Chapter 3
3
“Well, broker a deal to get our weapons back.” She smiled softly. “How are you with accents?”
“I speak most languages, and I probably can manage an accent. What one are we talking about?”
“Australian.”
“Right. That’s one of the easier ones for me.” The Aussie accent was a more nasal, slower pace of speaking than an American accent. He could only describe it as a Texas/cowboy version of a British accent. His teammates all stared at him as the flavor of the accent came through his words. Bailee smiled.
“I’m not at all disappointed, Mr. Nolan.”
“D-Day,” he said. Then he pointed to his teammates. “Zorro, Bear, Buck, Professor, Joker, Gator, and Blitz.”
She nodded in understanding, her gaze lingering a tad longer on Bear.
She cleared her throat. “Now that it’s settled. Let’s talk about Graham Butler.”
“Our gunrunner.”
“One and the same. He has an international reputation, is mean as a junkyard dog, no moral compass, and he’s renowned for brokering deals with the worst scum on the planet for any weapon that will turn him a profit. He is very much a bottom-line guy.”
D-Day nodded. “And what if Mr. Butler shows up and takes issue with me impersonating him?”
“That won’t happen. We killed Mr. Butler in a botched takedown where we wanted him alive, but he was adamant about keeping his freedom. He’s not going to show up anywhere, and his death is under wraps. We have his phone, passport, and credit cards.” She set down the file and pressed her hands against the table. “Who might challenge you would be anyone who knows him. That could be the problem. He’s not well-liked, and he has enemies. You’ll need to watch your back.”
“He won’t even have to look over his shoulder,” Zorro said. “We’ll be taking care of his back.” Anger rose up, not at Zorro’s confident words, but at D-Day’s guilt in doubting his teammates for one moment. Just the thought of what he had gone through, what they had all gone through to be part of this community, made him swallow hard. There was no escaping that feeling—the feeling of brotherhood and what it meant…the blood, sweat, and tears endured to earn such a weighty and beloved burden—the privilege of living and fighting next to them. He wanted it not to be as difficult as it was, but the past died hard, and the lessons he’d learned squirmed through him, making him feel like such an asshole. One more thing that made him feel so damned unworthy.
She smiled. “Once again, I’ve chosen the right team.” Maybe so, but had she gotten the right man? He clenched his jaw tight and fought back a flood of emotion. Sure, he was good with the accent, and he would do anything to serve his country, especially when it came to the kind of weapons that could come back at them. It was a no-brainer.
She picked up the file, perused it, and said, “You’ll have about twenty-four hours to get acquainted with Graham. I have videos you can study.” He nodded. “The meet is with Oscar Castillo and Hugo Sequera, two low-level hustlers who happened to score the weapons from the thieves.” She produced two pictures, one of an older man with gray hair, Hugo, with a face that looked like the world was hanging on his shoulders, and the other, Oscar, was straight up a punk kid, brash looking, with a chip on his shoulder. “The ATF has already made those arrests but kept Castillo and Sequera in play until we find out where they are keeping the weapons, and we definitely don’t want them out in the open market, and definitely not in the hands of some big players.”
“Copy that,” D-Day said. The mission was set, and he was going to play a primary role. With one look from Joker, he had to think if he was in the right mind space for this type of mission. Fuck it. He would step up to the plate. There was no argument he could make against taking on this man’s identity. As Bailee had said, she had chosen the right team.
The moonlit, prehistoric look of the jungle and a half dozen grungy men surrounded by torches seemed like a scene out of a movie, but this wasn’t Hollywood, this was Realityville, and he was the fucking mayor.
“So, we have a deal, mate,” D-Day said, not bothering to bat the flies away from his face. Aussies were used to them; they permeated the country, and it would look strange if he reacted.
“We do.”
Off to the side, he heard Castillo distinctly say, “We got what we wanted for the nuclear triggers. They paid up even when we raised the price.”
D-Day shifted his shoulders, knowing that both Buck and Zorro were behind him, but probably out of earshot.
Fucking nuclear triggers ? What the fuck? How the hell had they gotten their hands on that tech, and who the hell had they sold them to? This simple gun buy had turned into something much more complicated.
“Hugo, Hugo,” D-Day said with a tsk tsk in his voice. “I thought we were in business together.”
Hugo frowned, then gave him an apprehensive smile. “We are, amigo. We can meet at the location of the guns. You bring the diamonds, and we’ll get the transaction completed.”
“Right, mate. That’s a done deal. What I’m talking about is nuclear triggers.”
“What the hell did you just say?” Bailee’s voice sounded off in his earpiece.
Hugo shot an angry and panicked look toward his stupid partner, his lip thinning. “That’s not part of our deal, Graham.”
D-Day reached out and set his hand on Hugo’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, then his hand tightened, and Hugo winced from the pain. The motion drew the attention of the men circling the group. Weapons lifted a little higher, eyes narrowed. D-Day smirked and gave his back-the-fuck-off stare. His buddies behind him, and the rest of the team in the jungle, including their capable snipers, Professor and Gator, were all the backup he needed. He also had a full clip in his Glock. Locked and loaded. “I want the triggers.”
Hugo released a nervous laugh. “They’re not for sale.” He winced again as D-Day’s hand got more punishing. Oscar realized something was up. He looked toward D-Day and his pal and shook his head.
“I won’t take no for an answer,” D-Day growled, his face contorting in mock anger.
“What are you doing?” Bailee said, low and firm. “We need the location of those weapons. Stop pushing them and secure that deal, then we can talk about triggers once they’re in custody.”
Joker’s voice came over the comms. “Do as she says, D-Day. We got the intel regarding the triggers. We won’t let that drop. Wrap this up.”
“Let’s quit fucking around with this asshole,” Oscar said. His eyes turned hot and angry.“We don’t need him getting involved with our business dealings. We talk about clients and renege on deals, and we’ll be out of business or dead.” He strode up to D-Day and got in his face. “You want the weapons or not? That’s all we’re offering right now.”
“Oscar, take it easy. This is?—”
D-Day moved, grabbing the man by the throat and shoving him against the parked jeep to his left, reacting exactly how Graham Butler would respond to being insulted. Oscar’s body locked with tension. D-Day could smell it. “Don’t talk to me like that, mate,” he said in a conversational tone, murder in his eyes. “Have some respect or I’ll rip out your tongue and clean my boots with it. We straight, amigo?”
Oscar’s eyes narrowed, his face hot with frustration. It was clear he was pissed, but he was more interested in finishing this deal than he was about his machismo. It was clear they wanted to unload these American weapons. In the big scheme of things, not many guys liked being on the US’s radar.
Suddenly a shot sounded in the jungle, and the next thing D-Day knew, Oscar was dead at his feet, his hand on his weapon. Men were shouting accusations, then policía , and gunfire erupted. Damn, the PNB. D-Day looked around for Hugo, but he’d rabbited into the dense underbrush.
Bailee was shouting in his ear, and he took off after Hugo, pulling his Glock, batting away the underbrush as he ran full out. The man ran as if he’d practiced this escape route, and hell, he probably had. What he hadn’t anticipated was that a Navy SEAL would be on his ass, and it was futile to try to get away.
He scanned the area for movement as he slowed and opened his senses. Off to his left the bushes moved, and he aimed and pulled off two shots. One of Oscar’s thugs crashed to the ground.
He was close, the hair on the back of his neck lifting like that of a wolf who had scented his prey. Above the treetops, monkeys swung against the wan light of the moon, their simian shapes black against the star-studded sky. Below the canopy, trapped moisture and air were like a wet vise. Sweat trailed down his temples, down his back as he stepped carefully over dead logs. Hugo came at him, and D-Day easily ducked the heavy branch he swung at his head. He holstered his Glock, the next swing wild, and he caught the branch, yanked it out of Hugo’s grasp, slammed it into his chest, and knocked the man to the ground. He threw the branch away, advanced on him, turned him over, and zip-tied his wrists.
An hour later, they had the address for the US weapons and Oscar and Hugo’s large inventory. Bailee had been very persuasive.
“The nuclear triggers were already sold. Hugo said they’re on their way to the Philippines.” She took a hard breath. “It’s not good. We’ve heard rumors that the New People’s Army wants to decimate the government and any of their allies. Specifically, they want to use them…on American assets in the country.”
Who the hell are the buyers?” D-Day asked.
“Some twin warlords…Taer and Lando Ambong.”
Outside of Manila, the Philippines.
Helen wiped the sweat off her brow, eyeing the leader of their medical group, Doctors for the World, Dr. Greg Matthews. He was a strong, firm professional, a brilliant surgeon, a keen negotiator, courageous to a fault, and intent on saving lives by any means possible. He was also her former lover. Once she met and started sleeping with Andrew “D-Day” Nolan, Buck’s very gorgeous and intriguing teammate, her interest in other men had gone to nil. Greg was still dealing with their breakup, but even though Helen knew that there was no future with Drew, she couldn’t seem to move on.
Drew had made that clear not only by his silence for the last six months but by his avoidance of her family. Where once he had been a frequent visitor, getting down and dirty with her brothers, his absence now left a hole in their family dynamic, and she had to shoulder the lion’s share of that responsibility for driving him away.
She literally couldn’t keep her hands off him—or her eyes, her mouth, or any part of her. He was like an intoxicating drug, and it didn’t matter whether he was far or close, she felt the effects of her attraction to him every moment of every day. She prayed that it would abate, but the weight of him sat on her heart and made her hurt and hurt, ache and ache. It was pure torture.
Her vision blurring, Helen swallowed hard, guilt welling up inside her. D-Day had been trying to be noble and stick to his tried-and-true SEAL laws. He was a man torn, tortured. The recognition made her chest ache even worse, the pain blinding her. She tried to put things back in perspective because going over this again wasn’t productive. And it wasn’t as if she could do anything to make it right. The damage was done, and they had crossed lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.
As if that thought opened a forbidden door in her mind, a recollection swamped her, blocking out everything else. And in living detail, she suddenly recalled that damn day he’d come into the barn where she was hiding out so that she could cry like she needed to over the deaths of her friends and colleagues. She remembered it as if it was happening all over again, how wonderful it had felt to be held by him. How hard his body was, how the scent of the outdoors, horses, and sweat had become so much a part of him. How their bodies had fused together, and how his strength and warmth wrapped around her, making her feel more protected than she had ever felt in her entire life. And she remembered how she wanted to hang on and never let go. She recalled the warmth of his breath against her temple, the weight of his arms, and the feel of all that power in her hands. The man had the most breathtaking body roped with so many delicious muscles that it should be illegal. But it was his heart, his generosity, his depth of compassion that had swamped her even more than his physicality. Beneath all that tough, steely, quiet warrior was a sweetness that beckoned her beyond her ability to refuse.
Several sharp words knocked her out of her thoughts, and restless murmurs began rumbling through the group like distant thunder. Weapons bristled, eyes hardening. Greg was negotiating with several thugs, two of whom looked like young Genghis Khans, identical twins, one in a Rolling Stones T-shirt and olive-green shorts and the other in a Save The Whales shirt, most of the words covered by two bandoliers crisscrossing his chest, and black shorts, and Greg was losing his momentum, losing his hold on them.
They were in this country to make a difference. This beautiful, dangerous place. The Philippines was an archipelago consisting of just over seven thousand islands, with three main islands: Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao. It was bounded by the South China Sea to the west, the Philippines Sea to the east, sharing maritime borders with Taiwan, Japan, Palau, and Indonesia, filled with a rich diversity of ethnicities and cultures. It was on the fringes of the Pacific Ring of Fire with frequent seismic and volcanic activity with five active volcanoes.
They landed in Manila a week ago and went straight to Metropolitan Medical Center where they were going to partner with Filipino doctors in a collaborative effort. Their hosts and in-country partners, led by Drs. Bayani Aquino and Jaslene Bacunawa bestowed on them the warmest welcome, a great contrast to the shifting, suspicious eyes and flat expressions of these men. There had been a short symposium, and it had been wonderful to meet so many members of the medical community who cared as much as they did and shared their work.
Dark hair tied back, very attractive with his sharp features, Taer and Lando Ambong were as handsome as they were lethal, but they left her cold, especially Taer. What was in his eyes was the true story. Calculating, suspicious, enterprising, the eyes of a killer looked back. And he seemed to like looking at her—a lot. She guessed she was an anomaly in this country, a white woman with blonde hair, and she stood out in most places.
Helen went still. His eyes met hers, and a chill of foreboding swept over her skin despite the heat. If this had been anywhere else, the whole process would feel as natural as a handshake. Reciprocity, a tradition that was universal, was anything but among these cutthroats. She took in the young leader’s countenance and decided that his offers of aid came with invisible strings attached, and he mocked them, knowing that these Americans had no clue what it would cost them.
He cast a glance at his men, then back to Greg. The tension mounted, and then Taer laughed, grinning at Greg like a long- lost brother. Greg was too shrewd to fall for that, projecting a mixture of cynicism and satisfaction that things were evening out. His main concern was getting to underserved populations.
The government of the Philippines faced some key challenges regarding their health system that impeded their ability to provide quality, accessible, and equitable care. With a global health crises and natural disasters, weak health systems performance, and gaps in the continuum of care, underserved populations continued to suffer from a high prevalence of tuberculosis—including multi-drug-resistant TB, a concentrated HIV epidemic, rising infectious disease outbreaks—including measles, dengue, and zoonotic diseases, high unmet needs for family planning, high teenage pregnancy rates, and preventable maternal and newborn deaths.
The journey here had been an adventure, with a dawn departure by van to this rendezvous point by the side of the road. The spot marked the start of a rough dirt track that couldn’t be traversed in vehicles. That’s the entrance that would lead them to the village they wanted to get to, across land that was controlled by these men—drug runners, rebels, thieves? She couldn’t be sure which, and she didn’t really care. They had their own mission, and it trumped drugs, war, and gold—old supply and demand.
Underneath the towering canopy, the air hung, and in the darkened jungle it dripped with humidity. It was so green, went on for miles and miles in such a tree-, flower- and plant-rich wall of diversity, it felt like she was in a perpetual atrium. So freaking beautiful, though, and filled with palms, ferns, and breathtaking orchids, and dozens of flowers and flowering bushes, along with hundreds of different birds, unique mammals, including a giant flying fox, a type of fruit bat.Rural, vast stretches of jungle between cities, towns, and villages.
“How long do you think we’re going to have to stand around while he negotiates everything with our…uh…hosts?” Monique Allard, a very competent RN from Minnesota Falls, Minnesota, asked, her dark, curly hair escaping its tight confines. Her name might be very French, but her charming Minnesotan accent was pure American.
“By the looks of these guys, I’d say some time. These islands are full of these types of men—ruthless, caring about nothing but their damn bottom line.”
“It never fails to annoy me that we get such animosity when we’re just here to help people. That’s it. Our mission, in two succinct words, and we get nothing but pushback. It’s not like we’re trying to change their culture or religion.”
“No, but we’re Americans, and that’s enough to put us in the suspicious column.”
Monique moved, and one of the tall, lean Asian rebels brought up his gun. She held up her hands and, in her no-nonsense voice, intoned in Filipino, a standardized version of Tagalog, “I’m just getting a drink.”
He relaxed his stance, and she grabbed two bottles of water from a cooler in the back of the van they were using to try to get to some villagers for simple medical treatments and handed one to Helen.
The Ambong twins laid down some more stipulations that Greg agreed to, and finally they were moving toward that dirt track. She was still feeling the effects of those memories of D-Day, and along with this volatile situation, left her with a feeling as if she had an overdose of adrenaline racing around inside her. She attacked the ground with her sturdy boots, unable to fully shut out her emotions regarding D-Day. A strange hollowness settled in her chest. It was a feeling she really couldn’t define. As if she had missed out on something—or lost something very rare and special. Something that was really not hers to lose.
Letting her breath go in a rush, Helen navigated the overgrown, treacherous path, her heart pounding in her chest. Realizing she was going places in her mind that she had no business going, she took a deep, uneven breath and held it, forcibly pulling herself together. What was she doing? She exhaled and kept moving.
She abruptly tripped and almost fell, but not before Taer grabbed her arm. Her head shot up, shocked by him touching her. The people here were always so respectful of personal space.
He righted her, giving her the few moments she needed to get her balance back. His eyes went over her face, and he smiled. “You are beautiful woman,” he said, his voice a rasp.
“Thank you,” she said simply. Now let me go or you’re going to be singing soprano , she thought.
“Taer.” Greg’s voice was even but sharp. “Hands off my people,” he said, and that was nonnegotiable.
His eyes flicked to Greg, then back to her, that age-old rivalry between males who wanted the same woman. If she remembered correctly, in nature, it was often a brutal and violent clash. His dark eyes narrowed dangerously, so intense it cut off her breath for a second. But he let her go—for now, and that chill intensified, as his eyes seemed to take on a demon glow in the shadows.
After an hour of walking, they reached the small village, and Helen, Monique, and the two doctors started to assess the villagers’ health. She was caught up for most of the day. When it was time to go back to Manila, Helen stepped out of the makeshift tent they had erected, promising to return the next day.
As she started for the path, she slowed, noticing some men off to her left. They were clearly arguing, and her senses heightened. Her eyes went over the rough-looking male, and she froze in her tracks.
She knew him. Knew those breathtaking angular features, that tall, lean build. She would know that body anywhere; not many men had such a cut and honed musculature. She could see the play of corded muscles in his shoulders, back, and arms, his skin glistening with sweat, delineating every hard line of him from the bulge in his biceps and the strength in his forearms.
D-Day.
Andrew Nolan.
Drew.
Too easily, she recalled how all that firm skin felt beneath her hands, along with the heat and strength inherent in every inch of his body as he moved over her, inside her.
That stir of longing never went away when it came to this man, the tug and pull of desire deep inside of her was as natural as the wind and sky.
A breeze fluttered across the village, ruffling his long, golden hair around his head and at the back of his neck. Those thick strands, she knew, were silky soft as they sifted through her fingers, and it had been much too long since she’d enjoyed that tactile treat. Much too long since D-Day had allowed her to get close enough to touch him in any way that was intimate.
She wanted him to realize that what they had could overcome what he feared. But it had been six months of silence.
So, fate had stepped in? Was that how it was possible he was here in the same orbit as she was? In this shadowed, chaotic place, it seemed that anything was possible. She pulled in a hard breath. What was a Navy SEAL doing here, dressed in a white T-shirt, and a pair of sinfully tight jeans? She shivered, as tension crawled over her. Her heart thudded to a frantic, rhythmic beat.
They were surrounded in this wild, untamed land by very dangerous men, and she was quite aware that any type of recognition of him would put not only him at risk, but her medical team as well. He must be on a mission. He had to be.
At just that moment, the argument ended, and he turned toward her, every intense, scruffy, threatening inch of him with his unabashed confidence, and reckless aggression. Their eyes met, those hard eyes that missed nothing. His hair was much longer, but his deep soulful eyes were the same, a simmering blue that reached out and captured her as easily as she drew breath.
Even with the distance separating them, she could see the wanting, the aching hunger, the explosion of fear, and the excruciating pain in his expression. Her heart raced with the same emotions.
Then those beautiful eyes blanked out as if she was nothing but a stranger.