Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Saving Sofia (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Underground Book 7)

by Becca Jameson

  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Stoker Aces Production, LLC. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Special Forces: Operation Alpha remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Stoker Aces Production, LLC, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Saving Sofia

  Becca Jameson

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Also by Becca Jameson

  About the Author

  It’s been fifteen years since Sofia Leskov’s heart broke. Sure, she was only twenty, but she was an adult, fully capable of making her own decisions. She knew her heart, and Roman Stasevich had burrowed his way into it for good.

  Roman Stasevich has spent the last decade living in Chicago on an undercover assignment with Interpol. He never forgot the girl he left behind, but his job was not conducive to maintaining a relationship then, and it still isn’t now. Besides, he’s too old for her.

  When Roman returns to the town where they met—Norfolk, Virginia—his only thought is a much-needed vacation on the beach. But fate lands him right in the path of Sofia, and she’s amassed a pile of problems in recent years.

  Their age gap hasn’t changed, and Roman makes that clear from the moment he steps back into her life. Sofia doesn’t give a flip about their age difference, however. If anything, Roman is sexier than ever.

  Roman enlists the help of long-time friend John “Tex” Keegan to get Sofia out of a bind, but neither Roman nor Sofia can prevent their hearts from tangling in the process. Their days together are numbered. Roman can stretch his vacation out several weeks, but when he receives his next assignment, he must once again leave Sofia behind...

  Chapter 1

  Abram: Tex. You there?

  Abram Gromov rubbed his temples with one hand stretched over his eyes while he waited for the return ping he knew would come. Tex was the sort of man he could count on to be near his computer at all times. Reaching him through this particular message site was a given.

  Tex: Yep. What’s up? I heard you wrapped up your case in Chicago.

  Abram: Yes. Thank God. Ten years. Longest time I’ve ever been undercover.

  Tex: Except that you’re always sort of undercover.

  Abram: This is also true.

  Abram chuckled. He’d been undercover for one case or another for over half his life.

  Tex: What can I do for you?

  Abram: I need a vacation. I know you live near Norfolk. I had a case in that area once about fifteen years ago. Loved the view. Loved the laid-back atmosphere. Was hoping you might have a recommendation of a cabin or something I could rent on the water for a month or so…before I take my next case.

  Tex: Incredible timing. As it turns out, I just got engaged. Moving to Pennsylvania. Haven’t put my place on the market yet. It’s yours for as long as you’d like if you’re interested.

  Engaged? Crazy. Abram blinked at the screen, wondering if he was reading that right.

  Abram: Engaged? Another one bites the dust. That’s great, man. Who’s the lucky lady?

  Tex: Name’s Melody. And trust me, I’m the lucky one. I chased her sweet ass literally all over the country.

  Abram: I’m sure there’s a story behind that. And knowing you, I don’t doubt it’s long. You serious about your place? You don’t mind? I don’t want to put you out or stall the sale.

  Tex: You kidding? I know we’ve never met in person, but we’ve worked together often enough over the years. I consider you a friend. One of the good guys. When are you heading that way? I’ll have the housekeeper leave you a key.

  And just like that, Abram had a place to stay.

  Abram: Thanks, man. Totally owe you one. That makes my life so much easier. I’m leaving Chicago tomorrow morning. Didn’t know where I wanted to go until this afternoon. Can’t believe how easy you’re making this.

  Tex: Must be fate. Place is yours. Stay as long as you’d like. Message me when you get there and I’ll give you the deets on the security system.

  Abram smiled. Knowing Tex, the details would be extensive and require three pages of notes. The man was a computer genius. He was also a retired Navy SEAL who freelanced for probably every branch of the military and the government. Abram had worked with him a number of times in recent years. Any time he needed someone to do a bit of digging that wasn’t quite on the up and up, Tex was his man.

  Abram: I’ll pop you my flight info in a few minutes. You have no idea how grateful I am.

  Tex: Anytime. Enjoy your vacation.

  Chapter 2

  Abram was exhausted by the time he arrived at the diner the following evening. For an extremely fit man who spent the last ten years working out and training mixed martial arts fighters, he had no reason to be so tired.

  But the mental stress of living undercover for so long and tracking every move of the Russian Mafia had taken its toll on him. He wasn’t kidding when he said he needed this vacation.

  The second his job wrapped up, he’d been on the phone with his boss in France ensuring his supervisor was clear on the fact that Abram would be taking some time off before his next assignment.

  Perhaps a month. Maybe two. He refused to be specific. And he’d earned every moment of this much-needed rest.

  Everything about him was pretend and deeply engrained. Even his name. He’d gone by Abram Gromov for so many years that he probably wouldn’t answer to his real name anymore.

  At fifty years old, he was well aware he’d spent his prime years solving a case. He wasn’t sorry. He didn’t believe he was the sort of man who was cut out for normal relationships that involved commitment and putting down roots.

  The six Russian fighters he’d worked with for the last several months were the closest people he could call family. Between them and their women, he’d almost had a sense of home.

  But not quite. Until the case was over, he hadn’t been able to reveal his true role in the operation. He wasn’t an MMA manager—not that he didn’t have the experience from his younger days to play the part. But his job was with Interpol, and he’d worked closely with the FBI for so long he felt like he was a member of their team most days.

  That included Tex.

  Abram ran a hand across his face and sighed. The worst part about leaving Chicago and moving on was leaving behind the only friends he had. And the cut had been clean. They would never be able to trace him again. Zero contact. It was the only thing that kept Abram safe in his line of work.

  Even his only sibling, a sister living in France, hadn’t known his whereabouts for ten years. He needed to get in contact with her. And he would. Soon. After this vacation.

  Meeting up with Vera would have to wait. Reuniting would be stressful. The last he knew, she and her husband were living in a town in the south of France with their two kids. They’d be twenty and eighteen this year.

  A knife stabbed Abram in the chest thinking of all the years he’d missed. Would they even remember him? The most he’d ever done
was think of each of them on their birthdays.

  A shadow looming over the table shook Abram from his reverie. He lifted his gaze to find a teenage girl staring at him. How long had she been there? “Hi. I’m Marci. Can I get you anything to drink to start off with?”

  “Oh. Sure. I’ll have iced tea.”

  “Be right back.”

  He was starving. After arriving early that afternoon and getting settled at Tex’s amazing place, hours had slipped away before he realized he’d never had lunch. Tex hadn’t been kidding. His cabin was decked out with every possible amenity for safety, surveillance, and communication.

  One thing Abram would not lack in the next month would be good Internet. And if there was even the smallest chance in hell that anyone knew his identity and had followed him to Norfolk, he’d sleep easy at night knowing the fortress was secure.

  The young girl brought him a glass of tea and set a straw on the table. “Do you know what you want?” she asked, fidgeting in her spot as if she were shy, or scared.

  He hadn’t paid that much attention to her the first time she stopped by, but now he lifted his gaze to see she was near tears. “You okay?”

  “Yes. Of course.” She took a breath and swallowed. “If you’re interested in the specials, they’re on the board over there.” She turned around, pointed at the old-fashioned chalkboard, and then smiled back at him. A smile that didn’t stretch far enough to be believable.

  Abram slowly shifted his gaze from her to the board and back. “Whatever you recommend is fine.” He shut the menu he hadn’t glanced at and handed it back to her.

  “Okay. The pot roast is good. Darlene makes it. She’s the best.”

  “Excellent. Pot roast it is.” He smiled as warmly as possible. He didn’t feel like being friendly at the moment, but this girl needed it. And he was a decent guy.

  As she reached for the menu, noises coming from the back of the diner made her flinch. She bit her lip and scrunched her face. “Shit,” she muttered.

  Abram turned to stare at the door leading to the kitchen. People were definitely arguing in the back. Besides being unprofessional, it obviously distressed the teenager and undoubtedly had happened before.

  Marci scurried away, leaving Abram to ponder her situation.

  A male voice rose higher. His words weren’t distinguishable, but his tone was unmistakable. He was seriously pissed.

  After a few minutes, the arguing stopped. A woman emerged through the door and abruptly turned to the left to shuffle toward the restroom. Had the manager or someone been yelling at her?

  This was not how Abram wanted to spend his dinner hour. He wasn’t the sort of person to ignore someone else’s plight. He was conditioned to help. Fix things. But he was on vacation, he reminded himself. At the beach. He wasn’t here on an assignment. These people didn’t need his interference. Whatever their issues were, they didn’t involve him.

  In no time at all, Marci returned with a steaming plate and set it in front of Abram. “Can I get you anything else?” Her voice was weaker than before, and her hands were shaking.

  “No. Thank you. This will be fine.” Abram furrowed his brow as he tried to read Marci’s expression. Stress. Nerves. Fear.

  Dammit.

  She was right about the food, however. The first bite was amazing. Whoever Darlene was, she indeed could cook. The roast, potatoes, carrots, onions, and gravy were delicious.

  The restaurant was about half full and rather quiet, probably because everyone inside was on edge having overheard the yelling in the back.

  Abram finished his food and had drained his glass of tea when Marci showed up with a pitcher, refilled his drink, and set the check on the table. “Did you want dessert? I forgot to ask.”

  “No. I’m stuffed. That was fantastic. Thank Darlene for me.”

  “Will do. Take your time. I’ll be back in a few.” Marci was more relaxed than earlier, but still skittish.

  Abram picked up the check, took a twenty out of his wallet, and set them both on the table.

  A loud noise drew Abram’s attention to the kitchen entrance again. Something fell. A pan? Plates? And then a man yelled again.

  A woman’s voice replied.

  Abram hadn’t seen where the woman from earlier had gone after the restroom, but he assumed she’d been tending tables behind him. She was apparently back in the kitchen. Had she dropped something?

  Jesus, it didn’t require that level of shouting.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you?” The man’s voice was louder now. Distinct.

  But then so was the woman’s. “Are you serious? You think I dropped that?”

  Abram’s entire world stopped. He didn’t breathe or move.

  He knew that voice. It had been fifteen years, but he would never forget that voice.

  And then he heard it again, confirming his assessment. “I wasn’t even near that pan, George. And you know it.”

  Yep. Sofia Leskov.

  Abram’s heart beat rapidly. He flattened his hands on the top of the table and gripped it with his fingers.

  George yelled again. “You’re the clumsiest waitress I’ve ever had. I don’t know why I keep you.”

  That was enough. Abram had been near the breaking point with the asshole from the moment he entered the diner, but now that he knew who the recipient of his ire was, Abram couldn’t stop himself from getting involved. He pushed from the table and stomped across the room, angling straight for the swinging door leading to the kitchen.

  The second he pushed through the door, he met the man who had to be George.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here? Customers aren’t allowed in the kitchen.” George held a knife in one hand and a towel in the other.

  It didn’t make much sense, but Abram was instantly on the defensive. “How about you put the knife down and stop screaming at your employees?”

  A gasp to his left made him twist his head to find Sofia, eyes huge, mouth gaping open, staring at him. “Holy shit.” She threw her hands in the air. “Could this day get any worse?”

  Abram winced. Yeah. He deserved that. And more. He hadn’t exactly been a model citizen the last time he’d seen Sofia. He hadn’t expected to ever see her again either. Norfolk and its surrounding area was huge. Well populated. What were the chances he would run into a woman he briefly knew fifteen years ago? A woman who’d been hardly more than a girl at the time.

  Slim. Non-existent. Except obviously not.

  And this was no girl any longer either. This was a grown woman. She would be thirty-five now.

  “Roman, what are you doing here?” Sofia asked.

  Abram flinched. No one had called him Roman in years. Not since he’d last seen her.

  No one he’d spoken to in fifteen years even knew his real name. He hadn’t uttered it to a soul except Sofia all those years ago.

  “Dude, I said to get out.”

  Abram released the door at his back and crossed his arms, returning his gaze to the asshole with the large knife. “You planning on stabbing your staff if they don’t fall in line?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Oh, but it is. You made it my business when you spent my dinner hour screaming at your waitresses back here while your customers were trying to eat. You get a lot of repeat business that way?” Abram stepped closer, hoping George would set the knife down on his own and not force Abram to wrench it out of his hand.

  He would, if push came to shove. And this guy stood no chance against him either. He was tall, at least four inches taller than Abram, but he hadn’t been to a gym in forty years, and his flabby arms and paunchy stomach stood out as confirmation.

  “You have a hearing problem?” George bellowed. “Get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

  “Roman, do it. Get out. You’re just making things worse.” Sofia’s voice was lower, defeated.

  Abram didn’t even glance toward her. “I said, put the knife down. Do it now, or I’ll do it for you.” It wasn’
t as though Abram believed the guy intended to stab anyone. It appeared he’d been in the middle of chopping onions on the cutting board in front of him when a pan had clattered to the floor. Nevertheless, Abram didn’t like combative people to hold weapons while he attempted to talk them off their ledge.

  George rolled his eyes, but he did slam the knife on the counter so hard it bounced and fell to the floor. “You happy now, you little fuck? Get out.” George pointed at the door. “Don’t come back to my diner.”

  “Oh, I don’t intend to.” Abram turned his head to face Sofia. “How much does this asshole owe you?”

  Sofia’s eyes widened farther. “For what?”

  “For the hours you’ve worked since you last got paid.”

  “I don’t pay my employees on fucking Wednesdays, you shit.”

  “You do now,” Abram stated, still looking at Sofia. “Go write the woman a check for whatever you owe her. She’s not coming back.”

  Sofia fisted her hands at her sides and glared at Abram. “Who the hell do you think you are barging in to my place of employment and ordering me around? I don’t need you to decide where I work. Like George said, get out.”

  Abram was startled. He cocked his head to one side, trying to figure out in what universe any woman, especially the Sofia he once knew, would stay and take the shit this man was doling out like candy. “Not leaving you here. Get your purse. Let’s go.” He turned back toward George. “That check?”

  “Go to hell.” George leaned against the counter, spittle darting from his lips as he spoke.

  Disgusting. This was a kitchen.

  George turned back toward Sofia. “I think your last check should about cover what you cost me today.” He nodded at the floor to his left.

  For the first time Abram glanced down and found the concrete floor covered with sauce. The pan that fell must have contained the red gooey mess seeping across the floor.