by Misty Evans
In that moment, Aidan could shut up all the tit for tat, negotiating, the ache that had been in his chest for the past two years, for the misery she’d put him through. Of all the women he could've picked that night in Vegas, he'd been drawn to her, and he'd never felt like this about anyone else before or since.
When they finally broke apart, she looked into his eyes and shocked him yet again.
“Shadow Force International,” she whispered. “I work for their spy division, Nemesis, and I came here to recruit you, Aidan McNamara, to join us.”
Hostile recruitment
* * *
Aidan choked as if he'd swallowed too much champagne and Bree smiled at the expression on his face.
Brows furrowed, he cocked his head. “Say what?"
Her body shivered from the kiss. Head to toe, she was a mess. She'd never planned to seduce him, or even get this close. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours and she was throwing herself at him.
The first time was different. She'd needed that keycard. This time? Hell, she had no clue what she was doing. She couldn't even blame it on the champagne, she’d barely had two sips.
But something about being near Aidan, especially seeing his naked chest, yearning to feel his lips again, she’d lost her ever-lovin’ mind.
That's what he did to her—turned her brain to mush. Turned her body to molten lava that only he could then quench.
“You check all of the boxes," she continued softly. “Shadow Force is made up of former SEALs, most of whom suffer from PTSD or physical disabilities and struggle to keep a nine-to-five job. Some work for the Rock Star Security division as bodyguards—that’s the face of the organization, the one known to the public, and it's growing faster than we can keep up with. Along with that, there are several teams who perform specialized missions, much like the SEALs—rescuing people, taking down the bad guys, the usual. The spy division, Nemesis, is new, and looking to expand. Everyone in it has training as an operative”—outside of Cassandra, anyway, but Bree couldn't focus on that at the moment— “and we work in pairs, mostly male-female, to get into places where the paramilitary division can't. Most of it is foreign work, but occasionally, we’re on United States soil.”
He sighed through his nose, his dark brows still lowered. “Work for who exactly?"
“Private clients and companies, sometimes, like I mentioned before, the President of the United States gets involved."
One brow rose in question. “How does the CIA feel about that?"
“Mostly, they stay out of our business and we stay out of theirs. We take on situations where they can't legally operate or lack the resources to handle it."
He was silent for a long moment, processing, no doubt, by the look in his eyes. “So you're working for a privatized version of the Agency, with no oversight or government interference, and the president uses you when she needs deniability where something could go wrong."
In a nutshell. “Like our name, we stay in the shadows as much as possible. My boss is very particular about who she hires. She wants you. There are only a handful of former SEALs who’ve completed spy training as well and have experience in the field. Down the road, she plans to select a few who are part of Rock Star Security and the Shadow Force teams and train them for undercover work, but right now, she needs guys like you who can hit the floor running."
Another thick silence. “You and I would be working together." There was a hint of an underlying question, as if he couldn't believe it. When she didn't immediately respond, he snickered. “You couldn't wait to get me out of DC two years ago, and now you want me to come back? Not just come back, but work as a spy with you again? Going undercover as your partner?"
There was far too much hope in his gaze. She felt horrible squashing it, but she wouldn't lie.
“Most likely not," she admitted.
“Why not? You just said it was a small group and you work in male-female pairs. We were partners before, why wouldn't we be again?"
She took a step back and motioned at the table. “We should eat. The food’s getting cold."
He didn't push for a response. Joining her at the table, he seemed distracted. No surprise.
She was a vegetarian and Uncle Martin had done a great job making sure she had a delicious meat-free quiche, while Aidan enjoyed surf and turf.
They ate in silence for several minutes, and she wondered what he was thinking. He'd always been that way—a man of action, the one who thought through everything and did a thorough job of enacting it.
“The pay is excellent," she told him, "and there's a full slate of benefits. Plus, you'll be working with some of your SEAL brothers. I'm sure you won't know all of them, but you know Jaxon Sloan and Cal Reese."
His fork stopped in mid-air on the way to his mouth. “Jax works for you?"
She nodded, mentally crossing her fingers this would sway him, as she nonchalantly buttered a homemade roll. “If you can believe it, he and Ruby worked a mission together for us not too long ago. I thought they might kill each other first, but they ended up engaged after it all went down."
"Damn." He finished taking his bite and swallowed before saying, "I never imagined him as a spy."
Technically, he hadn't been; Ruby was, and together they had unraveled a mystery and stopped a terrorist while falling in love. “He’s finishing his residency to become a doctor. Looks like he’ll stay on the Shadow Force payroll in that capacity."
“No shit? You guys need medical care often?"
Her mind flashed back to Cassandra and her stomach roiled. She put down the uneaten roll and sat back, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “What we do is dangerous, and yes, people get hurt, but that's part of our mission. Everyone carries risk and danger, which honestly, is why so many of them love it. They also do it because putting themselves in the way of harm, in order to save someone else, gives them a purpose.”
He continued to eat and nodded, encouraging her to go on if she wanted.
“You know what it's like when you leave the brotherhood, when the Agency kicks you out because you’re not in top shape, you're too old, or they're just plain sick of you. What do you do then? You're highly trained, have skills far beyond the average citizen, and you can't talk about what happened to you, who you worked for, or the missions where you saved hundreds of thousands of people. You're an unsung hero and you're supposed to work for minimum wage behind the counter at a convenience store or at a desk job filling out spreadsheets. Shadow Force gives all of us a chance to use our skills and still be of service to our country."
He looked at his plate, using his fork to move his food around. He took a couple of bites, chewed slowly, and fell back into silence.
Bree waited patiently, hoping he was considering the offer and would see the benefits in it, even if she wasn't going to be his partner. She hoped appealing to his sense of duty might help, along with knowing some of the men who already worked for SFI.
“What does Cal Reese do? Does he run one of the teams?"
It was a good sign he was asking questions. “Yes actually, he does. He's married to the boss, Beatrice, and they’re friends of the founder, Emit Petit. Even though the company has been growing and expanding, everyone knows everyone. It's a tight knit group. You always have someone to help, to have your back. Not like at the Agency where you’re often working totally on your own without backup."
He noticed she wasn't eating. “But you don't want to work with me."
She fiddled with the napkin, sipped the champagne, stalling. “It’s not a matter of what I want. The situation is…complicated."
Setting down his fork, he picked up his drink and leaned back. "I've got all night. Tell me why it's complicated."
Okay then. “The Agency was right to retire me," she admitted quietly. "I'm not at my peak anymore, my field days are over."
He studied her with those intense eyes. “That’s bullshit and you know it."
She gave a mocking laugh. "I couldn't even lift a keycar
d without you knowing it."
A grin crossed his face. “That’s because I know you so well. I would've been disappointed if you hadn't tried."
Cocky. Sexy as hell. But too willing to let her off the hook. “You caught me sneaking in here to replace it. I'm telling you, I’ve lost it. Russia fucked me up. I suck as a spy now."
The grin vanished, his lips pressing into a thin line. “The Bree McNamara I know would never admit it, even if it was true.”
She folded the napkin in her lap. “Maybe I'm not the same Bree you know. Think you know."
He sat forward, pinning her with his gaze. “If Shadow Force is so elite, why did this Beatrice gal hire you then?"
A sad smile was all she could offer. He was trying to make her feel better, confident.
“Come on, Bree. I'm not buying it." He tapped a finger on the table. “You may be a different spy than you were in Russia, but you still have the skills and know what to do. The keycard thing is a fluke. Once I knew you wouldn't let the Chardy thing drop, I anticipated you’d try to get into his room, or at least have a look at his laptop. When I knew you'd lifted it, it was only a matter of being patient for you to try and return it. I anticipated that too. None of that makes you a bad spy, it just makes me a good one."
The cockiness extended to his confidence level. Even after Russia, he had never lost that.
“It’s more than the keycard and you catching me trying to return it." Her stomach was still roiling, but maybe coming clean would help. If there was one person she could admit her failings to, it was the man sitting across from her. He wouldn't judge, and if she really was a screwup, he’d be the first to tell her. “On my last assignment, I nearly got a woman killed."
“You just said it's a dangerous job. This type of work often has collateral damage, no matter how hard we try to keep innocent people safe."
“The thing is, she was my assignment. It wasn't my call, and honestly, I don't think she should've been involved, but she was. My one and only job was to make sure she was safe, and I failed. She's alive, but barely."
He sat back again, those keen eyes studying her face once more. “Start at the beginning."
Sharing specific details was unwise, but maybe a bargain was in the works. “Our missions are top-secret, but what I can tell you is her name is Cassandra, and she's the attorney for SFI. You'll get to meet her when you join. Recently, she was in the field to help with an extraction and insisted on going undercover to end a biological epidemic. She ended up infected with a deadly disease." The woman's heart had stopped several times, her organs trying to shut down, and Jaxon and the other doctors working on her almost couldn’t revive her.
Just thinking about it made Bree shudder. "Keeping her out of trouble should've been easy, but I let myself get distracted at a key moment. She nearly died because of my incompetence."
“What the hell was a lawyer doing in the field going undercover?"
“Her parents were physicians and knew more about bacterial and viral diseases than anyone in the organization. She wanted to help stop an epidemic, and we had a solid plan to do just that and not let anyone get hurt. Things went to hell.”
"I assume you did stop it?"
“Yes, and it would've been as horrible as you can imagine. Millions, maybe even billions would have died."
“But no one actually did."
She knew what he was getting at. "Cassandra nearly did and it's my fault."
“You always were too hard on yourself. Sounds to me as if Beatrice should've kept her lawyer behind the desk where she’d be safe.”
"Cassandra insisted," she argued, and then saw that one brow raise again in question.
“Then it's just as much her fault for going into the field when she doesn't have any training, and Beatrice, for letting her."
Irritated, she tossed her napkin on the table. "Regardless, it was my job to—“
He held up a hand stop her. “Fine, it's all your fault. I suspect, though, if that were true, you wouldn't be working for them anymore, would you? If Beatrice thought you were washed up, that you couldn't perform to her standards, she wouldn't have sent you here to recruit me."
He was half-right. “I'm on probation, and this is part of my current mission—to talk you into joining us."
A grin crooked the corner of his mouth again. "And if you fail?"
Before she could answer, the buzzer on her watch went off.
“What the hell is that?" Aidan asked.
It was equipped with multiple functions and apps, one being an alert to the movements of her target. She rose, snatching up her phone and activating the GPS map where a red dot now blinked. “He’s on the move."
“Who?"
“Chardy. He's left the building.”
Aidan stood as well, heading to the wall and running his hand behind the painting hanging there. Suddenly, a section opened and he rushed inside.
Bree followed as he asked, “You put a GPS tracker on him? How did you manage that?"
The room was tiny, nothing but a card table and the laptop. Aidan opened the latter and hit a couple keys.
“It’s rainy and windy,” she said. “I figured if he went anywhere he ‘d throw on a jacket, so I stuck a tiny tracker under the collar."
Aidan’s capable fingers tapped at the keyboard. The screen split into different views of all the building’s exits. “There.” He pointed to a shadowy figure disappearing into the dunes not far from the back patio. “Where the hell is he going?"
The beach was pitch black, heavy fog in the air, and although it had stopped raining earlier, more was predicted. "I don't think he's hunting for shells, and it's not exactly prime weather for taking a midnight stroll on the dunes.”
Aidan glanced at her, and she could see her own thoughts mirrored in his eyes.
He got up, pulled her out of the hidden room, and went to the closet. He brought out two windbreakers, tossing one to her. His phone and a tiny flashlight went in a pocket and his gun into a shoulder holster.
As he pulled on his own windbreaker, he motioned at the door. “Let’s go."
Seven
Dirty tricks; aka, covert sabotage
* * *
They stole through the night, partners once more, and Aidan ignored the feeling in his gut warning him this was a bad idea.
Chardy might be out for some fresh air, even though the fog blanketed the beach and dark waters beyond. Bree hurried beside him, barefoot, her watch GPS offering just enough light for Aidan to see part of her face under the hood.
She stayed silent and motioned to the left. Before she stepped off the patio into the sand, he grabbed her hand and put his lips close to her ear. “We stick together, no matter what. If we get separated, you come back here. You don't keep following him or try to intervene in whatever he's about to do, understand?"
He hated to draw a firm boundary, but it had to be done. If she blew this mission, he might never get another chance to make the Russians pay for what they’d done, and their spy ring would survive and go on to create more problems than he suspected they already had. Boris would live another day, and God only knew what that torturing son-of-a-bitch would do to someone else. Had already done.
A curt nod was her only response. He kept hold of her and pulled her behind him.
“Do you miss it?” she murmured. “The excitement and intrigue?”
He was barefoot as well, forgoing shoes in his haste to follow the French double agent. The wet sand felt cold; the fog so heavy it lay like mist on his face. Chardy had to know all the exits were under surveillance, but perhaps he hadn't cared, either because this was a completely innocent walk on a rainy night on the beach, or he assumed he could pass it off as that. If anyone noticed him leaving, particularly Aidan, he could brush it off as nothing more.
“Sometimes. I miss…feeling like I’m helping my country.”
She nodded, understanding.
The takedown wasn't until tomorrow night, planned to occur just over
the border. The man they were after, leader Boris Vaslov, was coming in on a special transport with non-official cover, and was to be handed off to Chardy. Chardy had been working with several “transporters” as they were called, scouting for Vaslov who held a key role in the spy ring planted throughout Southern Texas and into New Mexico.
It’s what the spy master did—excelled at planting Russians so deeply into the US, no one would ever know they were spies. Hiding in plain sight. They could be your doctor, the clerk at the supermarket, your next door neighbor. Some had been planted young, growing up like any middle-class kid in America, but with one very different purpose—if activated by Vaslov, they had a mission. Could be something as low level as hacking into a database to retrieve information. Or as extreme as setting off a bomb or assassinating a high-profile target like a senator, even the president.
This particular ring consisted of a dozen or so trained Russian operatives pretending to be good ol’ Southern boys and girls. Behind the scenes, they plotted subversion against the US government and tried to find ways for Russia to sabotage certain banks, cripple oil production, and gain new intelligence sources, none of whom realized they were being targeted.
Their favorites ranged from young, female college students to biker gangs and homegrown survivalists with a bone to chew against the government.
Aidan had managed to find ties to three of the suspected five who had carefully embedded themselves in the area. They needed Vaslov to uncover the final two.
Subversion was a manpower-intensive strategy, and in this case, often took years, decades, to see results. This spy ring was a spin-off of one he and Bree had tried to expose on their last mission together, and by God, he’d make sure they went down in flames this time. He would not allow them to disappear into the American woodwork in order to resurface somewhere else.
