Special Forces: Operation Alpha: The Fox and The Hound (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Breaking the SEAL Book 1)

by Wren Michaels

  When she overheard she'd be stuck with Hound for her extraction, she about walked right back out. Of course she'd end up with his SEAL team for this mission. Of all the teams in the world. The universe had it out for her. Punishment for something she'd done, or had yet to do.

  She picked up the pace, and all but ran up the stairs to the flight deck and sucked in a deep breath of ocean air at the top. The scent of ocean spray and heated sunshine filled her.

  Seeing Noah threw her for a loop. She thought she'd gotten over the incident at the party, but looking into his deep-brown eyes kicked her in the gut. He just sat there all smug. Probably got accolades from his buddies. She'd have words with her boss at the CIA about this op. No more military missions, or she'd walk. Of course, she still had the incident where she blew up the UCLA science lab to pay for. So hopefully they wouldn't call her bluff.

  Jayla walked her way to the edge of the ship and cast a glance at the open ocean, not a hint of land in sight. While she loved the sea, having only blue—from sky to water—surrounding her was a little overwhelming. Not to mention the fact that if anything happened to her on this mission, her life would be in the hands of Noah the Hound Dog. Karma sucked. A formidable foe. And most definitely a bitch.

  The sea breeze whipped her hair around, slinging strands of black and pink across her face. She went to restrain the wild locks, but someone else's hand did it for her. Jayla spun around, coming face to face with Noah. Her heart sprung up to her throat.

  “Don't sneak up on a person like that.” She clutched a hand to her chest.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Listen ...”

  Jayla held up a hand to stop him. Before he could attempt any kind of awkward conversation, she wanted to cut him off at the pass. He'd already infiltrated her dreams the last two nights since they met. She feared he'd break her walls again, and she'd end up some strung-out love-sick puppy. She needed to be strong, and the only way to do that would be to stop anything before it started again. “Hey, we can get through this like two professionals. I have a job to do. So do you. Let's just get it done and move on.”

  He folded his arms and looked out at the water, avoiding eye contact. “Why didn't you tell me who you were?”

  “Really? I'm supposed to say, hi Noah, I'm a secret government agent. I also like Yahtzee and cosplay.”

  Noah huffed and shoved his hands to his hips. “I'm a SEAL, like I'd say anything? I'm privy to just as much top secret information as you.”

  “Suck it up, buttercup. That's how this game works.” She couldn't fathom why he cared. After this mission, they'd never have to see each other again. Why make such a big deal out of it? So what, he got to wear his being a SEAL like a badge of honor. Her gig meant keeping things under wraps, covert and undercover at all times. Another reason they wouldn't work out. Too many secrets between them would lead to destroyed trust. She didn't want to bother going through all the heartache when she already knew what the outcome would be.

  “Fine. Whatever. Let's just get it done. I'll meet you at the north side of the mansion for pick up. Use your earpiece to let me know if you run into trouble. See you at midnight before you turn into a pumpkin.” He stalked away, but stopped and turned back around. “Almost forgot to give this to you.”

  Noah handed her the silver hair clip she'd forgotten at Caroline's. Jayla's gaze shot up to his eyes as he let his hand linger a bit too long in hers, sliding the barrette into her palm. His warm fingertips launched a shudder down her spine. He yanked his hand away and continued on his path back to the innards of the carrier.

  She glanced down at the little clip. So he must have known who she was all along. How else would he have known to bring the clip with him on the ship? Yet, not two minutes ago he chastised her for not telling him, acting like all of it shocked him.

  Because, if he had no clue, why would he have brought it with him on the ship? He was just carrying around her clip in his pocket for the hell of it? Endless reasons looped through her head of what it could mean.

  “Hound!” she shouted before she could stop herself.

  A jet approached the flight deck, swallowing her tiny voice, and separated her from running after him. Probably just as well. The fewer complications in her life, the better. And, he was still a fucking SEAL.

  Yet the not so subtle fluttering of her heart refused to let up. Her throat choked as she watched him stride away. Damn he had a fine ass. She really hoped he wouldn't turn out to be one.

  Chapter Five

  Jayla stepped onto the flight deck, pressing down her floor length gown against the sea breeze. A gust rippled the material, opening the slit in the side up to her hip as she walked toward the waiting helicopter. The jewel encrusted top started to leave a mark. It took everything in her not to rip the damn thing off before a terrible rash appeared. But this was what the CIA wanted her to wear. It's what Katya would have worn, so thus Jayla had to. Fantastic.

  The two-piece outfit bared her midriff for the world to see. While Jayla loved clothing that hugged all the right places, she never donned outfits with such minimal coverage. She'd have to interrogate Katya and give her a swift kick in the fashion sense, because who the hell wore white to a terrorist party?

  She already missed her Docs. The white stilettos, while completing the outfit, were far from practical to escape in. She sighed and sucked up the last of her dignity as she made her way to the chopper. From the corner of her eye she caught the SEALs gearing up as they prepared to board their awaiting boat.

  Don't look for him, Jayla. Just focus on the mission.

  But against her better judgment, she searched the sea of faces for any sign of Noah. Instead, she caught eyes with Skeevy McLovin', the one Noah called Digger. His cheesetastic smile washed over her, and she instantly needed a shower. Digger slapped the back of the guy next to him, who spun around and locked gazes with her.

  Noah.

  His large, brown eyes shot wide open, and just as his mouth dropped, so did he. Right over the edge of the aircraft carrier. His flailing arms shot above his head as he flew backward.

  Jayla mustered her best attempt at a run in her heels. “Hound!”

  Digger—when he finally sucked in enough breath after laughing so hard—said, “He's fine.” He pointed to the safety net hanging under the edge of the platform. Noah looked up at her from his back, one arm dramatically slung over his forehead, the other clutching his balls.

  A laugh bubbled up from her chest. “Shit, you okay down there, Hound?”

  He gave a slow thumbs up before rolling into a fetal position and out of her line of sight.

  “That's a first. You literally knocked Hound off his feet. I must say, I've known the bastard for almost five years. Haven't seen him rattled like that, ever.” He brushed a kiss along her cheek. “Well played. I only wish I would have videoed that shit.”

  “Glad I could be of service.” She took one last glance over the side, but he disappeared. The adrenaline rushing through her veins, however, did not. It launched her heart into that rage inducing flutter. Replaying the scene in her head, a smile twitched on her lips. Did she really have an effect on him?

  Her stilettos seemed to have a bit more pep by the time she reached the chopper and climbed her way inside.

  * * *

  The deep blue of the Pacific faded into an ombre of light blue to sea green as the depths of the water levels lessened the closer they came to the island. A four-story white mansion sat in the middle of it. Layers of rock and trees surrounded the base, sprawling into what looked like a rainforest along the remainder of the island.

  The chopper touched down on the rooftop helipad. Jayla adjusted the mic buried in her ear canal, and covered it with her long hair. Sucking in a deep breath, she climbed out, ducking the propellers still whirling above her head.

  Two thugs straight off the pro-wrestling circuit approached, flanking the sides of none other than Abdul Mu'eid Bahri himself. Jayla squinted as the setting sun's rays glistened off B
ahri's shiny bald head. Pock-marks dotted his oblong face, and two furry eyebrows needed some serious tweezing. Though his right one seemed to have a scar right through the middle of it. Possible knife fight?

  “Katya Omarov, I presume?” he said.

  Jayla nodded. “Bahri, dobriy vecher.” She hated this part of the gig. Thankfully, Bahri had never met Katya Omarov, so she had a little wiggle room with artistic liberties for her character. She channeled the cunning of a Kazakh, and the cool demeanor of a Russian. Her mother being Latvian helped, giving Jayla an advantage with her fluency in Russian. If only she could quell the roaring sea churning in her stomach, she'd be golden.

  Bahri held out his hand, clasping his fingers around Jayla's. His chapped lips scraped her skin as he kissed the back of it, sending a shudder of disgust through her body. “A good evening to you as well. I hope you'll enjoy yourself. I have great plans in store tonight.”

  Shit. “You speak Russian. Impressive.” Jayla cleared her throat and held tighter to her clutch purse, reminding herself to throw an accent in on her English.

  “I make it a point to know everything about who I do business with, Ms. Omarov. One would think you'd do the same.” Bahri nodded to his lackeys, who then escorted Jayla inside the glass doors from the rooftop.

  Uh huh. The CIA seemed to have conveniently left that part out of her briefing documents. She'd be sending a nastygram to her chief supervisor.

  As they paraded her through the rooms, she took mental notes of objects, doorways, and windows for escape plans B, C, and D. Because hell if she'd get stuck riding out a hurricane in a glass fishbowl with a terrorist. It ranked right up there with clowns and Justin Bieber.

  Her stilettos click-clacked on the white, marbled floor. The mansion echoed back its hollowness. All that money and the place felt as empty and lonely as a jail cell, with far better plumbing. Expansive libraries collected dust. Rooms with white furniture no one had ever sat in. Halls filled with art, but no pictures of smiling faces. It was far more of a museum than a home. Then again, she didn't expect an arms dealer to have hand prints from a five-year-old on his walls, either.

  She passed by a darkened office with a thumbprint keypad outside of it. According to the intel the CIA supplied, that looked to be the spot she'd have to crack into. A safe supposedly hid behind a painting on the wall inside the office, containing the dealers list.

  They descended an elegant marble staircase to the lower levels of the house.

  Her thoughts veered off track as she wondered how Noah's mission fared so far. Were they already done and just waiting for her? She prayed he remained in one piece, especially after the nose-dive off the aircraft carrier earlier. She stifled a laugh and kept walking.

  A leggy brunette with exotic eyes and botox lips sauntered through the room of guests, carrying a tray of wine. “Compliments of Bahri,” she said with a Mediterranean accent as thick as her fake eyelashes.

  Jayla nodded and accepted a glass. She swirled the dark liquid, watching it bleed along the edges of the chalice. Translucent milky streaks clung to the droplets of red. It was probably laced with something. She'd taken the preventive measure of coating her stomach with active charcoal, just for instances like this, and hoped whatever the poison was, the charcoal would filter it. But the best course of action would be abstinence. She set it down on the empty tray sitting in a corner.

  Bahri grabbed the glass and handed it back to her. “Not partaking in the wine tonight, Ms. Omarov? I was told red wine was your poison. Your only drink to do business by.”

  Mental note to make the nastygram to her chief superior a personal visit. One more thing not on her docket. The more things conveniently left out of her mission briefing, the more this entire thing smelled like a setup. Her spidey-senses tingled, and she needed to get the list and get out of there. Fast. “I'm more of a Pinot Noir girl, myself.”

  “Oh, but this is a lovely Merlot from a vineyard I own in Romania. Try it. For me. I love to watch a beautiful woman drink my wine.” He nudged the glass back into her hand.

  If she denied the drink, the entire deal would be in jeopardy and her cover blown. But this little kink in the plan led her to believe it already was, because why would he poison Omarov, a prospective buyer? Someone wanted either Omarov out of the way, or Jayla. The hard part would be trying to find out which.

  She gripped the stem and held it up in salutation. “Well, now, how could I resist that?” she said, tripping over her rolled R as her lips caressed the edge of the glass. As she sucked the liquid into her mouth, she tucked it in the pouch of her cheek, hoping he'd continue on his way and she could spit it back out.

  “Mmmm. That was lovely.” His eyes twinkled as he licked his lips. Her stomach roiled just from his gaze. “The evening's fun is about to get started. If you'll excuse me, Ms. Omarov. I must tend to the next phase of the festivities. I shall see you in the auction room.” He tossed her a slimy wink and stalked off. But not before slapping her on the back, dislodging the wine from its resting place. The poison-laced liquid skidded over her tongue and slid down the back of her throat, burning everything in its wake. She bent forward with a cough, patting her chest.

  Crap. She only had a few minutes to get to that office and get the goods. One, before the auction kicked off and Bahri noticed her absence. And two, before she either passed out or died, praying the charcoal would do the trick and soak up whatever he laced her drink with.

  She glanced at the glass and grabbed hold of the stem. A smile puckered her lips as she sauntered her way out of the room. The extravagant marble floors, while gorgeous, posed a hazard to her sneaking away. So much for stealth in stilettos. Jayla slid herself out of the peep-toe pumps and tucked them under her arm as she tip-toed up the staircase, heading for the office.

  As she approached the landing, one of Bahri's goons stopped her. “The auction is downstairs. No one is permitted up here.” Folding his arms, he puffed his chest out like a threatened animal.

  “Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, slurring her rolled R's for effect. “It's zee vine.” She pointed to the glass. “I need … how you say … restroom?” Jayla tossed in a giggle for good measure.

  “Downstairs.” He nodded, not budging.

  “Surely, you wouldn't make me walk all the way back down three flights of stairs.” She dragged a finger across the exposed tops of her breasts, before hooking it under one of the cups of her top, crushing a pill hiding there under her nail.

  She inched her way to the top step and stood toe to toe with him. He stared down at her, towering over her five-foot-four-inch frame. She regretted not keeping the heels on. Sucking in a deep breath, she slid her finger between her lips and gave it a seductive lick. The barbiturate sat on the tip of her tongue as she sidled up next to him and planted a kiss on his lips, slipping her tongue over his, transferring the toxin to him.

  Thanks to her line of work, she had built up a tolerance. That poor fool had not. He dropped from her arms and slumped along the rail like a dead body. Alarm shot through Jayla's heart as she pressed two fingers to check for a pulse. The slow thump beneath her fingers sent a flood of relief through her. So far on her missions she had a clean body count, and she fully intended to keep it that way. Terrorist or not, she didn't have it in her to take someone's life. Though inevitably she knew the day would come when she'd have to. When poised between her life or the bad guy's, she'd win every time.

  She stepped over his body and continued on her way to the office. Now, how exactly she'd get into it with the scanner on the door … she skidded to a stop as she passed a billiards room. Pool chalk. That would work. She scampered into the room and scored a block of the chalk. In the corner of the room sat a cherry-wood table. A hurricane lamp with a candle tucked inside dressed the top of it.

  She retrieved a lighter from her clutch and pulled the candle out, setting it ablaze.

  This had better work.

  She chipped at the cube of chalk with her stiletto until a chunk fell off,
and she crushed it into dust with the bottom of her shoe. As she twirled the stem of the glass in her fingertips, she studied the edge looking for her lipstick smudge. Opening her palm, she blew the chalk dust on the opposite side of the glass from her stain. With two sets of fingerprints, she had to be sure she grabbed the right one. Since Bahri handed her back the glass, hopefully his oils still clung to it.

  Jayla reached for the lit candle and tipped it, dripping the hot wax over her thumb. Inhaling a hissing breath, she pressed the melted wax against the chalk and pulled an imprint of Bahri's thumb off. She couldn't believe it actually worked. Now, if only the scanner would be as impressed and read it.

  Blowing a lock of hair from her face, she hopped to her feet, grabbed her shoes and clutch, and dashed down the hall. She stopped in front of the office door, and after a quick peek over each shoulder she pressed the wax to the reader. Six long heartbeats later, the scanner beeped and a little green dot appeared, clicking open the door lock.

  Jayla eased her way inside, closing the door behind her. She reached into her clutch and grabbed a tube of lipstick, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. Twisting the bottom of the lipstick tube, she turned on the disguised flashlight and scoured the room for the safe.

  In the corner, tucked behind a credenza, sat a small picture frame stuck to the wall. Jayla ran her fingertip around the edge of it and unclipped it from its hanger, pulling it down. Bingo. Behind the picture sat a tiny wall safe with a thumb print reader. Perfect.

  Now where did she put that wax imprint? She flicked her wrist, shining the light into her clutch and then across the desk with no sign of the thumbprint. Crap. Collapsing to her knees, she scoured the floor, hoping she didn't drop it and step on it in the dark. Something waxy slid between her fingers and the corner of the desk. Yes!

  “Fox,” a voice whispered in her ear, launching a shiver down her spine and her heart into palpitations. That low, sexy tone tightened her abdomen, and she clasped the edge of the desk for balance.