by Misty Evans
One problem at a time. She picked up her phone and buzzed Connor, her assistant. “Get Zeb Riceman on the line for me, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A minute later, Zeb’s rough, growly voice came over the line. “Whatcha want, girlie? I’m eatin’ dinner.”
Hmm. Maybe that accounted for one variable regarding the slow time in her analysis. “Do you remember an operative named CB Norris? George W. era. Left the CIA eleven months and thirteen days after 9/11.”
She heard chewing, then Zeb sipping liquid. A former client, Savanna Bunkett, had told Beatrice the man had a fondness for strawberry pop and top shelf vodka.
“Norris?” Zeb growled. “Haven’t heard that name in awhile. Righteous SOB. We crossed paths but not until he was high up in the Agency’s ranks. He put together a couple of scrimmage runs into the hills of Afghanistan looking for bin Laden. I had the pleasure of deciphering intel his team uncovered, which was a bunch of nothin’.”
“I haven’t yet confirmed this, but it appears Mr. Norris may be involved in a current security mission SFI is investigating in Romania. Norris is running agents for MI6 and one of those agents is now our client. Is there anything pertinent you can tell me about the man? Perhaps why he was fired from the Agency?”
“Officially, the CIA said he retired and went to live in London. In certain circles I was kin to, they claim he got his ass booted after he said some nasty things to his commander-in-chief. He was told none-to-politely to take his opinions and his traitorous mouth and find a new country to call home. He was too smart and dedicated for his own good. He knew bin Laden was a serious threat to America before bin Laden knew it himself. I read a few of his missives back in the day, before 9/11.”
“And?”
“I thought he was crazy, just like everybody else who read ’em.”
Power could make a man stronger, bolder, more confident. It could open doors and give him deep reserves of leverage. Power was the strongest motivator Beatrice had seen in D.C. and the philosophers were accurate: it always corrupted.
What she’d learned since becoming pregnant was that true power had nothing to do with politics or ambition. Nothing to do with leverage, blackmail, or violence.
Creation, not destruction, was true power. Growing a child inside you, creating a company that took care of your employees and protected innocent people from the corrupt power mongers running the country, that was true power.
“When the towers fell and it was revealed bin Laden was behind it,” Beatrice said, “Norris felt vindicated.”
“Wouldn’t you? He saw himself on a personal mission to go after that asshole and he thought with all of his previous intel gathering and predictions, he should be a shoo-in for a top slot in the intelligence world. He might have made it, too, if he’d played his cards right and been patient. He knew as well as anyone that Washington moves as slow as a snail, even when we’re under attack.”
“Why join MI6? They don’t seem to appreciate his brilliance and skills any more than the U.S. did if he’s stuck in Romania running operatives and assets. If he wanted fame and glory, he missed the jackpot.”
“Rings true.” A napkin rustled in the background. “Let me do some digging. Guy’s got to have an ulterior motive.”
“I would appreciate learning anything you find out.”
They said their goodbyes and Beatrice rocked back and forth in her chair, rubbing her still-growing belly. Her analytical mind knew Miles could handle himself in any circumstance. He’d already proved that several times in the past few months. Even with his ankle injury, the Navy had offered him a position training SEALs. He’d rejected the offer and accepted hers instead. A quiet soldier, he’d learned the value of his own freedom. His perspective about what was important to him had shifted.
Love could do that.
Beatrice had known about the intensive searches Miles had done on Agent Carstons from the moment he’d come to work for the Rock Stars. As he transitioned to the paramilitary side, she’d suspected that was the biggest reason he’d signed on with SFI—he knew they had leading technology, sources for top-secret intelligence, a database of identities that rivaled everything Homeland, the FBI, and Interpol put together had, and a team that would have his back. The men working for SFI, whether bodyguards or full-blown paramilitary soldiers—might remind Duncan of his SEAL brothers who’d died in the Carpathian Mountains, but not nearly as much as seeing fresh, new recruits at the Naval Special Warfare Training Center in Coronado would have every day.
She’d helped him out here and there with his searches, but they’d lead to unwanted attention. At that point, she’d told him to stand down.
She had a soft spot for him—unusual for her. Her emotional quotient had always had a deficit due to her high IQ and she preferred not getting personally attached to the men who worked for SFI. In reality, she did care about each and every one of them—it wasn’t that she was a cold-hearted bitch. She was loyal to them to a fault because of her own personal code of ethics.
But Miles reminded her of her husband, Callan Reese. A SEAL who’d lost his fellow teammates on a mission and lived to tell about it. The survivor’s guilt still ate at him. He often spent hours in the gym beating on a punching bag or running miles and miles of D.C. landscapes in the pre-dawn hours. When she looked in Miles Duncan’s eyes, she saw the same ghosts haunting him. The same questions the Fates would never answer. Why him? Why did he survive when the others died?
Luck? Destiny? God? Beatrice didn’t believe in any of those pat answers. She did believe Charlotte Carstons was in the right place at the right time to save Miles’ life and nurse him back to health. She only hoped he didn’t lose it repaying the favor.
Her office door opened and Cal stuck his head in. His dark hair was freshly washed; his normal stubble gone. “You ready?”
“For what?”
He smiled what looked like a tolerant smile you’d give a child. “Dinner, remember? We’re meeting Emit and Jeanie at the restaurant. Trace and Savanna might swing by, too, if she can bug out of the newsroom in time.”
Dinner, right. She’d forgotten their date with the man who’d started it all. If it weren’t for Emit, she might be dead. Cal, too.
Beatrice hefted her big belly and stood, Cal hurrying to help her. As he eased her out of her chair and grabbed her coat, she realized she was hungry. Of course, at this stage of her pregnancy, she was hungry all the time. And getting uncomfortable.
“I’m worried about Miles,” she told him, trying and failing at buttoning her coat over her stomach.
“Worried? You?”
Cal’s grin eased the tension between her shoulder blades. He enjoyed teasing her even when she didn’t always get the joke. This joke was obvious… She wasn’t a worrier. Period.
“He’s off on this mission by himself. Well, Jaxon Sloan is with him, but not a full team.”
“I thought this was a quick in-and-out.”
“It should be.”
He led her to the door, pacing his steps with her slower ones. “But…?”
“There are too many unknowns with this one. I don’t like it.”
His chuckle was low and, thankfully, nonjudgmental. “Afraid the Queen’s going to blow a gasket? How about I help you do some intel gathering on these ‘unknowns’ after dinner? Jeanie wants to talk about a baby shower tonight. We shouldn’t stand her up.”
Beatrice had never attended a baby shower before but had heard horror stories about them. “I don’t want one. Should I?”
Cal shut the door behind them, then put his hands on either side of her head and kissed her slow and soft. She melted a little, forgetting to worry about Miles or the awkwardness that always plagued her in social situations.
When he finally broke the kiss, he smiled down at her. “We’ll keep it simple and invite everyone to our place. Just our SFI family. I’ll grill and we’ll cater the rest. Jeanie can throw up some decorations and figure out the cake and whatever el
se you want. It’s our first kid and you deserve to be in the spotlight for a few minutes. You do a lot for the rest of us. Let us do something for you.”
Cal, always coming to her rescue and making her feel special. Needed.
“I guess I can’t blame Miles for running to Charlotte’s rescue.”
A frown creased Cal’s forehead. “You lost me there. We were talking about dinner and baby showers.”
Poor guy would never follow her train of thought when her brain was working out a problem. “You and Miles. You remind me of each other. Both good guys who would do anything for the woman they love.”
Cal slid his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze as he led her to the elevators. “I promise…even if I have to go to Romania and save his ass, Miles will make it out alive.”
The baby in her belly kicked, as if agreeing with his father. “Yep, definitely a boy,” she said, rubbing her belly. “I stand by my prediction. He’s just as bullheaded as you are.”
Cal laughed. They’d forgone finding out the sex of the child in order to keep their wager alive. “Nope, gonna be a girl. Everyone says so.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Secretly, Beatrice hoped it might be a girl. Either way, she’d be happy. “I love you, Cal Reese,” she said, stepping into the elevator. “But you’re not going after Miles if he gets into trouble.”
He swung in beside her and punched the button for the ground floor. “I’m not?”
“I have other men I can send, and if this baby comes early,”—she smiled at him sweetly—“I want you to be there in the delivery room so I can collect my hundred bucks when you see it’s a boy.”
Chapter Eleven
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Serbia
THE TEMPERATURE HAD dropped another ten degrees. Charlotte’s breath fogged in front of her. The wooded area they’d seen the man disappear into smelled of frigid air and pine needles.
Gloves. She definitely needed gloves with fingers, not the too big ones she was sporting right now.
Two steps in front of her on her left was Miles, winding his way slowly, carefully through the darkness. Charlotte kept one hand on him, moonlight shivering its way down here and there through the trees, offering little illumination. The darkness was good and bad. It made it difficult to spot their quarry, but gave them excellent cover.
And any reason to keep her hands on Miles was a good one.
He held up a fist to signal her to stop as he slid in behind a large tree trunk. She pulled up next to him, eyes scanning the area, gun aimed at the sky. Underneath her hand, she felt the tight readiness of his muscles. He might have been known as the Evasion God in the Teams, but the predator in him was on the hunt on this early morning in a Serbian forest.
Working in tandem with a partner during a tactical engagement was a foreign experience for her. She’d been trained to do so, but that training was years behind her. She’d been a solo operative in the field for so long, she’d forgotten the nuances of having a partner. The advantages and disadvantages.
Having Miles for a partner definitely had both. Her body was still warm where he’d touched her, kissed her. The endorphins he’d created in her brain were fading, but they’d mellowed her anxiety while heightening her anticipation. Only a few days ago, she’d felt all alone in the world. A sad place to be. Now, her body tingled, her senses felt alive. As she breathed in the pine scent from the air and watched the broad back of her lover, she had the feeling she would never be alone again.
As misguided as the feeling might have been, she was going to believe in it.
She didn’t believe in much these days. A hardness like a peach pit had lodged in her breastbone and she couldn’t seem to shake it. She’d experienced the same feeling after seeing her mother murdered. The same feeling when her father had her committed to the mental hospital.
MI6 had given her purpose. Uncovered talents and skills and developed them. Made her believe in herself again. She wasn’t going to let them down, even if they currently believed her a traitor. She wasn’t and she was about to prove it. There were only two entities she was loyal to and both were in reach.
Trusting Miles with her body was easy. Trusting him with the necklace had been out of necessity. Could she trust him with her heart?
He lowered his fist and they stepped out from the tree, moving to their right. Who was out here? A random stranger or someone after her?
Charlotte hadn’t seen or heard anything, but apparently Miles had. He honed in on a spot a few yards away, moving her in that direction.
Her pulse hammered. In the quiet of the forest, she heard a night creature stirring off to her left, heard her heart beating in her ears. Purposely slowing her breathing, she stepped carefully through the forest debris, hoping to avoid snapping a twig or twisting her ankle and going down. Her hand stayed anchored on his back. Since she couldn’t see shit, she had to trust Miles knew what he was doing.
Another fist raise and he pulled up short. She felt, more than saw, him cock his head to the side, listening. Charlotte strained her ears too. The nocturnal stirrings were gone. It was so quiet, she thought she could hear the snow falling. What had alerted him?
A bead of sweat trickled down her spine. She held her breath, her mind ticking off the seconds. One…two…three…
An awareness came to her. The presence of the man, so close she could probably reach out and touch him.
Miles must have felt him too. He swiveled and grabbed her hand, nearly knocking her off balance. The next thing she knew, he pushed her down on the forest floor and cocked his gun.
“Dude, don’t shoot,” a familiar voice said a few feet away. “It’s me.”
The hot adrenaline pumping in Charlotte’s veins whooshed out of her system and left her shaky. The hard-packed pine needles under her butt were cold. She let go of a strained laugh.
Miles lowered his gun. “You SOB. What the hell are you doing out here, skulking around in the woods?”
“Skulking? I wasn’t skulking. I was making sure no one followed me from the bar,” Megadeth said, “and you know, making sure you two were decent.”
Charlotte used a tree to leverage herself back onto her feet. “Why are you back already?”
“My date with the redhead was going great until her husband showed up. Since I have to lay low, figured it wasn’t a good idea to engage the asshole.”
“We would have come picked you up if you’d called.”
“Thought you might be…busy. You know, sleeping or whatever,” he said. “Can we continue this discussion in the plane? It’s fucking cold out here.”
Charlotte agreed. The three of them wound their way out of the forest and back to the plane. She offered to make Megadeth something warm to drink, but he declined, grabbing a blanket from an overhead compartment and heading to the front. “Gonna grab some shuteye,” he told Miles. “Relieve me in two.”
He disappeared into the cockpit and shut the door.
Two hours. They had two hours to themselves. Charlotte smiled at Miles, but he didn’t smile back. Instead, he kissed her forehead and patted her shoulder. “You need to get some sleep too. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
Jet lag was settling in. Even in the shadowy interior, she could see the tiredness in his face, his body. “I slept on the way here,” she said. “I’ll take first watch. You go lay down.”
He started to argue, but she shut him down. “You have to trust me, Miles, and this is my mission. I know what I’m doing. I need you fresh and on the top of your game come sunrise, soldier, so get some sleep.”
For a moment, he simply stood and stared at her. She could feel him wrestling with himself. He was used to being in charge; it was hard for him to relinquish that. His natural instinct to protect was even stronger.
Finally, he gave up, grabbing another blanket and, without a word, joining Megadeth in the cockpit. Why there when they had an entire plane
, who knew? Maybe he wanted to be ready in case they had to make a quick getaway.
Or maybe because he was scared to be too close to her.
Charlotte blew on her fingers and set up her watch point.
MILES WOKE WITH a start. The sun coming through the window blinded him for a moment and he rubbed his eyes as he threw off the blanket someone—Charlotte, no doubt—had thrown over him.
Jet lag was a bitch. He never should have laid down. His arms hung like fifty-pound weights. His legs dragged when he tried to walk. He’d been in too many time zones over the past week and it had finally caught up with him.
He yawned and stretched. “Charlotte?”
She was nowhere to be seen. The plane was quiet.
Too quiet.
“Jax?” Miles called, not caring about using his real name.
No answer.
Adrenaline shot through his sluggish limbs, brain synapses fired in rapid succession. Where are they?
A quick sweep of the plane revealed it was empty. Jax and Charlotte’s backpacks were still there. The magazines Charlotte had been looking at were on the floor where Miles had pushed them off the table when he’d gone down on her.
But their coats were gone. The blanket Jax had used was crumpled in a ball and left behind in his co-pilot’s seat.
Miles scanned the yard outside the windows, the nearby woods. Nothing moved but some birds pecking at the snow for food.
Sunlight glistened sharply off the new fallen snow. Miles hit the top of the plane’s stairs and looked around again.
There. He shielded his eyes with one hand. Footprints. Two sets leading away from the plane and toward the abandoned farmhouse a hundred yards away.
Checking his weapon, he did another visual sweep of the area, saw nothing to be alarmed about. Still, his pulse raced. The sun’s placement told him it had to be mid-morning. A check of his watch, which he’d reset last night to local time, told him it was after ten. Why hadn’t they woken him? Had something happened?
