by Rachel Grant
Brie felt the blood drain from her face at Savvy’s words. She couldn’t stop herself and turned to Bastian. “You utter bastard.”
His face was a hard stone mask, reminding her of the man she’d met that night in Barely North. Now she knew why his enemies called him Bastian the Bastard.
“That is irrelevant to this meeting, Ms. Stewart,” Savvy said without a hint of remorse in her voice. “Please tell us what you know.”
“Why? The last time I had any interaction with Nikolai was years ago. Your intel is far more accurate than my first-hand knowledge.”
“But you have first-hand knowledge. We don’t.”
Brie flattened her hands on the table, to keep them from curling into fists. Finally she said, “He’s ten years older than I am. Like me, he was raised in the business. Unlike some of the other oil company babies I grew up with, he knew the ins and outs of the actual work. He was also raised to be ruthless and has a nasty streak a mile deep. I was friends with his little sister, and she told me stories. Let’s just say there was a reason she didn’t have any pets. I was forced to date him when I was eighteen with the expectation that we’d marry at some point to join Druneft and PE in an unholy alliance. I refused to screw him or marry him. Later, when I was disinherited, my father told me I could have my trust fund back if I married Nikolai. Again I refused. That’s pretty much all I know.”
“Did you know several small companies have formed in the past five years that have both the Prime and Drugov names in the tax filings?” Savvy asked.
“No. It sounds like my father managed to secure the deals without using my vagina. Good for him.”
Savvy’s face remained blank, yet Brie picked up on her amusement at the frank word. “I’m sorry to say it appears Drugov’s interest in you didn’t stop when you refused his suit.”
Suit. She hadn’t heard archaic language like that since her dad tried to sell her to Drugov and called it an alliance.
“What do you mean?”
“Intel indicates Drugov intended to purchase you from the slave market. He was the ‘special buyer’—after all, it was his market. He was just going to go through the motions of the auction to obscure the trail should the US discover what had happened to you. I agree with Mr. Ford’s initial assessment that the slaver only sold Ms. Stewart to him because he intended to have her recaptured and resold to Drugov, thus doubling his take. Furthermore, intel indicates the Russian mercenary who found you in the abandoned village was one of Drugov’s men.”
“How can you know this?” Brie asked.
“Multiple sources collected from HUMINT and SIGINT.”
Brie knew Savvy was referring to human intelligence—intelligence gathered through human contact, and signal intelligence—intercepted radio communications.
“That combined with intelligence provided by the children liberated by the A-Team, and we’ve had a lot of threads to connect.”
It occurred to Brie that Bastian had provided some of the HUMINT—after getting her to talk in bed. Savvy’s text message to Bastian came to mind: Need answers, ASAP.
Well. Now Brie understood what that had meant. Bastian was on a mission for the CIA. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she held them at bay with a deep breath. She called up her inner Gabriella. Gabriella had ice in her soul and had screwed a reporter so she could feed him intel.
Savvy clicked the mouse again, and again Brie recognized the image that appeared on the screen. Dread surfaced, only to be tamped down with icy reserve.
“This,” Savvy said, “is the Prime siblings’ estate in Casablanca, Morocco. Jeffery Prime divested the asset to his children to keep it from being lost to Ms. Stewart’s mother in the divorce. Because it was not part of Ms. Stewart’s trust fund, it was not taken away when the trust was dissolved. Apparently, even Ms. Stewart didn’t know she was partial owner until several months before she arrived in South Sudan.”
How the hell did Savvy know that? The details of trusts were confidential. But then, the woman was CIA, and had probably employed illegal methods to obtain information.
Sometimes she even convinced Special Forces operators to fuck unsuspecting women to get them to talk.
“As the rainy season intensifies, the famine is getting worse in South Sudan. With the destruction of the USAID food reserves, residents in the east of the country are either fleeing into Ethiopia or dying. Every major city outside Juba is on the verge of collapse, and Juba could follow soon after. We believe Lawiri is currently residing at Drugov’s estate in Morocco as he waits for both factions in South Sudan to fall.”
Brie came to attention.
“Drugov’s estate borders the Prime property, and Drugov is currently in residence. We know he’s there because six days from now he’s hosting a black tie party at his estate, which will be attended by Jeffery, Jr. and Rafe Prime.”
Well, there went her plans of escaping to Morocco for a nice quiet recovery. Brie cleared her throat. “What is it you want from me, Savvy?”
“I want you to go to Morocco, find Lawiri, and expose Drugov.”
“No!” The sharp word came from Bastian, who rose to his feet.
Brie glared at him and turned back to Savvy. “Bullshit. You want me to be bait for Drugov.”
“That too. And sit down, Mr. Ford. You have a role in this op too.”
Op?
Savvy nodded to Bastian’s CO, Major Haverfeld, and resumed her seat.
“Mr. Ford,” Major Haverfeld said, “we’ve gone over the logistics with Ms. James and believe this mission has the best chance of success if it’s conducted as a covert operation.”
“What?” Brie said. “I’m not exactly a trained spy. And I’m pretty sure Nikolai will recognize me.”
“You aren’t the one who will be covert, Ms. Stewart. We would like to send Mr. Ford with you to Casablanca. He will pose as your boyfriend, but act as your bodyguard. All we need for you to do is locate Lawiri. Once we have proof he’s in Morocco with Drugov, we can send in a team to seize him. Lawiri is wanted by authorities in South Sudan and Ethiopia.”
“Plus, if we can get Lawiri to roll on Drugov,” Savvy said, “we can expose the Russian for aiding the overthrow of a government to secure oil rights.”
“And they’re just going to magically accept me showing up out of the blue with my Special Forces boyfriend in tow?” She’d avoided her family for years—hadn’t even wanted them to know where USAID sent her—and now the CIA and US military wanted her to visit her brothers as if nothing had happened?
“We believe Drugov’s source—Senator Jackson—has informed the oligarch that Mr. Ford is the soldier who saved you in South Sudan,” Savvy said. “I’m sure no one would find it hard to believe a relationship has developed, and after everything you’ve been through, you’re due a break at your luxury estate. Officially, Mr. Ford is being granted R and R after a stressful week in South Sudan, which culminated in you both being injured.”
“If Drugov was hoping to buy me for his sex slave, he won’t be pleased to meet a boyfriend. Even a fake one.” Because sure as hell their relationship was now in fictional territory.
“All the more reason to have him there,” Major Haverfeld said. “You need protection, Ms. Prime.”
“Stewart,” she corrected. “And why should I go at all? Just send in a team and storm Nikolai’s house.”
“You know we can’t do that. Not without risking war with Russia,” Savvy said. She held Brie’s gaze. “We believe these men are responsible for the destruction of the food in South Sudan. Food that would have fed thousands of starving people. People who very well may die now.”
“We also believe,” Haverfeld piled on, “they’re responsible for the slave market. The one in which you were stripped naked, forced to wear a metal collar, and were to be auctioned off. The one where all those children were lined up, waiting to be sold. I think you have a lot of reasons to want to chase down this lead, Ms. Stewart. And there is no one in this room who has legal access
to your family estate but you.”
Goddamn, it sucked how they’d lined up their ammunition to corner her. She could deflect, but in the end, she’d be refusing to fight for a cause she believed in. “Fine. But I’ll go alone.”
“Hell no!” Bastian said.
At last, after avoiding him the entire meeting, she met his gaze. But she didn’t see the man she’d made love with, the man she’d been falling for, the man she’d pushed away because it was the only way she could protect him. No. She saw the man who didn’t do relationships. The one who’d seduced her on orders from the CIA.
She slowly rose from the table. “Make your plans, then. Let me know what you decide. For myself, I need a drink.” She left the room without looking back.
27
Bastian’s already crushed heart sank at seeing Brie sitting at the bar. Fuck. Was he too late?
They’d kept him in the meeting, planning an op that would gut him emotionally if not physically. Still, he stayed, because sure as hell no one was going to Morocco with her but him. If he’d chased after her, he’d have lost his spot at her side. And it was likely only Savvy knew Brie was a recovering addict who hadn’t had a drink in years.
Staying in the meeting, knowing she was here, had cut him. He’d done this to her, brought her this low.
His fault. He hadn’t warned her that he needed to tell Savvy about Drugov. He’d been about to tell her last night, but she’d kicked him from her bed, out of her CLU.
He’d been angry and frustrated, and who did he run into but Savvy James? The woman had taken one look at him and knew he’d gotten Brie to talk. He’d done his duty and told Savvy everything.
Savvy had told him on Dahlgren that Drugov was a person of interest. The fact that Brie knew him personally was the piece that had been missing. Even after telling Savvy everything, he hadn’t known until the meeting that Savvy had connected Drugov and Lawiri.
Now he knew the final piece, information that had been shared after Brie left the room. Drugov had been after Brie for years—just like the mercenary in South Sudan had said. Lawiri’s showing up at the USAID facility two months ago was likely to confirm that Brie Stewart was Gabriella Prime and the later attack had been twofold: snatch Brie and burn the food. Drugov would get the woman he wanted, and the country would further destabilize and fall into famine.
Now Brie sat at the bar, her back ramrod straight, facing the bottles of alcohol lined up on the shelves at the back of the bar.
He circled and saw there was no drink before her, just an empty counter and a woman facing her demons. He wanted to slide onto the seat beside her yet feared being the thing that would push her over the edge, cause her to lose the battle.
But inaction could be worse. What if she gave in because she was alone? Because she believed he didn’t care about her?
He dropped onto the seat by her side, reminded of their first meeting on these very barstools.
And just like she had then, she rebuffed him before he had a chance to speak. “Go. The fuck. Away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Go away.”
“No. I’m sorry, Brie. I was going to tell you that Savvy needed to know about Drugov, but you tossed me out.”
“And you left because the only reason you fucked me was to get me to talk. Your job was done.”
He couldn’t lie, but knew she’d find the truth hard to believe. “Can we talk about this in private?” Someplace where drinks weren’t being served and the bartender couldn’t overhear.
“No. If you’re just going to tell the fricking CIA everything I say, we may as well talk here.”
She waved the bartender over. The man paused in front of her. “Have you decided?”
Her gaze fixed on the bar again, and Bastian held his breath. After a moment she said, “No.” She nodded toward Bastian. “But he wants something.”
Bastian did, but no way was he ordering a stiff drink now, not when she was fighting demons. “Coke. Please.”
The bartender filled a glass, slid it across the bar, then moved to the corner—as far as he could go and remain behind the counter.
“I love you,” Bastian said, desperate to breach her barricades.
Her body stiffened. Her eyes hardened and her nostrils flared, but she said nothing.
His heart pounded as her silence lengthened. Finally, she rose from her seat and left the club.
Brie’s entire body quaked with rage. He loved her? Right. If he loved her, he wouldn’t have fucked her for information and then turned around and told the CIA everything. He wouldn’t have let her be blindsided by that meeting.
He wouldn’t have used her just like her family tried to use her.
Her father had wanted her to screw Drugov to seal a deal. Marry him to join empires. Her needs, her wants never factored into the equation. She was a vagina for male satisfaction and a womb to carry little Prime-Drugov heirs.
As if she’d bring children into that world. As if she’d perpetuate the horror that was her family on another generation.
Tears were falling before she made it to the door of the club. She could walk faster now that she’d ditched the cane, but she still couldn’t run, which she desperately wanted to do. Her goal was her CLU, where she could lock her door against the man she’d kicked out of her bed because she cared too much, only to discover he was on a mission from the CIA.
Savvy must have arranged everything. That was why he was on the carrier even though he didn’t require twenty-four-hour observation. He was there to get close to her.
And of course he’d gotten clearance to take her to the observation deck. Savvy had just run the meeting in a room full of SOCOM leaders. Brie had no doubt the woman could convince the entire fleet to assist her scheme. A field trip to watch jets take off was child’s play.
No wonder medical center staff had looked the other way and the doctor had been free with condoms. Brie was dumb not to have seen it sooner.
She was halfway to her CLU when Bastian caught up to her.
“Brie. Please talk to me. Please.”
She turned and fixed him with a teary glare. “I have nothing to say to you except I now understand why your parents would prefer someone else over you.”
It was the most cutting thing she could think of to say, and it was effective. He stopped dead in his tracks, and she made it to her CLU without him following at her heels.
She closed the door behind her and finally let the tears flow. First she was assaulted by images of his body as he’d made love to her, waking feelings she didn’t want. Emotions she feared.
Then she rewound to the first moment he’d stepped into the hut in South Sudan, when she stood before him naked but for a slave collar, and how her heart had surged at the sight of him.
Dancing under the stars in South Sudan. Kissing on the observation deck in the Gulf of Aden. Making love in this room. It was a vicious cycle of memories in which he’d elicited the most intense of her emotions.
And now here she was, adding another to the heap of memories.
She’d sat at that bar for thirty minutes, fighting the urge to order a drink. Now she wished she’d given in.
She’d give anything not to feel this, not to feel at all.
28
Brie managed to avoid Bastian for all of thirty-six hours, but with their mission to Morocco scheduled for three days from now, she had to meet with him. They had to plan.
He was going to play her boyfriend, and they had to discuss their roles and form a strategy. He had to learn his part.
She stepped into the conference room in full Gabriella Prime makeup and clothing. She wore a pantsuit now, and her limp was nearly invisible. She walked with regal poise, and Bastian ached for her. Physically. Mentally.
He loved her. He knew that now with certainty. Somewhere between the slave market and Camp Citron, he’d fallen hard for her, and if he couldn’t convince her to give him a second chance, he was pretty sure he would fall ap
art.
Was this how Cece had felt when he dumped her? He’d always assumed she’d loved the idea of them as a couple, and tolerated him as a partner, but maybe there really had been more to it for her. Maybe that was why she’d refused to let him go.
None of that mattered now, though.
Now they had a mission to plan. He was accompanying the woman he loved into the heart of a viper pit. There they’d face a Russian oligarch who’d planned to have her as a slave, a South Sudanese general who was selling out his people so he could profit from oil drilling, and her brothers who might have ordered a hit on the last man Brie had cared for.
Bastian would be her only protection, and right now, she hated him.
This might make South Sudan feel like a vacation.
Brie sat across from him at the table. “This is how we’re going to do things. When we first arrive in Morocco, I’m taking you shopping. You need to look the part of Gabriella Prime’s lover.” Her gaze flicked over him, as if Gabriella wouldn’t give him the time of day.
That was how she wanted to play this? He leaned back and smiled. Game on. “Gabriella gets off on my rugged good looks and the fact that I’m not a sadistic asshole like that oligarch guy.”
“Rugged, maybe. Good looks? You wish.”
He laughed.
“Children, please,” Savvy said. “Save your flirting for later. We’ve got an op to plan.”
“He’s going to need clothes,” Brie said flatly.
“I’ve ordered a dress uniform for him to wear to Drugov’s party. You’re going to need pick up a gown when you arrive.”
“I’ll get a few items, but I’ve got clothes, including gowns, there already from when I spent a month there last year.”
“Good, because the clothing budget is going to be smaller than Gabriella is used to,” Savvy said.
“Fortunately, Brie knows how to live on a budget,” Brie said. “Next up, sleeping arrangements. The villa has twenty-two bedroom and bathroom suites. Bastian will sleep in the suite next to mine.”