by Elle James
“Fair enough.” The commander paused and then launched in. “Our nation is in trouble. Terrorists have established sleeper cells across the country. The chatter on the internet is getting stronger, and the president is concerned. The radicals are actively recruiting and planning bigger hits. Think about the bombing at the Boston Marathon, the mass shootings in San Bernardino, California and the Orlando nightclub. Those events, and more, were performed by radicalized ‘soldiers’ of the Islamic State. We have to stop them before they take more innocent American lives.”
“Sounds like a job for Homeland Security.”
“I’d like to think they could handle it. But frankly, they don’t have the training and skills needed to eradicate the threat. What my group is doing is fighting back with its own sleeper agents.”
Impatient for the man to get to the point, Mad Dog frowned. “What does that have to do with me?”
“I’m getting to that. To be exact,” Lambert said, “we’re fighting back as Sleeper SEALs. Men who, for whatever reason, have left active duty and are signing on to infiltrate areas suspected of having these insurgent cells. In effect, they’re establishing sleeper cells to combat terrorism before the terrorists have the opportunity to strike.”
“One-man cells?” Mad Dog asked. “Doesn’t that go against everything they taught us in BUD/S? The reason why SEALs are so effective is they work, sleep and breathe as a team.”
“True, and you will have communication access to our headquarters for support. However, you’d be going into an area autonomously. Alone. One thing you need to understand...these missions are not officially sanctioned by the government. We’re flying under the radar—part of the CIA but not acknowledged. Because, of course, CIA is not authorized to operate on US soil.”
Despite himself, Mad Dog could feel his pulse quicken, and his hand tightened on the phone. His blood hadn’t moved that fast since his last mission as a SEAL. And it felt good. “Are you suggesting we take the law into our own hands?” We. Already, he was talking like he’d agreed to the assignment. Which he hadn’t.
Lambert paused. “If anything goes south, the US government will deny all association with your efforts. You’d be on your own to bail yourself out. For the most part, you’ll be on your own. Well, in this particular case, not so very much on your own.”
“What do you mean?”
“Where I need you to go, and what I need you to do, will depend on one other person.”
“Who? The radicalized soldier you want me to keep an eye on?”
“No. I think the radicalized soldier will find you as long as you are with the other individual.”
“Who is this other person?” Mad Dog asked. “Another SEAL?”
“No,” Lambert said. “An agent with the CIA.”
“Assuming I accept this mission,” Mad Dog said. “Who will be in charge? Your organization or the CIA?”
“Neither. The CIA agent is heading to Montana to lure the radicalized soldier to a place the agent is familiar with, and to get the terrorist away from more heavily populated areas. You will work with the agent to identify and neutralize the threat.”
“And by neutralize, you mean…”
“Employ whatever means necessary to keep our country safe.”
Mad Dog let that sink in for a second before asking, “What has the so-called soldier done to warrant being neutralized?”
“Have you heard of the recent bombing of our embassy in Ottawa?
“I’ve been out of radio, television and cell phone contact for the past two months. Fill me in.”
“Two radicalized terrorists, brothers, fashioned bombs out of fertilizer and other ingredients, and set them off in front of the embassy. Nineteen people were killed, ten of them children on a field trip.”
A surge of anger burned through Mad Dog. Killing adults was bad enough, but murdering children… “Why do you think these brothers will follow the CIA agent to Montana?”
“Not brothers. Brother. After the bombing, the agent was tasked with assassinating the brothers. The agent got one of them while they were in Toronto. From all the chatter on the internet, we know the remaining brother has sworn vengeance. Not to mention, he’s already made an attempt on the operative’s life. That’s where you come in.”
“How so?”
“Your mission will be to cover the agent’s six. At the same time, you’ll be on the lookout for the terrorist and remove him.”
“Just one terrorist?”
“For now. As far as we know, the man is working alone, but we suspect he’s recruiting additional members to his cause. Whether they’re with him, or in other parts of the country, is unknown.”
“Montana, then?”
“That’s where the agent has gone.”
Mad Dog felt a rush of adrenaline course through his body. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. “What’s the agent’s name? Where in Montana will I find him?”
“Jolie Richards. Head for Eagle Rock, Montana. It’s a small town in the foothills of the Crazy Mountains.”
“Jolie Richards.” Mad Dog rolled the name on his tongue. “Strange name for a guy.”
“Maybe because she’s not a guy. Jolie Richards is a hotshot, trained assassin for the CIA. She’s an expert marksman and knows her shit.”
“I don’t know,” Mad Dog hedged. “I’ve never worked with a woman on a mission.”
“It’s all part of your cover. You two will pretend to be a couple. Agent Richards is from that area. She’s heading back to her father’s ranch, where she’s familiar with the territory. She wants to draw her Tango away from potential collateral damage. We need you there to be her backup and to ensure the eradication of yet one more terrorist on US soil.”
Mad Dog took a moment to process all Lambert had said. He’d be one of a two-man, or man-woman team, responsible for identifying and eliminating a threat to the US population. He’d have a purpose.
“Mission accepted?” Lambert queried.
With a nod he knew Lambert couldn’t see, Mad Dog answered. “Mission accepted.”
Holy shit, I’m back in the game.
2
The old house looked exactly like it had the day she’d left home to join the CIA. Sure, it needed a coat of paint and some rotten eaves and porch boards should be replaced, but the problems were all cosmetic. Maybe while she was waiting for her predator to find her, she could get the house fixed up and the Rocking R Ranch ready for sale. Why she’d held onto it all these years while she was away was beyond her.
Jolie Richards’s heart squeezed tightly in her chest. She’d been home for two days and had yet to start work on anything resembling renovations to the house. Hell, she had yet to step inside, preferring to bed down in the barn.
The house and all the furniture, pictures and knickknacks reminded her too much of all she’d lost.
Eight years ago, she’d sold all the livestock, turned off the utilities, locked the door and walked away from the only home she’d ever known.
The house wasn’t a home to her anymore. Not without her father there.
She took a deep breath, stuck the key in the lock, twisted and pushed open the door. The hinge creaked as the door swung inward.
The first thing that hit her was the musty smell and dust particles stirred up by the door’s movement. Sunlight through one of the windows caught the particles, giving them the appearance of a glittery fog.
Everything was as she’d left it. The sheets she’d draped over the furniture were exactly where she’d laid them. Her father’s ten-point deer antler rack was mounted on the wall. He’d loved hunting and providing food for the winter that didn’t come from a store. Many times, she’d thought he’d have been happiest if he’d been born a century earlier, in a time when a man raised his own food or hunted for it. He preferred to be out on his ranch, riding his favorite horse.
Which reminded Jolie, she needed to check with local ranchers and see what kind of mount she could rent, borrow or buy for
the time she would be here. After sitting up for eight years, the four-wheelers her father kept in the barn probably wouldn’t run. They’d need complete carburetor overhauls and new tires before they’d be serviceable.
Jolie walked into the living room. The sheets on the furniture made the lumps beneath appear ghost-like. She suspected removing them would elicit an entirely different set of ghosts—memories of sitting by the fire at her father’s feet, petting one of their hounds, reading books about faraway places or playing a hand of rummy. Cold winter nights had been spent warming by the fire. During the summer, Jolie had worked at her father’s side, mending fences, herding livestock and hauling hay.
She’d learned to shoot a rifle before she’d learned how to braid her hair. Had her mother lived, Jolie would have been raised differently. But her mother had passed when Jolie was only five years old. Her only memories of her mother were of her sitting by her bedside, reading books or singing in her soft, husky voice.
Jolie’s father had become the center of her universe. Perhaps the five-year-old Jolie clung to him, shadowed his every footstep and refused to let him out of her sight because she was afraid of losing her only surviving parent. Whatever the reason, she’d followed her father through every aspect of ranching, farming and hunting.
By the time she was thirteen, she could shoot as well, if not more accurately, than her father. In the long run, her expert marksmanship had been what had gotten her where she wanted to be in her career with the CIA. Her skill was what now led her back to her home in Montana.
Jolie let go of the breath she’d been holding as she’d walked through the front door. She’d have to work past her memories and get on with living, or she wouldn’t be ready when Abdul Nadir showed up to wreak his vengeance and claim his prize.
Her.
In the meantime, she had work to do and staring at it wouldn’t get it done.
Carefully folding sheets one at a time to keep the amount of dust down in the house, she carried them out to the front porch to shake them out.
Once she had all the windows opened to let fresh air in and the dust covers removed from the living room, she moved on to her old bedroom.
Her lips twisted into a wry smile as she entered. Again, nothing had changed. She switched on the overhead light. One of the bulbs popped, but the others shone down on her full-sized bed. She pulled off the sheets, wadding the dust into them and carried them out to the porch.
Thankfully, she’d had the electricity turned on before she’d come home. She worried about whether the washing machine and dryer would work. If not, she’d have to make a trip to Eagle Rock and hope they’d built a laundromat while she’d been away. In the meantime, she had the sleeping bag she’d been using in the barn. She would use that until she had clean sheets.
At the end of her bed was the cedar chest her mother had given to her. Jolie opened it and felt the sting of tears well in her eyes. Lying on top was the quilt her mother had made for her before she’d died. She’d pieced together material from Jolie’s dresses and shirts.
Jolie had loved that quilt and refused to sleep without it. Thankfully, the cedar chest had served it well, keeping critters and moths from destroying the fabric.
Lifting it out of the chest, she held it to her cheek, letting the memories wash over her. No one was there to see the tears, to witness the bad-ass CIA agent give in to the sadness threatening to overwhelm her.
She’d left Montana to escape the memories. Her return was to draw out a terrorist. While in the process of doing her job, she’d wrap up her old life and, finally, let go of her old home and ranch.
“Pardon me,” a voice said behind her.
Jolie let out a shriek and spun to face the intruder. She’d been so caught up in revisiting her past, she’d forgotten to take care of her present.
She stared at a man wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans and black combat boots. Everything about him screamed strength with an underlying threat of danger.
Jolie backed a step. “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my house?”
He shook his head. “The door was wide open. I thought you might be in trouble, so I came in.” The man stuck out his hand. “Caleb Maddox. I assume you’re Jolie Richards?”
Without taking his hand, she stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “Caleb Maddox, you’re trespassing. I suggest you get out of my house and off my property before I shoot you.”
Instead of looking shocked or scared, the man laughed.
Jolie reached beneath her jean jacket for the handgun she had placed there in her shoulder holster.
Mad Dog held up a hand. “Seriously. You don’t have to shoot me. I was sent here to help.”
* * *
Her frown deepened. “With what?”
The man glanced around. “For one, getting this place into some semblance of order. Can’t have you sleeping in the barn.”
A pulse pounded at her temples. “How did you know I was sleeping in the barn?”
“I checked out the barn before entering the house.”
She pulled the handgun from the holster and pointed it at his chest. “Why would you be checking out my barn, and then entering my house, uninvited?”
His grin broadened, and he touched the barrel of the pistol and pointed it away from his chest. “They told me you might be resistant.”
Jolie shook her head and readjusted her aim to his chest. The man wasn’t making sense. If she shot him, she could claim trespassing and feeling threatened. No jury in the world would question her reason for shooting. However…he was really hot with his black hair and eyes so brown they could have been black.
“I take it I’m not being clear enough.” The man lowered his hand. “I’m Caleb Maddox. My friends call me Mad Dog. I’m here to provide you backup in your effort to smoke out Abdul Nadir. In effect, I’m your partner for this case.”
Anger blasted through her. “The hell you are! For one: the CIA doesn’t stage operations on US soil. It’s not exactly legal. If Nadir shows up and attacks me while I’m here on vacation, I’ll be forced to defend myself…and kill him. Two: I don’t need anyone else involved in this effort. It just clouds the issue and my cover story.”
Mad Dog opened his mouth as if to protest, but he stopped short.
Rustling beneath the bed made Jolie look away from her intruder in time to see a furry shadow race across her boots and duck into the open door of her closet.
Jolie darted backward and would have fallen into the open cedar chest.
But a hand snapped out and grabbed her flailing wrist, the one holding her pistol. Pointing the weapon upward, the man yanked her forward.
She crashed into a hard wall of muscles, the fingers on her empty hand digging into a leather jacket, holding on to get her balance.
Balance wasn’t to be found with her face pressed to Mad Dog’s shirt. Her senses filled with his musky aftershave and the earthy, masculine scent of leather. Mad Dog. Yeah, the name was sexier than Caleb.
Overwhelmed, confused and secretly turned on by Mad Dog’s nearness, she held on for a moment, weighing her options. Accept his help and run the risk of making a fool of herself over the way the man smelled, or shoot him and deal with the local authorities with a trespassing plea.
* * *
When Jolie lost her balance, Mad Dog had instinctively reached for her and crushed her to his chest.
Yeah, he’d grown up in a bad neighborhood, and his father hadn’t taught him much in the way of right and wrong but, deep inside, he’d always known he had to protect people. Instinct had served him well on more than one occasion. Protecting his military family and friends, he’d learned he would do most anything to keep one of them from being hurt.
Since Jolie was his new partner, Mad Dog naturally extended that need to protect to her.
He had to admit, protecting a woman was different from protecting his SEAL brothers. A lot different. He’d never felt like this holding one of his buddies. Hell, he’d nev
er held one the way he was holding Jolie. And none of them had felt quite like this woman—with a body that was lean and muscular, soft and curvy, all at once. Her strawberry-blond hair and green eyes were hard to resist, but the freckles across her pert nose sealed the deal. How could a woman who appeared so wholesome and girl-next-door be a kick-ass CIA agent? An assassin?
Fuck. This assignment was going to be harder than he’d thought.
A warm, electric current ripped through him from point of impact, his chest, all the way to his groin. Now was not the time to get a hard-on. Now was the time to establish himself as someone who could help.
Though Jolie’s words had been less than inviting, he could see the tough, CIA agent’s consternation at being assigned an unknown partner. He understood. It was an issue of trust. He had to earn it.
Starting with not mauling her or letting on that she was turning him on just by rubbing her body up against his.
Mad Dog set her on her feet and stepped back. The air in the room seemed to chill, and he almost regretted having to put distance between them. “Look, I’m not here to get in your way. I’m here as a second pair of eyes. You can’t keep watch in all directions, all the time. I’ve got your six.”
As she holstered her weapon, she frowned up at him. “Out of curiosity—and I’m not saying I accept this assignment of yours—just who sent you?”
He hesitated. “So, you weren’t expecting me, I take it?”
Jolie crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”
He nodded. “I see.”
She glared. “I’m glad you see. Could you help me understand what the hell you’re doing in my house?”
“Let me start over and give you a little background.”
“Please.”
“I’m Caleb Maddox.”
“Your friends call you Mad Dog.” She narrowed her eyes., “We’ve established that.”
“I’m a former Navy SEAL.”
She tilted back her head, her gaze raking over him. “How do I know that’s true?”
“I could say SEALs never lie, but that might be a lie, for all you know. And well, sometimes we have to lie for the mission.” He pulled out his dog tags from under his T-shirt. “I’ve only been out of commission for a few months. I couldn’t bring myself to retire my dog tags.”
