Hot & Bothered (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 8) Page 6

  After the plane was gone, he might calm down, though he had no idea how long that would take. Days, at least.

  So the last thing he wanted to do right now was answer questions about him and Emily, but he knew he had no choice. He was a soldier, the man frowning at him was his superior, and Ryan obeyed orders.

  Matt came inside and sank down on the bunk opposite. “So, you and Emily. Care to explain?”

  No dancing around the subject there. Ryan sat up and leaned against the wall. “Not especially.”

  Matt’s gaze didn’t falter. “You realize that isn’t an option, right?”

  “I do.” He huffed out a breath. “There’s not a lot to explain. She confided in me after the mission in Qu’rim. I didn’t cut it off when I should have because I seemed to be the only person she could talk to…”

  “And?” Matt prompted when he didn’t keep talking.

  Ryan felt his skin growing hot. Not because he was embarrassed but because he really didn’t want to talk about what had happened in his apartment that night. It was personal. And while he might have talked shit in the past about getting a piece of pussy after a night in a club or something, it felt wrong to talk about Emily that way.

  “Flash, I have to know.”

  Ryan scrubbed a hand over his scalp. “It was only once. The night before she left with Black. She’d tried to date a guy in her class, but it didn’t work out. She needed to know if she was still capable of… She needed to know if she was normal. I didn’t say no.”

  Matt nodded. “All right. Now explain to me why you lost your cool back there.”

  Ryan’s throat was tight. “What’s there to explain? Ian Black isn’t trustworthy—and he lied to Emily to get her out here for his own reasons. He put her in danger, and she was stupid enough to believe him. She hurt Victoria by leaving—and Brandy too because he loves Victoria.”

  “And you. She hurt you too.”

  Fuck. He could deny it, but what was the point? “And me.”

  “I need to know if you’re going to be able to do this job with her here. Because she’s not leaving. Black isn’t forcing her to stay, and she doesn’t want to go. Not only that, she understands things about the Freedom Force that no amount of intel in the world can tell us. She lived with them, and she knows how they think.”

  Precisely why he wanted her gone. He didn’t want her to have to endure those people again. To relive the hell she’d gone through with Zaran bin Yusuf. It had to be costing her something to be in such close proximity to the life that had nearly broken her once before.

  “You don’t care that Black lied to her?”

  Matt’s eyes sparked. “How do you know he did? Maybe he has the connections to do what he promised.”

  A flash of anger rolled through him. “Now you believe this motherfucker? After what he did when he sent Victoria and Brandy after that Russian scientist?”

  “What did he do? He turned the virus over to us instead of selling it, which he could have done if he’d wanted. I don’t like him or trust him, but I believe we’re on the same side.”

  “We play by rules. Ian Black has no rules.”

  “Nope, I don’t think he does either. He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants, no matter how unscrupulous.”

  “Working with him is like teaming the police department with a vigilante group and giving them the same powers.”

  “Not gonna argue with you there. But this is the job, Flash. You know it as well as I do. Mendez sent us here to get a job done, and we’re going to do it. Those people out there who are scared and in danger—they take precedence over any feelings we have for Black. They also take precedence over this situation between you and Emily. I need you to be in control of your feelings about this.”

  “I am in control. How many missions have we done together? Have I ever failed the team in all that time?”

  “No, but a woman can have a way of fucking with a guy’s head.”

  Ryan closed his eyes and rolled his neck. “She’s not fucking with my head. I was surprised and pissed. I’ll get over it.”

  Matt leaned forward, his palms on his knees. “I have to report this to the colonel, but unless you give me a reason to remove you now, I’ll wait until the mission is over. The safety of the hostages takes priority.”

  Ryan hated that the overwhelming feeling coursing through him at the mention of Mendez was relief that Matt wasn’t telling the colonel yet. He’d have to face the music eventually, of course, but he was glad it wasn’t today. Even half a world away, the colonel was one badass, scary motherfucker. Ryan didn’t know what it was like to be on the man’s bad side, and he didn’t want to find out.

  Though he suspected this situation between him and Emily would push his relationship with the colonel into the danger zone. Mendez didn’t like surprises, and he certainly didn’t like having to clean up messes made by his own men.

  “I’ll do my job, Richie. Like always.”

  Matt stood and nodded. “Knew I could count on you.” He looked down at his watch. “Team meeting in twenty.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MENDEZ SAT IN HIS OFFICE, poring over reports. It was already dark and he’d been at work since before dawn, but that’s the way his days typically went. He didn’t have much time for a personal life.

  Didn’t need much time for one either. About the only thing he required from his life that he didn’t get from HOT was sex, and he found time for that, though perhaps not as often as he might like. In fact, the last time… Shit, he couldn’t remember the last time. A month ago? Two months?

  There was a knock on his door.

  “Enter.”

  His aide came into the room. “Sir, I wanted to check if you needed anything before I left.”

  Mendez stretched and looked at the clocks on the wall. There was one for every time zone in the world, but the biggest one was for the eastern US. When he realized what time it was, he stood. “Lieutenant, you should have been gone two hours ago.”

  The young man smiled. “Yes, sir, but I wanted to stay in case you needed me.”

  “Go home.” Mendez shoved some papers into his briefcase. Then he took the classified reports and his hard drive and put them in the safe before closing it and spinning the dial. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  Once in the parking lot, Mendez climbed into his SUV and headed for home. But when he got there, he couldn’t make his mind rest. If the Freedom Force executed those hostages, there would be hell to pay.

  Aside from the fact he didn’t want to let those bastards harm innocent civilians, he also didn’t want to have to field questions from senators charged up over an incident and looking to make an example of someone for letting it happen. HOT was always one vote away from a funding cut, as were most organizations these days.

  And he believed too much in what they were doing to see that happen.

  When it became apparent he wasn’t going to quiet his thoughts anytime soon, he changed into jeans and a polo shirt and headed for a bar he liked. Not Buddy’s, where his men hung out, because he knew that seeing him meant they couldn’t relax. He was the boss, and having the boss around tended to dampen their enthusiasm.

  It was part of being in charge, so he was used to it. Besides, most of his guys were in their twenties and early thirties. He was pushing fifty, though not quite there yet—but he still felt old when compared with them, even if he could do more push-ups than many of them. He’d gotten into the habit of challenging them at work from time to time. Kept him on his toes, and kept them surprised when he won most of the battles.

  They might respect his rank and his power as their commander, but by God, he also wanted them to respect him as a warrior.

  He parked under a streetlight and walked into the bar. It was an upscale kind of place, which was another reason he chose it. Less likely to get into scrapes in a joint where the beer was craft and the wine fancy. No cheap beer and free snacks here. No pool g
ames or darts either, which was a shame in some respects.

  Mendez went inside and found a table in a dark corner. He could see all the doors from back there, and he could react if someone invaded the place. Not that it was likely, but he’d seen enough combat to always be prepared.

  He scoped out the entrances and exits of every establishment he entered, and he chose the best spot from which to defend his position if necessary. He was armed, though in a bar it had to be a knife rather than a gun if he was complying with local law. Still, he could do a lot of damage with a knife. More so than the average thug, that’s for sure.

  The waitress came over, and he ordered a local brew before sitting back and watching the patrons. The interior was dark, and the people were much quieter than in some of the other places he’d been. It was downright civilized.

  He was beginning to think he’d chosen wrong this time—that he needed more action and stimulation—when the door opened and a woman walked in.

  A woman he recognized. Every cell in his body went on red alert at the sight of Samantha Spencer. She was medium height, medium build, with the kind of curves that didn’t quit, golden-blond hair tied in a ponytail, and only a minimum of makeup. She wore a black dress that hugged those curves and thin heels that showed her legs to perfection when she walked. She was carrying a small red purse.

  A man came over and kissed her on the cheek. He’d been aiming for her mouth, but Sam turned her head at the last minute, and his lips met her cheek instead. She said something then, her expression amused, and the man offered his elbow.

  She took it, and he led her toward a table opposite from where Mendez sat. He wondered if her date knew what she did for a living. Sam was, without doubt, one of the smartest and toughest CIA agents he’d ever known. She wasn’t in the field anymore, according to what he’d heard. She’d returned a few months ago from the Middle East and taken a desk job at Langley in the intel division.

  He hadn’t seen her in years, but that didn’t stop his body from tightening with memories. They’d been Army officers together once. And they’d been lovers.

  It hadn’t worked out.

  The waitress delivered his beer, and he picked up his phone to scroll through e-mail as he tried to shake off old memories. Old regrets.

  “Drinking alone, Johnny?”

  He looked up to find Sam standing beside his table. Damn her for moving so quietly that he hadn’t even noticed. He set the phone down and stood to greet her. A quick glance at her date told her the guy was immersed in his tablet and unconcerned that she’d walked over to talk to him instead.

  “I like drinking alone.” He took the hand she offered and clasped it gently. A sizzle of attraction rolled through him at that simple touch. And suddenly he found himself doing something he shouldn’t with this woman. He stepped to her side and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  Her skin was soft, her hair smelled like flowers, and his groin stirred as she gasped softly. He still remembered what it had felt like to sink into her, even after so many years.

  “It’s good to see you, Sam,” he murmured as he stepped back again.

  Her hand was still clasped in his as she blinked at him. Then she pulled it away, and he missed the warmth of her skin on his.

  “It’s been a while.”

  “About five years, I imagine.”

  Her eyes sparkled with humor. “Something like that. It was a briefing in Germany. You were annoyed with the major giving the presentation.”

  He laughed. “He was a posturing asshole.”

  “And when you were done with him, he was probably just an asshole on his way to a new, less than cushy assignment.”

  “Something like that.”

  He wondered what she knew about Ian Black since she’d spent so much time in the Middle East bureau and must surely know him—or know of him—but now certainly wasn’t the time to ask.

  Though Black operated outside the bounds of the law much of the time, it was clear to Mendez after the mission with Grace Campbell that Black was still working with the CIA even though they denied it. Which made Mendez very curious about a lot of things, not the least of which was the identity of the agent running Black.

  Whoever it was had to be highly placed and utterly secretive. Though Mendez wasn’t sure that Black’s handler had as much control over him as they thought they did. Black seemed to be willing to work for the highest bidder, though he also did the right thing when the principle was inviolable.

  The man was definitely an enigma.

  “I have to get back to my date,” Sam said, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “But I wanted to say hi.”

  Mendez let his gaze drift back to the man who was now watching them with narrowed eyes. “He your boyfriend?”

  Sam laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that question had a touch of jealousy in it.”

  “Maybe it does,” he said, and she lifted an eyebrow.

  She shrugged. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s someone a friend set me up with. A meddling friend who thinks I work too much and don’t get out enough.”

  “Work doesn’t keep you warm at night.”

  Her mouth curled in a smile. “Ah, Johnny, that’s ironic coming from you.”

  “Probably is.”

  She shook her head. “You are remarkably flirtatious this evening, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a man, Samantha. I appreciate a beautiful woman when I see one.”

  “Oh, I do know that about you. Your appreciation was quite intense, if I remember rightly.”

  He was glad it was dark because he was suddenly, instantly hard. “I was an idiot back then. I should have appreciated you more.”

  Her hazel eyes softened. “Well, I really should get back to my date. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  He tried not to be disappointed. He deserved her indifference. What did he expect after all these years? “Maybe so.”

  She turned and went back to her table. Her date stood at her approach, his face wreathed in smiles that Mendez hated on sight. The man took her hand and helped her into the booth, then shot Mendez a glare when Sam dug in her purse for something. He glared right back until Sam spoke and the man had to turn his attention to her instead.

  Mendez sat down and took another drink of his beer. But for the next hour, he couldn’t tear his gaze—or his thoughts—from Samantha Spencer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BY EVENING, EMILY FELT MUCH BETTER. Her spells usually came on in the morning and then here and there throughout the day, but by evening she typically felt fine. Yet another thing she had in common with a pregnant woman.

  Emily frowned as she stared at herself in the mirror. You are not pregnant.

  No, she wasn’t. But now that she knew Linda Cooper was, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. That poor young woman. Her poor baby.

  Emily splashed water on her face and took her hair down to brush it and then wind it up into a fresh bun. She secured it with a few bobby pins, blew out a breath, and looked herself over with a critical eye.

  She hadn’t worn makeup since she’d returned to the desert, but she wished she had some right now. Because no matter how much she might like to avoid Ryan, she was pretty sure she’d see him again. Most likely when she went to get her dinner. She could probably get someone to bring her something, but that was too cowardly even for her.

  Everyone in this compound was a soldier, a person who’d chosen to be here and work hard for a cause. There was a cook and a supply clerk, just like in the Army, and whatever other positions Ian had hired out—but there were no maids or waitstaff.

  They sent the linens out for cleaning, but they made their own beds if they had one—some of the guys bedded down in sleeping blankets. They also went to the dining room at mealtimes and got their own food.

  Emily closed her eyes and put her hands on either side of the sink. She could do this. She would do this. She’d never thought Ryan would show up when she’d taken Ian’s offer two months
ago, but maybe she should have realized it could happen.

  Naïvely, she’d thought maybe what Ian wanted from her would really only take a couple of weeks or so, and then she’d be home again before she’d damaged her relationship with Ryan and Victoria too badly.

  “That’s the kind of thinking that always gets you in trouble, Em,” she muttered. Since she’d been a child and she and Victoria went into foster care, she’d had an inner fantasy life that often didn’t dovetail with her reality.

  When the twenty-five-year-old son who still lived at home in one of their foster families paid special attention to her, she’d only been fourteen and she’d been desperate for love and attention. She hadn’t thought it wrong that he gave her that attention, even when it involved initiating her into sexual life far earlier than she should have been.

  Oh, the things she’d told herself. The lies.

  Of course it crumbled, and of course they were sent away to another family and then another and another. Victoria hadn’t understood it, but Emily had. It was her. She was the bad one, the disappointment, the one who ruined everything.

  That’s when she’d turned to drugs and alcohol. They made her feel better, if only for a little while. She hadn’t believed she could turn into an addict, but she had. That’s what cocaine did. Thank God it had only been cocaine and not meth. She’d been terrified of meth, and that had saved her.

  At least until Zaran found her. He’d been an addiction of another kind, though she hadn’t realized it at first. She’d only wanted to please him. She’d done everything to please him—and he’d turned on her.

  Everyone turned on her eventually.

  “No,” she hissed, staring at her reflection with glittering eyes. “That’s not true.”

  Victoria hadn’t turned on her. Men might come and go, but her sister would always love her.

  Emily dashed the tears from her cheeks and patted her face with a towel before grabbing her weapons. She checked her .45 and holstered it, then slipped her knives into the ankle and belt sheaths designed for them.