Securing Willow (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) (Guardian Elite Book 5)

by KaLyn Cooper

  “Sir, when I heard that Miss Cardenas was deathly ill, I knew that you would need—” He stopped midsentence as Willow glared at Joe. The man’s face drained of all color as his overzealous smile faded.

  “Well, Mr. Allen, as you can see, I am perfectly fine.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, although it wasn’t the complete truth. Her stomach was still a little queasy, and on doctor’s orders, she was sucking down electrolytes to rehydrate her body. She turned to Rocco for an explanation.

  The big man leaned in and spoke quietly to her and the ambassador. “His name was on the list this morning. I had no idea you were sick and might not make it, so I sent him over with the guards on the first helicopter.”

  “I’ll handle this myself when we get back to the embassy.” The ambassador said just above a whisper. He looked first at Willow then at Rocco for agreement. She wasn’t about to argue with her boss about disciplinary measures and avoiding a scene right there was the best course of action.

  “Mr. Allen,” Ambassador Snyder said through nearly clenched teeth, “why don’t you walk back here with me as Mr. Dunaway shows us around the rig.”

  The self-important smile had returned to the short man as he fell into step behind the ambassador. For the next thirty minutes, Willow found it comical how many times Little Joe had tried to maneuver his slightly rotund body next to the ambassador, only to be displaced by Rocco. At one point, the bodyguard physically took the short man by the shoulders and forced him aside.

  Willow had to walk away to hide her smile when she heard Rocco say to Mr. Allen, “Unless you’re willing to take a bullet for the ambassador, walk behind us.” Little Joe’s face had blanched, but after that he stayed several feet away from their boss.

  That didn’t keep him from staring at her, though. On more than one occasion, Willow caught the other foreign service officer glaring daggers at her. She wasn’t sure what his problem was. He’d never been that way around her before the arrival of the new ambassador. On the other hand, Joe Allen had been former Ambassador Vance’s golden boy. Perhaps he didn’t like their role reversal.

  As Jim Dunaway explained the drilling operation to the ambassador, Willow wandered a few feet away to the edge of the four-story structure that towered three hundred feet in the air like a huge manufacturing facility on stilts.

  Looking out over the Atlantic Ocean, the tropical sun sparkled off wave tops and warmed her skin. She closed her eyes to absorb the fresh breeze and inhale the moist air.

  The relief of freedom washed over her. She’d seldom left the confines of the embassy since all the foreign service officers had been forced to move in nearly three months before. Until that very moment, Willow hadn’t realized how cooped up she’d felt.

  At the shuffling around her, Willow twisted slightly to see the group was moving on.

  “Fucking bitch.”

  Had she heard the words correctly? She couldn’t imagine anyone there saying something that ugly. She whirled to see who had spoken at the same time someone bumped her. Grabbing for the rusty railing to steady herself, it unexpectedly rocked.

  She looked over the edge and straight down three hundred feet to the ocean surface.

  Suddenly lightheaded, her entire body swayed. If she fell, she’d certainly die.

  Strong arms enveloped her, yanking her away from the edge.

  “Willow, breathe.” Remi’s command broke through her fear.

  In that moment she wanted to throw her arms around the big man in front of her, have him hold her, and tell her that she was okay, just as he’d done the other day in her office.

  That action would be totally inappropriate given their location and the group. She was a professional.

  Doing as she had been told, Willow sucked in a breath. She raised her head until her eyes met Remi’s. His hands had a sturdy hold on her shoulders. She glanced back at the railing and shuddered.

  “This place is falling apart. You need to be careful,” he warned and let go of her.

  She eased back and studied him. Had he been the one to call her a bitch? Still shaken by her brush with death, she tried to remember the voice. It had been muffled amongst the male conversations.

  Maybe she hadn’t heard those words at all. Perhaps, too, she was still weakened from being so sick yesterday and just got a little dizzy, lost her balance. Maybe no one had actually bumped her.

  She filled her lungs with clean sea air and pulled on her cloak of professionalism.

  Pasting on a smile, she met his gaze. “Thank you, once again.” She glanced at the backs of the retreating men. “Looks like we’re moving on.”

  Remi stared at her for a long moment before he finally nodded once and returned to Mr. Dunaway’s side.

  Willow gave herself a moment to inhale deeply and clear her thoughts. She grabbed another water bottle from her backpack and dumped in two packages of Gatorade mix. She downed half the liquid before loping toward the group.

  It took them nearly two hours before Mr. Dunaway and the ambassador were ready to return to Caracas.

  “It’s really too bad that we can’t see one of the operational wells,” Ambassador Snyder remarked.

  “I can make those arrangements for you, sir.” Joe Allen squared his shoulders as he moved to stand in front of the group. “I still have several connections in the Department of the Environment.”

  “Joseph, you aren’t supposed to be talking with those people,” Willow chastised before she could hold her tongue. “The United States government does not recognize the Mendoza regime, and communicating with anyone in his office without the express permission of the President of the United States could be misconstrued as treason.”

  Joe Allen waved off her protest. “I’ve worked with those people for years and they would do me that favor. Once this whole presidency mess blows over, we’ll be right back working with the same governmental employees who sit in those offices now. Most of those people have been there since Chavez. They’ll still be there no matter who is sitting in the presidential palace.” Joe Allen turned his nose up at Willow and faced the ambassador and Mr. Dunaway. “Like I said, if you want to see a working rig, I can make that happen.” He lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

  All eyes turned toward the ambassador. “I’ll soon be meeting with duly elected President Guerra and working with his new cabinet. I’m positive that during the negotiations for drilling rights between Mr. Dunaway and the new Venezuelan government I’ll have an opportunity to see an operational rig.”

  Jim Dunaway made a point of looking at his watch. “I believe we have enough time left to fly over several of the oceanic rigs before we return to the embassy.”

  Everyone started making their way back to the helicopter landing pad which was located on the farthest point away from the processing portion. When Joseph Allen tried to step into the Zon Petrol helicopter, Rocco gripped him by the shoulders and set him back on the deck.

  Willow stood frozen, wondering if she should go ahead and board the helicopter. Remi grabbed her elbow and guided her past Rocco and Joe Allen who were now in a heated discussion.

  Remi picked her up by the hips and lifted her into the chopper. She quickly scooted into the backseat and planted her butt in the middle once again. Remi waited near the door until Rocco spun away, and leapt into the helicopter. Sliding the heavy door closed, they left Joseph Allen standing in the rotor wash.

  “You need to be careful, Willow.” Rocco handed her the smallest helmet. “That guy really hates you.”

  Remi practically came out of his seat. “What did that little fucking bastard say?”

  Oh, no. Had Little Joe let his mouth run before his brain was engaged? Willow needed to diffuse the situation before she put on her helmet and the ambassador overheard. “Under Ambassador Vance, Mr. Allen had been allowed to speak for the ambassador…and frequently did. Unfortunately, Mr. Allen did not always have the interests of the United States government as his first priority, nor was he current on existing and pending legisl
ation.”

  “So, what you’re really trying to say is that former Ambassador Vance gave the little fucker free range and half the time he was talking out his ass,” Rocco summarized.

  “Crude, but accurate.” Willow giggled and slid the helmet over her head, then plugged the cord into the communication system. The ambassador and Mr. Dunaway were deep into a conversation about possible enticements the United States could offer President Guerra.

  They flew over several abandoned wells before they reached one that was operational.

  “They’re burning off the natural gas.” Jim Dunaway pointed to the fire blowing like a torch out of a long pipe that extended two hundred feet in the air and a hundred feet over the ocean.

  “They’re wasting all that natural gas?” The ambassador asked accusingly.

  Mr. Dunaway nodded. “Recovering and processing the natural gas is even more difficult than turning crude oil into gasoline and byproducts. Many of our rigs these days are configured to capture the natural gas.”

  “Duncan, take us out of range,” Rocco ordered. “I don’t think they can hit us from here, but that sentry has a sniper rifle. It’s probably used for pirates, but I don’t want to take any chances with the ambassador.”

  Willow couldn’t resist. She scooted to the edge of the seat and peered out the window. The rig had four men, one on each corner at the highest point, their guns aimed into the air following the helicopter’s flight path.

  Today’s experience had been close enough for her. The ambassador wanted also to see a land-based well, and she would be there at his side. The very thought of going into the jungle again made her break out in a sweat. Her stomach started to roll.

  Or maybe that was just her body telling her she needed more water and possibly some crackers. She certainly didn’t want a repeat of the previous day. Getting sick in front of all these men would be devastating.

  “You look white as a sheet,” Remi commented. He reached back behind the seat and started pulling out water bottles, which Willow proceeded to pass forward.

  He then handed her a cloth bag filled with fresh fruit and packets of snacks. As she tried to pass it forward, his large hand covered hers. “I think there are some peanut butter crackers in here. They should help settle your stomach.”

  She stared at this wonderful man in awe. He was so considerate. No man had ever taken care of her the way he was. She didn’t know what to do with all his kindness. “It seems like I keep saying thank you.”

  He rummaged through the bag, and with a bright smile, handed her a packet of crackers. “Now you have a reason to say that again.”

  She blushed as she accepted the small crackers. “Thank you.”

  Even though they tasted like cardboard, Willow’s stomach settled down. She’d have to think of something nice to do for Remi in return.

  Chapter 7

  Remi was happy to see the two limousines parked inside the hangar at the private side of Caracas airport. They could transfer both Mr. Dunaway and the ambassador with minimal exposure.

  “Jim, why don’t you come back to the embassy and have supper with me,” Ambassador Snyder invited.

  Remi immediately glanced at Rocco, who gave him a simple nod. Both men would be well protected.

  With a broad smile Mr. Dunaway replied, “I’d like that.” He leaned over to Remi. “Will you call and let Bruno know?”

  “Yes, sir.” Remi already had the satellite phone out of one of the many pockets of his cargo pants. “For safety reasons, though, I think you should take separate cars.”

  “Agreed.” Rocco pulled out his own phone.

  Forty-five minutes later, Mr. Dunaway and the ambassador were surrounded by Remi and Rocco’s men as they entered the U.S. Embassy. Willow trailed behind the huddle as though it were no big deal. Once inside the building, the bodyguards gave the two men considerably more room as they escorted them to the ambassador’s office.

  “Sir, if you don’t need me right away, I’m going to check my messages,” Willow told her boss at the door.

  “No. You go ahead.” The ambassador surveyed her with a critical eye. “You still look a little under the weather. We’ll be fine. Why don’t you call it a day?”

  Only because Remi was so close, did he hear her sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. If you need me, just call.”

  Her boss gave her a warm grin. “Jim and I are going to have a couple drinks and get to know each other better. I think we can all use some downtime.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Willow turned and headed for the elevator.

  Thinking quick, Remi assigned two of his men to stand guard at the door with Rocco’s men. “Mr. Dunaway, I’m going to see Miss Cardenas makes it to her office and help her to her residence. She’s been through a lot today already, it’s the least we can do.

  “Sounds good. Take your time, we’re going to be here a while.” Mr. Dunaway accepted a glass of whiskey and turned his attention to his host.

  “I have a few things to take care of first, but I’ll be down in a few minutes to check on her,” Rocco added.

  Remi really didn’t need Rocco for this visit. He just wanted to spend some time alone with Willow.

  Surprised she had chosen to ride the elevator rather than walk down, he silently admitted that perhaps she truly wasn’t feeling well. He hoped they’d be alone in the confined area, but they both stepped to the back when more people entered.

  Following her into her office, Remi caught a whiff of a foul smell. Maybe the cleaning crew had forgotten to collect the garbage last night. Willow said she’d been sick yesterday—had she thrown up in the office and the scent still lingered?

  “Yuck.” Willow wrinkled her cute little nose. “Do you smell that?”

  “What is that?” Remi didn’t want to embarrass Willow, but something reeked. Covertly, he looked at the wastebasket, which was empty and clean. His gaze wandered around the office before it landed on her.

  Willow stood completely still, staring at a gift box on her desk. It wasn’t wrapped in decorative paper but the silver cardboard had a red bow stuck on the top, albeit slightly off-center.

  “Is it your birthday or something?” If it were, Remi was totally unprepared. On the other hand, it wasn’t as though they were dating, and she’d expected a gift.

  “No.” The word was clipped. Her gaze never left the box.

  He heard her suck in a breath and she winced at the smell.

  “Valentina,” she called to her secretary in a shaking voice. The young woman waddled in nearly a minute later. “Who brought this box?”

  In thickly accented English, the woman claimed, “I no know.” She rubbed her huge belly. “I no see nobody. Bambino is laying on my bladder, so I go pee every five minutes. I no know who comes in here.” She pinched her nose. “Stinks. I gonna be sick. I leave now.” She disappeared back into her office.

  The secretary was useless, Remi thought unkindly.

  He had to do something because Willow was frozen in place, staring at the box, barely breathing. He circled the desk and took her by the shoulders, guiding her over to the visitor chairs. “Sit,” he ordered. She sat down on the very edge of the padded leather seat and peered over the desk at the box.

  Walking back around the desk, he nudged the chair out of the way. Grabbing a pencil from the cupholder, he slid it under the lid and flipped it off.

  The room was instantly filled with the smell of death.

  Remi immediately knew it was not human. He had seen, and caused, enough death to be able to identify that unique smell.

  High-pitched screaming bounced off every wall, assaulting his eardrums. Willow stood beside him, her whole body shaking, as she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Rocco burst into the room and stepped to the right of the doorway, followed by Gumby who moved to the left side, guns drawn, their gazes sweeping the room.

  Remi reached over and grabbed Willow around the shoulders and smashed her face into his chest. “It’s okay. You�
�re okay, Willow. It’s just a dead rat.”

  Rocco and Gumby stood from their crouched positions and pointed their guns in the air. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Someone sent Willow a dead rat.” He tried to keep his voice as flat as possible.

  “Really?” Rocco came around one side of the desk and Gumby approached from the other side.

  “Big fucking rat,” Gumby commented.

  Rocco leaned in closer. “There’s a note.” He read it aloud, “The wrong rat is dead.”

  “What?” Willow turned in Remi’s arms and looked at the package on her desk. He wasn’t about to let her go, but she leaned forward as though to get a better look inside. In those few seconds, she had pulled herself together.

  “Ew. Next to the rat. I think that’s what’s left of my egg salad sandwich from yesterday,” she announced.

  “Remind me not to eat the egg salad here anymore,” Gumby quipped.

  “You got sick after eating an egg salad sandwich yesterday?” Remi didn’t like this. He looked at Rocco and asked, “Was anyone else sick?”

  His friend shrugged. “I didn’t even know Willow was sick until we were on the rig.” He looked at Gumby. “Go find out how many how many people ate egg salad sandwiches yesterday and if they got sick.” The SEAL holstered his weapon and disappeared out the door. Rocco put his gun away as well.

  Remi looked at the sandwich in the box with the dead rat. “You didn’t eat much of it,” he noted.

  “Yeah, I know. Valentina and I had lunch delivered from the kitchen because I was swamped with work.” Willow scowled. “I’d taken one bite and the little twit in the Econ Department called me and told me that I had to pick up information for the ambassador and deliver it to him immediately.”

  “So, how long did that take? Ten minutes?” Rocco inquired.

  Willow scoffed. “It only took me a minute to get there, and the little ditz wasn’t even at her desk. I looked around for the file, peeked in the offices looking for her, but the place was deserted. I figured if it was that important, maybe she’d taken it up to the ambassador.”