An Unconditional Surrender (In Love and War Anthology)

by Candace Irvin

  Dear Reader,

  We are delighted to present you with three brand-new stories proving that, from the battlefield to the home front, love can conquer all!

  Merline Lovelace will take you into the jungles of passion with “A Military Affair,” the story of a U.S. Air Force sergeant whose recovery mission lands her in the arms of an ambitious photojournalist. After he’s captured the story of a lifetime, will he take her heart, too?

  The determined army lieutenant in Lindsay McKenna’s “Comrades in Arms” believes a woman, especially one untrained in combat, can only be a detriment to his team. Until he faces the battle of his life—with her at his side.

  In Candace Irvin’s “An Unconditional Surrender,” two passionate ex-lovers fight a mission side by side and learn in the flames of war what it means to be consumed by love.

  We hope you enjoy this special collection of heroes and heroines who give their all for their country—including their hearts.

  The Editors

  Silhouette Books

  MERLINE LOVELACE

  A career air force officer, Merline Lovelace spent twenty-three years in uniform. She’s served at bases all over the world, including tours in Taiwan, Vietnam and at the Pentagon on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. She has produced one action-packed sizzler after another and now has over forty-five published novels. Merline lives with her husband in Oklahoma City, where she is working on her next novel.

  LINDSAY MCKENNA

  A homeopathic educator, Lindsay McKenna teaches at the Desert Institute of Classical Homeopathy in Phoenix, Arizona. When she isn’t teaching alternative medicine, she is writing books about love. She feels love is the single greatest healer in the world and hopes that her books touch her readers on those levels. Coming from an Eastern Cherokee medicine family, Lindsay was taught ceremony and healing ways from the age of nine. She creates flower and gem essences in accordance with nature and remains closely in touch with her Native American roots and upbringing.

  CANDACE IRVIN

  As the daughter of a librarian and a sailor, it’s no wonder Candace Irvin’s two greatest loves are reading and the sea. After spending several exciting years as a naval officer sailing around the world, she finally decided it was time to put down roots and give her other love a chance. To her delight, she soon learned that writing romance was as much fun as reading it. Candace believes her luckiest moment was the day she married her own dashing hero, a former army combat engineer with dimples to die for. The two now reside in Arkansas, happily raising three future heroes and one adorable heroine—who won’t be allowed to date until she’s forty, at least.

  MERLINE LOVELACE

  LINDSAY MCKENNA

  CANDACE IRVIN

  IN LOVE AND WAR

  Contents

  AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

  Candace Irvin

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  AN UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

  Candace Irvin

  For CJ Chase.

  Thanks for all the incredible critiquing, CJ, but mostly for the wonderful friendship.

  I wouldn’t want to travel this writing road without you.

  Acknowledgments

  As usual, my ideas fall well out of my range of experience and expertise. I’d like to thank the following folks for loaning me theirs. The cool stuff is theirs, the mistakes are all mine.

  Lieutenant Commander Michael J. Walsh, USN (Ret.). Thanks, Michael, for planting the original idea and feeding me enough information to help it grow. Captain Norton A. Newcomb, U.S. Army (Ret.), Special Operations Intelligence. As usual, Tony, you know exactly what I need to know before even I do. Thanks for willingly sharing it when and where you can. SSG Frank M. Risso, U.S. Army (Ret.). Thanks for the fantastic crash course in army artillery. Special Agent Scot Folensbee, DSS. You’re a new friend, Scot, and a blisteringly awesome source. Thanks for all your help with the Diplomatic Security Service. Stay safe out there! Finally, a special thanks to my agent, Damaris Rowland, and my editor, Allison Lyons, for believing I could do it.

  Dear Reader,

  A year ago, a friend and I discussed a modern twist on an old-fashioned evil: slavery. I knew then, I had to write about it. Still, I wasn’t sure I could weave so heinous a crime into a romance novel. According to the U.S. Department of State’s 2002 Trafficking in Persons Report, annual victim estimates range from 700,000 to 4 million women, children and men, many of whom are bought, sold and transported for sexual exploitation. The latter became a main plot thread in “An Unconditional Surrender.”

  In this story, Delta Force Captain Jack Gage is reunited with his former lover, U.S. Army Captain Danielle Stanton, when she’s thrust into the clutches of a black-market slave trader half a world away. Together, Jack and Dani must work through past problems to complete their present mission. And once Dani’s safe, Jack won’t settle for less than a future with her—and the complete, unconditional surrender of her heart.

  For more information about trafficking persons, check out my Web site www.candaceirvin.com, and follow the hyperlinks.

  Chapter 1

  If the road to hell was paved with good intentions, Jack Gage figured he ought to be banging on the devil’s door any moment now. Despite his imminent welcome at those fiery gates, Jack condemned himself to remaining motionless in the southernmost corner of Rurik Teslenko’s dank, claustrophobic hovel. Not an easy task given the force with which the stocky bastard dragged his current “crop” of Croatian slaves into the room before shoving them up against the opposite wall. According to Rurik, the trio of terrified girls were fresh in from Sarajevo the night before. What kind of man preyed on women from the city of his birth, much less his own ethnic group?

  Unfortunately, Jack knew the answer all too well. Rurik Teslenko was not the only Bosnian Croatian, much less the only man, lining his pockets through the kidnapping and selling of young women. Nor was Rurik’s impatient customer the only “peacekeeping” United Nations soldier out shopping for his personal, shamefully young, sex slave. Even if the Swede opted not to purchase a girl from this dark-haired collection, someone would. Jack could only hope he’d be able to accomplish his increasingly hairy mission before the next batch of salivating bastards showed up. For the moment, his relief eased out as the camouflaged giant across the room shifted his scowl from the girls to Rurik.

  “I told you, I want a blonde.”

  Rurik shrugged his shorter but equally burly camouflage-clad shoulders. “I had a blonde. Unfortunately, there were…complications.” Rurik dug his fingers into the snarled mane of the closest girl. The final, muted rays of day bled through the window behind them, highlighting the fresh surge of terror in the girl’s eyes as Rurik dragged her close. Eyes that had already been blackened by someone’s eager fist. Eyes that had seen sixteen, seventeen years tops. Old, by Rurik’s criteria.

  Bile roiled through Jack’s gut, magnified by the soft whimper that escaped the girl’s swollen lips as Rurik thrust her otherwise pale face toward the Swede.

  “For you, sixteen hundred markas.”

  Eight hundred U.S. dollars. For a sixteen-year-old kid. As vile as the transaction was, Jack kept his trap shut. Too much depended on his silence. Too many lives.

  American and Bosnian.

  Dust kicked up as the Swede spat on the concrete floor.

  The gold cross Rurik wore around his neck flashed along with his gaze as he shoved the girl back to the line. “Fine. Come back next wee
k. I will have another blonde. Fourteen hundred markas for your trouble.”

  Dark-blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “No more than fifteen years—and a virgin?”

  Rurik nodded. “I give you my word.”

  Any man who knew the Bosnian slave-trader well enough to warrant a private showing at his country compound also knew that despite his unsavory profession, Rurik Teslenko was worth his word. Still, the Swede held Rurik’s gaze for a good ten seconds before he jerked an answering nod. A moment later, the Swede spun about and strode across the stifling room. The four Bosnian thugs flanking the entrance to the hovel stiffened as his scuffed combat boots reached the bullet-riddled door.

  “Let him go.”

  Jack eased out his breath as two of the flanking thugs followed the UN soldier out. One less customer along with two less goons in the room just might allow Jack to ease Rurik out of this scorched hovel and across the dilapidated dairy farm-turned-terrorist compound he’d arrived at less than an hour before. If Jack was really lucky, he and Rurik would return to their now cooling mugs of coffee in the main house along with their discussion concerning another illegal transaction Rurik had also expressed interest in. Weapons.

  “How about a trade?”

  Jack turned to his Bosnian contact, once again at the trembling line of girls, nudging them several steps forward, one by one. Jack had no idea if any of them spoke English. Not that they needed to. Rurik’s body language was universal enough.

  “No thanks.”

  His distaste must have shown because Rurik grinned, showing off a quarter of a century of non-existent dental work as he chuckled knowingly. “Ah, I see. You did not tell me in Mostar that you preferred boys, my friend.” That damned decaying grin widened. “Since you have joined us, however briefly, I suppose we can send someone into Sarajevo to accommodate you.”

  The hell they would. “I like women just fine, Rurik. Women. Not boys.” Jack flicked his gaze to the nauseatingly battered trio, careful to keep the true extent of his disgust from showing through. “And not barely pubescent girls. Women.”

  “Women, eh?” Another inch and that smarmy grin would split the man’s ears. Apprehension snapped along Jack’s spine as Rurik turned to the door once more, to the burly goon who served as his right hand. According to army intelligence reports, Youssef Ben Adnan had endured the siege of Sarajevo along with Rurik a decade before. Once again, Rurik opted for body language—unfortunately, this time in a private dialect only Youssef seemed able to translate. Until Youssef turned and left.

  Damn. The cook.

  Sullen, subdued and up to her dark, dour bun in her master’s illegal activities, the compound’s cook was not his type. But she was definitely a woman. Still, from the brief glimpse Jack had gotten of the kitchen earlier, she also appeared vital to keeping the rest of the slaves in line until they were sold. Surely even Rurik wouldn’t degrade the one woman he seemed to trust simply to ingratiate himself with some shady American artillery sergeant? But then, “Sgt. Jackson” wasn’t just any shady American artillery sergeant, was he? Not to Rurik. Jackson was the sergeant who’d saved the bastard’s life in Mostar by knocking him out of the way of an incoming bullet. Was Rurik looking to repay the debt now?

  The odds grew as Rurik turned his back on the girls completely, motioning the remaining thug to take over as he crossed the room. The odds quadrupled as Rurik slapped him on the shoulder and nudged him toward the bullet-riddled door.

  “Come, my friend, join me in the kitchen.”

  Despite the dread congealing in the pit of his stomach, Jack allowed Rurik to guide him out of the hovel and down the grassy knoll. He forced himself to focus on the ancient farm, instead, once again cataloguing the dilapidated buildings as discreetly as he could. A cluster of four more bombed-out crofts lay to the left, two leveled to their permanently blood-stained foundations. The compound’s main but singed two-story thatched house lay directly ahead, backlit by a now fiery setting sun. A huge pocked and scorched concrete slab still divided into cattle stalls lay to the right. But it was the massive intact dairy barn to the left and slightly behind the house that captured Jack’s attention. And the armed thug standing guard.

  What he’d give to knock that guard aside and slide those enormous double doors apart. But as Rurik turned to shove the significantly smaller door to the main house open and gesture him inside, Jack knew what he wouldn’t give. His integrity.

  This might be his first assignment with Diplomatic Security, but it wasn’t his first time undercover. Hell, this wasn’t even his first time selling to Rurik. The fact that this particular cover had survived their last brush four years before had been too perfect to pass up. But while Jack had been forced to abuse his fair share of unsavory tactics during his previous career, he’d never come close to raping a woman. He wasn’t about to start now. If it came down to it, he’d accept a complimentary night with the taciturn cook—and hope to hell she didn’t spill the beans regarding his sudden case of erectile dysfunction the following morning.

  But what if she did?

  Adapt and overcome. The motto slammed through his brain as it had so often during his seven years with Delta Force. Rurik had yet to consider that like the Swede, he might have his own list of preferences. Jack considered voicing them as he and Rurik turned into the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen at the rear of the house. He changed his mind at the last moment, unwilling to allow the thug that far into his head, much less his heart. Despite the fact that eleven months had passed, it was still too blessed raw. Unfortunately, the insidious ache had already locked in by the time Jack stepped into the humid, oversized kitchen.

  She locked in. For a split second, Jack was terrified he was hallucinating. Even as the wave of instant, blinding rage swept through him, along with the punch of sheer, gut-wrenching terror, he knew he wasn’t. This was no dream, it was a living, breathing nightmare. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, no!

  That woman was not Dani.

  But she was. He blinked, struggling to take in the matted, light-brown waves tangled halfway down her back, the deep purple bruise marring the curve of her left cheek. The shredded, once-white shirt with its sweat-stained tails tied now between her braless breasts—because the buttons and sleeves had been torn completely off. The matching sets of goddamned rusted shackles that were clamped about the cuffs of her jeans and slender wrists. It was her all right, Captain Danielle Stanton, U.S. Army. The woman he’d loved and then lost was in Bosnia. And she was Rurik Teslenko’s slave.

  For the first time in his career Jack had no idea what to do, much less what to say. If he opened his mouth, God only knew what would come out. Given the fury still blistering through him, the bone-chilling terror, the odds were overwhelming it would be something that would get Dani killed. For her sake alone, he managed to slow his frantic gaze—but not before he spotted the mottled bruises roping Dani’s throat as she turned away to hide her own stunned reaction. She’d been choked. From the twin bloodred, almost black, splotches at the base of her neck, damned near to death. By whom? A split second later his stomach bottomed out. Ice-cold terror surged into its place. Sweet Mother in Heaven…had she been raped?

  Acid seared though his gut once again, this time eating a path straight up to his heart. Before Jack could move—hell before he could think—Rurik flicked his gaze to his right-hand man. Youssef responded immediately by shoving Dani and her brimming pail of water toward the cook and the stove at the far side of the kitchen. The force caused her bare feet to tangle with the rusting links of her shackles, sending water sloshing over the rim of the plastic pail and onto the immaculate stone floor. The flat of Youssef’s hand swung up and out—

  “Wait.”

  Youssef, Rurik, Dani, hell, even the cook froze. Unlike the others, Dani didn’t turn to face him. Thank God. At least one of them was thinking clearly. Adapting. If he didn’t get his brain in gear within the next two seconds, they’d both end up dead. Given her military specialty, he could only assume that
like him, Dani was undercover—or had been before Rurik and his bastards had gotten hold of her. And if he blew that cover…

  Fortunately, Rurik had chalked up his stunned reaction to something else. Lust. Once again that decaying grin split wide. “You are…interested in this one then, yes?”

  Interested? He’d been interested in General Stanton’s daughter since he’d been a green twenty-one-year-old cadet at West Point. Since Dani had been as young as the girls out in that croft at the time, he’d wisely nailed his mouth shut. Admitting the extent of that interest to General Stanton a decade later had damned near ended his career. Admitting that interest still existed now to Rurik could well end Dani’s life.

  Somehow, Jack managed to hook his elbow on the island counter. “Personally, I like redheads, especially if they come with green eyes.” He stared at the light-brown waves for several moments, then shrugged. “The length of her hair might be a plus, though…if it didn’t look like a family of rats had moved in.”

  “Agreed. But it can be combed, even dyed. Besides, she speaks English. You would be able to understand her.”

  “You trying to drive your own price down or what?”

  Rurik laughed at that. Loudly. Figured. Somehow, none of the goons he’d met this evening seemed the type to engage in bedroom chatter. Not that he and Dani had engaged in much conversation themselves the one and only night they’d spent in the same bed. Maybe if they had—

  Don’t go there, buddy. Not here and not now.

  Rurik flicked his gaze to Youssef once again—and, again, Youssef lurched forward. But this time the thug wrapped his fist around Dani’s hair, using the bulk of her matted mane to drag her back to the island, directly in front of him. Both Rurik and Youssef ignored the sloshing bucket as it hit the floor, focusing on him, instead. Dani did not. She kept her gaze welded to the shackles at her feet as if she still didn’t quite trust herself to look at him. He knew the feeling.