Flash of Fury

by Lea Griffith

  “The king calls, and I must answer,” Jude said with a dark laugh. “Someone owed me a favor, and I collected. He’ll be waiting for us at the private airport right outside Douala. Your lady’s face is all over the telly on this continent. Funny, nobody had a good description of you.”

  “How reliable is this contact?”

  “Only the best for His Majesty.”

  “Fuck you, Jude.”

  “You’ve already said that. As my venerated leader, shouldn’t you have a wider vocabulary?”

  “How about this? Get Black and meet us in Douala. Since we’ve got the intel, we may as well strike while the iron’s hot. We can stop in Serbia to pick up a few things,” King said with a grunt. A few things being weapons.

  Jude nodded and smiled. It was a mean smile. “New Rover is parked in the lot. Taking a trip, gotta have wheels, right? I’ll see you in Douala, Your Highness. I’m out,” he said and then disappeared out the door, making no sound. It was eerie how the big man moved so silently.

  “Wait, Chase. Have you heard any rumblings about Ella?”

  It was infinitesimal but there was a shift in his man’s gaze, a darkening that made King’s gut burn. Chase was hiding something. King let the silence grow, just stared at Chase until he began to shift from foot to foot.

  He recognized the moment Chase gave in to the inevitable. “There are rumors of a black-haired woman riding shotgun with Dresden. Said to have eyes the color of frost and a scar on her temple from his bullet.”

  “You didn’t think to share that with me before now?” King’s voice was arctic now. Trust was built on a foundation of truth. Without truth and complete disclosure, trust crumbled. He needed to trust every member of his team. That’s the way shit worked.

  “I didn’t know for sure. Wanted to confirm before I brought it to you. I think that’s who Jude is chasing.”

  “Goddamn it, if he chases her, he could be chasing a ghost.”

  “I agree, but you know how much he loved her—crazy in love with that woman.”

  “She killed Nina, poisoned our top intel gatherer like she was trash.”

  Chase looked right at King then, and what King saw in his gaze had him nervous. “What if it wasn’t Ella who killed Nina? What if Ella was a pawn?”

  “She was definitely a traitor to Endgame—hell, to her country. But she was too smart to be a pawn.”

  “I think the Company used her, King. I think Ella may have been an unknowing plant from the beginning. I think she was a sacrificial lamb.”

  It was the second time in as many days that he’d heard that term used in reference to Ella Banning.

  “What was the purpose, Chase? I’ve thought about all this over the past few days—”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Remember Loretta Bernstein?”

  Chase smiled fondly. “About five eight, stacked, with long, red hair? Pushing fifty with the body of a twenty-five-year-old? Yeah, I remember Loretta.”

  “Well, guess who else knows Loretta?”

  Chase’s gaze moved to the bed. “Loretta is Company.”

  “As Company as anyone ever was,” King spit out. “Told me Ella was alive and walking around on a suicide mission. But let me ask you this: Assuming she’s still alive and if she was a deeper plant for the CIA, what the fuck was her mission?”

  “I have no idea, but she got three of our teammates killed. I’d like a few minutes with her, even if she’s innocent in all this.”

  “I need you to return to Burundi. The situation with the warlord is heating up. And I need you to remember, Chase, that there are varying degrees of innocence,” King warned before he turned his back and let his man leave. There weren’t many people King would turn his back on. Chase was one of maybe five. He glanced at the blond hair peeking out from the blanket. Possibly six now.

  Long minutes of silence took hold while King sat beside the bed. He’d worn a spot on the floor with his pacing, and now the seat beneath him seemed permanently conformed to his ass. He dropped his head in his hands.

  He heard her shift on the bed, knew she was awake before she spoke.

  “Who’s Ella?”

  He took a deep, cleansing breath. “One of your dad’s spooks. She was a CIA liaison to Endgame over a year ago. She led my team into ambush. That op in Beirut I told you about earlier? Yeah, that one. Three teammates just gone. We thought she had died as well.”

  “I’m sorry,” Allie whispered.

  “Not your fault. Your dad’s maybe, but not yours. Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not involved in my dad’s business. I won’t be a pawn, King,” she said firmly. “For anyone.”

  He glanced up at her, recognizing the ring of truth in her words, knowing he had no choice. “I won’t use you,” he promised her again.

  No way he’d use her. Over the last seventy-two hours, she’d become important to King, and as messed up as the entire situation was, he’d never use her. Someone had led King to Allie Redding. The same someone who knew what the hell they were doing—moving pieces on the fucked-up chessboard that had become his life.

  He knew in his gut that he was going to regret his plan, but it was what it was. He needed to get them to the United States, but it was going to be a circuitous route through Belgrade, Serbia.

  King had people to visit, plans to set up. It was time to find out what was going on.

  Time to kill some bad guys and jot their names in the Book of the Dead.

  Hooyah.

  Chapter 13

  “We’re heading back to Douala?” Allie asked and winced when she heard the tremble in her voice.

  “Yeah.”

  Apparently this was his you-get-no-answers-from-me tone. Since she’d woken up this morning, he’d given her nothing but one-word responses. So much for disclosure. He was locked up tight now. No information forthcoming.

  Allie wanted to scream. But she didn’t. She’d been raised better than that. “So, it’s a pretty day, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  Allie rolled her eyes. “Where are you from?”

  “Somewhere.”

  “Me too!” she enthused sweetly. “My somewhere is Virginia. I was born in a private hospital run by nuns and raised outside DC, to be exact. Hmm, let’s see… Have any siblings?”

  “No.”

  His jaw was locked, and there wasn’t a glimpse of the man she’d become accustomed to the past two days. This man was straight soldier. This was King.

  She glanced out the window and watched the grasslands speed by. Nobody was chasing them this time, but she’d be interested in finding out how he was going to get them on a plane without any problems.

  “When I was little, I traveled a lot with my mom,” she said into his silence. “She used to listen to me chat. I’ve had a problem since childhood. If there’s a void of sound, a lull in conversation, I feel compelled to fill it. If I don’t, I hear everything and it drives me a bit mad.” She turned her head and pinned him with her gaze. She had no idea why she’d started down this path, but now she couldn’t stop. “She’d say, “Allie girl, you talk like a lovely loon. Keep going, please, until I go insane.” And we would giggle like crazy people—or at least I would.”

  “I remember traveling with her to Syria, Greece, South Korea, Iraq, but we never came to Africa, and I always wanted to see the lions on this continent. She told me one day she’d take me, but then a terrorist blew her away. When I finally saw the lions, it hurt to know she wasn’t there with me.”

  The road continued and time passed, animals in the distance ran, kicking up clouds of dust. This land, close to the sea was more desert than anything, and even though it’d been raining until yesterday, the soil soaked up the water fast. Up until three days ago, Allie had resided right outside the
lush jungle of the Dja Faunal Reserve. She’d served the people there with a joyful heart, knowing her mother would be proud that Allie was spreading her love and knowledge by working in the Peace Corps. She’d gotten to see her fair share of wildlife, and she’d also gotten to visit the Congo, Ngorongoro Crater, the Serengeti, and Chobe National Park in Botswana. She loved this continent but was ready to leave.

  Terrorism had taken over everything. Religious zealots were looking to spread their power base. Children were being taken from the cradle to the grave in a few short years. This beautiful continent was being threatened by a famine of an entirely different sort. Instead of starving bodies, they were starving souls.

  Allie rubbed the area over her heart.

  “What’s wrong? Do we need to stop?”

  Now he wanted to talk. So she remained silent. Two could play at his game, and though she hated playing at anything, she was learning pretty damn quickly.

  “Are you okay?” King asked, this time his voice more demanding, rougher.

  “Yeah.” She was intentionally mimicking his succinct answers.

  He chuckled. “Think you’re funny, don’t you?”

  “To someone. Somewhere.”

  “Look, I’ve got things on my mind. Once I’ve worked everything out, I’ll let you know the deal. For right now, we’re going to hit a private airport in Douala and take a little trip to Belgrade.”

  “Wait—we’re traveling by plane? Isn’t that kind of out in the open? And why Belgrade?” She was sick of asking questions and getting no answers. Last time she’d been on a plane, people had hijacked it. Flying didn’t sound like the safest form of transportation for her. Not in this situation.

  He lowered his brows and muttered, “Because.”

  Ugh.

  She’d been doing all the talking, so she’d just continue. “Da li se sećate da je noć u junu na Dunavu?” she quoted from memory.

  He finally smiled at that. “First, kudos to you for the Serbian. Second, I’ve never been on the Danube River at night in June, so I can’t say I recall it. Third, I’m not sure that’s what Charles Hamilton Aide meant in that particular song.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, it’s one of the only things I remember from my world literature class in college. I had to use one quote from a single poem or song of an obscure writer. I chose that line and learned it in Serbian so I could wow and amaze my teacher.”

  “How’d you do with that?”

  “Oh, easy A. I picked a very obscure writer, learned the entire poem in another language because the Danube River is in Serbia—you know, really went out of my way. Of course, he could’ve cared less what I said. He was too busy ogling Carla Davenport’s legs. She always wore the shortest skirts.” Allie stared out the window, trying to hide her laughter.

  “Do you wear short skirts?”

  “Depends on the occasion,” she responded impishly.

  “I’ll have to come up with something then. I have a feeling Carla Davenport’s legs have nothing on yours,” he murmured in a low, heat-filled voice.

  That voice took her insides and twisted them right up. Chills danced on her skin.

  She needed to find safe ground here. “You’re a very learned man to be such a…”

  He glanced at her, hands tightening on the wheel. “A what?”

  “I was going to say jerkface, but decided at the last second that discretion was the better part of valor in that fight.”

  He nodded. “Wise decision.”

  Allie saw a sign that read “Douala, ten kilometers,” and her palms began to sweat. She wiped them on her skirt.

  “You’re nervous?” he asked.

  “Yep. Last time I tried to leave on a plane from this airport, I ended up hijacked and… Well, you were there, remember?”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he told her.

  “Don’t know that you can control the entire world, King. Oh, I have a feeling you’ll try, but I’ve got a wound on my side that clearly indicates not everything is under your power.”

  “Point taken. But this time, I know more about what I’m fighting. And knowledge is the ultimate power, isn’t it, Allie?”

  “Touché,” she said with a smile.

  “Set my pack between us,” King ordered.

  They were back to his do-what-I-say-and-you’ll-live tone. She hated that tone. But she did as he asked.

  King rifled through the pack as he drove, pulling out a smaller pack and handing it to her.

  “You will now be Mrs. Filipovic, first name Dara. We are returning home after a joyful holiday in Kribi. Didn’t you have an amazing time?”

  Allie giggled and wondered who the hell that woman was—the one giggling. “It was glorious. Our hut was absolutely stunning.” She pretended to mull for long moments, and then she nodded. “I have to say one of my favorite memories is of our hut.”

  He laughed, and her stomach did that squirrelly thing. She loved that she was the one to make him laugh.

  “I have to say I agree, darling,” he said in that deep, husky baritone that made Allie think of rumpled sheets, his big body sliding against hers, and breaths being exchanged in the darkness.

  Or maybe she’d need the lights on so she could watch. Her gaze focused on his hands. Such strong hands—capable of killing with ease but equally capable of gentleness. Her gaze slid up to his forearm, the tanned, firm skin covering hard muscles that flexed when he moved. Even the man’s elbows were sexy. The rest of his body was as roped with muscle as his arms.

  Allie didn’t like that she noticed, but notice she did. Didn’t like that she wanted him to call her darling for real. Oh, who the hell was she kidding? She was dying for him to call her that for real.

  King cleared his throat, and her gaze shot up to meet his. There was something in his eyes that called to her, that made her want impossible things with this impossible man.

  Why him? He didn’t talk unless he had to. By his own admission, he was a dictator. And yet, he was a gentleman. He’d cared for her when others may have left her to her own devices once they found out she wasn’t who they thought she was.

  Except she was even better than he’d thought she was. The fucking mother lode, he’d said.

  “You can’t look at me like that.”

  He was a beautiful man—just gorgeous. His square jaw, covered by a short dark-brown beard now, told his story to perfection. Sculpted, hard-core, stubborn male.

  “Like what?” she asked him. Wait, was that her sounding breathless?

  “Stop.”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “Okay. I’ll stop looking at you,” she said around her laughter. Then she turned to once again stare out the window.

  The silence became overwhelming, but they were entering Douala proper so she held her tongue. The whump-whump-whump of the wheels over the road might drive her insane, but hey, she’d been there before.

  “It’s Isaija Filipovic,” he said.

  She swore that if that slight kick of his lip upward turned into a full-blow smile, she was going to go off on him. “What are you talking about?”

  “My name is Isaija Filipovic,” he reiterated in a very calm, very deep voice.

  “What the—”

  “It’s Serbian for Isaiah. There wasn’t a proper translation for jerkface, so I went with a tried and true.”

  She stared at him. It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. When they did, she started laughing and couldn’t stop. The sound rolled out of her, a cathartic wave of mirth that had her gasping for breath and wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Feel good?” he asked solemnly.

  “I have to say that yes, that felt pretty good.”

  “We’re here,” he told her as he pulled up to a tiny airport that boasted a single dust-laden runway. She’d thought they’d be hitting t
he main airport in Douala.

  She should have known. He was the black ops master and would never endanger them that way.

  “We just walk right in?”

  “Yep. Right now. We get out and walk right in. Let’s do it,” he said as he parked at the curb.

  He pulled his pack with him, and she wondered if he was strapped with weapons. What would happen if they were caught?

  “Let’s go, woman,” he urged as he opened her door and held out his hand.

  She grabbed it, and there again was that uncanny feeling of rightness. She stood, ignored the tiny twinge in her side, and stepped next to him. He’d called her woman, and her heart had raced. Allie knew his use of the word was for show, but the sound of it, along with the attentive look on his face, made her feel…things. He might be moving to her list permanently.

  Mani. Pedi. Fries. Kingston McNally. Definitely not in that order. You’re in big trouble here, Allie.

  He swung his backpack onto his other shoulder and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Then they were walking through a tiny building. No one glanced at them. Of course the place seemed abandoned. This was how they were getting into Serbia. Private plane.

  He’d given her a loose, flowing skirt and a longer, rose-colored top, also loose, along with some Keds this morning. They’d still had the tags on them. He was dressed in khaki cargoes, sneakers, and a T-shirt with a button-down over it. Casual described them to a T.

  “Try not to talk. Seriously, let me do the talking if we run into anyone,” he said in her ear.

  “Got it,” she replied.

  And with that, they boarded a sleek Jetstream. Two very large men, who King introduced as Jude Dagan and Harrison Black, boarded after them. They were members of Endgame Ops. Allie wondered if maybe their presence was overkill. Then she remembered how many times she’d been shot at since the hijacking and became grateful for having them there.

  There were several tense minutes as they waited for the all clear for takeoff when Allie wondered if there’d be a repeat of before, but everything went smoothly. He’d stuffed her in the window seat, his big body protecting her from everything.