Special Ops Exclusive

by Elle Kennedy

  Nick knew he ought to say no. He was here to track down that snake Waverly, not to go out with a beautiful redhead he suspected might be nothing but trouble.

  Yet as he met Rebecca Parker’s expectant green eyes, he couldn’t find the willpower to turn her down.

  “Nine o’clock,” he agreed.

  Pleasure washed over her pretty face. “Good. I’ll see you tonight.” She took a step back, then met his eyes and grinned. “And thanks again for helping me out of that little jam back there.”

  She dashed off while he stared after her with a combination of disbelief and amusement.

  Little jam? She’d nearly been trampled to death, for Chrissake. He didn’t think he’d ever met a woman as blasé about danger as this one. That recklessness was definitely a turnoff—if he was planning on marrying the woman.

  But if he planned on taking her to bed...well, then he could totally see the advantages of having a wildcat like Rebecca Parker between the sheets.

  * * *

  Nine o’clock didn’t come soon enough. Nick had been holed up in his hotel room for the past two hours, watching the clock and mentally urging it to tick faster.

  The rest of his afternoon and most of his evening had been a total wash. None of the forgers he’d questioned had recognized Paul Waverly’s photo or admitted to procuring any documents for him, but Nick wasn’t discouraged. The men he’d spoken to were small players in Cortega’s shady underworld. There was really only one person Waverly would’ve gone to, a criminal kingpin known only as El Nuevo Diablo.

  The New Devil.

  The moniker made Nick roll his eyes. Damn melodramatic. According to the grapevine, though, El Nuevo Diablo was the man to talk to if you wanted to get something done. Enrique Salazar had been supposed to arrange the meeting between Nick and the crime boss, but the corrupt government guard had rescheduled their rendezvous for tomorrow, so Nick had no choice but to wait around for Salazar’s phone call.

  But at least he could amuse himself while he waited.

  Anticipation gathered in his groin as he left the room and crossed the carpeted hallway toward the elevator. Fine, so he might be getting ahead of himself here. Chances were, his date with Rebecca Parker would begin and end with drinks and not a foray into the bedroom, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to complain if they somehow wound up naked.

  Which was shocking in and of itself, because he wasn’t the kind of man to indulge in casual flings. The other guys in his former unit used to rag him mercilessly about his self-proclaimed gentleman status. Whenever they were stateside, Diaz and Berkowski would attempt to drag him out on the town in search of a hot piece of ass, but although Nick often tagged along, he usually went home alone.

  He was twenty-eight-years old, but he’d never sown any wild oats. Never had the urge to either. Hell, if he found a woman who made him half as happy as his mother had made his father, then he’d consider himself the luckiest man on earth.

  Tonight, though...he could totally be satisfied with a casual lay. It had been that long.

  Swallowing a rush of frustration, he rode the elevator down to the lobby and headed for the hotel bar.

  The Liberty was one of the nicer hotels in Cortega, boasting clean marble floors, expensive furnishings and extremely professional staff. Nick hadn’t visited the bar yet, and when he strode in, he was surprised to discover how cozy it was. The large room offered plush sofas, big armchairs and low tables situated in a way that provided patrons with the illusion of privacy. Huge ceramic planters containing green leafy ferns added to that feeling of seclusion.

  Nick spotted her immediately—it was hard to miss all that gorgeous red hair tumbling down her shoulders. She was sitting with her back turned to him, but her head shifted as he began walking in her direction.

  Their eyes locked, and he went hard so swiftly that he was actually taken aback. He’d never been turned on from eye contact before and he might’ve laughed at his own pathetic eagerness if he weren’t so entranced by the woman across the room.

  She wore a dress, an emerald-green number that swirled around her bare knees as she stood up to greet him. The bodice wasn’t low cut, revealing only a modest amount of cleavage, yet the sight hit him with a punch of lust.

  Rebecca looked amused. “You okay there, Nick?”

  His mouth had gone dry, so he was forced to gulp a few times before he could make his voice work. “I’m fine.” He swept his gaze over her once more. “You look amazing.”

  Pleasure colored her cheeks. “Thank you. You clean up well yourself.”

  His gaze lowered to his khaki cargo pants and plain white T-shirt, the nicest items of clothing he’d packed in his go bag. “If you say so,” he said wryly.

  “Oh, I say so.”

  Their eyes met and held again. Awareness crackled in the air between them.

  Nick cleared his throat. “Let’s sit down.”

  They settled in the armchairs, which were positioned side by side but angled in a way that allowed them to sit face-to-face. When Rebecca demurely crossed her legs, the bottom of her dress rode up her thighs, drawing Nick’s attention to her creamy white flesh. Her skin looked so soft he had to press his palms on his thighs to stop himself from putting his hands all over her.

  Fortunately, a waiter approached the table before Nick committed a major faux pas on the first date he’d had in nearly a year.

  Nick ordered whiskey, and he wasn’t at all surprised when Rebecca ordered the same. The woman was bold and fiery—of course she’d order a drink that matched that personality of hers.

  “No appletinis for you, huh?” he said with a wry smile.

  “Do I look like a sorority girl to you?”

  He laughed. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Good, because I’m not.” A gleam of challenge crept into her eyes. “How did the rest of your day go, by the way? Did you stick around to report on the riot?”

  “Nah, I came back to the hotel to write. But I caught the tail end of your segment on ABN. That was a great interview with the leader of the tactical team.”

  “Thanks.” She twined a strand of hair around her fingers, tilting her head pensively. “What angle are you using for your piece? Big bad government or ungrateful out-of-line citizens?”

  He lifted his brows. “Uh-uh, Parker, you know we’re not supposed to show bias. Journalism 101.”

  She snorted. “That’s bullcrap and you effing know it.”

  A laugh flew out of his mouth. “Okay, before we debate this, you’ve got to explain the weird nonexpletives. I don’t think I’ve heard you utter a single curse word since we’ve met.”

  “That’s because I don’t curse.” She gave a self-deprecating sigh. “I used to swear like a sailor, but I had to rid myself of the habit after I accidentally dropped an F-bomb on air. I almost got fired for it, and I knew I couldn’t let it happen again, so I quickly learned to clean up my language. But I still swear creatively. Shoot, fudge, eff, crap, gee-dee—” When he looked at her questioningly, she lowered her voice to a whisper and clarified, “Goddamn. But don’t tell anyone I just said that.”

  Nick laughed again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this entertained. Rebecca Parker was not at all what he’d expected her to be. On camera she came off as assertive and serious, though she did reveal a sassy, seductive side on occasion. Still, she was clearly sassier and more seductive than her audience knew, not to mention playful, funny, intelligent, outrageously sexy....

  “Anyway, let’s skip the bias debate,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Because we both know every reporter’s got one. Where are you from, Nick?”

  To his relief, the waiter returned before he could answer. With a quick thanks, Nick slipped a twenty into the man’s hand, all the while going over his cover story in his head. Tate’s fiancée, Eva, had used her hacking skills to create an entire fake career for Nick Prescott the journalist, and his “work” was all over the internet. He’d read most of the artic
les on the plane ride here, but he sincerely hoped that Rebecca wouldn’t ask any specific questions.

  He had a sinking suspicion that she would. The woman was a lot sharper than he’d given her credit for.

  “I’m from Vermont,” he replied before taking a sip of his drink. The alcohol heated his gut and fueled his confidence. “But my family moved around a lot when I was a kid. I was a military brat.” He paused. “What about you?”

  Rebecca brought her glass to her lips and downed half her whiskey, then proceeded to chat about herself for a few minutes. She told him a few stories about growing up in Atlanta, explained how she’d wanted to go into journalism ever since she was a little girl, and then she promptly steered the conversation back to him, much to his discomfort.

  If it were any other woman, he would’ve felt better about his responses, confident that she was buying his bogus backstory, but this was Rebecca Parker. Each time he answered a question, those green eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were analyzing every single word that left his mouth.

  “What about you?” he asked after he’d told her he’d studied journalism at Columbia. “Where did you go to school?”

  “Northwestern.” She lobbed another query his way. “How did you like living in New York?”

  Nick stifled a groan. The back and forth went on in the same fashion for the next twenty minutes. It was like a game of ping-pong. Question, answer. Question, answer.

  By the time they’d finished a second round of drinks, it became glaringly obvious that Rebecca had an agenda.

  She’s fishing.

  Crap. She was absolutely, indisputably fishing.

  Nick’s shoulders stiffened, his guard shooting up as he studied Rebecca’s knowing expression.

  “Everything okay, Nick?” she drawled.

  His hackles rose. The little minx knew he’d figured her out.

  “Everything’s great,” he responded.

  He polished off the rest of his drink, but didn’t signal the waiter for another. Nope, because it had become imperative that he keep a clear head.

  So much for getting laid tonight.

  What started out as a promising evening had turned into an aggravating battle of wits. Did Rebecca know who he was? Was she somehow connected to the people who’d killed his unit, the people trying to kill him? Or did she think he was simply a rival journalist and was trying to unnerve him for some reason?

  “Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh right, finding material to report on,” she said casually. “You know where to find the best scoops? D.C. Seriously, all you’ve gotta do is walk down the street and you’ll stumble across no less than ten scandals.” She met his eyes. “Have you ever been to D.C.?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t be a good freelancer if I didn’t pay frequent visits to our nation’s capital.” He kept his voice light.

  She cocked her head. “What do you think of our current administration? A little too military-focused, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He shrugged. “Defense is important.”

  “Of course it is. But should we really spend so much money on it?”

  According to his father, hell to the yes. In fact, Nick’s dad was partially responsible for the president’s defense-focused platform.

  But he kept that tidbit to himself.

  “Where do you think the funds should go?” he countered, yet again pitching the proverbial ping-pong ball her way.

  “Education, health care, social reform.” Her tone was absent, and frustration creased her forehead, as if she couldn’t decide the best way to regain ground.

  He suppressed a chuckle. “Everything okay, Rebecca?” he mimicked.

  Annoyance ignited those big green eyes of hers, but it faded fast. As the corners of her mouth lifted in resignation, she leaned forward and set her glass on the table, then straightened her shoulders and met his gaze head-on.

  “All right, let’s cut the crap,” she announced. “I know exactly who you are, so save your lies for a woman who’s stupid enough to believe them. All I want to know is, why did you lie about your name and what on earth are you doing in South America?”

  Chapter 4

  For a moment, Nick considered playing dumb, but Rebecca must have read his mind, because she crossed her arms and scowled at him. “Don’t you dare insult my intelligence by denying it.” She smirked. “Mr. Barrett.”

  A sigh lodged in his throat. He’d known showing up to a place that was crawling with American journalists would be risky, but the alternative had meant letting Tate or Sebastian handle it, and Nick wouldn’t have felt right about that. Tate and Seb had more to lose nowadays—women they loved, and in Tate’s case, a three-year-old boy to protect.

  Nick, on the other hand, was not as emotionally encumbered. No woman or children to mourn him if he died, just his father and older sister, Vivian.

  Of course, his father was the reason he was currently facing off with this too-smart-for-her-own-good news correspondent. He’d been making an effort to stay out of sight and avoid the journalists covering the election. The only reason he’d made contact with Rebecca in the first place was because the foolish woman had decided to almost get herself killed.

  But because he couldn’t unrescue her, he had no choice but to deal with the consequences of his hero complex.

  “No response?” Rebecca arched her brow.

  Nick just shrugged. “What do you want me to say? You’ve got my number. Give yourself a gold star.”

  “So you’re confirming that you are Nick Barrett?”

  He appreciated that she lowered her voice when she posed the question. A glance around told him that nobody was particularly interested in him and Rebecca, but he kept his voice equally soft as he replied with, “I am. But I would be grateful if you didn’t mention to anyone that I’m in town.”

  That sassy little smirk made another appearance. “Only if you promise me an exclusive.”

  He stifled a groan. “I’m not giving you an exclusive—because there’s no story here.”

  “Yeah, then why are you in Cortega?” she challenged.

  “It’s personal.”

  “Why did you lie about your name?”

  “I always use a fake name when I’m traveling.”

  “And do you always lie about your profession?” Defiance flickered in her eyes. “Is this about the election? Did your father send you here as a representative of sorts? Maybe to talk to President Garza or General Alves about...” She furrowed her brow. “About what? What could your presence possibly accomplish?”

  “Exactly,” Nick said triumphantly. “Nothing. My presence is totally unrelated to this travesty of an election, okay?”

  She went quiet. He could see that sharp brain of hers working, dissecting, dismissing. Her pretty face conveyed both curiosity and suspicion, the latter becoming more prominent the longer she remained silent.

  “This has to be political,” she announced.

  “It’s not.”

  Her chin lifted stubbornly. “I don’t believe you.”

  A grin sprang to his lips but it didn’t stay there long. He didn’t like the predatory gleam that entered her expression. It told him that she wasn’t going to let it go. She’d sunk her teeth into this “story” and Nick suspected that nothing short of death would persuade her to drop it.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t exactly kill the woman. All he could do was placate her, try to steer her away from this potentially dangerous path.

  “Look,” he spoke in a quiet voice, “obviously you know who I am. But can you tell me what I’ve been doing the past nine years?”

  Rebecca looked baffled. “Um...well...”

  “Exactly,” he said again. “I’ve been off the political radar. Why? Because I’m no politician, darling. Aside from a few obligatory appearances I make with my dad, I avoid that whole scene, and these last five years, I’ve been off the media grid completely.”

  “Why?”

  “Because public appearances weren’t co
nducive to the unit I served on.”

  “Army?” When he nodded, her eyes narrowed. “Special Forces?”

  Although he hated confiding in a woman he’d just met, he knew he had to offer a few more details if he wanted to convince Rebecca to back off.

  “When I joined the army, my father and I decided it would be wise if I didn’t use my real name. As much as I hate admitting it, the offspring of well-known public figures tend to have an easier ride, whether it’s in the corporate world or in government or the military.” Nick shrugged. “I wanted the other recruits to treat me like an equal, and I didn’t want preferential treatment from my commanding officers. Not only that, but I’d always intended on becoming Special Ops, and that’s hard to do when your last name is Barrett.”

  “I imagine a lot of our enemies would love it if they found out they’d captured the son of America’s sec def.”

  “Yep. That’s why I used my mother’s maiden name—Prescott.”

  Now she looked fascinated. “And throughout your entire career, nobody knew the truth?”

  “Some people did. My father, obviously, and a few high-ranking army officials, including my unit commander. But none of the men I served with knew.”

  “So, what, you’re here on some supersecret army mission?” Rebecca’s tone took on a skeptical note. “Are the rest of your men here?”

  “No to both of those questions.” Nick paused, knowing this was where he needed to tread carefully. “I can’t give you any more details, and it’s not because I’m trying to be difficult or coy or a jerk. This is a matter of life and death.”

  She grinned. “Sounds like my kind of story.”

  “There’s no story,” he said darkly. “I mean it, Rebecca. I need you to pretend you never saw me. You can’t tell anyone that we met, okay?”

  “Why? What’s going on here, Nick?”

  Frustration climbed up his throat. “I can’t say any more than what I’ve already told you, but this is no joke. If you value your own life, you need to let this go.”

  Her lips tightened. “Are you threatening me?”