by AJ Quinn
Damn it all, it was just a kiss, she reminded herself raggedly. She shut off the water and grabbed a towel, then quickly dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Leaving her hair to dry on its own, she headed downstairs and wandered toward the kitchen.
She saw Ben was already there. Sitting on a stool at the island, he was watching Darien as she prepared what would be their evening meal. Deftly wielding a knife that looked as sharp as a scalpel, slicing vegetables and adding them to the stir-fry she was making.
All the obvious attractions and she cooks. It seemed like an excess of gifts.
Through the open doorway, she could hear Ben talking. A normal, everyday kind of conversation that seemed to revolve around his father. She noticed his tone was different, more relaxed. Heard him say his father had called to ask when they might be available to have dinner with him.
“I told him we were working on this thing and—”
“And what?”
“Bloody hell, Dare. I’m fifty-three years old. When do you suppose he’ll forgive my failure to marry and ensure the family line?”
“It’s the only thing he’s ever wanted,” Darien responded with a laugh. “You know that.”
“I do, but now he’s gotten it in his head that you can somehow be talked into at least providing him with a grandchild. Marriage optional.”
Darien’s hands stopped moving and her face became a study of contradictions. Jessie could see amusement and embarrassment jostling one another in Darien’s normally guarded expression, as she made a wry grimace. “Your father wants to introduce mongrel and dilute the family bloodlines?”
“My mother’s British, so the bloodlines are already diluted. The point you’re purposefully missing is he thinks any child you and I produce would be brilliant.”
And beautiful, Jessie added to herself while Darien’s voice and laughter and scent swirled around her. She let out a long breath and cleared her throat to let the others know they were no longer alone, then walked the rest of the way into the kitchen.
“You know, your father’s a really nice man. I always liked him and I hate the thought of depriving him of a potentially brilliant grandchild”—Darien looked up at Jessie as she came into view—“and I truly don’t want to hurt you. But the thought of me with any man, even you—”
Ben grinned. “Is not going to happen?”
“Not ever.”
Darien’s eyes held a trace of mischief and amusement flitted around her mouth. She added wine to the pot simmering on the stove, then poured some into a glass and took a hasty swallow.
Jessie let her gaze linger on Darien’s mouth for a heartbeat, boldly and unapologetically appraising for longer than was probably necessary or wise. But the woman was rapidly becoming a madness in her well-ordered life, the resulting feeling almost primal.
She needed to think about that. About what it meant. But that was for later. For now, even as she told herself she needed to keep her feelings in check, she thought about the kiss again, letting her mind drift in the all-consuming sensuality of Darien’s lips pressed against her own.
As if reading her perfectly, Darien’s eyes shifted coolly to her. Darien said something, but Jessie was already embarrassed at being caught staring and didn’t hear what she said. Her brows drew together with self-directed annoyance and heat flooded her face. It took a moment longer for her to understand wine was being offered when Darien gently shook the bottle she was holding.
“Want some?”
Want some?
Wine. She was offering wine. Nothing else.
She managed to mumble a response. “Sure.”
Darien filled a glass and slid it across the island in her direction.
Jessie murmured her thanks. Forcing herself to exhale, she concentrated on bringing the wine to her lips. She wasn’t used to having anyone or anything distracting her—especially not when she was working in the field. But twice now, not including the one unforgettable kiss, Darien had done just that. Evidently without even trying. She’d have to remain sharp or it would happen again.
“Can I do anything to help?”
Darien pointed to where the dishes were stacked at one end of the island. “You can help Ben set the table.”
*
As evening faded and slipped into night, Darien found her mood shifting. She recognized she was in what Ben would call one of her quiet moods. Dark and uncertain, emotions churning. But as she looked around, she couldn’t isolate a source for her discontent.
Elle had returned upstairs as soon after dinner as she could politely arrange her escape, apparently pulled by some invisible umbilical cord that had formed, attaching her to the computer system.
Jessie, on the other hand, had abandoned any further analysis for the night. During dinner, she expressed her dissatisfaction with the progress they were making. “We just seem to be hitting dead ends in trying to identify the specific weapons dealer involved,” she said.
They were being stonewalled, Jessie believed, by the inadequate political will of most governments to implement and enforce measures that would regulate, deter, and punish arms traffickers. “They’re allowed to operate virtually unscathed, with no fear of prosecution or retribution. Only a few countries in the world actually have legislation against weapons brokers,” she protested heatedly, “leaving them largely free to ply their trade. Despite the fact that they facilitate war and armed conflict, support terrorism, advance crime, and break UN arms embargoes.”
As if hearing herself, she stopped abruptly, her face faintly flushed with obvious emotion. “Sorry about that,” she said after a moment. “Didn’t mean to get on a soapbox. It’s just one of those subjects that get me going and it’s been one of those days.”
After that, Jessie had fallen into a kind of weary silence. But now it looked like she had found a healthy outlet for her frustrations, as she sat contentedly beating Ben at chess for the third straight game, much to Ben’s consternation.
Darien watched for a minute or two longer before looking away. No one was actually talking to her at the moment. But she could still hear incessant irritation whisper in her ear, leaving her temper raw edged and her body coiled like a spring.
In an instant of sudden cool clarity, she realized she’d spent too much time surrounded by people over the last few days, something she just wasn’t used to. That was it, clear and simple. The problem with the discovery, however, was she could see no immediate solution. Not now and not anytime soon.
When she let out her third shuddering sigh in as many minutes, Ben laid his king on its side, conceding yet another game to Jessie, and stood up. “Dare? What would you say to a workout?”
Darien let out a half laugh. Why hadn’t she thought of it, she wondered, knowing physical exertion was the perfect panacea for what ailed her? Considering, she rose, moved with purpose toward the stairs, then stopped. Before allowing herself to continue, she needed to be clear about Ben’s intentions.
“You already know I’m in a filthy frame of mind.” She said it moodily and bared her teeth, but without heat. “So you’re not actually thinking of sparring with me, are you?”
She heard Ben chuckle in response.
It wasn’t that they weren’t well matched physically. At just under six feet and one seventy-five, Ben was firmly muscled, barely an inch taller, and outweighed her by fifty pounds, while she had the advantage of being more than twenty-five years younger and had greater speed and agility on her side.
But Darien also knew if it came down to it, Ben could never move beyond his heritage and upbringing to actually hurt her, while at heart, like it or not, she was and would always be a street fighter. She wouldn’t hesitate to fight dirty if it meant the difference between winning and losing. And she didn’t like to lose.
Thankfully, Ben knew her well. “I don’t think I’m up to having you toss me all over the floor tonight, so I think this might be a good time to practice kata rather than spar.”
Suddenly the rest of the evening
seemed to hold promise. Approaching Ben, she did something she seldom did, surprising them both—she touched her lips briefly to his cheek. “Thanks. For some reason, you often seem to know what I need before I do. Let me go change and I’ll meet you in the dojo.”
She was about to head upstairs when a softly worded question stopped her. “Would it bother you if I came along? I’d love to watch, and just maybe I wouldn’t mind getting a bit of a workout myself.”
Darien paused and turned to look at Jessie, trying to read her. But she saw nothing troubling. Nothing worrisome. After sending a quick glance in Ben’s direction to make sure he didn’t object, she nodded. Even smiled a little. “Why not. If you want to go get changed, Ben can show you where we work out.”
After quickly changing into loose drawstring pants and a tank top, Darien wandered into the small dojo she’d set up on the fifth floor. Jessie and Ben showed up right behind her, both having changed into sweatpants and T-shirts.
“Ready?”
Jessie nodded and joined Darien and Ben on the floor as they began what was for them a familiar warm-up routine. “God, I needed this.” Jessie sighed as they warmed up with basic Pilates, jump rope, and some light calisthenics. “I’ve been spending way too much time in front of a computer.”
“Do you run?” Darien asked. When she saw Jessie’s quick nod, she added, “You could come running with me some mornings, if you’d like. Paris is really quite beautiful at five a.m.”
“Five?”
“Too early for you?”
“That’s brutal.”
Darien tried to bury a grin. “Or you might like it. You just need to be prepared to be stared at.”
“Why’s that?”
“For some reason, a lot of Parisian women don’t run as a rule, so when people see you running, you’re likely to get stared at…or spoken to by strangers.”
“What do you do when that happens?”
“I ignore them and keep running. That’s why I prefer running early—before too many people are out and about.”
Jessie appeared to hesitate. “I guess I’m willing to give it a try. But am I going to slow you down too much?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Ben said. “I’ve trained with Dare quite often over the years, and if you let her set the pace, you’ll find she sets a nice steady one. You should have no problem keeping up. It’s also a great way to see the city.”
“Then I’d say it’s a plan,” Jessie said and flashed a quick smile.
As they continued through the warm up, Darien kept an eye on Jessie. But she did okay, keeping up without any apparent problem. Then again, Darien acknowledged, she shouldn’t be all that surprised. The sleeveless T-shirt and sweatpants Jessie wore weren’t that tight, but they highlighted a slim body with some very nicely defined muscles.
Jessie finally gave way once Darien and Ben prepared to start executing the first in a series of katas. Moving to the back of the room near the door, she sat on the floor while Ben wrapped a bandana around Darien’s head, covering her eyes.
Like shadowboxing, Darien used kata to perfect technique and as a form of conditioning. Each kata simulated combat and needed to be practiced as if engaged in a real fight—with the right body dynamics, the right movements, the right sequences, executed at the right moment—and the feeling that the next attack could come from any direction. Each movement bled into the next in a well-choreographed ballet.
She thought that with a bit of imagination, kata could be deadly. She also firmly believed kata enhanced both the body and mind.
The blindfold helped her improve her sense of balance. More importantly, with the aid of the blindfold, she was able to slow down the kata and focus on precise breath control, muscle control, and mind control, which allowed her to move into a form of moving meditation. She relaxed both body and mind and moved into the moment, beyond the chatter and chaos that normally occupied her head.
There was something to be said for that. And for the first time since before she’d left for Afghanistan, Darien felt the external world recede, felt herself begin to unwind.
The Zen moment, unfortunately, proved to be short-lived, shattered as Elle called out their names. Elle’s shouts grew closer, accompanied by the rush of her footsteps as she made her way down the hall.
*
Instinctively, Jessie jumped to her feet and reached out, grabbing Elle’s arm and physically stopping her as she slid ungracefully across the hardwood floor in the dojo. She knew that for traditional martial artists, the dojo was considered a special place. Etiquette and protocol dictated how one should enter or leave, and allowing Elle to crash into either Darien or Ben was the last thing the situation—and etiquette—demanded.
She heard Darien bite back a muttered comment as she dropped out of a kick and pulled the bandana down around her neck. Ben took two additional steps before he stopped as well. After exchanging glances, they bowed toward the front wall of the room—a sign of respect—then signaled for Elle and Jessie to follow them out of the dojo. Their meaning was clear. No conversation about terrorists would take place in the dojo.
Elle could barely contain her excitement, unable to wait until they reached the computer room. “We caught a break. A little over an hour ago, a group released a statement claiming responsibility for launching the missiles that brought down the three jets. They’ve also issued a warning. They say this is only the beginning, and that another demonstration of their power is imminent. The UK has already responded by raising their terror-threat level to severe. No word out of DHS whether the US will follow suit.”
“Bloody hell,” Ben said. “Do we know who they are?”
“I’ve already managed to get a bit of research on them, but I’ve got to tell you, most of it is ancient history. It’s going to take time and resources.”
“But you’ve obviously got something.” Darien’s impatience simmered visibly.
“I do—but I’m trying to warn you what’s there is quite old, and it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Jessie placed a calming hand on Darien’s shoulder. “Just tell us what you’ve got.”
Taking a deep breath, Elle nodded. “What we’re looking at is a group that first showed up on intelligence radar almost twenty years ago. They weren’t around long—maybe five years. But what’s really interesting is that for the most part, they were never directly involved in any terrorist activities. They just funded other organizations.”
“You’re saying they were financiers?” Jessie asked. “Bloody bankers?”
“After a fashion, yeah, I guess. Initially, they backed a number of groups dedicated to independence in the Caucasus region and fighting against the Russian government. But then they discovered there was money to be made, and they began establishing ties with other terrorist groups with goals far greater in scope…including jihadists fighting in the Middle East and other parts of the world.”
“Where did they get the money?”
“Primarily through money laundering and drug trafficking. But they were also suspected of kidnapping young European and American girls and selling them to wealthy customers in Asia and the Middle East. Or putting them to work in brothels.” Elle paused. “They probably would have kept on going, but something happened. It was rumored they were directly involved in the kidnapping and execution of two Israeli citizens suspected of being Mossad. After that, it all fell apart.”
“Jesus.” Jessie grimaced. “Did these bastards have a name?”
“They called themselves the Guild.”
*
The Guild? Darien stiffened. Denial came hot and hard and fast, and she felt her heartbeat accelerate until it was pounding madly in her chest. “No, that can’t be right.” She turned to Ben and was surprised to find his expression curiously shuttered.
“I can understand why you’d think that. I mean, other than the execution of the two Mossad agents, the Guild never actively participated in acts of terrorism. They only provided funding. But it woul
d seem they’ve changed in the years since they went off grid.” Elle held out the printout for Darien to see. “Take a look. I printed out the Reuters piece that carried their statement.”
“I don’t care what it says. It can’t be the Guild.”
“Why not?” Jessie asked.
“Because the organization known as the Guild was completely destroyed. Almost fifteen years ago.” The muscles in her jaw tightened as she forced herself to remain calm, to think. She turned away from the concern in Jessie’s eyes and looked at Ben again, only to watch as his brows came together and his eyes shifted away, refusing to make eye contact. She stared at his profile a moment longer and felt an ache deep in her heart.
“I don’t know about that,” Elle was saying. “My research indicates they went off grid less than five years after they first surfaced—about fifteen years ago—so that seems to match what you’re saying. But I spoke with Adam—he’s a colleague at Langley—and he said they’ve been able to confirm this group really is the Guild.”
As a sense of dread settled over her, Darien saw that her hands were trembling slightly and fought to get herself back under control. She forced herself to look at Elle, to pay attention to what she was saying. “How was the information confirmed?”
“Deputy Director Lawson. Turns out she had firsthand knowledge and experience with the Guild back in their heyday.”
It took a lot to shock Darien. Certainly not violence or the depths of human cruelty, or even death. She’d seen too much and lived with it for too long. But she was shocked now. She could feel the color leeching from her face and her heartbeat reverberating in her bones as she turned and stared at Ben.
He should be as shocked as she was. He should be showing something. Anything, damn it. But he simply stood there with a look of regret etched on his face while he continued to avoid her eyes and said nothing.
Darien gulped in a breath and then let her years of training kick in. She forced herself to control the fury that had her entire body vibrating, while she regained control of her scattered emotions. And then she forced herself to accept the unpalatable truth.
