by Leigh Tudor
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t intend to take it so far.” He hesitated, his eyes looking sheepish and unsure. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She took a step toward him. “It was my fault.”
He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. Here we are at a family holiday meal, and I take you in the backyard shed.”
He appeared embarrassed and regretful. The last thing she wanted was Alec Wilder to ever regret her.
“It was the boots,” she said, with a saucy smile.
He smiled back, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. “They taunted me.”
“We should throw them away for being so . . . naughty.”
“Or,” he said, lifting an eyebrow, “you could wear them every day. Maybe even sleep in them.”
Her arms went around his neck as she stared up into crystal-blue eyes. “Thank you for making my first Thanksgiving in Wilder so much better than I could have ever imagined.”
His eyebrows furrowed once again. “We didn’t use protection.”
“Becky took me to her OB-GYN. I’m on the pill. I was supposed to wait another week before . . . indulging . . . but I’m sure it’s fine.”
She kissed him, and he hugged her and gave her a small slap on her ass. “We need to work our way back inside. You go first while I clean up with the garden hose.”
She turned her head to the side in question.
“I’d love to spend the rest of the day smelling you on me, but I’m not sure the rest of your guests would feel the same way when it came time to hug-out our goodbyes.”
“Ooh,” she returned with a grimace. “Good call.” She patted his shoulder. “You go clean up and I’ll cover for you.”
To Loren’s relief, they both managed to make their way back to the festivities with none the wiser. When asked where they had gone from a cheeky Mercy, Loren glared combat knives at her while Alec remained completely unaffected, stating they were sitting on the front porch swing enjoying the weather.
Madame fixed Alec a piece of pumpkin pie and then skirted out of the dining room to enjoy the rest of her guests who had decided to enjoy the weather on the front porch as well.
Loren began to scoot behind Alec’s chair when he grabbed her by the arm. “Where are you going?”
“To get a piece of the pie. Apparently, only our guests get served.”
He tugged on her arm. “Madame gave me what looks to be half of a pie. We have plenty.” He pulled her from the back of his chair, situating her on his leg with one arm holding her to him.
Never. Absolutely never had Loren felt such unreserved joy. They took turns taking bites while the adults sat on the front porch, and the younger girls took turns playing music on the piano in the front room.
After giving Loren the last bite, they continued to sit there quietly, enjoying the music and laughter in the other room, and in no hurry to move apart.
Loren mused about how their lives had changed so dramatically in less than a year. They lived in a nice home, with worn-in couches, scuffed furniture, and a number of quilts to cuddle in during cold winter mornings.
She had the best job ever on the planet, helping other people improve their homes, not to mention the pure joy of keeping track of inventory. And then there were her evening classes, now her side hustle, training women to defend themselves while at the same time improving their confidence and overall self-worth.
But most importantly of all, giving Mercy and Cara the life they deserved. The life she owed them.
A life that at one time seemed impossible. All because of one single monumental mistake of judgment.
Deep down, she knew she needed to dig deeper into Madame and Vlad’s backgrounds. Check their bank accounts to see where money was coming in and where it was going out. And, at the very least, go over their own individual efforts at hiding themselves in the small town of Wilder, Texas.
Maybe she put it off because she was afraid of what she’d find. But was it really wrong to trust them? Maybe it was okay not to question their stories, but trust in their motives. God knew she and her sisters had garnered their own laundry list of lies. Each and every one of them necessary to ensure their protection.
But then there was Alec. She knew she was falling for him. When she would spot him from across a room, her heart pounded like a newly adopted puppy, the sound of his voice alone causing her have to change her panties on the reg. But was it right to hide her past from him? Could she honestly expect to create a longterm relationship with this man after so much deception?
Alec finally broke the silence. “You happy?” he asked, kissing her below the ear.
Unable to form words for fear of spewing the guilt brewing inside, Loren merely nodded and then rested her head in the crook of his neck. She finally got hold of herself and said, “So, so, happy.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Measure what is measurable, and make measurable what is not so.”
—Galileo Galilei
Italian from Pisa; astronomer, physicist,
and engineer, sometimes described as a polymath
* * *
Alec arrived at the M2M headquarters and main training compound in Greenville, South Carolina for an impromptu meeting at 0800 hours Monday morning. He had hoped to receive his first assignment by now, but the company seemed more interested in extending background check efforts than leveraging a newly acquired asset.
Which was why he was surprised they had called him in, providing little information and insisting that he take the next plane to the Greenville-Spartanburg International Airport.
He had followed orders. And was now sitting in his director’s office. Your typical hurry-up-and-wait scenario. Yet he couldn’t deny the comfort of finding himself once again in a military-esque environment despite being a contracted civilian.
MARSOC had been the right fit for Alec, as opposed to managing a farm, and he hoped he’d find the same compatibility straddling his home life responsibilities alongside a career with M2M.
M2M was an obscure operation with a website that indicated your typical private or event security services.
But as with many private security companies, the lines between security and quasi-military operations had become blurred, their contracts falling more in line with military-style assignments, further evident by these companies hiring staff with former Special Forces backgrounds for their skills in combat.
He checked the time on his phone. Loren should be well into her day at Wilder’s Hardware. In his mind, he pictured her bent over the workbench in the shed wearing those fucking unforgettable boots, licking her puffy lips.
He began to send her a good morning text, when Director Birch entered the office with two coffees. Another man who also looked to be military, based on his rigid demeanor but wearing civilian clothes, followed him into the room.
Alec stood out of habit.
“No need for all that saluting and genuflecting bullshit,” Director Birch assured Alec. Birch was an older man; some might call distinguished with salt-and-pepper hair and an unusually fit body for a man of his age.
“Alec Wilder, meet Trevor Forrest. Ex-Navy Seal and the lead on your first assignment.”
Alec shook the other man’s hand who was just short of reaching his own six-feet, two-inch stature, but of the same build and presence as if he, too, came from a boots-on-the-ground military background.
Director Birch continued, “Forrest is working on a lengthy assignment that has begun to show progress. For geographical reasons, we would like for you to get involved.”
“Geographical reasons?” Alec asked.
Forrest took over the explanation as Birch blew on his coffee.
“We’ve been contracted to infiltrate a facility as part of a much larger crime ring. Leads on various high-profile assignments keep pointing us to a medical facility in Findling, Utah, namely Halstead Labs and Research Center. For years, getting inside or collecting any useful information has been near to impossible
.”
“Until recently,” Birch added, as Forrest opened a file and set it on the desk, lifting a photo of an elderly man and placing it on the top of the stack of papers.
“We’ve suspected the founder and namesake of the facility to be part of numerous unsolved crimes spanning every continent but having few similarities.”
Birch took over. “We’re talking drug deals in Venezuela, Mexico and Peru, art heists in Austria and France, money laundering and financially lucrative intel sweeps on dozens of very bad people in some very dangerous parts of the world.”
“Sounds compelling, but I don’t live in Findling, Utah, nor have I ever been.”
Forrest continued, “Since Halstead died several months ago, things have changed. They’ve gotten lazy, messy. Two months ago, they were facilitating the movement of cartel combat vehicles into Mexico, which turned into a shit-show. They lost a number of men. We think they lost some valuable brain trust.”
“Halstead, you mean?” Alec asked.
“And others.”
“Defectors?”
“Correct.”
“Who contracted our services?”
“Irrelevant.”
Alec grew pensive. “Does this . . . fall under our jurisdiction?”
“If you’re asking if we have the power to make legal decisions as it pertains to this assignment, yes,” Forrest provided. “What you need to know is that we have been contracted to perform a small part of a much greater effort. We’ve been instructed to surveil the facility and infiltrate it. Once inside, we gather the sufficient intel so other groups can do their jobs, bringing down those within the facility but more importantly, those criminal factions outside of the facility.”
Birch spoke up. “You’ll soon learn that jurisdiction is a flimsy concept when working for M2M. There’s rarely an assignment where our involvement can’t be construed as critical to the success of the mission. There’s more,” Birch stated matter-of-factly, “but we provide information on a need-to-know basis. For your safety and others.”
Birch set his empty coffee cup down and picked up the full one. “By the way, your background check has been completed, so you’re good to go.”
“But I don’t warrant additional information?”
“That was the additional information.”
“I’m still not connecting the dots on the geographical part of this assignment.”
Forrest connected them. “We’ve learned that one of the defectors is hiding out in Wilder.”
Alec eyebrows shot up. “Wilder?”
“Those at the Center have been working toward bringing them back into the fold. Back to Utah.”
“Involuntarily?”
“Correct. We’re going to load up with surveillance tech and follow them in.”
“Have we confirmed consent?”
Birch and Forrest looked at one another.
Birch broke the silence. “We’ve been instructed to keep the target in the dark.”
“We can’t be sure they’ll work in our favor, knowing our complicity,” Forrest explained. “And we don’t have the time to talk them into it.”
“Couldn’t we shoot them a deal? Seems like they’d be more amenable if they knew they had a vested interest.”
“I appreciate your interest in the overall success of this mission,” Birch said, taking another sip, “but you have an inch of intel, where those above you have mounds of information extracted over numerous years.”
Forrest further explained. “Ours is a small cog in a very complex wheel. We get the parameters of our contract, and we follow them.”
Alec sat back in his chair, contemplating what this meant. There wasn’t a soul he didn’t know in Wilder. Eventually someone was going to be betrayed.
By him.
His mind ran through a Rolodex of names.
The hair on his neck began to rise as Forrest pulled out an 8x12 photo.
Loren.
Sitting in the carpool line at school. Probably waiting to pick up Cara, maybe even Ally, at the end of the school day.
He thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen while performing a Herculean effort at appearing unmoved.
“You know this woman?” Forrest asked.
Alec glanced at him and took a long breath. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”
Birch asked, “Is this going to be a problem?”
“No, sir.”
Yes, it was.
He added, “But I can tell you that based on my personal knowledge of the target, she’d be far more productive as a Trojan horse than a sacrificial lamb.”
Not to mention safer.
“She’s your neighbor,” stated Forrest.
“She is.”
“Her younger sister is close friends with your sister, Ally.”
“That’s true.” And then Alec wondered if those at the Utah research facility were pulling in Cara and Mercy as well. Were her sisters even aware of Loren’s criminal involvement? Were they involved?
But he didn’t want to ask questions that would divulge information that could potentially hurt, more than help.
He weighed his next question. “Do we know of any others they might be pulling back in?”
Forrest shook his head. “Intel shows they’re only coming for her.”
Alec didn’t bat an eye, despite the need to upend the desk in front of him.
She was a sitting duck.
They were coming after her.
Birch sat back in his chair, assessing Alec. “Have you witnessed any . . . irregularities?”
“Sir?”
He leaned forward, pointing at Loren’s photo. Her hair was much shorter in this picture than the bleached-blond mane just past her shoulders. No telling how long they’d been watching her.
“With the target,” Birch added.
Hundreds of sketches littering her walls came to mind as he stared at her picture, remaining as expressionless as humanly possible.
Forrest seemed anxious. “Would you classify her behavior as sporadic or manic?”
He and Loren’s intimate relationship was a recent event. There was a chance they only viewed their connection as it pertained to Ally and Cara. “She’s the sister of my sister’s best friend. I don’t think that necessarily warrants personal knowledge of Miss Ingalls’ behavior.”
Forrest pulled another photo from the stack. Alec instantly recognized the picture of the two of them. It was recent. Had to have been taken last weekend among a throng of friends and family outside the church. He had his arm around Loren, trying to keep her warm, looking down at her as she looked up at him with complete trust.
Forrest cleared his throat. “We don’t have a lot of time. We’ve been instructed to allow the target to be taken due to her . . . unpredictable nature.”
“Go on,” Alec remained expressionless.
Birch and Forrest shared another glance as if communicating their common struggle. Birch offered up the last piece of information. “She’s a documented genius with a Mensa score of over one seventy, trained to the equivalency of a lethal weapon, and diagnosed as criminally insane.”
And there it was.
Alec was once again in his lifetime, shocked.
And gutted.
He raked his fingers through his hair, as if gouging deep grooves into his scalp.
He leaned his elbows onto his knees and covered his mouth with clasped hands to hold it together.
The two men remained silent as if allowing him to ruminate in the information provided.
He couldn’t begin to contemplate Loren as insane.
Of course, he thought the same about Marisa.
But still, Loren?
Unpredictable?
Of course.
Fought like a trained assassin?
He’d witnessed it firsthand.
Criminally insane?
His eyes bore into Director Birch’s. “If we’ve been instructed to let them take her, why do you need me
? What value does my connection to Miss Ingalls bring if we aren’t going to leverage it?”
Forrest answered him. “You’re considered on standby, due to her mental unpredictability.”
Birch added, “And for your safety.”
Alec blinked slowly, processing the information before him. “Did you recruit me into M2M because of my skillset and background with MARSOC, or my geographic location to the target?”
Director Birch answered as Forrest looked down. “I think you know the answer to that question.”
Birch advised Alec that as project lead for M2M, Forrest would debrief him on further details regarding their department’s role in the NSA-CIA mission.
They were dismissed.
As soon as they were outside of Birch’s office, Forrest was on his phone arranging for helicopter transport to Wilder, Texas.
After ending the call, he turned to Alec. “There’s more I can tell you, and more I can’t. You’re ex-military. You should get that. But don’t assume that as a contracted civilian operator, that there aren’t severe, life-altering consequences for going rogue.” He stopped in the middle of the corridor. “Do we understand each other?”
Alec nodded. He understood. Didn’t mean he was going to comply. “What’s the plan?”
“I’ve been working on getting inside the research center by posing as a gun for hire. They’ve already got someone inside informing them of the target’s location. My mock team was to perform the extraction.”
“Who’s the inside informant?”
Forrest blinked slowly. “Classified.”
Jesus H. Christ.
How in the fuck was he going to determine next steps based on such spotty information?
“So, we’re going to bring her in?”
“We were,” he said, leaning against the wall. “My contact at the research facility, a Dr. Bancroft, decided at the last minute that he needed to be there for the extraction. Apparently, he specializes in tempering her clinically diagnosed condition when it turns volatile. He left Utah for the pick-up point earlier this morning and is en route. He’s taken a flight to a small airfield that caters to private planes, Holict Airport.”
