Wicked, page 11
“We leave at 0600,” Ruckus said.
“So, they want the warhead to embarrass us. You think this is retaliation by North Korea for losing face and having to back down in the China Sea over the sanctions?” Tank asked.
“Yes. It’s the assumption the DIA—”
“And the CIA have come to.” Kat finished Dozer’s sentence.
“The DIA has been watching that country. If Eze’s building a secret army, we want to assess it. I’ll be going with you. But we, Hollywood and I, have a score to settle with him,” Dozer said.
“You care to share, Hollywood?” Ruckus asked, knowing full well Hollywood’s background. Hell, Ruckus encouraged him to join the team after that bloodbath in the desert of Mobutu. That mission had been classified, but it had spilled all over the news.
“We were hunting him in the desert, and we were ratted out by a plant in the Mobutuan military. We lost two SEALs and two Rangers along with four Mobutuan soldiers.” Hollywood looked at Dozer, and he nodded. “Dozer was wounded in the shoulder and there was no exfil for six hours. Because of that, he lost motion in it and had to retire from SEAL active service. It got really hairy there, and he saved my life.”
“You took a bullet for me, too, man.”
“Yeah, it was a party,” Hollywood said, looking down. Glances bounced around his team members, and he knew what they were thinking. He was focused on the mission just as intensely as the next man, but they’d had no idea their horn dog, their jokester, their never-serious-a-hole was a bona fide hero.
“Hollywood received the Navy Cross,” Ruckus said. “When the leaders of both groups went down, he took over and saved the rest of the group.”
Each man knew what the Navy Cross stood for; the phrase “distinguish himself in action by extraordinary heroism” was part of the honor of receiving the medal. His face grew hot, which was so damned stupid and even more embarrassing. He’d done what needed to be done. End of story.
“There’s more,” Kat said, her voice going low and grim. “This man was also at the buy.” She clicked, and the photo flicked onto the screen. “This is Dr. Haaris Rafiq. He was educated here in the United States, attended Harvard. He’s brilliant and has been on the UN Board.”
“Educated in what?” Cowboy drawled.
“Nuclear engineering and physics.”
8
“So, we’re looking for nuclear triggers, financed by North Korea, in the hands of a fanatic in a war-torn country where they hate Americans. Isn’t that just peachy,” Cowboy said to Kat who was sitting two seats over from Wicked in the transport. Brandon, that a-hole, had sat between them and turned his back to Wicked, pointedly blocking any conversation with her. He laughed to himself. If he wanted to converse with Kat, he would. No high school bullshit from a morally bankrupt, every-man-for-himself egomaniac would change that.
“Another fine day ruined by adulthood,” Hollywood chimed in, but when Wicked looked over at him, he didn’t see the guy that had the ego of the century anymore. Hollywood was like him, flying under the radar, putting out a façade that covered up churning emotions underneath. Not that Wicked would ever admit to those. Just like his teammate, he would keep his own counsel instead of sharing unnecessary shit.
He looked at Kat again, and as if she felt his scrutiny, she turned her head. He met her gaze, and it was clear she wanted to rehash what had happened with Susan on the hospital balcony. He looked away, and she went back to the conversation.
It was all old news to him. He wasn’t going to let it bother him that his own mother was ashamed of her sons, believed that their sacrifice—Phoenix’s sacrifice—had been wasted. It was no surprise that she wished Wicked had died in his brother’s place.
Susan’s bitterness was deep and would hurt her much more than it hurt him.
Blue was on the other side of him, talking to Dragon, who was a welcome fill-in for Kid although no one could replace Kid Chaos. The atmosphere was always much lighter with that knucklehead along. Wicked leaned back, and the conversation drifted over him as he tried to fall asleep.
“…wedding preparations are in full swing.”
“Nice. How are you doing?”
“Good, for the most part. Charlie and I support each other, but we’re still healing. We’re living the hell out of our present and looking forward to the future.”
“That’s all you can do, man. Life goes on, and we either go with it, or get caught in the undertow.”
“Too true.”
“Where are you getting married?”
“Hawaii. Charlie’s parents are gone and it’s just her. She fell in love with my parents, our family home, and we’re going to bohemian that shit right on the beach, simple and sweet. You should come, if you can make it.”
“When?”
“Hopefully next month as long as I’m not deployed. We have a contingency plan if I am.”
“Good idea, and thanks, man. I’d like that.”
The next thing Wicked knew, they were landing and exiting the transport to black SUVs that would take them to the CIA compound.
Kat slipped into the seat next to him in the SUV, and he looked at her. “I want to talk to you later, after you get settled.”
“Kat—”
“It’s important, Rion, please.”
How could he say no? This was the first time in their relationship that she had said please in a way that made his heart melt.
Dammit.
“For the love of…all right.”
The vehicles took off, and she jostled against him several times over rough parts in the road. He steadied her, and his hand lingered longer than he meant to, aching to touch her bare skin. But nothing could come of it. Could it? They’d lapsed back at his apartment, lost their heads for a moment. His mind had been made up. He was transferring off the team.
His heart tightened, but he refused to give in to the emotions. They did make him weak. He just couldn’t work with Kat anymore, and they both knew it.
After this mission, he would talk to LT.
He turned his head, the view out of the window full of rolling grassland dotted with acacia, jackalberry, and candelabra trees. The grasses were tall and tan as they were at the end of the dry season, but the rainy season a couple of months away would turn them all green.
This was a beautiful land, but they had to be more than just aware of humans toting automatic weapons, shouting their doctrine, and using violence to force it into existence. There were big, dangerous cats, deadly snakes, and crocs here.
And one beautiful, sultry redhead who was going to drive him out of his mind if he wasn’t careful.
As they approached the compound, a pride of lions crossed the road with a large male in front and seven females trailing him, adolescent cubs and young ones stuck close to the females, a few brave ones gamboling around their back legs.
The CIA compound was located on the outskirts of Tiabu, the capital city founded by Brits looking to keep the riches of the land from other foreign interests and to colonize and economically exploit south-central Africa. But the country rebelled, and the Brits left the people to govern on their own. Tiabu was the leading political, financial, and communications center of the small sovereign state. The country traded in tobacco, maize, cotton, and citrus fruits. Manufacturing included textiles, steel, and chemicals, and diamond and gold mining were also profitable resources of the country.
With the influence of Busa Hamid, the city’s infrastructure and government had worsened over the years. The compound was situated at the extreme edge of the metropolis to afford the members a quick exit if relations with the government shifted or they were overthrown.
They passed sprawling Tiabu, and Wicked noted the quiet of the city this close to dawn. The caravan rumbled on until they turned down an unused paved road to a gate and twelve-foot concrete walls. The lead SUV with LT, Brandon, Cowboy, and Blue stopped at the gate. A man in plain clothes and a tac vest emerged and spoke to the driver for several minutes, then the gate opened, and they were waved through.
They entered the CIA compound, a large building in front of them which used to be a cotton mill with pre-fabbed barracks to the left. It was called Baffle Cotton after the founder, but the building had been abandoned ten years ago and the business relocated to the city proper in an area that was now known as the Cotton Sector.
Kat’s cell phone rang, and she answered. “Yes, Michael?” She listened for a few minutes and said, “Okay, I’ll meet you inside.”
Wicked looked over at her as she tucked her phone into her back pocket. “You know sleep is required for optimum performance,” he said. “It’s not a sin, Kat.”
“I’m aware. Just going to go over a few things. I can’t stand the idea of sending you guys into danger until I’m completely sure what we’re getting ourselves into.”
He so wanted to touch her, kiss her mouth, undo that messy braid of richly colored hair and simply get undone. The way she had held his face in his apartment stayed with him. He could almost feel her soft palms cupping him, holding him for her deliberate and sizzling kiss. Damn, if he didn’t stop this, he was going to be able to knock on some wood.
Everyone began to spill out of the SUVs, Brandon heading directly inside. He slipped out of the SUV as Kat pinned him with a direct look through the open door, her brows cocked. She said, “Later, Wicked.”
He gave her a curt nod, and she closed the door with a satisfied look on her face before she went after Brandon. They were most likely heading for TOC, the Tactical Operations Center located in the central part of the complex.
But where in the hell were Wicked and Kat headed?
Many hours later, Kat sat slumped in her chair, the fatigue getting to her. When she felt Michael’s hands on her shoulders and he began to knead them, Kat shifted away from his touch. She had zero interest in reviving anything between them. It was long over. She’d taken solace in him during the hunt for her dad and briefly after Phoenix died, but she had to acknowledge to herself, he had been nothing but a substitute for Wicked. A pale comparison if she was being honest.
Kat pushed away from the table and stood. “I’d rather you not touch me, Michael.”
“What?” His hopeful expression went slack, then regretful. “I thought we were pretty good together. We could be again.”
“That was a long time ago when I was raw about my dad and you knew so much about him. I was young and naïve. My heart isn’t open to something between us. I hope you can understand that.”
He gave her an easy-going smile and nodded. “Of course. I’m very fond of you, but I’ll honor your wishes. We’ll work together and nothing more. Get some rest, Kat. We’ll get back at it in the morning.”
“Thank you.” She picked up her sweatshirt and wrapped it around her waist, tying it tight. Turning to go, she had a thought that she’d wanted to talk to him about since they’d deplaned. “Oh, by the way, I’d like to get Jason Tiazerat on this. He speaks Swahili and the local language. He’d be invaluable here.”
Michael’s face went blank, and Kat’s gut twisted. Michael put on that expression when operatives were in trouble or—
“Kat…I guess you didn’t hear.”
“Hear what?” She hoped her suspicion wasn’t right. It couldn’t be.
“Jason’s dead. He was killed on a mission two weeks ago.”
Her hopes sank, her eyes moistening as she worked to absorb the suddenness of losing someone who was close to her. Again. “Oh, God. No. I just talked to him. What happened?”
“Sniper got him on a mission. We’re still looking into it.”
Floored, Kat sat back down. “That’s how Amanda was killed. This couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. Especially in light of the fact that I was ambushed, too.”
“Amanda could have given you up.”
Amanda hadn’t. That Kat was sure of. But she didn’t share that information with Michael. “Have you thought about the fact that we might be compromised somewhere?”
“I have, and I’ve got feelers out, but nothing concrete. Two murdered operatives have the director concerned. Although, he’s on his way out—”
“Right, he’s retiring. Are you up for the position?”
“No. I’m actually thinking about running for Congress. I think my bullshit factor would work best there.”
Michael was right. He’d fit perfectly into politics.
She smiled, but the shock of Jason’s death made it wan. “Good luck with that.” She rose again, resolved to find out who had been responsible for killing her friends as soon as this mission to apprehend Eze, the warhead, and the triggers, was complete.
Kat rolled her shoulders as she came out of the building. It was dark out, but the security lights were beaming bright, illuminating everything, including the guards at the gate. She rubbed at her arms and snagged the sweatshirt from around her waist, pulling it over her head. They were at the tail end of Mobutu’s winter, which was the reverse of North America and just ahead of the wet season.
She crossed the compound and pulled out her cell. She pressed in Wicked’s number and he answered immediately. “Hey,” he said, his voice a bit rough.
“Did you get any sleep?” she asked.
“Some,” he said, “but LT wanted us settled in first, and he wants us to know this area like we were born here. It’s been a long day.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, not about to let him out of their talk just because they were tired. It wouldn’t take long for her to say what she had to say. “No wiggling out of our discussion. Meet me at my quarters. It’s to the right of where yours are. The second door.”
She reached the correct structure and climbed the two stairs that led up to a door, pressing in her code. Opening it, she found her bags on the floor, a desk under the window, and a wide bed in the opposite corner of the room. Room enough for two.
She turned away from imagining Rion in the bed with her and pulled off her sweatshirt. Damn, she wanted a shower, but it was getting late. It was more important to her to talk to Wicked and get some sleep than shower. She’d eaten something one of the aides had brought to TOC from the mess, so she wasn’t at all hungry. At least for food.
She opened her laptop bag and set her computer on the desk. Sitting down in the chair, she opened it up and accessed the CIA network. She looked up Jason’s file and downloaded it to her computer, but before she could open it, the expected knock sounded.
Her heart jumped. Rising, she ran her hands over her jean-clad thighs, her stomach fluttering. She hadn’t allowed herself to even think of Wicked as someone she would get involved with, but things had so changed, she now had to let him know that. She had to because she couldn’t stop thinking about him, about Phoenix, and about her dark secrets where they were concerned.
She opened the door and Wicked stood there. Good God. She had to take a deep breath because this was the first time she let herself really take him in. Yeah, a scruffy Rion was something to behold. Beard stubble darkened his jaw; his hair was ruffled and framing his face. The angles of his features were sharp and strong with a fine nose, firm, sensuous mouth, that top lip so damn lickable. And those eyes, amber brown under dark lashes, clear, unwavering…fiercely focused on hers.
She used to think of them as knee-melting five years ago when his mental burden hadn’t been as heavy, but now they were soulful, lost somehow. She wanted him to find what he’d lost, and she wanted him to see her as someone to help him look—wanted him to want her help to look.
Damn. Her heart tumbled, free of the constraints she’d used to tie it down. Those eyes were so far from where he’d been back then. Now his gaze was piercing, fierce, and unnerving the hell out of her.
For a minute they just stood there staring at each other. Then she caught movement behind Wicked’s broad shoulder. It was Michael. He must have the room next to hers. Wicked looked back to see what she was looking at. Before he could say anything, she reached out and grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him inside.
They were both breathing hard, and it had nothing to do with being winded. He’d changed and, from the scent of him, showered. He’d ditched the civvies, looking tough and unapproachable in his tan operator shirt and camouflage pants, combat boots on his feet. That shirt hid nothing as it hugged his shoulders and stretched around his biceps. His face was set—God he hated Michael, especially when it came to her—his jaw hard, his body showing the barely leashed power and grace of every big bad SEAL who’d ever come out of BUD/S, except Wicked was a battle-hardened veteran. “I don’t give a damn what Brandon—”
She cut him off with a kiss. Wicked shuddered and made a low sound, his mouth hot and urgent against hers. The bolt of pure raw sensation knocked the wind out of her even more. He widened his mouth against hers, feeding on her need as she fed on his. She clutched at him, the movement welding their bodies together, two lost and tortured souls finally finding their way to each other.
“I don’t either,” she said, her mouth only a hairsbreadth away from his.
He groaned softly. “Dammit, Kat, you keep freaking doing that to me.” His mouth brushed hers, and she opened her lips as he slipped his tongue inside. Grasping her head, he shifted her as he fully covered her mouth in a hot, deep kiss, and she met him fully, moving against his mouth with an urgent hunger. It was too much—and not nearly enough as Wicked pressed her back against the desk. With one twisting motion, his hard heat was flush with hers. Grasping her butt, he thrust against her with an incoherent rush of words.
He wrenched away. “This is moving faster than I can think, Kat.”
“I know. It’s why I need to talk to you about Phoenix. About—”
“That’s all in the past. Shouldn’t we leave it there?”
“No. We can’t. We have to talk about this if we want…to move forward. I want to move forward.”
He swore and paced away from her, hitting the side of the door with the heel of his hand. “What is there to talk about? You were engaged to my brother! If he hadn’t died, you’d be married to him, probably with some kids by now.” The harshness in his tone was only softened by the torment in his eyes.
