Chapter 1 Makeshift HQ, South America #2
“I think I need to deal with who’s about to get out of those vehicles before I do that.
” Lark squeezed the ball and stared at the military grade SUVs.
Tinted windows. Bullet-proof armor. Big tires.
Hopefully, not big egos to match. Most men and women in the special forces were quiet—until they needed to be otherwise.
They didn’t brag. They didn’t need bravado.
They came. They did their jobs. And they left.
But every once in a while, she got the oddball who pounded his or her chest.
But what concerned her right now was why an evac team was rolling in, locked and loaded? This wasn’t a difficult mission. Not on the backend. She didn’t need them here. All she needed was the knowledge that they were close by, ready to come to her rescue if things got dicey.
“Boss, a quick scan of the email says they come from SEAL Team 4. Extraction for when the buy has been completed. But they’re to be in town when the op goes down,” Specs said, glancing over the screen.”
“What the hell is Lorre thinking? That’s too many fucking strangers, and the last thing we need are men looking like US military lurking around making the people at Senatrix nervous.” Lark turned and tossed the ball at the side wall.
“I take offense.” Wes leaned forward, squinting. “Us military types can get gnarly looking and blend.”
“You know what I meant,” Lark mumbled. “I can’t get them up to speed in time.” She cracked her neck, because shifting her gaze wasn’t an option. “Specs, track down Lorre on a secure line and find out what the fuck is going on.”
“Email’s not from Lorre,” Specs said.
But Lark didn’t get the chance to respond. The doors of the SUV opened. Six men stepped out, all wearing Navy camo, armed, scanning, tight formation. All looking badass and way too familiar… especially one.
Her stomach dropped.
Kawan Noa.
Of course, it was him—all six-foot-flipping-three-inches of him.
He walked like the ground owed him something, tall and broad with a center of gravity so solid he might as well have been carved from granite.
His dark hair laced with silver, certainly not regulation.
Buzzed underneath, longer on top. Sexy as hell, but she’d never admit that aloud.
He had the same dark eyes she remembered.
Same unreadable expression. Same mouth that could ruin a girl for anyone else if she let it.
She had. Once. Okay, for years. Didn’t matter. Each time—it had been a fling and ended as fast as it had started. She had no room for romance in her life. She’d been shocked that Kawan thought they could be something more than a good time.
Lark rounded her shoulders and prepared for a different kind of battle.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kawan said as he approached, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Should've known you'd be running this op."
Lark nodded, once. "Lieutenant Noa.”
“So, we’re going with formality.” Kawan laughed. “Alright…Major Strattan," he returned, voice deep and low, like whiskey poured over gravel.
Micah "Jupiter" Onyx followed close behind. He carried a black, thick, military grade case in hand. His gaze was already scanning the tech as he stepped in behind Specs. “Interesting setup.”
“More like state of the art with the best at the helm,” Specs said. She glanced over her shoulder and locked eyes with Jupiter—the same look that sent junior analysts at the FBI scrambling to fix their mistakes before she finished her sentence.
Jupiter raised an eyebrow and smirked. “That’s usually my line.” He set his case on the table. “I’ve got more equipment in the SUV, but let’s take a look—”
“Lark, who the hell does this guy think he is?” Specs pushed her glasses back up on her nose.
“Jupiter, if you want to participate, you’re second chair.” Lark let out a long breath as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You take orders from me.” She pointed at Thor Armstrong, team leader, who waved and smiled. “This is my op, understand.”
“Never said it wasn’t,” Thor said. “But we’re here. We’re ready. And we’re certainly able.”
Boy, didn’t she know it.
Next to Thor, Matthew “Moose” Rhodes leaned against the center desk.
He was tall, broad, and while his body language screamed relaxed, he carried the weight of the world behind his dark eyes.
He was the kind of man who always showed up—ready for the fight—and walked away holding the emotional wreckage for the entire team.
He once told her his chickens took that burden from him.
She’d met those chickens once. The whole flock of them, and she had to admit, those damn chickens made her feel… something.
Sloan Dane, the calmest and quietest one of the group, stuffed his hands in his pockets as his gaze took in everything.
Sloan was not only observant—he was dangerously aware of the smallest of details—right down to a speck of dust floating in the air.
He’d never comment on it, but he’d somehow manage to make you painfully aware of it.
Lief Kessler inched toward the whiteboard, nodding once at Alvarez before diverting his gaze back to the maps.
The tension was thicker than the humidity and sharper than the rusted blade Wes kept flipping open and closed.
"We expected a dossier before we took off from our last op from Specs,” Kawan said, folding his arms. “We never got one.”
“I didn’t know you were coming until a few minutes ago.” Specs waved a hand across her computer screen. “You were sent for extraction and support… only not sure we can shuffle you into the rotation for support this late in the game. We’re scheduled to head to town in less than two hours.”
Lark bit back a smile. What Specs lacked in her weapons skills, she more than made up for it in the brains department.
“We have our orders. Came from high up the food chain in JSOC.” Thor pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
"We can’t protect what we don’t understand," Kawan said, stepping in closer, towering over Lark, as if he intended to intimidate.
Lark met his gaze, even. "You’re here to pull us out, not hold our hand." She took the paper Thor offered, glanced at it quickly, her gaze landing on one name.
Major General Grady.
She glanced toward Specs, holding up the paper. Specs didn’t have to say a word. She didn’t have to move. All she needed to do was glance once at her monitor. Fucking email came from Grady, not Lorre.
Kawan smirked. "Some things never change."
"Like you assuming you’re entitled to more than you are." Lark arched a brow as she handed the paper back to Thor, contemplating how to play this.
"This is gonna be fun." Jupiter snorted. “I give it twenty minutes before they either kill each other or find a dark corner and screw each other’s brains out.”
“Don’t be crude.” Kawan jerked his head and glared at his buddy.
“I don’t need you defending my honor.” Lark shook her head.
“I’m defending mine.” Kawan winked.
“Of course, you are.” Lark’s heart pounded in her chest. Not from the mission.
She could deal with that and all the possible lose-lose scenarios, which were piling up left and right.
However, the tall drink of sexy, standing less than two-feet away, was messing with her ability to compartmentalize.
There was no place for feelings in a mission.
Not unless they were gut reactions—or instincts—to intel or a situation unfolding.
She resumed pacing behind Specs' desk. Heel-toe. Heel-toe. Focus on the mission. On what she could control.
And she could control what Kawan and his team did. She scanned the floor for her discarded tension ball.”
Kawan marched across the hanger, lifted the orange stress ball off the ground, and sent it sailing across the room.
Lark snagged it midair—but only after she had to jump to catch it, nearly missing it altogether.
“Nice catch.” Kawan’s lips curved into a half smile.
“Too bad I had to work for it.” She tilted her head. “But that’s always the way with you.”
“Oh, I could have a field day with that statement, sweetheart.”
Lark ignored the dig—or whatever that was. “Jupiter, open your equipment, take a seat, and follow along.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jupiter rubbed his hands together and waggled both brows.
“Seriously?” Specs glanced over her screen.
Lark moved methodically across the concrete, focusing on her toes as they hit the floor as if that was all she needed to make these moments normal, because her job was anything but and this mission had been tossing her curve balls since she woke up.
“They’re here, we’ve been ordered to include them, we might as well put them to good use.
They’re good men, and we can use more eyes in town, and Jupiter can help cover some of the blind spots. ”
“I take that statement personally,” Specs mumbled.
“Don’t.” Jupiter rested a hand on her shoulder before he opened his black box. “I’m sure you’ve got it mostly covered, but even with months of planning, there are only so many angles.”
“Not to mention we just got word a half hour ago the location changed, and I don’t have full access to that spot.
” Specs leaned back and pointed to one of her screens, giving into the situation, not because she didn’t have a choice, which she didn’t, but because she was a true professional and this was what the job called for.
“Alright, we can put a camera on Thor and have him sit on that bench with a book and a cup of coffee. He has that scholarly look about him.”
“That would work,” Specs agreed. “But I wouldn’t have him get up and move about. That would call attention to a body, and we can’t afford to do that.”
“True.” Jupiter rubbed his jaw. “So, we’ll need to take a few more minutes, study the other blind points, look at who else we can use and how. Then we place and move from there.”