside Cal’s shoulder exploded.
Protect.
Without thinking, he barreled into Bianca, taking her down in a hail of glass and rainwater. His arms went around her, one hand cradling her head before it struck the floor.
She let go of an “oomph” when his weight fell on her. Her glasses flew off her face and her briefcase skidded across the floor, smacking into the leg of the table. A fine line of blood blossomed on her right cheek. Cal shifted to the side, keeping her tucked close to his much bigger body.
She’d been hit. By flying glass or something worse? The cut across the top of her cheek appeared thin, as if from a piece of glass, but the blood…
It pooled and ran over her cheekbone, flowing backward into her hair. Into his fingers at the back of her head.
Cal’s stomach fell. His chest constricted. “Shit. Are you alright?”
Bianca’s eyes were round saucers as she stared up at him, bewilderment and fear clear in their blue depths. She gave a single nod and her throat worked as she swallowed hard.
He glanced up and saw a hole, a depression in the wall across from where they’d been standing. From his position on the floor, all he could see was the indention in the wood paneling, and the faintest gleam of metal, but Cal knew the sound of a bullet punching through glass. Knew the reaction his body had to being shot at.
Shield. In his head, he heard the sounds of battle. Smelled the odor of metal and blood and sand. For a split second, Bianca’s body morphed into Tank’s…
And then she squirmed, sucking in a breath and bringing him back to the present.
Temples pounding once more, he refocused on her face. Even though it had been months since he’d felt his wife beneath him, he couldn’t deny his instant and automatic response to her delicious warmth and feminine softness.
It’s only adrenaline. A natural response to the situation.
In the back of his mind, he knew it was more. His body recognized the familiar feel of the only woman he’d ever loved and was responding accordingly.
Now was not the time for his body to take a fucking stroll down memory lane. Someone had shot at him and Bianca. Maybe she isn’t crazy after all. Like always, the male inside him rose to the challenge of keeping her safe.
“I thought…,” Bianca stuttered, “…that boat windows were made of polycarbonate.”
Miss Google was back. Polycarbonate was strong, flexible, and bulletproof. “Windows made from polycarbonate are notorious for leaks and easily scratched by saltwater spray,” he told her. “These are good old-fashioned glass.”
Maggie whined from somewhere off to his right. Bianca lay ramrod stiff underneath him. His mind flashed back to their shared youth in the Midwest. The way she’d always been fearless about adapting to her environment, no matter how shitty it got, and to trying new things. The only thing she’d ever been scared of was people. “People can hurt you,” she’d told him, “in ways Mother Nature never dreamed of.”
He wiped blood from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I’ve got you, and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Her teeth chattered. “Do you…believe me…now?”
“Bullets typically get my attention.”
She started to say something, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips. Her tongue reached out to lick them at the same moment, and brushed against his finger. A shot of sexual energy shot right to his groin.
Like he needed a second shot.
He lifted an eyebrow and she cringed, realizing how suggestive the habit came across. “Sorry. I’m just…it’s just…if I hadn’t turned my head to look at your dog… Shouldn’t the glass at least be tempered or something?”
“In this old boat?” No telling how many times that window had been replaced. “The previous owner didn’t put money into repairs since the boat never left the dock.”
There were no more shots. Ignoring his raging hard-on, Cal lifted his head and caught sight of the dog huddled in the corner, panting. Her ears were back, eyes darting from the entrance to him and back. Except for the rain gently hitting the hull, he heard nothing.
Didn’t mean the fucker wasn’t close by. From the trajectory of the bullet, and the fact the window faced north, the shooter had to be…
Right next door.
Except there was no boat in the slip next to Cal’s. His boat sat at the southern-most end of the docks, alone and on its own. His closest neighbor was Gus Madington, five slips away.
Gus was in his fifties and had a long-standing friendship with alcohol. His hands shook so badly, he could barely hold a beer bottle, much less a gun. Cal was pretty sure the guy had never owned or fired a gun in his life.
If it wasn’t Gus, then who?
No way. Cal shook his head. Bianca had to be mistaken about her mysterious assassin. Why would anyone, especially the United States government, hire someone to kill her?
Defend. A bullet was a bullet, and until he figured out who’d fired it, he wasn’t taking chances.
Cal made a stay motion, first at Maggie, then at Bianca. Keeping one eye on the door and the other on the broken window, he slid completely off Bianca and slithered to the bunk bed. Reaching up, he found the cool steel of his handgun. He checked the chamber and clip. One bullet. Sloppy. He needed to reload.
Slipping his hand under his mattress, he found a fresh clip. Good to go.
A glance at Bianca gave him pause. Like the dog, she had stayed put, but also like Maggie, her eyes were wide and her body shook with tremors. While Maggie was nervous and unsure, Bianca was frozen with fear.
Not good. He needed her clearheaded and able to move when he told her to. “Bianca.” He said her name out loud—not too loud, but with enough force to break her trance.
Her eyes snapped out of their fear-induced haze. She shifted to look at him.
“Are you armed?” he said.
She shook her head.
Great. “You think some asshole’s trying to kill you but you left your weapon at home?”
“I don’t…own…a-a-a…” She bit her bottom lip, either out of frustration or to make her teeth stop chattering. “I don’t own a gun.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I’m an analyst…not a…field agent. I don’t n-n-n…need one.”
Oh, for the love of…
He had weapons stored in hiding places all over the boat. Not easy to get to at the moment without giving away his position. A sneak-and-peek outside was in order, but he wasn’t leaving Bianca unarmed.
“Take this.” He handed her the Glock. He’d taught her to handle one years ago, and while she might have been given “analyst” as a job description at the NS
A, he knew she’d had weapons training. “Stay down. Belly on the floor.”
Her fingers shook as she accepted the weapon but her face firmed with determination. “Where are you going?”
He pointed up. “Need to get eyes on the shooter and grab another gun.”
As he stayed low and crab-walked across her body, her free hand locked on his arm. “It’s too risky.”
Blood continued to pour from her cheek wound. He wanted to grab the nearby towel and press it to the cut but time was of the essence and while there was a lot of blood, she wouldn’t die from a graze. “I’m a trained SEAL, B. I know what I’m doing.”
She closed her eyes for a split-second as if gathering courage. “It’s Tephra.”
The name stopped him. Tephra? As in Rory Tephra?
Cal reared back. He hadn’t heard that name in ages.
Rory Tephra didn’t exist except as a ghost whispered about in BUDs training. Tephra, the ultimate SEAL who had disappeared on a secret mission in Sarajevo ten years ago. No body had ever been found, but the rumors about him being alive were as abundant as Elvis reports. He’d become an urban legend, a myth that had grown bigger than life. Every SEAL wanted to become Tephra.
Cal almost had.
“Bianca, that’s crazy. You’re in shock.”
“The hell I am.” She squeezed his arm. Hard. He got the message. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard her swear. “Rory Tephra is a soldier of fortune…a killer. And he’s after me.”
Cal’s brain rejected the idea, but his body and his instincts clearly shouted that Bianca was telling the truth. The unadulterated, although no less dramatic, truth. “Then he’s about to meet his maker because anyone who shoots at my wife is going to get his ass handed to him.”
