Valentin (Bayou Brotherhood Protectors #6)

Chapter 1

Hiring on with the Jordanian camera crew as their interpreter hadn’t been all that difficult. With Jasmine Nassar’s ability to speak Arabic in a Jordanian dialect and also speak American English fluently, she’d convinced the Jordanian camera crew she had the experience they needed to handle the job. However, the resume she’d created, listing all the films she’d worked on, had probably lent more weight to their decision.

Not that she’d actually worked on any movie sets. Her ability to “be” anything she needed to be, to fit into any character or role, was a talent she exploited whenever needed since she’d been “released” from the Israeli Sayeret Matkal three years earlier.

Her lip curled. Released was the term her commanding officer had used. Forced out of the special forces unit was closer to the truth. All because of an affair she’d had with an American while she’d been on holiday in Greece. Because of that week in Athens, her entire life had upended, throwing her into survival mode for herself and one other—her entire reason for being. The reason she was in Jordan about to steal the ancient copper scroll.

The Americans arrived on schedule for the afternoon’s shoot at the Jordan Museum in Amman, Jordan. The beautiful film star Sadie McClain appeared with her entourage of makeup specialists, hairstylists, costume coordinators, and a heavy contingent of bodyguards, including her husband, former Navy SEAL Hank Patterson.

Sadie was in Jordan to film an action-adventure movie. All eyes would be on the beautiful blonde, giving Jasmine the distraction she’d need to achieve her goal.

Much like the movie heroine’s role, Jasmine was there to retrieve a priceless antique. Only where Sadie was pretending to steal a third-century BC map, Jasmine was there to take the one and only copper scroll ever discovered. The piece dated back to the first century AD, and someone with more money than morals wanted it badly enough he’d engaged Jasmine to attain it for him.

Up until the point in her life when she’d been driven out of her military career, she’d played by the rules, following the ethical and moral codes demanded by her people and her place in the military. Since the day she’d been let go with a dishonorable discharge, she’d done whatever it took to survive.

She’d been a mercenary, bodyguard, private investigator and weapons instructor for civilians wanting to know how to use the guns they’d purchased illegally to protect themselves from terrorist factions like Hamas.

Somewhere along the way, she must have caught the eye of her current puppet master. He’d done his homework and discovered her Achilles heel, then taken that weakness in hand and used it to make her do whatever he wanted her to do.

And she’d do it because he had her by the balls. He held over her head the one thing that would make her do anything, even kill.

Her contact had timed her efforts with the filming of the latest Sadie McClain blockbuster. The museum was closed to the public that afternoon but was filled with actors, makeup artists, cameramen, directors and sound engineers.

The American director had insisted on an interpreter, though Jasmine could have told him it was redundant as nearly half the population of Jordan spoke English. Part of the deal they’d struck with the Jordanian government had been to employ a certain percentage of Jordanian citizens during the production of the movie. An interpreter was a minor concession to the staffing and wouldn’t interfere with the rest of the film crew.

Plus, one inconsequential interpreter wouldn’t be noticed or missed when she slipped out with the scroll in hand.

For the first hour, she moved around the museum with the film crew, reaffirming the exits, chokepoints and, of course, the location of her target. She’d visited the museum days before as a tourist, slowly strolling through, taking her time to examine everything about the building that she could access, inside and out.

The scroll was kept in a climate-controlled room away from the main hallways and exhibits. Since the facility was closed to the public, there wouldn’t be anyone in the room.

While the crew set up for a scene with Sadie McClain, Jasmine slipped into the room to study the display cases once more.

The copper scroll had been cut into multiple pieces. Each piece had its own display case with a glass top, and each was locked. She’d brought a small file in the crossbody satchel she carried, along with a diamond-tipped glass cutter in the event the locks proved difficult. Cutting glass was the last resort. It would take too much time and could make too much noise if the glass shattered.

She’d honed her skills in picking locks and safecracking as a child, one of the many skills her mother had taught her. She’d insisted Jasmine be able to survive should anything ever happen to her parents.

Her mother had been orphaned as a small child in the streets of Athens. To survive, she’d learned to steal food and money, or valuables that could be sold for cash or traded for food.

From picking pockets and swiping food from stores and restaurants, she’d worked her way up to stealing jewelry, priceless antiques and works of art from the rich all around the Mediterranean. She’d used her beauty and ability to quickly learn new languages to her advantage, infiltrating elite societal circles to divest the rich and famous of some of their wealth.

She’d gone from a starving, barefoot child, wearing rags in the streets of Athens, to a beautiful young woman, wearing designer clothes and shoes and moving among the who’s who of the elite.

Her life had been what she’d made of it until she’d met Jasmine’s father, a sexy, Israeli Sayeret Matkal soldier, at an Israeli state dinner attended by wealthy politicians, businessmen and their wives. She’d just stolen a diamond bracelet from the Israeli prime minister’s wife.

The special forces soldier outfitted in his formal uniform had caught her with the diamond bracelet in her pocket and made her give it back as if the woman had dropped it accidentally.

Rather than turn her in for the theft, he’d kept her close throughout the evening, dancing with her and pretending she was just another guest.

Her mother had fallen for the handsome soldier and agreed to meet him the next day for coffee. Less than a month later, they’d married.

For love, her mother had walked away from her life as a thief to be a wife and mother. But she’d never forgotten the hard lessons she’d learned on the streets. She’d insisted her daughter learn skills that could mean the difference between independence and dying of starvation or being reliant on someone who didn’t give a damn about her health or happiness.

Her mother had taught her what school hadn’t, from languages, dialects and staying abreast of the news to learning skills like picking locks, safe cracking, picking pockets and hacking into databases for information. She’d learned skills most parents didn’t teach their children or warned their children to avoid.

Jasmine had earned her physical capabilities from her father. As an only child, she’d been the son her father never had. As an elite Sayeret Matkal, her father had kept his body in top condition. Jasmine had worked out at home with him and matched his running pace, determined to keep up with the father she loved so fiercely.

He’d taught her how to use a variety of weapons and the art of defending herself when she had no weapons at all. Because of her dedication to conditioning, her hand-to-hand combat skills and her ability to speak multiple languages, when she’d joined the Israeli military, she’d been accepted into Sayeret Matkal training soon after.

After the Athens affair and her subsequent release from the elite forces, she’d continued her training.

Now, due to circumstances out of her immediate control, she was on the verge of stealing from a museum the priceless copper scroll the Jordanians were so proud of.

Her jaw hardened. If she had to steal every last item in the museum, she would—anything to get Eli back alive.

She pulled the file from her satchel, glanced toward the room’s entrance and then bent to stick the file into the little keyed lock. She fiddled with the lock until she tripped the mechanism, and the lock clicked open.

Jasmine tested the case top by lifting it several inches and then easing it back down. One down, several more to go. She’d work them a few at a time. When she had all the locks disengaged, she’d take the scroll and walk out of the museum or leave with the Jordanian film crew.

She cringed at the thought of waiting for the crew to head home. They could be there well into the night, filming take after take until they perfected the sequences.

No, she’d head out as soon as she could. She had a deadline she would not miss—could not miss—if she wanted to see Eli again.

Jasmine jimmied the locks on a few more of the displays and then returned to where the crew was staging the next scene with Sadie McClain.

In the shadow of a statue, one of Sadie’s bodyguards shifted, his eyes narrowing. He wore a baseball cap, making it difficult to see his face.

Something about the way he held himself, the line of his jaw and the dark stubble on his chin struck a chord of memory in Jasmine. A shiver of awareness washed over her. She hurried past him without making eye contact.

When she looked back, the space where he’d been standing was empty.

Jasmine shook off a feeling of déjà vu and stood near the Jordanian camera crew, interpreting when needed but basically remaining quiet and out of the way.

With the preparations for the big scene complete, the camera crews stood ready for the director to shout action .

All other personnel were to move out of the line of sight of the cameras. This gave Jasmine the opportunity to slip back into the room with the copper scroll. When she heard the director shout, “ Action, ” Jasmine went to work quickly and efficiently, lifting the tops off the glass cases one at a time, wrapping each piece of the copper scroll in a soft swatch of fabric she’d brought in her satchel, handling them carefully so as not to break the fragile copper.

Jasmine placed each piece inside a box she’d designed specifically for transporting the delicate scroll. Once all the pieces were stored, she closed the box and slid it into her satchel.

Taking the extra time, she returned all the tops of the glass cases to their original positions so they wouldn’t draw attention until a museum employee just happened to notice the cases were empty. That should buy her time to get the items out of the museum and out of Jordan before anyone became suspicious.

With her satchel tucked against her side, Jasmine hurried out of the room. At that moment, the director yelled, “Cut!” He motioned to the film crews and gave orders to the American and Jordanian cameramen.

Some of the Jordanians looked around for their interpreter.

Ready to get the hell out of the museum, Jasmine had no choice but to approach the cameramen and provide the necessary translation for the director. All the while, her hand rested on her satchel, anxiety mounting. The longer she stayed in the museum, the greater the chance of someone discovering the copper scroll was missing.

Short of racing out of the building and drawing attention to herself, she remained, forcing a calm expression on her face when inside she was ready to scream. A life depended on her getting out of the museum and delivering the scroll—Eli’s life.

Ace Hammerson—Hammer back in his Navy days—thought he recognized the interpreter as soon as she’d stepped through the museum doors with the Jordanian camera crew. The more he studied her, the more he was convinced it was her.

Jasmine .

The woman with whom he’d spent an amazing week in Athens. A week he could never forget.

Had it really been four years?

Granted, she looked different from the last time he’d seen her. She’d changed. Her dark hair peeked out from beneath the black scarf she wore over her head and draped around her shoulders. Her curves were hidden beneath a long black tunic and black trousers. Her face was a little thinner, but those full, rosy lips and her eyes gave her away. There was no mistaking the moss green irises that had captivated him from the first time he’d met her at an outdoor café in the Monastiraki district of Athens.

He'd come to Antica Café on a recommendation from a buddy who’d been there a year earlier. The place had been packed, with no empty tables left. Tired and hungry after the twenty-hour journey from San Diego to Athens, he’d just wanted to eat, find his hotel and crash.

Rather than look for a less crowded café, he’d looked for an empty seat. A beautiful woman sat in a far corner, a book in her hand, enjoying a cup of expresso. Ace had approached, hoping she wouldn’t blow him off, and asked if she spoke English.

She’d looked up at him with those amazing green eyes and smiled. In that moment, he’d felt a stirring combination of lust, longing and... strangely...homecoming wash over him. It could have been exhaustion, but more than hunger made him want to join this woman at her table.

She spoke English with a charming accent he couldn’t place as either Greek or Arabic. When he’d asked if he could share her table, she’d tilted her head and stared at him with slightly narrowed eyes before finally agreeing with a relaxed smile.

That had been the beginning of the most incredible week of his life. His only regret was that he’d had to go back to work after that week. Before he’d had time to look her up, based on the phone number she’d given him, he’d deployed for several months to Afghanistan, where the mission had been so secret, they’d gone incommunicado to avoid any leaks.

By the time he’d returned to his home base, her number had been disconnected.

He hadn’t known where to begin looking for her. In all their conversations, she’d barely revealed much about her life other than both her parents were dead, having been killed in a Hamas strike in Israel.

Because of her reference to her parents being killed in a Hamas strike, he’d assumed she was from Israel. She’d talked about her mother having been from Greece and her father from Israel. Like him, her father had been on vacation in Athens when he’d met her.

Ace had searched for her online, hoping to find out something about her whereabouts, but failed miserably. On his next vacation, he’d gone back to Greece, to the same restaurant where they’d met, hoping by some strange coincidence he’d find her there. He’d walked the same paths they’d walked through the city, looking for her. He’d stayed in the same hotel where they’d stayed, even insisting on the same room.

She hadn’t been there. He’d gone to Tel Aviv and talked with some acquaintances he’d met during joint training exercises with the Israeli military. They hadn’t heard of her.

As many people as there were in Israel, Ace hadn’t expected to find her just by asking around. But he’d hoped that the same magic that had brought them together the first time would help him find her again. After a year, he’d admitted defeat and tried to forget her.

That had never happened. Every woman he’d dated after Jasmine had never sparked in him the fire and desire he’d felt with the woman he’d met in Athens.

Now, here he was, freshly out of the military, working with Hank Patterson and his team of Brotherhood Protectors in Amman, Jordan. Nowhere near Athens and four years after that fated affair, she walked back into his life.

New to the Brotherhood Protectors, Ace had agreed to accompany Hank and members of his team to Jordan to provide security for the film crew and actors who were friends of Hank’s wife, Sadie McClain, on her latest movie set. He’d be an extra, there to observe one of the team’s assignments.

They didn’t always provide security for film crews, but since significant unrest existed in the countries surrounding the relatively stable Jordan, the film producers and studio had budgeted for a staff of security specialists.

Hank had worked with the studio and cut them a deal to ensure his people provided security for his wife and the crew there to make movie magic. Brotherhood Protectors were the most qualified to provide the safety net they might need if fighting spilled over the borders from countries surrounding Jordan.

Though he’d been excited and curious about the mechanics of making a movie, Ace’s attention had shifted the moment Jasmine entered the museum.

His gaze followed her as she moved among the Jordanian film crew, standing between Americans and Jordanians, interpreting instructions when needed.

As the camera crew set up, Jasmine left them to wander around the museum, looking at ancient artifacts on display. At one point, she disappeared into a side room and remained gone for several minutes.

Ace started to follow when Hank approached him. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Ace nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Hank grinned. “I never imagined the amount of people it takes to produce a film until I accompanied Sadie on set for the first time.”

Though Ace would rather focus his attention on Jasmine’s movements, he gave his new boss all his attention. “I never realized there was so much involved.”

“Right? It takes an incredible amount of coordination to set up a gig like this, from securing a location to getting permission, in this case, from the government to film here, to transporting all the equipment. Not to mention hiring people to do all aspects, including lighting, sound, video, makeup and costumes.”