Chapter Twenty-Nine
Calista Ventura
Three weeks later
Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates
“It’s time for you to call Saint and his team.”
Even though Tom couldn’t see me, since he was three thousand miles away and we were speaking on the phone, I still rolled my eyes at his use of Pete’s real name. For some reason—and I hadn’t asked—Tom didn’t like calling Pete ‘Pete.’
“I already told you, Mason Hughes is going to be a problem. I don’t want him involved.”
That was the lie I’d told Tom on the plane out of Mexico, when I’d adamantly turned down his suggestion to ask Mason and his team to help me.
The lie wasn’t that Mason was going to be a problem because he was going to dig through my past, my present, and he’d find out who I really was and who I really worked for.
The true problem was I found him attractive—in the I-wanted-to-jump-his-bones kind of way.
And the more he irritated me, the more I wanted to bang him.
Which in my estimation was the definition of insanity.
Or maybe it was unhealthy. Though I wasn’t sure I even knew what healthy was.
After Liliya was taken, my life had spiraled into a tangled mess of dysfunction and grief.
“There’s nothing for him to find.”
“Be that as it may, Tom, I don’t want—”
“I’m not asking, Calli,” Tom interrupted me. “Your choices are call Saint or I’m pulling you.”
The asshole would pull me out of some foolish sense of obligation to my father.
“I think you’ve paid your debt to my father tenfold.
You don’t need to keep riding in to the rescue every time you think danger’s close.
” I’d shocked the man into silence. I took a second to savor the moment.
“And just as a reminder, I didn’t need help back in Mexico.
I’d gotten myself out of that situation just fine and got us the authorization to go after Ahmad Sindi. ”
Still nothing.
“Tom, did I lose you?”
“How long have you known?”
“Since my father confessed all on his deathbed with a warning and instructions what to do if I was ever approached by the Irish.”
Tom had nothing to say to that.
“How’s Diane?”
Thankfully, Tom had something to tell me about my friend.
“She’s in Upstate New York with a friend of mine who’s taking care of her.”
Thank God for that.
“And the charges against me? Where are you with that?”
“We’re not done discussing your current situation.”
We were.
I wasn’t calling Saint.
“Tell me what you’re doing to clear my name?”
“They have your DNA, Calli.”
I knew they did. I’d stupidly broken a window.
“Don’t feed me some line of bullshit. The rich and powerful have been getting away with murder since the beginning of time.
The Agency cannot expect to send me out to do their dirty work but turn it off when I’m stateside.
He was raping her, Tom. What did they expect me to do?
Stand outside and call nine-one-one? Wait for the police to arrive while she endured more?
Then watch him get off on some bullshit technicality because he’s rich and powerful, which means he gets a free pass?
I call bullshit on that. I saved the taxpayers money on a trial, and if by some miracle he was convicted, I saved them money housing and feeding that monster.
They owe me a thank-you, not murder charges. ”
“I don’t disagree, but . . .”
I stopped listening. My attention was pulled to the street below and the silver Maybach rolling to a stop at the valet stand. I would’ve preferred a sea-view room at the Park Hyatt, however, the room I was in with the view of the parking area was tactically the better option.
“I have to go. Amir is here.”
“Twenty-four-hour check-ins,” he demanded. “No excuses.”
I swallowed my snarky retort.
I had work to do.
“Bye, Tom.”
I disconnected.
Checked my hair on the way past the mirror and left my hotel room.
I did this wondering what Mason was doing, and if I called him to ask for his help, if I could keep my hands to myself.
Probably not.
I’d be begging him for a quick and dirty romp before the first twenty-four hours was up.
Damn.
Mason Hughes
Four weeks home from Mexico
Downrange Ranch
“I think you’re cheating,” Ryan groused as he handed over three ten-dollar bills to Cat.
“Loser!” Fallon called out from the chair next to me.
I took a swig from my beer and for once kept my mouth shut. I was enjoying the show too much to interject.
The day was warm, the sun was shining, the sound of rapid gunfire not aimed at me was the perfect lullaby to help me relax.
“Rematch?” Cat offered for the fourth time.
Ryan nodded, and the shooters moved away from the match stage to the table with their ammo. Pete ambled out to the targets and placed stickers over the holes in the paper target while Jack reset the steel.
“What’s up with you?” Fallon asked.
“Nothing, why?”
“You’ve missed numerous golden opportunities to bust Ryan’s balls, and you’re sitting quietly.”
“You’ve got it handled,” I reminded him.
My friend narrowed his eyes.
“Are you sick? You never miss an opportunity to flap your gums.”
“What are you, seventy-two? No one says that anymore.”
“That’s not an answer,” he pointed out.
Maybe not, but I didn’t have an answer for him. At least not one that made sense. Something had felt off since we’d come home from Mexico. Like there was a disturbance in the Force. Like there was unfinished business out there, and it was making me antsy.
“Just enjoying watching Ryan embarrass himself.”
Fallon didn’t look like he bought my excuse, but thankfully he dropped the subject.
Pete and Jack came back from cleaning up the range just as Cat was making her way to the starting box. The stage was simple, with a mix of paper and steel. Ryan should’ve been running circles around Cat’s time. But true to her word, the woman was damn fast and accurate.
Jack stopped behind Cat, glanced behind him, taking a visual account of everyone.
One could never be too careful when playing with guns.
“Range hot,” Jack loudly called out. “Shooter ready?”
Cat’s hand hovered just above her holster.
“Ready,” she confirmed.
“Stand by.”
A moment later, the beep of the timer Jack was holding went off. A millisecond after that, Cat pulled her Glock from her Kydex holster—the draw so smooth and so fast, if I’d blinked, I would’ve missed it.
She double-tapped the first paper target, ran to the next station, leaned to the side to get a clean sight picture of the steel, and plinked each of the five down lightning quick.
Without lowering her weapon, she released a mag, let it fall to the dirt, tipped her Glock to the right while her left hand pulled a new mag from her belt.
She shoved it in, straightened the gun, and resumed firing, executing a perfect combat reload.
“Damn, that reload was quick,” Fallon mumbled my thought.
Watching her move through the stations was impressive as fuck. Every step she took purposeful, there was no wasted movement or breaths, and she counted her bullets like a pro, making sure she was never without ammo for the shots she needed to take.
Cat knocked down the last steel target and Jack stopped the clock to call out her time.
“Fastest run yet,” he proudly announced.
Cat tipped her head back and beamed a megawatt smile at her man.
An emotion I’d never felt before slithered up my spine and made my gut uneasy. An emotion that felt a lot like jealousy. It wasn’t that I’d never had a woman look at me like that. It was that one had never looked at me with so much love and actually meant it.
Love was a bullshit farce unless it was Catarina Keys beaming a smile at her man.
Then I believed it. Or it was Mia smiling at her man, Cole.
Then I trusted it. Any woman beyond those two, I didn’t trust or believe.
Women were lying and manipulative and only loved a man until they got what they wanted, then they bailed.
My phone vibrating in my pocket pulled me from thoughts that were really memories I’d done everything I could do over the last two decades to forget. And I’d done a damn fine job of forgetting her but remembering the lessons she taught me.
Never again would I be someone’s fool.
I yanked my phone free, glanced at the screen, and frowned.
A text from a number not programmed into my contacts.
I positioned the phone to read my face and opened the text.
What do you say about a trip to Abu Dhabi? I could use some backup.
The left side of my chest started pounding.
Just to be sure, even though I was fairly certain I knew who that was from, I texted back, Who is this?
CV
Calista Ventura.
Fuck me.
I shot back another message.
Are you safe?
Define safe.
Give me five minutes to get the team together. Answer me when I call.
Do women always bend to your orders?
I felt my lips tighten.
And just like in Mexico, I had an overwhelming urge to kiss the fuck out of her to shut her up. Unfortunately she was on the other side of the world.
That’s a show not tell, sweetheart. And I’m happy to show you when I get there.
What the fuck was wrong with me? I’d never in my life had the urge to kiss a woman to shut her up. Moreover, I was never happy to show a woman anything.
The feisty blonde with gemstone eyes and a death wish was a temptation I didn’t need. A temptation that stirred something inside me that was better left dead. A temptation that would test my control in ways I wasn’t sure I could best.
Fuck.
I stood and shoved my phone back in my pocket.
“Yo, Pete, we need everyone at the big house. ASAP.”
My best friend looked over at me, read my tone, and pulled out his phone to gather the rest of the team.
Looked like we were headed to Abu Dhabi.