Seal of Surrender

by Traci Douglass

  Passengers jostled to find their seats. One couple ahead broke out into a rousing argument, and the husband’s patronizing attitude reminded Irena of Drake prior to his meltdown. Unlike Chago, her boss’s touch now made her yearn for a Hazmat suit and a steamy shower. The memories of his attack brought an abrupt end to her romantic daydreams. Men in general were resolutely off her menu for the foreseeable future.

  Irena shoved her bag into the overhead bin, slid into the window seat and turned, her hand thrust out for a final farewell. “This is goodbye. Nice to see you again.”

  “Sorry, querida.” Chago placed his carry-on beside hers. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

  He eased in beside her and perused the safety manual. She fastened her seatbelt, lowered the armrest, and pressed into the wall — anything to create the illusion of space between herself and the enigma to her side. Takeoffs were stressful enough without having to deal with him in the process.

  “I don’t bite you know.” Chago glanced her way and grinned. “Unless you like those sorts of things.”

  “You’ll never find out.”

  The pilot released the brake and the plane jerked into motion, taxing toward the runway. Irena pulled the window shade down tight.

  “Too bad, querida.” He reached across and raised the shade again.

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Stop calling you what, querida?”

  “That!” Irena crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. “I’m not your darling.”

  “Hmmm. How about diablita? Most appropriate.”

  “You think I’m a little devil, huh?” Right. One irate bitch cleared for takeoff. The pilot’s voice crackled through the overhead PA system and her nervous energy spiked. “How’s this for hellish?”

  She twisted to land a sucker-punch to his stomach. He caught her fist mid-strike and pinned it to his thigh.

  “Irena.” Her name rolled off his tongue in an intoxicating blend of prayer and pure wickedness. “Better?”

  Her own voice seemed to have vanished and Irena could only manage a dumbfounded nod in his direction. Chago smiled and closed his eyes, relaxing back into his seat with her hand still clutched in his.

  After the heat of the exchange wore off, Irena regarded him. His strong jaw showed a bare hint of dark stubble beneath, the hue a perfect match to the black inkiness of his hair and brows. Thick lashes most women would kill for fanned out atop the jut of his high cheekbones and the straight blade of his nose angled proud above a sensuous mouth. Those lips pulled into a knowing smile and her gaze flicked up to catch his icy-hot stare. Busted.

  “Like what you see, diablita?”

  “You never did tell me about your line of work.”

  The plane accelerated and gravity jammed her into the seat. As the aircraft lifted off the ground, she squeezed her eyes shut while her stomach lurched to her toes. The pop in her ears drowned out the pounding of her heart and her death grip on the armrest persisted through the plane’s initial assent.

  As they reached cruising altitude, sudden warmth covered her clammy flesh and gentle fingers reached beneath her wrist to stroke her agitated pulse.

  Chago leaned into her, his breath tickling her cheek as he murmured close to her ear. “Relax, querida. My business is protection.”

  Chapter 6

  Chago woke to a pleasant weight on his chest and the smell of fresh flowers. He opened one eye and peered down at the top of the Irena’s head snuggled beneath his chin.

  At some point during the long flight, she’d cuddled up beside him. He grinned. Surely she would lash out at him like a viper if she had any idea of the way her full breasts pressed against his chest or how her scent derailed his thoughts. Her warm exhalations flowed across his neck and sent a delightful tingle to the pit of his stomach. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed the pleasures of comfort, of connection.

  He rubbed his tired eyes and conducted a quick scan of the cabin. Most of the other passengers were asleep or reading. The plane struck a blip of turbulence and Irena mumbled into his chest before burrowing deeper. He pulled the lap blanket higher around them and snuggled down. His movements caused her to grasp the front of his shirt like a desperate child. He kissed on the top of her head and closed his eyes. Maybe this final mission wouldn’t be so awful.

  A sudden vibration in his pocket made him scowl. His phone shouldn’t work. Cell service was prohibited on flights. He managed to pull out the device without waking Irena and glanced down at the caller ID. Xander. Shit. Barron must have found a way around the restrictions.

  He untangled himself from his sleeping partner and covered her with the throw before stalking to the back of the plane and an empty lavatory. Once locked inside, he pushed the redial button, and leaned against the metal vanity, his voice as dark as his current mood. “Si?”

  “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

  “Do you know what time it is here?”

  “Since when do you keep regular hours? Last I checked you were a night owl.”

  “My apologies. I’m standing in an airplane john at the butt-crack of dawn. This miniscule place reeks to highest heaven so, pardon my French, but please hurry the fuck up. I would like to get the hell out of here before … soon.”

  Dammit. He’d almost mentioned his recent sleeping arrangements. Any relationship beyond professional with a target was strongly discouraged and now was not the time for such dalliances anyway. The plane bumped over more turbulence. Chago steadied his stance and concentrated on his commander’s update.

  “The bugs you planted in the Omega offices haven’t provided much in the way of new information. It seems the Consortium has gone quiet. And Archon has officially vanished into oblivion, so we’re batting zero right now.”

  “If Archon shows, I’ll deal with him. And as far as Drake’s concerned, I doubt you’ll hear anything from him for awhile.” He dug the toe of his combat boot into the bathroom’s rubber floor tile. “I gave him some unscheduled orthodontic work.”

  “Despite your best efforts, the press sighted him out and about yesterday, bandaged and bruised, but otherwise unharmed.” Xander’s tone darkened like a five-o-clock shadow. “Things are deteriorating fast in your little corner of the earth and you could get caught in a whole world of shit before you realize what’s happening. You call me immediately if things get out of hand. Luther and I will join you as soon as we can.”

  “Si, brother.” A knock sounded on the door and Chago grabbed on to the excuse with both hands. “Listen, Xan, I’ve got to go. Someone else needs the facilities.”

  After a few exchanged orders, Chago ended the call and emerged from the tiny room to maneuver back down the aisle, eager to cuddle once more beneath the blanket. He reached their row only to discover two empty seats and a wadded-up blanket.

  Irena was gone.

  • • •

  When her warm pillow had disappeared, Irena snuggled under the covers and tried to recover her heat source. No luck. She yawned and pushed herself up, careful to avoid contact with the man beside her. She needn’t have worried. Chago’s seat was empty.

  She lifted the blind on the window and gazed out at the black expanse below, an endless void of nothing. A voice startled her from her reverie, its undertone of sleaze spreading an oil slick of nauseous unease through her system.

  “Hello, babe.”

  She pivoted toward the aisle.

  Drake smirked down at her, his scarecrow grin wider than the Mississippi River. “What, nothing to say? I’m disappointed.”

  Without invitation, he slid into Chago’s empty spot and made himself comfortable. Irena noted the multicolored bruises adorning his jaw and nose with abundant satisfaction. “What are you doing here? I thought you had business to attend to.”

  “Change of plans.” He looked her over with a cold sneer. “Enjoy your trip to the mile-high club?”

  “What? Are you watching me?”

  “Did you fuck him yet?”


  “That is none of your damn business.”

  “We’ll be landing in London soon to change planes. Maybe you should tidy up a bit, babe.”

  “Maybe you should go fuck yourself.” Irena threw off the blanket and prepared to stand, only to be locked in place by Drake’s restraining grip.

  “Off so soon?”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “The Consortium has a vested interest in the Congo. The situation must be handled with care. Many lives depend on it.”

  She stared at him for a moment, taken aback. Was he threatening her? “I always do my best. What more could they want?”

  “Loyalty. They require loyalty.”

  “My loyalty has never been an issue. My sole purpose in being here is to help people. I doubt you could say the same.”

  “Come up with me to first class. I’ve got something to show you.” Drake rose and held out an impatient hand, his finger waggling when she hesitated. “I insist.”

  Irena ignored his outstretched hand and stood to follow him up the narrow aisle, her trepidation increasing with each step. She doubted he would try to manhandle her again in the plane, not with so many witnesses around. Still, she gripped the set of apartment keys stored in her pocket. If he tried anything, she’d gouge his eyes out.

  The aisle widened as they passed into the luxury section at the front of the aircraft. Drake slid into a seat in the second to last row and offered her the spot beside him. “Don’t worry, no one’s sitting there.”

  Irena sank into the wide, cushy seat and eyed her boss with extreme distaste. He reached into a messenger bag near his feet and leafed through the papers inside. His dark brown hair was slicked back and well controlled despite the bandages, his brows manicured and his abused jaw clean-shaven. The designer-chic of his casual clothes reeked of wealth and his boots were made of the finest cowhide money could buy. Drake might work with the underprivileged but he sure as hell didn’t live like them.

  “Ah. Here we are.” He held two photos out to her. “Have a look at these.”

  She grabbed them. One pictured a handsome, smiling man with a small girl on his shoulders; the woman by his side had her arm looped around his waist. The second image depicted the same couple being forced into a small cell by armed guards, their heads covered with black hoods and their wrists secured with handcuffs. The date stamp at the bottom of the second picture was from a twenty years earlier. Irena’s heart imploded, the air stolen from her lungs to make her voice breathy, weak. “Why are you showing me these?”

  “Your parents went through a lot during the war.” Drake leaned back in his seat, his hands clasped atop his stomach. “They were a lot younger then. Not sure how they’d handle such stresses now.”

  “Leave my family out of this.”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late. The Consortium needs to be assured of your commitment. And what better way to ensure undying devotion than a little familial threat.” He snatched the photos back and crushed them in his hands. His placid expression belied the cold threat in his tone. “Don’t fuck with us or your parents will cease to exist.”

  Drake dropped the crumpled ball on the floor and watched it roll away.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Your job is to keep me happy.” He crowded her space while his finger traced a lazy trail down her cheek. “Whatever that may entail.”

  “You insufferable bastard!”

  Several nearby passengers stirred at the sound of her rising tone.

  Drake shook his head and feigned remorse. “Please forgive me.”

  “Go fuck yourself!” Irena spun on her heel and stomped away.

  His slimy response followed her all the way back to economy class. “I’ll see you soon, babe.”

  • • •

  Chago looked up as Irena barreled through the curtains at the front of the cabin, her face red and angry.

  He stood to allow her into her seat, struck by the waves of tension radiating off her stiff form. Shit. At least the pilot’s announcement said they were close to landing.

  “I thought you pulled an emergency exit on me,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood while he fastened his seatbelt.

  Irena ignored him and yanked the blind up with more force than necessary.

  He glanced toward first class again. What the hell had she been doing up there? He studied her profile while her gaze remained focused outside. Her Slavic ancestry was undeniable in the high arch of her cheekbones and the slight tilt to the outer corner of her eyes. Her platinum spill of hair had been combed since he’d left her sleeping and now fell like a silky curtain to her mid-back. In striking contrast, her brows and lashes were dark as soot, the perfect foil for the glacial blue of her irises. A pert nose perched over the soft cushion of her mouth. Memories of those lips beneath his own and the taste of her on his tongue had him making a quick adjustment to his position.

  At his movement, Irena turned, her gaze heated. “Don’t stare. I hate people who stare.”

  “I wasn’t staring. Promise.”

  “Liar. Where the hell were you?”

  “Lavatory.” He tried another stab at humor. “I didn’t know you cared, querida.”

  Irena raised her hand and Chago ducked. Instead of the punch he expected, she hailed a passing flight attendant and ordered a bottle of water. He waited until the woman moved away then turned, ready for some answers. “Now you know my whereabouts, what about you? Something interesting going on in first class?”

  She reached past him, grabbed her drink from the returning attendant, and passed her a five-dollar bill. “I needed to stretch my legs. You know, move around a bit.”

  “Hmmm.” Her answer held a decided smack of bullshit. Chago took the bottle and cracked the lid open before handing it back to Irena. “If there’s something bothering you, you can tell me.”

  She ignored his statement and mumbled a brief thank you then downed half the water. After she finished, she shot him a perturbed glare. “What? You want some?”

  “Si.” He finished what was left and returned the drained container. “Thanks.”

  Irena tossed the empty bottle into the attendant’s proffered trash bag and settled into her seat in preparation for landing. “You’re an ass.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “You drank all my water.”

  “I accepted what you offered. There’s a big difference, querida.”

  “Really? Do enlighten me, oh wise one.”

  Chago ran a fingertip down Irena’s arm, smiling at her surprised gasp. “Querida, I always make sure my woman’s needs are met before I take my own fulfillment.”

  Chapter 7

  Irena scanned the crowded airport shuttle for Drake, while Chago grumbled about his cramped quarters in the seat beside her. Worry over her parents made her antsy. The small bus jerked to a stop outside Terminal Four and she sprang to her feet, only to be halted by his hand on her arm.

  “Wait for the others to leave. It’s less crowded that way.” He didn’t spare her a glance, oblivious to her agitation as he busily tapped away on his cell phone. Irena slumped against the window and clenched her jaw against a rising tide of anxiety-induced bitchiness.

  Travelers soon surged in the aisle and made a quick escape impossible. Thoroughly fed up with controlling men, Irena jerked her arm free and took immeasurable pride in stomping on Chago’s toes while sinking back into her seat. “Stop ordering me around.”

  “Stop running away.”

  “Why don’t you go f — ”

  Her curse was cut short by the arrival of the bus driver. “Ma’am, you can depart now.” The man smiled and extended a hand to help her up.

  “Si.” Chago’s tone reeked with mock exasperation as he rose to stand beside her. “Get out already.”

  With a blistering smile, Irena pushed past the attendant and left Chago behind in her dust. She charged out into the damp London air of the Heathrow terminal, followed the purple signs to the
security screening area, and took her place at the end of the line. The constant hurry-up-and-wait of layovers always left her nerves frayed.

  “Something I said?” Chago’s deep chuckle sounded behind her, but Irena rebuffed his attempt to get under her skin.

  “You’re a bully.” Her foot tapped cadence on the floor while she stared at the crowd ahead. “Just because you’re the size of a small building does not mean you can push other people around, you know.”

  “Small building, eh? Sloane and Barron would be all over that one.”

  “Who the hell are Sloane and Barron?”

  “My brothers. Two of them anyway.”

  “Two of them?” Curiosity got the better of her and she swiveled around to peer up at him. “How many do you have?”

  “Six. Two older and four younger.”

  Irena had always wanted a sibling to share things with, but her parents weren’t able to have more children. The sudden reminder of their situation tinged her tone with more snide than she intended. “Ah. So you’re a middle child. That explains a lot.”

  She stepped up to the x-ray machine and placed her bag and valuables on the belt before stepping inside a body scanner. After a few seconds she emerged out the other side and collected her stuff. He followed suit behind her.

  “What do you mean that explains a lot?” Chago asked as they walked into the departure area.

  Irena ignored his question.

  “They aren’t my biological brothers. We’re more of an adopted family.”

  “You still fit the middle child profile.” Irena moved to an empty row of seats, tossed her belongings on top of a chair, and plopped down into a neighboring seat.

  Chago sighed and sat beside her. “I defy profiles, querida.”

  “You have four younger brothers and two older. Makes you a middle in my book.”

  “Si, but it’s more complicated than simple family dynamics.”

  “How? Your parents adopted seven children. Big deal. I hear Brad and Angelina might be doing you one better.”