Stealth Ops Series Box Set

by Brittney Sahin

  “You have my word.”

  Chapter Two

  “We’re one signature away from pushing this through the House and Senate, sir. We’d really appreciate your support.” Sam squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for an answer.

  “I’m sorry. I like you and your father, but I just think this will stir up too much trouble.”

  She could imagine Senator Drake standing in his office, with his belly flopping over his belt and his tail between his legs.

  “With all due respect, sir, if you’re scared about some Russian plot to attack anyone on board with this proposal, well, you don’t need to worry. The days of KGB spies in the U.S. are over.” Well, she hoped they were, at least.

  “You were at the Summit in Brussels in July. You saw how tense things were between Ukraine and Russia. The timing of this—”

  “The timing is necessary.” Her fists touched the desk, and she pushed upright to stand, irritation scuttling up her spine. If Drake was out, that only left her with one more option, and she couldn’t imagine the amount of smooth-talking and ass-kissing she’d have to do to get Senator Abrams’s vote tonight. “Reconsider coming to the benefit next week, then. You’ll see we do have some Russian support for this. There will be a lot of heads of state there, even former President Jones is on board.”

  “And why isn’t President Rydell attending?” He paused for only a second. “I’ll tell you why—he knows it’s a bad idea to be stirring up trouble over there.”

  She inwardly groaned, stifling her frustration the best she could. “Please, can you just hear me out?”

  There was a pause, which gave her a pebble of hope. “Senator—”

  “My family has gotten threats, Samantha,” he said in a low voice.

  She took a moment to consider his words. “Senator Drake, we all get threats. This is D.C., but we can’t succumb to manipulation.”

  “I’m sorry. Please tell your father my answer is no. Good day.”

  The call ended, and she dropped back onto the worn leather chair. “Threats,” she mumbled. How many threats did she get on a weekly basis? She’d never be able to do her job if she let anonymous messages scare her out of leaving her house.

  A soft hiss of irritation left her lips and she tossed her phone on the desk. “Shit.” She reached for the framed photo her cell had knocked over.

  A familiar lump gathered quickly in her throat as she stared at the picture of her and Brad.

  Promise me we’ll die old and gray together, she’d asked of him before he’d left for deployment.

  It’s unlucky to make promises about coming back. Brad had leveled her with his words.

  “Miss McCarthy?”

  Sam dropped the photo as if she’d been caught tampering with evidence in a case or conspiring against the U.S.

  It was a photo, she reminded herself. But it was a photo she’d clung to, always keeping it visible as if someday Brad would come back to her.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Sam did her best to shrug away the memories as if that were even possible. Of course, for years, she’d buried herself in work so she wouldn’t continue down the “rabbit hole,” as her father liked to call it, of trying to find the terrorist who’d killed Brad and his best friend during a SEAL operation.

  “I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and positioned the photo back in its normal spot before peeling her focus up to her admin, Liz. “Are you ever going to give in and call me Sam?”

  Liz’s light green eyes creased at the edges. “Best I can do is Miss Samantha.”

  “After all these years?” Sam chuckled lightly. “I guess I’ll take it, though.” She clasped her hands on the desk and angled her head. “So, is everything okay?”

  “No. Senator Abrams called, and he had to cancel dinner tonight.”

  Damn it. “Did he say why, or when he can reschedule?”

  Liz’s lips puckered as if she didn’t want to tell her the news.

  “What is it?” She pressed back in her seat and gripped the arms of her chair.

  “He found out your father’s in Russia and that he wouldn’t be in attendance tonight. He didn’t want to meet with only you, I guess.”

  She needed to be able to share the good news at the benefit in Russia next week—that they had enough support from Congress to push forward with her proposal. With Drake out, and Abrams unwilling to meet today, she might be screwed.

  “You’re the daughter of the chairman for the Intelligence Committee, you’d think Abrams would be a little more respectful toward you.”

  “Abrams thinks women are good for only one thing.” Sex.

  “I’m guessing your call with Senator Drake didn’t go well, then?”

  She drummed her fingers atop her smartphone. “Drake is a coward.” Plus a few other words, but she’d keep them to herself. “I’ll reach out to my father and see if he can get Abrams on the phone. Dad will have to work some magic from Moscow.”

  “He’s pretty great at brokering deals. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “Let’s hope so, or else, everything could fall apart.”

  “You really think it’ll be a deal-breaker at the Sven Group Benefit without announcing you’ll have the backing of Congress?”

  “You know how lucky we are to get the support of a Russian billion-dollar defense company to support our efforts?” Her cheeks filled with air before she let her breath go. “We can’t show up empty-handed.”

  “Well, if anyone can make it happen, you and your father can.” Liz smiled. “I have everything set up and confirmed for your trip Tuesday. Do you need anything else before I head out on vacation?”

  “No, but thank you.” She glanced in the direction of the door. “Hopefully, the interns can hold down the fort while we’re all gone.”

  Liz lightly shook her head. “I don’t know about that.” She smiled, but then her lips slanted into a frown when her attention veered to the lone framed photo on Sam’s desk. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with me leaving?”

  “Of course. You and your husband deserve to have some cocktails on a beach now that your kids are off at college. Go and relax.”

  “Okay,” she said before a heavy sigh followed. “I just hate thinking about you here all alone with Saturday being the ten-year-anniversary . . . maybe I should’ve picked a different week to be gone?”

  Sam forced her signature fake D.C. smile, which she only reserved for politicians or situations like these. “I’ll be good. Promise.” She’d do her best not to allow sadness to bait her into its bear trap, at least.

  “Okay, then.” Liz’s blues softened. “Well, I have to catch a flight to Fiji. Good luck next week. And stay safe. Rostov-on-Don is so close to the Ukrainian border—”

  “I know, I know,” she said.

  Sam’s mom frequently went on trips with her father, but in this case, her dad didn’t want her anywhere near the benefit in case there were separatist protests—and, if any of the threats they’d received actually did come to fruition.

  Her dad couldn’t stop Sam from going, though. Hell, this was really her baby, not his.

  “The goal is to alleviate the tension in the border zone,” Sam noted. “I can’t exactly show up in an armored vehicle flanked by Secret Service. No one will believe it can ever be safe and peaceful over there then.”

  Liz squinted one eye. “If your dad has your mom being guarded at their house in Arlington, thousands of miles away from the event, surely, you’ll have some protection, too?”

  She blew out an exhausted breath. “Of course, but I don’t want to make a show of it.”

  “Well, I don’t know how you do it, but the world’s lucky to have someone like you.” She winked a blue eye.

  “Now, go have some fun!” Sam shooed her away with her hand and waited for her to leave before looking back at the photo on her desk. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach returned, and she leaned forward and reached for the frame.

  Brad
was on one knee in the picture, with her hand between his palms.

  Her best friend, Emily, had been hiding at the tavern, in position to capture the engagement.

  Three weeks later, he’d been killed on an operation in Iraq.

  Ten years. Ten damn years on Saturday since Brad had been stolen from her.

  Life wasn’t fair.

  “Miss McCarthy?”

  Sam looked up to see the office’s newest intern, Phillip, standing in the doorframe, and it had her drawing in a quick breath to get her mind focused back on work, yet again.

  Phillip’s inexperience gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look whenever he entered her room. He was wide-eyed and impressionable, not yet tainted by Washington; she hoped she could keep him from turning to what she’d dubbed over the years as the D.C. Dark Side.

  “Um, a deliveryman dropped off an envelope for you.” His brown eyes met hers.

  “You can just set it on my desk. Thanks.” She smiled, hoping to weaken some of his nervous energy.

  He slowly entered the room, but there was something off.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, it’s sort of weird, ma’am.”

  She straightened in her seat and reached for the mailer, and his gaze traveled to the ink that peeked out from her sleeve as she took it from him. “Weird how?”

  He pointed to the front of the envelope. “It just has your last name on it.”

  “You didn’t ask Shawn who it was from?”

  “Shawn didn’t deliver it. It was someone else, and the guy just insisted you have it ASAP, and that I give it to you personally.”

  “So, a man you didn’t recognize handed you an envelope, and you just took it?” If she weren’t a professional, she would’ve rolled her eyes and planted a palm to her forehead.

  “He couldn’t get by security without showing some form of identification, right?” He lifted his shoulders, and red fanned across his cheeks. “Before I realized the envelope didn’t look official, he’d already left my desk.”

  She dropped the mailer on her desk. “Get security. I want him tracked down.”

  “Why? I-I don’t—”

  “Just do it.”

  He hurried out of the office, and she crossed her arms, tucking her thumbnail between her teeth as she warily eyed the envelope.

  Ideas ran through her head for the next few minutes until Phillip returned.

  With his hands pressed to his knees, he took a moment to gather a few quick breaths. “Sorry. I tried to catch him myself. I thought I’d have a better chance since I knew what he looked like.”

  “And?” But she knew the answer.

  “He didn’t go out the front door, and by the time I caught sight of him at the back exit of the building, he’d already disappeared into a black SUV.”

  “Plate number? Make and model?”

  “Range Rover, I think.” He shook his head. “But, uh, there wasn’t a plate.”

  The envelope was paper-light; it couldn’t contain an explosive, but something sure as hell felt off about it. “Security,” she sputtered in a rush. “Get them here right now.”

  Chapter Three

  Owen glanced at Asher on approach. “You’re late. It’s already ten.”

  Asher slipped onto the lounge chair by him at the infinity pool and stretched out. “Can’t a guy get a little shut-eye while on vacation?”

  “Sure, like you did much sleeping with that brunette from last night.”

  “Nah, man.” He shrugged. “Went to bed alone. She wasn’t my type.”

  A lazy yawn left Owen’s mouth before he said, “Well, we missed the boat. No fishing, I guess.”

  “Did we really come to Mexico to fish?” Asher rolled his head to the side and lifted his shades to catch Owen’s eyes. “I don’t think so.” He rested his head back down. “You need to get laid. It’s our second day here, and you haven’t hooked up with anyone. Nothing like a good lay to take the edge off.”

  “Must be why you’re so damn edgy all the time since the only woman you want is Je—”

  “Hell no. I’m just taking a brief vow of celibacy.”

  Owen sat upright, doing his best not to laugh his ass off. “Right. You’re a monk now?”

  Asher cursed under his breath. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, what’s it going to be? You want me to be your wingman and help you find a woman here, or what?”

  “A woman isn’t going to fix my problems.” He’d hoped parasailing and bungee jumping yesterday would’ve taken off some of the edge, but nothing seemed to alleviate the hard throb in his chest.

  Tonight, he’d try whiskey, he supposed. A lot of it.

  “Well, women never actually fix problems. They only complicate shit. But sex, that’s a different story. I wasn’t talking about you falling in love.”

  “Says the monk.” He chuckled lightly.

  Asher’s legs fell to each side of the lounger. “But, uh, if you need to talk about your feelings or some shit like that . . .”

  “Yeah, I’ll just pencil that talk in for February thirtieth.”

  Asher whistled out a breath as he pressed a hand to his chest. “Whew, you had me scared for a second.”

  “Yeah, and what would you have done if I had said yes?” Owen dropped his legs to the side of the lounger and patted his side pocket, realizing he’d forgotten his room key.

  “Gone to the ocean to practice drown-proofing, like the good ol’ days at BUD/S.”

  Owen thought back to BUD/S when he’d nearly missed the age cutoff. It’d been rough, but his anger over the loss of his brother had pushed him through. “I gotta grab a new key. I left mine upstairs. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone. I promised Jess I’d keep you out of jail.”

  A massive grin stretched his face. “She just can’t help but worry about me.”

  Monk my ass, he thought as he started for the hotel.

  The smell of the ocean wafted to his nose as he walked the path to the side entrance. Jessica had done a decent job in her choice of vacation, but clearly, the resort had done nothing to minimize his pent-up anger.

  Once inside the lobby, he tucked his shades in his pocket, but stopped short of the desk and closed his eyes for a brief moment, his hands bunching at his sides.

  He needed a moment to calm down before he faced the concierge like a replica of the Hulk.

  At the feel of something, or someone, bumping into him, he instinctively reached out. A soft gasp hit his ears, and he opened his eyes to find his hands still touching something . . . a woman’s ass. “Shit. Sorry.”

  The woman spun to face him and lowered to her knees.

  He crouched for an assist, to help pick up the strewn items from her purse, but instead, he found himself eying her as if in a trance.

  Short black hair to her chin, long dark lashes, a straight nose, and high cheekbones. Her beautiful lips were pressed into a tight line.

  “Sorry again,” he said under his breath.

  “No, it was probably my fault.” She stood with her purse.

  Once they were both upright, he noted the red rose tattooed to the inside of her wrist as she swept a lock of hair behind her ear.

  Her light brown eyes found his, and he sucked in a sharp breath, catching a whiff of her perfume: lavender. Clean and uncomplicated. He liked it.

  Her beautiful browns narrowed for a brief moment as her tongue teased her bottom lip. A strange pull of familiarity grabbed hold of him, then his gaze flicked to the suitcase and computer bag at her side. He caught sight of her first name on the airline tag still attached to the luggage handle. “Are you here for work, Samantha?” Her mouth rounded in surprise. “Saw it on the bag.”

  “Oh. Um, vacation.” A touch of pink that matched her lips swept up her cheeks. “And you can call me Sam.”

  He checked her ring finger, and his lips crooked into a slight smile. “Well, perhaps I’ll see you around the resort.”

  Her eyes remained on his as if she were waiting for him to say more, but the
n she said, “I’d like that.”

  Her voice had the sexy, just-woke-up huskiness to it that had the immediate effect of making his cock get excited.

  “Your name?”

  Right. “Owen.”

  Her fingers splayed across her collarbone, and her dark brows drew together. “Well, I hope to see you soon.”

  He tipped his head goodbye and approached the concierge to grab his key. He stole a glimpse of her from over his shoulder as he drummed his fingers on the desk while waiting for his card.

  He almost laughed as he watched her shake her head and mumble something to herself while lifting her bags.

  He studied the pair of long, shapely legs she had on her. And when she turned toward the elevators, he clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip, wishing he was sinking his teeth into the delicious curve of her ass. Damn, those white shorts left just enough to the imagination to have a guy wondering.

  His body tensed with the idea of having those legs wrapped around him later.

  Asher was a damn genius—maybe he did need to get laid.

  When he returned to the pool, he found Asher at the bar talking to a woman in a string bikini paired with ridiculously high heels. He wondered if her heels doubled as a weapon. He’d had to use one to stab a guy in the jugular before, so it wasn’t that crazy of an idea.

  Asher popped to his feet when he caught Owen’s eye. “There he is. This is Liza.” He turned away from her and mouthed, “She’s a model.” He raised his brows a few times, his silent way of inviting Owen to make a move.

  Owen feigned interest with a quick smile, but for some damn reason, he wasn’t the least bit interested. All he could think about was the woman from the lobby.

  “If you boys wanna come to my photo shoot tomorrow, you’re more than welcome to join.”

  “Maybe,” Owen said, even though he had no intention of showing up.

  “Here’s my digits.” Liza scribbled her number on a bar napkin. “Later.”

  “That was fast,” Owen said once the woman was out of sight. “How the hell did you manage that?”