by Pamela Clare
“They’d better give you a medal.” He didn’t know if the CIA gave medals.
“I don’t think they’re going to be as pleased with me as Mr. Tower was. If I’d stayed indoors and let them take the journalists, I wouldn’t have been abducted. None of this would have happened. You’d have left on the helicopter with the rest of your team.”
“Maybe not. We might not have found the hostages. Remember that you provided the intel that enabled us to move quickly to rescue them.”
Tower looked up from his tablet. “I have a lot of respect for the Agency, but sometimes it can be too focused on narrow objectives. No one on Cobra’s team would face a reprimand for trying to protect the lives or freedom of US citizens.”
That made her smile. “Thank you.”
Dylan lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You’ve faced scarier assholes. You can take those bastards.”
Their flight had no sooner landed than Tower passed on gate information to Gabriela. “An Agency representative is waiting for you there. I’ll escort you.”
“Thanks.” Gabriela shook Tower’s hand. “And thank you for all that you and Cobra have done on my behalf.”
Dylan waited for Tower to disembark, but the idiot just stood there. “Tower, man, don’t you need to use the restroom or something?”
Tower got the hint. “I’ll be on the tarmac.”
Dylan waited until he was gone, then drew Gabriela into his arms and kissed her, drawing it out, making it last, not wanting to let her go. “I don’t know where this will take us, but you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Don’t let those bastards at Langley get you down. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
She smiled, a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Dylan, for everything. You risked so much to keep me safe.”
“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.” He kissed her again, then walked with her down the stairs to where Tower stood, waiting.
“I’ll escort you to your gate,” Tower said.
Dylan watched her walk away, so much he’d wanted to say left unsaid.
She glanced back over her shoulder, her gaze meeting his for just a moment before she and Tower entered the special security entrance.
He’d known he’d miss her, but he hadn’t expected saying goodbye to hurt.
You’ve forgotten how much love sucks.
Yeah, there was that.
Dylan walked to the bar, grabbed a beer, tried to get a grip on his emotions.
By the time the plane had refueled, Tower was back.
He sat, buckled in, pinned Dylan with his gaze. “It’s against company policy for operatives to become sexually or romantically involved with our clients.”
“Who was the first person to break that rule?” Dylan took a drink, waited.
“I’m one of the owners of this company—and your supervisor.”
Dylan raised his bottle in a mock toast. “I’m just following your example.”
Tower’s eyes narrowed. He picked up his tablet and went back to reading.
And that was the end of that conversation.
It was evening by the time they reached Denver, an autumn chill in the air, the mountains white with the first snowfall of the season.
A car was waiting to drive Dylan and Tower to Cobra HQ, where Dylan turned in his weapons and stowed his gear.
Tower met him in the elevator down to the parking garage. “Thank you, Cruz. This clusterfuck could have ruined the company. If that bastard had gotten away with Ms. Marquez, if you’d ended up on the Venezuelan news, if the two of you had been killed, we’d be out of business.”
Coming from Tower, this almost constituted a public display of affection.
“Yeah, it was touch and go there for a while.”
“You worked the problems one at a time. You trusted your instincts as a warfighter. You powered through it—and so did Ms. Marquez.”
“Hell, yeah, she did.”
The elevator doors opened.
“See you tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred for an official debriefing.” Tower stepped out and walked toward his vehicle.
Dylan drove to his condo in Five Points, grabbed his mail, and let himself in. Rather than going through his usual post-mission routine—laundry, a shopping list, a quick trip to the store—he poured himself a drink and sat in the dark, an ache in his chest.
22
Gabriela scanned her ID to enter the elevator and punched the button for the third floor, doing her best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. Today was her official mission evaluation. She’d worn a conservative gray pantsuit, armor for today’s battle. She shouldn’t be nervous, but she was.
The past week had been rough. She’d spent most of her time in debriefings that felt more like interrogations, answering the same questions again and again. She knew they were unhappy with aspects of her performance. She couldn’t blame them.
She had effectively ended her mission the moment she’d stepped between Pitón and the journalists. Even so, she wasn’t sure what she could have done differently. She had reacted on instinct, her mission objectives forgotten the moment she heard the gunshots and screams.
As busy as she was with debriefings, she hadn’t had time to look for an apartment or buy a car or shop for more than a few necessities—though she had made sure to get a phone. The Agency had given her temporary housing and a rental car, which helped. But after life as a religious sister—not to mention the abduction and escape from the cartel—it felt strange to be back in the US and out in the world.
Amid the stress of re-entry, Dylan had been her anchor, the sound of his voice enough to smooth all her rough edges. He’d done this so many times—countless deployments followed by a return to the real world. He understood what she was feeling and seemed to know just what to say. They talked about flying together to Puerto Rico or Hawaii or Greece when she was finally given leave.
“It doesn’t matter to me where we go as long as there’s room service, wine, and you,” Gabriela had said.
“That narrows it down a bit,” he’d joked.
God, she missed him. She missed everything about him—his voice, his hand holding hers, that smile, those eyes, the warmth of his body beside her at night, the bliss of making love with him.
The elevator door opened with a ding, and she made her way to the conference room. Colby, her immediate supervisor, had told her to expect a reprimand but assured her that the evaluation would be fair.
She drew a breath, put on her game face, and stepped through the door, acknowledging each man with a glance and a nod. “Director Walker. Senior Director Rayburn. Assistant Director Colby.”
She set her handbag on the floor, took a seat—and waited.
Walker was the first to speak. “How are you feeling? I understand you were shot.”
“A graze wound, sir. It’s healing well. The doctor removed the stitches and cleared me.”
He nodded, his brow furrowing. “You did some extraordinary work during the eighteen months of this assignment. There’s no denying that. Your ability to maintain your cover under the most adverse circumstances has been noted. Your talent for improvisation is also impressive.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“In our assessments during your training, there was nothing to indicate you would perform effectively in a combat situation. We have updated those assessments.”
Assistant Director Rayburn took over. “What concerns us was your decision to risk your entire mission in a foolhardy and ultimately failed attempt to prevent the journalists from being abducted.”
And now came the reprimand.
“You are a valuable resource,” Rayburn said. “Women—people—with your particular set of skills are not easy to find. While your instinct to protect US citizens is laudable, you brought your mission to a premature end and put your life in jeopardy for two people who, quite frankly, ignored State Department travel advisories and had no business being in Venezuela.”
“Yes, sir.�
�� She couldn’t deny it. “I’m sorry, sir. I heard the screams and gunshots and reacted on instinct. At the same time, I was able to protect the hostages and get intel to you that made their rescue—and mine—possible.”
“That has been noted,” Colby said. “It’s in the evaluation. We know—”
Walker cut him off. “It wasn’t your job to look after those journalists. Did you forget who you were? You lost yourself in the part you were playing and started thinking like a nun and not an officer. You weren’t there on a mission of mercy.”
Gabriela fought to keep her temper in check. “I didn’t lose myself in any part, sir. That’s who I am!”
“That’s who you are.” Walker repeated her words. “Look at the consequences of that single act. We had to send your contacts underground in case you were outed as an Agency officer. The Andes Cartel is now caught up in a violent internal struggle, as well as a turf war with neighboring cartels, destabilizing the region. Our only Agency asset inside SEBIN is dead thanks to Cobra, so now we’re blind.”
He was talking about Sander.
“He betrayed us. He would have turned us over to the cartel.”
“Not if you hadn’t gotten yourself abducted!” Walker’s voice boomed through the small room. “That’s my point. If you had remained at the Mission, our asset never would have been involved, and the region wouldn’t be caught in a deadly cartel war.”
Rayburn cut in. “You have to understand, Ms. Marquez, that your greatest value to the Agency was as an undercover officer in Venezuela. But we can’t send you there again. Your face has been on the TV news and in newspapers. We can’t assign you to any region where the Andes Cartel has operations, which rules out most of Central and South America. If the Andes Cartel survives, they’ll be looking for you.”
“Yes, sir. I know.”
Walker cleared his throat. “Apart from that mistake, your performance was exemplary. From your abduction onward, you exhibited the very best of what an Agency Officer should be. We’re giving you a commendation together with a reprimand. Because of you, two US hostages are home safely, a ruthless cartel boss is dead, and Luis Sánchez has come crawling to our doorstep, pleading for help.”
“He might be the key to regime change,” Colby added.
“Let us hope so.” Then it might all be worth it.
Rayburn leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got three months of hard-earned leave. When you return, we’re reassigning you to the Latin American division as an analyst.”
Gabriela’s heart sank.
There it was—the bottom line. A desk job. She ought to have anticipated this. She’d known she couldn’t return to Venezuela. What did she expect them to do?
She hid her disappointment. “I understand. Thank you.”
After that, it was just small talk—the weather, what the cafeteria was serving for lunch, the traffic caused by nearby road construction.
Gabriela thanked them and left the building. She made it to the car before the tears came.
Dylan parked at DIA, jogged inside the terminal, and glanced up at the Arrivals screen. Gabi’s plane had already landed.
Damned traffic. I-25 sucked.
He shot her a text message, told her he was here, then made his way to the lobby area to wait, anticipation thrumming in his veins.
It had been only eight days since he’d watched her walk away at the airport in Miami— just eight days—and it felt like a month. Though they’d spoken every night on the phone, it wasn’t enough. Any fears he’d had about his feelings for her fading with the danger and adrenaline were gone.
When she’d called yesterday and explained what had happened, he’d told her to get on a plane and come to Denver. Then he’d called Tower and asked for a private meeting. He understood that the Agency had their reasons for reprimanding her, but he didn’t give a damn. All they saw were words on a page. They hadn’t seen her in action. She didn’t have to put up with their bullshit.
The escalator brought a wave of humanity—but not Gabriela.
A grandmother whose grandkids ran to greet her. A soldier home on leave. Business travelers talking on their phones.
He was usually a patient man. As an assaulter and operative, he’d learned to wait. But he didn’t feel patient now.
Another full escalator.
His gaze moved over the throng, searching for her.
A hand slid up his spine. “Looking for someone?”
Dylan turned—and there she was, the sight of her sending a rush of pure happiness through him. “God, it’s good to see you.”
“I’ve missed you so much.” She looked beautiful and very professional in a gray pencil skirt and black blouse, strappy heels on her feet, a little makeup on her face.
He drew her close, smeared her lipstick with a kiss, the feel of her in his arms precious. “I’ve missed you. I can’t wait to get you naked.”
“I second that.”
Too bad they had a meeting with Tower first.
He drove her from DIA to Cobra HQ and parked in the secured underground garage. He gave her a tour of the building—the front hallway with its walls of polished stainless steel, the glass-walled conference rooms with their built-in blinds, the gym, the breakroom, the shooting range. Then he got her a bottle of water to help with the altitude and grabbed a cup of coffee for himself.
“We’ve got a full-time armorer who maintains our firearms, but his workshop is locked up for the weekend.”
“This is not at all what I was expecting. It’s so … classy.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Tower stood behind them.
He led them to his office and motioned for them to sit. “Here’s what concerns me about bringing you on board here at Cobra. You and Cruz became intimate on this mission. How does that play out down the line if you break up? Will you still be able to work effectively together, or will your personal drama put our operations at risk?”
That was the thing about Tower. He was always direct.
Gabi clearly wasn’t intimidated by him. “I understand your concern, sir. You can’t have staff bringing their baggage into the office or allowing their emotions to compromise their work. If you offer me a position and I accept, I will act professionally, no matter what’s going on in my private life.”
Tower’s expression gave away nothing. “And, you, Cruz. If Thor Isaksen walks in, and she decides she prefers the tall Norse god look to the Latin lover, how is that going to work for you?”
Those words hit a sore spot inside Dylan, making his body tense, the memory of betrayal hardwired into him. But to his surprise, the twinge of emotion passed, leaving a strange sense of clarity.
“No matter what happens between Gabi and me, she will always be the woman who picked up a rifle and fought her way through a dozen sicarios to stop me from being tortured and save my life. I won’t forget that. I want her to be happy.”
It was the truth.
He loved her.
You should tell her that, cabrón.
Tower nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “I’ll take you both at your word. Ms. Marquez, I’ll talk to my partner, Javier Corbray, and get back to you with an offer.”
Gabi stared at Tower, clearly surprised. “That’s it? No more questions? No resumé? No psych eval?”
Tower chuckled. “We’ve had our eye on you since we found out you weren’t a nun. Your skillset is… unique. Compared to you, former elite operators like Cruz are a dime a dozen.”
“Hey, I’m right here.” Still, Dylan knew it was true.
Tower ignored him. “I’ve already read through your Agency file, and I am, of course, familiar with your actions in Venezuela. I know you received a reprimand for trying to protect the journalists. I’m not concerned. You’re young, and it was your first solo, undercover mission. You ran headlong into danger, not once, but twice—first in an attempt to protect the reporters and then when you saved Cruz. That’s who you are.”
Dylan could see those words touch
ed Gabi.
“Thank you for understanding, sir.”
Tower thanked them for coming in on the weekend, told them he hoped they enjoyed their hard-earned vacation time, and the interview was over.
Gabi was alight with excitement. “Does this mean I’ll meet Holly Bradshaw?”
“You’ll be her co-worker.” But Dylan had more important things on his mind. He nuzzled her cheek, lowered his voice to a whisper. “I need to get the hell out of here—and deep inside you.”
“God, yes.”
It took all of his willpower to keep his hands off her as they made their way back to his vehicle and drove to his condo. He parked, carried her bag inside, and locked the door behind them, one thing on his mind.
She leaped into his arms, kissed him.
He backed her up against the door, took control of the kiss, hunger pounding through his veins, his cock already hard.
“Now!” She yanked down his zipper, stroked his erect cock.
He rucked her skirt up to her hips and lifted her off the floor, pinning her against the door with his weight, and moving the crotch of her panties aside.
“Yes.” She wrapped her legs around his waist.
He buried himself inside her with a single, slow thrust, the two of them moaning in unison as she took all of him.
No condom this time.
He tried to settle into a smooth rhythm, but she felt too damned good—wet and hot and tight. “Jesus.”
His control shredded, he pounded himself into her, hard and fast… needing her… losing himself in the feel of her. He babbled nonsense in two languages. “Gabi, you’re so … Mi amor. I need… Fuck! Eres perfecto.”
Faster. Harder.
Every thrust made her moan now, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parted.
He knew she was close, her body going stiff. He fought to relax, to last just that little bit longer, just a little longer for her sake.
“Dylan!” She cried out his name as climax took her, bliss shining on her face.
He let himself go, groaning out his pleasure against her throat as orgasm claimed him and he spilled himself inside her.