Firewolf

by Jenna Kernan

  He shook his head. That was an ageist thought, but he couldn’t imagine who else would be crazy enough to chance riding such a vehicle in this weather. With the driver’s back to him it was hard to tell. What he could tell was that he wasn’t very big; at least, he had no bulk to him. It looked like he was tall but other than...

  The man pulled off the helmet. Black hair fell to his shoulders. He turned around. The gray bomber jacket was half zipped, and it was now clear that this was no man. She held a helmet by its straps as she threaded her fingers through her hair and stopped as her eyes locked with his.

  Jade Van Everett. The face and the picture on the file snapped together in his mind like an errant jigsaw puzzle. She was the agent assigned to their latest case. He wasn’t familiar with her, at least not in person. She’d been with the agency only a little over a year, and both times he’d been here, she’d been either on a case or on vacation. But he was very familiar with who she was on paper. Twenty-nine to his thirty-one, her track record was impressive and the fact that she was easy on the eye, a bonus. Again, all of it had only been on paper. Yet he knew in his gut that Jade was different.

  Jade... He felt that he knew her so much deeper than he should. She’d fascinated him before he’d ever physically laid eyes on her. But it was her accomplishments in the field that really impressed him, not her picture in the file. He’d studied every angle of the cases she’d been assigned with Nassar and was familiar with her past record with the agency. He knew her like he knew no other agent, and he refused to let himself consider why that might be.

  The case she was assigned to now was the same one that had found him at the office this early in the morning. He’d been making sure that everything, as low-key as it was, went off without a hitch. As a family operation, Nassar Security depended on him to manage either the Morocco or Wyoming office at a moment’s notice.

  This case involved a Moroccan prince. In fact, it had been Moroccan royalty who had hired the company to provide security for the minor royal, who was visiting Wyoming. The client was a cousin too many times removed from the current king of Morocco to ever attain power, and he wasn’t wealthy. That eliminated two factors that might threaten his safety. Except for the weak link to royalty, there was nothing special about the man. Thus, only one agent, Jade Van Everett, had been assigned.

  In the file picture her hair had been lighter, shorter—her expression more serious. She was an extraordinarily good-looking woman even on file, but the paper copy didn’t reflect the vibrant beauty that the real woman possessed. It was hard not to stare, for he was caught by surprise.

  Now that she’d finished with the bike, she wasted no time in striding across the small lot, her attention focused on him with a look that hinted at trouble. This was clearly a woman with an issue, and as he was the only person here, he could only assume that the issue was with him.

  So much for quietly sliding into the pulse of the business, he thought.

  She had trouble branded on the tight line of her full red lips and in the frown that cut between her delicate, well-defined dark brows.

  While he felt the chill in her azure eyes slice through him as she came closer, he couldn’t help but admire her figure. He pulled his gaze up from her full bust and met her slightly sarcastic look as she stood on the bottom step looking up.

  “Have you seen enough?” she drawled. Her voice was surprisingly relaxed despite the flashing accusation in her look.

  She had spunk to go along with her success.

  “Maybe,” he replied easily, while at the same time he was fully aware that he deserved every ounce of her sarcasm. The accusation in her eyes faded, and he could tell from the softening of her lips that she’d decided to not push the issue. He admired her for that.

  “I’m Zafir,” he began, taking a step forward.

  “I know,” she said in her husky voice, and came up a few more steps. “You’re why I’m here. I wanted to meet you in person before I picked up the client.”

  Her eyes raked over him as if she, too, had studied him through his work. He imagined that if she was as good as her file suggested, then that was the case. One didn’t come in blind to anything, not a Nassar agent. They were all good, but to be in the top few meant that you left nothing to chance.

  Professional, he thought, despite the bike. She smiled and threaded her fingers through her hair, pushing the shining black curtain up and away from her face. She came up another step. They were only a few feet apart.

  She put one hand on the railing and held out the other to him. He took it and was caught in a firm grip that held no hesitation.

  “What I’d like to know is why Prince Sadiq el Eloua is flying here alone on a commercial airline,” she said as she let go of his hand. She was referring to the client. The one she was assigned to. “I know it’s too late to do anything about it but really, even if there’s no identified threat, at the least he should have been accompanied.”

  “There’s apparently never been a security issue—he has no money or status,” he said, realizing that she’d mirrored many of his first doubts. “It appears more for ego that we were hired.”

  “Seems like there should be more to this, otherwise there’s no need to hire us.”

  He shrugged. “Overkill on Prince Rashad’s part,” he said, referring to the crown prince next in line to rule Morocco. “An easy assignment for you.”

  There was something in her eyes and the way she looked at him that, if he were a vain man, he would have called admiration. Instead, it struck him how much the agency had grown, and how often, despite being vice president, he was faced with this situation—where he didn’t know the people in his employ. Not that he was complaining; his youngest brother Faisal ran this branch and had done so more than competently.

  Jade brushed past him and headed toward the entrance to his office. She pulled the door open and walked in as if it were hers. “While I’m here I want to check the file one last time before I pick him up,” she said over her shoulder.

  He followed her inside, closing the door behind him as a drift of snow skimmed the heated cork floor and immediately began to melt. He walked over to where she stood by his desk.

  “You’ve had it out?” she asked as she picked up the only file on his desk. She did so without hesitation. But that was how Faisal’s office ran, with casual efficiency. While the Marrakech office had gone completely digital, Faisal still insisted on paper files. He loved all things retro. Retro had never appealed to Zafir. He’d take the latest smartphone over the century-old wooden file cabinet that stood in a corner of the office.

  He watched her review the file. He assumed that she was going over details that she’d seen before. They were details that he’d just familiarized himself with. His mind reviewed what he knew of the client. The man was an amateur photographer. He was months short of his fortieth birthday and attached to nothing, not family, career, not even a stable home. He was rather like a man a decade or two younger. The majority of his income came from a life insurance policy that he’d received after the death of his parents. He supplemented that by occasionally selling his photos to magazines. That was why he was here, to take outdoor pictures of the Jackson Hole valley. It was the one thing he had in common with the client: they both felt the allure of Wyoming’s wild beauty. The file lay open where Jade had dropped it. He looked down and a chubby-cheeked man smiled back at him.

  “Twenty-fifth in line to the throne,” Jade’s voice interrupted his private assessment. “My instinct says that’s important.”

  Instinct, he couldn’t dispute that. It was what separated the good agent from the excellent.

  She went to the window and stood there as snow hit, melted and slid down the glass. He took the file from the desk, closed it and put it back into the cabinet.

  “He arrives in under two hours.” She glanced at her watch as she
turned around. “I just can’t get over it. I mean, he’s a royal, I’m to make sure he’s safe, and yet he’s flying halfway across the world alone.” She shrugged. “That’s why his lineage was grating on me. But even twenty-fifth, with zero chance of ever attaining the throne... There’s safety in numbers, in having someone trained to watch out for you. Someone who pays attention to the surroundings to...” She trailed off. But he could see her frustration. Her blue eyes were alight with passion and concern.

  “I’m not sure how it went down. He shouldn’t be flying either alone or commercial. What I know is that Prince Rashad isn’t happy about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s our client’s doing.” He shrugged. “Anyway, he isn’t our problem. At least, not until he lands...”

  She frowned. “Despite what I just said, it’s a low-key case. Let’s just hope he gets here safely.” She paused, her attention not on him but on a point somewhere outside the office.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “Our job begins as soon as they have wheels on the ground.” She looked at her watch. “I should get moving.”

  “What’s with the dirt bike?” He couldn’t help but ask.

  She shrugged and looked slightly sheepish. “My pickup wouldn’t start this morning. I’m going to get a rental on the way to the airport.”

  “I’ll give you a lift.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “The rental agency is only a few miles up the road. Besides, I love riding the bike in fresh snow,” she said. “I’d take it to the airport but I doubt Prince Sadiq would like riding on the back.”

  From what he’d seen of Jade, he doubted that Prince Sadiq would mind at all.

  “I’m not looking forward to it.” She paused. “Didn’t you find it strange—the name he prefers?” It was the name that neither of them had yet used.

  “A bit old-fashioned.” He slid a hand into his pocket and rubbed an American penny he always carried between his thumb and forefinger. A long time ago his father had given it to him for luck. His father had been a very logical man, but he believed in talismans and luck. His parents had died tragically three days after his father had so casually tossed him the coin. Now he withdrew his hand, curious at her take.

  “Stanley?” Her frown deepened. “What Moroccan royal is named Stanley? I mean even as a nickname.” Her eyes crinkled as if she were holding back a laugh. “He uses the name exclusively.”

  “Royalty. Good chance he has an attitude, which will be a challenge,” he said, knowing that he should try to be helpful instead of goading her when they both knew that she was stuck with a dull case.

  “I’m betting you’re right.” She pulled a quarter from her pocket. “Want to flip for odds? Heads he’s a challenge.”

  “Tails, I lose,” he finished.

  She flipped the coin and looked up with a smile. “Heads. Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got myself a code white.”

  He smiled at both the tone of her voice and her lighthearted approach that led them to betting on a case. That was a first, but he didn’t doubt that Jade was full of surprises—crazy little firsts.

  “Code white.” She shook her head, her brow furrowed as if the thought of it pained her.

  He empathized with her pain. The agency had codes for assignments. They ranged from the least dangerous, white, to the most, red. There wasn’t an agent at Nassar who didn’t dread a code white. They were well-paid assignments that were the bread and butter of the agency. But they were also, as in this case, ten days of guaranteed boredom.

  She waved as she turned to leave.

  “Take a good book,” he called after her.

  She gave him a look that would have torched a lesser man.

  He only laughed.

  Jade van Everett had been a pleasant surprise.

  * * *

  Three days earlier

  THE SMALL STONE house had stood on the edge of the massive estate outside Rabat, Morocco, for generations. It had survived two world wars. Now, an explosion rattled the windows of the main house and blew the roof off the small stone house. The outer walls held for seconds after the initial explosion before the shock rippled through the structure and caused the small building to fall inward. The resulting fire licked quickly through the old wood and paper within the building. The smoke curled easily into the still air. It wasn’t until the building was engulfed in flames and the last wall had collapsed that sirens could be heard. By then, it was too late. It was exactly as he had planned. Time would take care of the rest.

  His jaw tensed as he looked around in the dim light of the plane’s cabin. A young woman stood up two rows ahead of him and stretched. Behind him someone coughed. He covered his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He hated flying, hated the people, the tight space, the snotty flight attendants. He hated all of it. He pushed his seat into an upright position and tried to stretch, but one foot was trapped by the seat in front of him. He was stuffed and cramped like he, too, was one of them, like the other nothings on this plane. But he was nothing like any of them—he didn’t belong here, and soon they would know it.

  He’d like to hurt someone right now. He knew that would make him feel better, but he couldn’t do that for obvious reasons. Instead, he relaxed his features and tried to keep a pleasant look on his face. The last thing he needed was to act suspicious so that when they landed he was pulled aside by security. That would have his entry into the States delayed or worse, denied.

  Calm down, he told himself. There was no reason for any of that to happen. But it wasn’t over. His fingernails dug into the armrest. He looked down and forced himself to relax. He’d learned years ago as a child that one must relax to gain control. A strap against bare skin was easier to take if one was relaxed rather than tense. It was a tough but useful life skill. He looked furtively around him. But there was nothing unusual. The lights dimmed, and ahead of him a reading light clicked on. To his left was an empty seat and beside that was an elderly woman who’d been snoring off and on since takeoff.

  He closed his eyes even as he knew that he couldn’t sleep. Minutes passed. He opened his eyes, and his thoughts went back to where they had never left, to all that had transpired. The explosion that was the first step in completing the job he’d been hired for. It was unfortunate that he’d only seen his handiwork from afar, that he couldn’t have stayed to hear the man’s dying screams. Instead, he’d had to leave, catching the explosion from a distance, seeing the lick of flames and knowing he was one death away from the cash prize.

  Across the aisle, a middle-aged man snored, lurched forward and shook himself awake.

  He looked away. To any of the other passengers he was unmemorable. A swarthy man with a tired expression in the aisle seat of the Boeing 737. He feigned reading a newspaper. His left ankle was crossed over his right. He ran a hand along the seam of his pant leg. He scowled and then glanced at the watch on his right wrist. He moved the silver band back and forth as if that would adjust the time, but no matter how he looked at it, there were still hours before they landed.

  He shoved the paper into the flap in the seat in front of him and looked up. He smiled at the passing flight attendant and thought how he’d like to twist her slim neck until it snapped. He forced his eyes closed, and smiled for the first time since he’d gotten the news. For it was in Jackson, Wyoming, where he’d finally finish what had begun so long ago.

  Copyright © 2017 by Patricia Detta

  ISBN-13: 9781488012815

  Firewolf

  Copyright © 2017 by Jeannette H. Monaco

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in o
r introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9 Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com