3. Gwen
Gwen
PALM JUMEIRAH ISLAND, U.A.E.
Music spills across the pool like liquid light, impossible to catch. Laughter floats with it, mingling with the bite of salt air and the perfume of wealth.
From our cabana, I can make out Dubai’s skyline. The Burj Khalifa’s needle tip slices through a golden haze, not far from where Carter and the other husbands are watching the kids.
Natasha got her way. Of course she did.
Our server drifts over, his smile getting bolder with each round. Doesn’t take a genius to decipher who he singled out amongst the five of us—the only one without a ring.
“Maybe flirt back a little? Won’t kill ya,” Diana teases.
I slide my sunglasses down just enough to meet Diana’s smirk. “Or, hear me out, it just might.” I push my Versace aviators back in place and accept the cocktail. The chilled stem is a small mercy in the heat.
Day two of this girls’ trip, and I’m still the designated buzzkill. Fruity drinks and sunshine have yet to unknot the tension behind my ribs.
Unlike me, the others look perfectly at ease. As they should be. I’m with four very different women from different worlds all pulled together by their husbands and near-death experiences. They’ve got skills my experiences can’t match.
My stepmum can read a lie faster than most satellites.
Diana has literally saved the world once and will no doubt do it again.
Ella makes grace look effortless, juggling fashion launches and motherhood in Alabama.
Juliette balances handling a teenager and newborn while being married to a man who owns half of New York.
And then there’s me—the single one with issues.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what they’re trying to do. But being surrounded by family and friends at Christmas and on New Year’s didn’t help, and it isn’t helping now. Doesn’t matter where I go, I still feel the hollow space Easton used to occupy.
Natasha’s presence reminds me my father is still vetting his replacement, not yet finding anyone willing to take the job. No doubt because of him, and hopefully not because of me. I’m not that hard to handle.
Juliette, well, she’s Easton’s stepsister—no further explanation needed.
And just looking at Ella nearly sends me over this rooftop’s edge. She fake married her brother’s best friend and it turned into a real wedding. Not that it’s a big deal Zoey and Easton are playing pretend. Totally fine. Perfect, actually. And so I’ll continue to tell myself until it sticks.
“You’re brooding.” Diana waves a hand in the air, drawing me out of my head. “Group rule: you’re not allowed to be sad.”
I sigh, nearly slipping and admitting I miss Easton, but uncut emotional repression keeps those words at bay. Maybe with a little more vodka I might open up later.
“How about we spy on the guys?” Ella suggests. “See what trouble they’re getting into. I’m still shocked you got those men to even agree to this, to be honest.” She lifts her glass Natasha’s way as a thank-you.
“Well, you know they’re watching us.” Natasha closes the cabana curtains to block the security cameras.
“I’m fairly certain I also clocked two ‘guests’ by the pool.
Tails, courtesy of one of our husbands. Or maybe even my dad.
” Her CIA instincts are usually spot on, so I’m sure she’s right.
“Still can’t believe he and your mom are competing in the primary to be the nominee for president. ”
Diana scowls. “Trust me, I’m rooting for your dad. Plan to vote for him, too. Just don’t tell my mom.”
I laugh. Don’t blame her. Her mom may be secretary of state, but she’s the last person any of us would like to report to in any way, shape, or form.
“But we need one of them to win the primary, and then the election in November.” Natasha grimaces. “Who knows what will happen to the teams if they don’t. Probably disbanded.”
She has a point. If someone on the outside gets elected, Dad, along with the others who secretly work off the books for POTUS, might be out of a job. Falcon Falls will also lose our much needed “in” with the White House.
“Just never thought it’d be my dad to run. Pretty sure that’s President Bennett’s doing. Can’t imagine him saying yes to anyone else.” She sinks on the couch between Ella and Juliette. “I did have a feeling your mom might run, though.”
“Sadly, me, too. She’s power hungry.” Diana angles her head toward my bag, signaling she’s up for spying on the guys and would probably rather talk about anything but her mom becoming president. No chance Carter will let his mother-in-law tell him what to do. Not ever.
I hesitantly remove my rig from my bag as Ella murmurs, “These guys . . .” She lifts her chin in the direction of Carter and Diana’s skyrise home. “Wouldn’t even let us vacation anywhere more than a five-minute helo ride away from them.”
Hence, Palm Jumeirah.
Juliette chuckles. “Don’t act like we don’t all love our men a little obsessed.”
“Not gonna argue with that.” Ella flicks the brim of her floppy hat. “Jesse has taken being overprotective to a whole new level since becoming a dad. God help the man if we have a daughter one day.”
“More like help her.” I bite back a smile.
“Though, I have to admit, when my sister starts dating, I might become a little stabby myself. Background checks gone wild.” I laugh, but when my eyes land on two of the many stickers on top of my rig, my heart stalls out for a split second and that happy feeling dies.
FAFO Alumni and Powered by Caffeine and Bad Decisions.
Both were gifts from Easton last year. He randomly tossed them on my desk one day with a quick, “Here.”
I’d picked them up, staring at them in confusion as if he bought me flowers instead. “What are these for?”
Arms over his chest, the fabric stretching against his biceps, he gave me a strange look. “Do I need a reason?”
“You do.”
“Fine. Consider them a ‘because it’s a Monday’ gift. I know how much you hate Mondays.”
Chills dart up my back as I let go of the memory and flip open the lid so I don’t have to look at the stickers. I log into Diana and Carter’s secure network, and within seconds, I have access to their surveillance cameras.
I smirk and turn the screen around on my lap. Carter’s standing in his skyrise conference room with a whiteboard behind him, talking to the guys.
Mission: Nap Time is written in red. Underneath, a tactical flowchart. Another board lists the kids’ snack schedules and “intel priorities.”
“Five bucks says Jesse drafted a contingency plan for diaper blowouts.” Ella grabs a handful of grapes.
Juliette smiles. “I bet my son is also saving their asses. Colin’s been great with Illiana.”
“Speaking of your little girl.” Natasha eyes Juliette’s bikini top. “Time to pump?”
Juliette cups her breasts. “Yup, about to pop. Still can’t believe Constantine spilled some of the breastmilk I left with him last night.”
“I bet that was really an excuse to see you and have a quickie.” Ella coughs, choking on a laugh. Or maybe a grape.
“Easy.” Natasha slaps her back twice. “The last thing we need is the guys fast roping onto the roof from a helo. Jesse’s liable to deck the first EMT who tries mouth-to-mouth.”
That’s putting it mildly.
“Who does Carter have piloting now that . . .?” Juliette lets her words trail off.
“I’m not that fragile. Jeez.” I roll my eyes, lean around my screen, and launch a grape at her. “Also, I’ve already flown with Easton’s replacement.” I hold up two fingers. “Twice. He goes by Nash. I think it’s his call sign.”
“Ah, well, that’s, um . . . nice.” There’s a whole lot Juliette doesn’t say there. Has she talked to her brother since he took off? “I should go pump.”
“Not solo,” Natasha reminds her, switching to CIA mode. “You know the rule. Two or more. Always.”
We’re in Dubai, one of the safest cities in the world, but she’s probably right. She and Dad make a pair. I power off my rig and return it to my bag. “I’ll tag along.”
“Take your laptop with you while you’re at it.” Diana nods to my bag. “No more working.”
“Fine, fine.” I sling the strap over my shoulder and follow Juliette from the cabana, scanning for the tails. Instead of finding them, I clock our server hovering by the bar. Cute, sure, but not happening. “So, uh, when’s the last time you spoke to your brother?” I ask as we step into the hotel.
“He makes a call to a secure number every couple of days to check in. You know, to make sure there aren’t any emergencies on our end. Things like that. Whenever he calls, it also sends a signal to Carter, letting him know he’s safe and alive.”
“And no clue where he’s at?” I keep searching and always come up empty, which means he’s avoiding CCTV footage.
“I could have Constantine poke the bear and ask Carter.”
I press the lift button. “I’ve already poked the grizzly myself. No luck.” The lift chimes, and the mirrored doors open. “Maybe don’t have him ask. Your hubby and Carter are finally not at each other’s throats, so let’s keep it that way.”
She laughs as we walk into the lift and presses the number for our floor.
I let my bag hang loose and set my back against the wall. The doors begin to close, but an arm shoots through. I assume it’ll be one of our alleged tails, but it’s our server.
He presses seventeen and faces us. “Heading to work in your room? You’ve been married to your laptop all day.”
I discreetly glance at the camera. They’ll be watching. I can’t decide whether that’s comforting or not.
Before I can answer, the lift lurches and begins to descend much faster than it’s supposed to. I set one hand on the wall, the other finding Juliette’s wrist.
“Brace, brace!” Easton’s voice from the helo crash cuts through the static in my mind.
We fall hard enough to take the air out of me. The lights hiccup. Then the lift abruptly stops with a mechanical groan.
At least we didn’t plummet into the ground, so that’s something.
“You okay?” I ask Juliette, trying to catch my breath as a sharp crack echoes before the doors open.
Flashlights wash the interior. Three masked men fill the threshold, pistols drawn.
The server steps back, and it’s Juliette who reacts first—a clean throat punch that staggers one man and even takes me by surprise.
Everything crystallizes for a second before I drive a knee up, hitting one where it’ll hurt the most. He curses and doubles over. When another comes at me, I start to swing, but freeze.
The server has a 9mm pressed to Juliette’s temple.
Son of a bitch. I surrender as one of the men wrestles my bag away.
Juliette snarls, “You have no idea who you just pissed—”
One of the masked men steps forward, and he hits her in the side of the head with his gun so hard that she falls to the floor.
I cry out in terror as rage flares white-hot. I twist around, prepared to fight, but a gloved hand fists my hair and wrenches me away from her and into the service corridor.
“If you don’t want me putting two in her head,” the man hisses, his blue eyes sharp on me as he points his gun at her, “you’ll stop fighting. We only want you. Understand?”
“Okay,” I finally give in. “Just don’t hurt her again.”
Gun away from Juliette now, he demands, “Bracelet. Off.”
How the hell do you know about my tracker? I fumble the clasp, eyes on Juliette moaning on the floor. My world narrows to the weight of the charm bracelet in my palm before it’s ripped away from me and tossed into the lift.
The blue-eyed one shoots out the camera, then double taps the server. His body slumps, and his pistol skitters by Juliette as she tries to get to all fours.
I can’t believe this is happening. How in the world did they get by security and not set off any alarms?
“It’ll be okay,” I promise Juliette. “Dad will save me,” I tack on with confidence before the men drag me down the hall.
The blue-eyed bastard at my left doesn’t lose his fast pace as he draws his mouth to my ear and rasps, “You so sure about that?”
No way will these men make it off the island before they’re stopped by my dad and the others. I’ve never been more grateful for Dad’s paranoia, and his five-minute-away rule. “Yes,” I shoot back.
He ignores me, and I’m flung outside through a side door by the dumpsters.
The glaring sunlight smacks me in the face. There’s a black SUV idling just beyond the curb. I’m carelessly shoved inside, hooded, and handcuffed. The metal scrapes against the scar at the base of my right palm, reminding me of the helo crash. Reminding me of Easton.
“Their QRF will hit the grid soon,” a voice says near my ear. “Exfil point’s three mikes out. Make it in two and a half.”
Another door opens before someone orders, “Knock the bitch out.”
“She’s a wild one,” another arsehole says before something pokes my neck, and my world goes black.