Flash of Fury

by Lea Griffith

  King had gone out of his way to give her something she wanted. Allie had known instinctively that he was that type of man. Honorable, giving. No matter that he killed efficiently and without remorse. She’d never judge a soldier for acts of war. And, like her father, King was constantly embroiled in war. Nothing mattered but that he’d made her feel something she’d never felt before.

  She refused to put a name to it. Couldn’t have if she wanted to. There was no doubt their situation was unique. Did adrenaline and fear play into her need for him? Maybe. She gave it more thought and then decided yes. Was that the entirety of their connection? Absolutely not. Breaking their attraction down to basics was simple—she was a woman attracted to a man, needing him now in that age-old fashion—and not just any man, but the one lying on the bed.

  Allie sighed, unwilling to give herself an out. She wanted him. King McNally. Not because he’d saved her life. Not because he’d assured her he’d get her home. But because his body, along with the honor that bled from him, called to her, and she desperately wanted to respond.

  Catching a glimpse of herself in the window, she winced. She looked like a broken waif. Before heading to the bathroom, she turned, grabbed the bag he’d gestured to, and pulled out the items one by one. Lancôme lotion, makeup, hair bows and bands, several changes of clothing from jeans and T-shirts to a sequined, floor-length, off-the-shoulder Yves Saint Laurent gown, and shoes—Nikes and a pair of sky-high black Louboutins. What the hell did he have planned that she’d need this dress and those shoes?

  She held the dress up, admiring the way the black played against her cream-colored complexion. It wasn’t a dress meant for her. The thigh-high slit in the side was meant for a seductress. Allie was just a regular woman. Not one who could pull off that thousands-of-dollars dress.

  But for a moment she wanted to be that woman. She pictured herself dressed in the sequined gown and wearing the Louboutins, which would add several inches to her height, and behind her stood King. Black tux, trimmed mink hair, big body sheltering hers, large, tanned hands on her shoulders. The image was there, imprinted on her mind.

  But it would never be. Because he was asleep now, and Allie was about to leave. She reached into the bag and pulled out the final pieces—wispy silk and lace lingerie in black, red, purple, and royal blue. Her breath came faster, and heat spread through her abdomen. Her need was an almost physical ache between her legs. How quickly it had hit her—and under the shittiest circumstances possible.

  Had he picked these for her, or had a salesperson done it? Had he touched these bras and panties, cradled them in his big hands, leaving the lace and silk at his mercy? She almost moaned at the thought.

  Instead, she pulled on the blue bra and panties. Allie placed a new bandage over her wound, which was starting to itch. She’d always been a quick healer. She still had some residual fatigue from the fever but was doing really well. Now a fever of an entirely different sort was plaguing her.

  The jeans and a T-shirt were next, followed by socks and the outrageously colored Nike Air Maxes. She pulled her hair up and secured it with one of the rubber bands he’d brought her.

  He’d thought of everything, and the pang in her chest struck her hard. Her mind whirred as she dressed, and ultimately her decision was made.

  She had no choice. If she stayed, she would slow him down, and honestly, he was way too much for her to handle. Allie would run now because he scared her and she didn’t want to play his spec ops games. She wasn’t a pawn to be placed strategically at other players’ whims. He’d said he wouldn’t use her, but if she put herself in his place, could she resist?

  What happened to the trust, Allie? It was there, but so was grim reality. She had worth, and as the daughter of the head of the CIA, it was a whole helluva lot.

  So she was removing herself from the game board. It was better this way. Her mother had been used against her father, and he’d suffered the last twenty years without her. It was Allie’s fault her mother was gone, but she’d vowed to never be a part of the subterfuge that surrounded her father. He’d asked her to trust King, and she did, but she’d be a fool to think he wasn’t going to use her link to her father in his ploy to find whoever had betrayed Endgame Ops.

  So while King had been gone, she’d planned how this would go down. It was simple, really. She was going to walk out of this room, catch a cab to the airport, and leave. She hadn’t seen Black or Jude since they checked into the hotel. She’d deal with them when and if she had to. The objective was to not look guilty as she fled. She’d take a random flight first. Then wind her way back home from there.

  The only issue was money—and she was going to solve that by borrowing King’s sat phone. She was going with her first option. She’d contact Lo-Lo, get her to handle the funds, and then be off. By the time King found her, she’d be home in DC, safe behind the walls of her father’s home, and King would be safe from anyone searching for her.

  No muss, no fuss. She glanced around, longing becoming a sharp, bitter burn in her chest when she took in the dress and heels. Another time, another place, and maybe…

  She shook her head and walked at a normal pace into the main part of the suite. If she even hinted at subterfuge, it would no doubt trigger his instincts. So she didn’t walk too lightly. Allie spied his sat phone on the bedside table so she headed there, grabbed it up, found a packet containing a large amount of money, and borrowed some of it. She put it all in the purse he’d given her before they flew here from Cameroon, and then she looked over at him.

  His breathing remained even. His lips were parted slightly, the full lower one calling to her. She licked her own and swore she tasted him there.

  Allie stood and looked around the room for the last time, seeing the discarded McDonald’s paper bag in the corner trash can and turning away from it all. She opened the door, stepped into the hall, and walked to the elevators.

  When the elevator reached the lobby, she stepped out, keeping her gaze lowered. She sat in a seat near the main hotel counter and dialed Lo-Lo. Cool, controlled, collected—she had more of her dad in her than she’d realized.

  “King, I don’t have time for your bullshit,” Lo-Lo bit out into the phone.

  “Well, gee, and here I thought you’d make time for me,” Allie responded dryly.

  “Allie?” Lo-Lo’s voice changed, panic weaving into the tones. “Are you okay? Where’s King?”

  “He’s sleeping.”

  “Are you alone, Allie? That’s not good. Get back to the room now,” Lo-Lo spit out in rapid-fire succession that hinted at the Company soldier she was.

  “I’m leaving,” Allie said firmly. “I need you to book me a flight anywhere in the next half hour. Once I arrive at the destination you’ve set up, I’ll need funds wired to me through Western Union. From there, I’ll get myself back to DC.”

  “No, Allie. You get back to King right fucking now,” Lo-Lo demanded.

  She’d never heard Lo-Lo demand anything of her except to shoot straighter. It was odd that the woman who’d tried to keep her from going with King now wanted her to stay right where she was. The hair at the back of her nape prickled. “I’m not going back. I want to go home, Lo-Lo. You’ll either help me, or I’ll do it on my own. Are we clear?”

  Lo-Lo barked out a laugh into the phone but her silence communicated her tension. Then, “You are a target, Allie. There are people looking for you and McNally right now. If you don’t get your ass back up to that room right fucking now, I’ll come to Belgrade myself—and it won’t be pretty.”

  It struck Allie as odd that Lo-Lo knew where they were. Had King told her? And now she was demanding that Allie return to King? She knew then that this, whatever this was, had to be huge. If Lo-Lo wouldn’t help her get away from King, it must be much larger than King had hinted at.

  And still she was going home. If anything, she was even more determined to get o
ff this insane merry-go-round.

  “Allie? Allie! Goddamn it, girl, get back up—”

  Allie disconnected and sighed. On her own it was, then.

  She walked calmly to the desk and handed them the sat phone. “Please have this sent to Room 723 in a few hours. He’s sleeping right now, and I don’t want him disturbed,” she requested.

  The hotel clerk nodded, and Allie turned and walked to the entry. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw King’s men, Jude and Black, entering the lobby. Quickly turning her back, she pretended to blend in with the family at the desk. She waited with bated breath for King’s men to notice her, but by some quirk, she escaped their roving eyes.

  She gave it five minutes before she exited the lobby and located a cab idling by the curb. She walked to the driver and asked if he spoke English.

  “A little,” he replied, but he smiled.

  He looked like somebody’s grandfather.

  “Airport?” she asked.

  He nodded and she got in.

  Thirty minutes later, she was in the terminal. She walked to the Air France desk, asked for the next available flight, and was told the next one with a vacancy was to Madrid. She checked her funds, saw she had almost five thousand dollars, and booked the flight under her assumed name.

  No one looked at her funny; no one stopped her. This was turning out to be much easier than she’d anticipated. She headed to the gate and boarded with no incident. Adrenaline had her shaking. It wasn’t until she was in the air that she truly believed she’d accomplished it.

  Allie Redding, Peace Corps volunteer, general do-gooder with not a single subversive bone in her body, had managed to elude the most determined spec ops soldier she’d ever met.

  Elation was swiftly followed by a hollow ache in her chest. She shifted in her seat before checking her watch. She’d only been gone an hour and a half—was he awake now? What the hell was she going to do when she got to Madrid? Rest? Grab another flight immediately?

  Consulate! She could go to the American embassy and seek shelter. With a plan in place, she laid her head back and took a deep breath.

  It was better this way for them all. King could go back to hunting his betrayer with no worry he’d get her hurt, and she could breathe air that wasn’t scented with evergreen and mint.

  It was better.

  It had to be.

  Chapter 16

  Someone was knocking. King sat up in a rush, breath leaving him as he took in the silence of the room.

  Allie was gone. He grabbed his Kimber and threw open the door. A man was standing there holding King’s buzzing sat phone. His heart dropped. Goddamn it!

  He took the phone and nodded, slamming the door as he answered the ringing summons.

  “King.”

  “She’s in the wind, McNally, heading to Madrid,” Loretta said in a hard voice. “What did you do to her?”

  King rubbed a hand down his face. Madrid—why Madrid? “I haven’t done anything…yet. When I get my hands on her though…”

  “I’ve got someone meeting her plane. Go back to your Endgame Ops games. I’ll take her from here,” Loretta said, acid dripping from her voice.

  “Whoever the fuck you’ve got meeting her, call them off. Tell them she went to another location. I’m not shitting you, Loretta. We can’t risk Savidge being all over her. Call your man off now,” King bit out.

  “You have no idea how close Savidge is to grabbing her. You obviously can’t hold her. My man is a good operative. He has no dog in this fight, and he isn’t in Savidge’s or Dresden’s pocket. Back off, McNally,” she warned him.

  King disconnected. He immediately dialed Jude, got no answer, and then dialed Rook.

  “Your Highness,” Rook answered drolly.

  “I need a contact in Madrid,” King said hurriedly into the handset. He pulled out his laptop, booted it up, and put the phone on speaker.

  “Knight knows some people. I’ll get him on it. Who’re we looking for?”

  “Allie Redding, but she’s probably flying under the assumed name of Dara Filipovic.”

  “Damn, hoss, you lost her already?”

  “Fuck you, Rook.” King tapped into the main database for the Belgrade Nikola Tesla Airport. He ran a query on Dara Filipovic and found her outbound flight to Madrid. “She’s heading in on flight 904, Air France.” It was disturbing that Loretta had that information.

  “Give me a few, and I’ll let you know what’s what. Do you need Vivi on this?” Rook asked.

  “Not yet,” King bit out and disconnected.

  He slammed the laptop closed, shoved it in his backpack, and gathered everything up. She’d left. Son of a bitch, but the woman was a sandwich short of a picnic. What if Savidge had someone watching for her? What if he’d gotten her?

  What if he knew where she was headed even now?

  King headed for the door between Jude’s suite and his, pounding on the thin wood. Harrison Black answered, Jude right behind him.

  “She’s gone,” King bit out.

  “What the hell?” Black exclaimed. “How did she get past us?”

  “You weren’t looking for her to sneak out. Now she’s making a beeline for home through Spain,” King said on a sigh.

  Jude went deathly still. “We still a go for Savidge?”

  King really wanted Savidge. Badly. But the taste of desperation in his mouth was all for Allie. “You’re still a go. But I’ve got to find her and get her home. Damn woman will be the death of me.”

  “Jude and I can keep the original plan. Meanwhile, do your best to find your girl.”

  His girl. “She’s not a girl,” King responded automatically, wincing as Allie’s words came back to him.

  “Well, Your Highness, we definitely noticed that,” Jude drawled.

  “Fuck you, Jude—now get out and do your jobs. I’m ordering recon only on Savidge’s place outside Beirut. Keep tabs on the bastard until I can meet up with you both. I’m going to track down our wayward Ms. Redding, and I’ll meet you in Lebanon as soon as I can.”

  “That’s a big ten-four,” Jude responded.

  “Aye,” came Black’s affirmation.

  King walked into the bathroom and saw the gown he’d purchased for her hanging on the back of the door. Adam had set him up with a woman who worked in the high-end department stores, and she’d personally handled his purchases. He’d seen the gown and wanted to see Allie in it. It’d been an impulse purchase—no rhyme or reason behind it—a purely selfish move.

  He threw it and everything else she’d left into the bag, shoved that into his duffel, and headed out the door.

  King hadn’t known fear since he received his last beating at the age of fourteen from his daddy. He’d hit a growth spurt that summer and grown much taller and broader than his father. He’d just gotten too damn big to hit, and the fear had ended.

  Right now, he was as close to the emotion as he ever wanted to venture again. He headed to the lobby and checked out. Appearances were everything. If he’d left without paying, he’d never be able to stay here again, regardless of which fake identity he used. He’d been forced to use one of the credit cards because apparently she was a sneak and a thief. She’d stolen over five thousand dollars.

  You should have been honest with her, told her all your plans, his conscience admonished.

  She didn’t need to hear it all, his mind warred. For some reason, she hadn’t trusted him as much as she’d let on.

  Either way, she was now on her own, miles away and without protection. He flagged down a cab and answered his nagging sat phone.

  “Talk to me, Rook.”

  “Knight has one of his contacts meeting her. I need you to forward me a pic ASAP. He has to know who to look for when she exits the terminal. He’ll be taking her to the Westin Palace. I need to know for sure what name she’
s traveling under.”

  “Dara Filipovic, and I’m sending the picture as we speak. Tell your man to be aware that a Company man might give him some shit. Apparently, Allie Redding is great buddies with Loretta Bernstein,” King told Rook as he pressed a button on the phone and shot his man a picture he’d snuck of her on the plane.

  “Well, shit. If Bernstein’s involved, your girl should be fine, right? Hold on, the picture’s coming through. Damn, she’s hot. Doesn’t look like a spook, but neither does her daddy. Listen, let me get this information to Knight, and I’ll let you know when she lands.”

  “The second she does. And Rook, I don’t trust anyone in the CIA, least of all Loretta. Tell your man to watch his back.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Rook said and hung up.

  King rubbed his hand over his eyes. He’d needed sleep, and she’d taken advantage of that. Was she okay? Scared?

  Why was he feeling anything other than anger right now?

  He made it to the airport only to find the next flight to Madrid didn’t leave for another four hours. So he hunkered down in a café and got busy. There were plans to make. He needed to get her on U.S. soil ASAP. The woman was a hazard to herself.

  He could coordinate Endgame’s next moves from Madrid, but after he dropped Allie back home, he’d need to hustle ass to Beirut. There was no telling how long Savidge would stay in one place. Though Jude’s and Adam’s intel suggested Savidge was holing up for a long visit, intel sometimes changed rapidly. After they eliminated him, they would begin working in earnest on Dresden. How scared would the bastard be, knowing they’d gotten to his number one man? King relished the thought of it.

  Dresden had grown in power over the last two years and was making moves into Russia’s underbelly. He’d infiltrated the Russian mob and had them kowtowing to him. Anything for money. Dresden had his hands in every dirty pie in the world, it seemed.

  King really hated that son of a bitch. He was a scourge. King owed him for so much, but if Allie was in his sights, there was going to be trouble all the way around. Because King had realized something when he’d woken and found her gone.