by Kells, India
License Notes
Copyright © 2016 by India Kells
Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design
Formatting by Deranged Doctor Design
All rights reserved
ISBN-978-0-9951767-0-6
Amazon edition
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
www.indiakells.com
Table of Contents
Acknowledgment
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgment
To write about strong women, we must surround ourselves by a tribe of strong women. I wish to thank some of them for being in my life, offering their support and being a source of inspiration.
Myriam, for being a wise woman and an incredible guide when trying to find my path in the dark.
Andree-Anne, for being a wild woman and seeing the good in the bad with lots of laughter.
Marie-Lyse, for being a fire woman, reigniting my passion for writing a long time ago when I thought all was lost.
Genevieve, for being a fearless woman, jumping on my bandwagon, and taking my craziness in strides.
Chapter 1
Somewhere in coastal Maine …
Gabrielle closed her eyes as the hot shower beat against her skin and blood slowly slid down her arms and legs, washed away by water and steam. Weary and tired, she put both her hands against the cold tiles in front of her, letting the water pound against her scalp. She didn’t want to know how many times she came back from missions wounded, drained, and empty, waiting for the heat to reach her bones and her hot water tank to run cold. Water dripped from her blonde locks, forming a waterfall around her face.
Once the adrenaline stopped coursing through her veins, she didn’t have anything left. Again, after the fire, she was alone. Not that she minded being alone. On the contrary, most of the time, loneliness gave her a sense of freedom, and when she needed companionship, there was always the presence of her weird brothers and sisters in arms. And when the night grew too cold … Well, she couldn’t remember the last time she actually had a man warming her bed. Not since that imbecile she brought to her hotel room. One stupid move to forget as fast as possible. She allowed herself to make mistakes in her private life, but not in her line of work. Never in her work.
But, nonetheless, she had sex with the moron. Was she that far gone? When she looked back at it, she saw more of an outlet for accumulated tension. There was absolutely no possible connection between them, but once she only focused on the warm flesh and competent enough hands, it was all she needed.
Of its own accord, her hand glided down from the tile to her cheek, to her neck, trailing her fingertips toward the valley between her breasts only to circle back and lazily make concentric circles around her nipple. Her other hand fisted on the wall as she pinched and pulled her sensitive tip, her breath catching a little. Despite the heat, she felt goose bumps running down her spine.
Only focusing on the touch, she spanned her fingers, moving down on her flat stomach. It quivered in anticipation, but she kept going slowly. When her fingers touched her dampened curls, she couldn’t help but sigh. Impatience grew as she slid it through her sensitive folds and lightly caressed her clit. Now, a mere spark ignited into a flame. Her head fell back when she opened her legs a little more, as her fingers pursued her pleasure. She couldn’t stand it anymore, wouldn’t deny herself a second more. She increased the tempo and pressure until the wave took her. For one perfect moment in time she was blind and deaf, with only pleasure and lightness surrounding her. Well, until she was no longer alone in the room.
Training and instinct took over as she grabbed her gun, which was tucked beside her shampoo bottle, and pointed it at the intruder through the glass door.
Realizing immediately it was her boss and friend standing in her bathroom, Gabrielle lowered her weapon.
“Beatrice Dante! For God’s sake!”
Folding her arms and leaning her hip against the sink, Beatrice angled her head, and the mischief in her eyes made her seem so much younger. Or maybe it was her spiked red hair and light dusting of freckles that made her look like a pixie.
“You don’t answer your phone, you don’t answer your door, and I was beginning to think you were dead.”
Gabrielle grabbed the towel she had flung above the glass door and wrapped it around her, before taking another one for her wet blonde hair.
“I’m not dead.”
“I can see it now.”
“No need to ask how long you’ve been standing there I suppose.”
Smiling, Bea shook her head.
“Another evidence you’re definitely not dead. Glad I could see that as you’re so tight lipped about your personal life.”
Gabrielle snorted. “What personal life? Since I began working for you, I’m either chasing bad guys or getting myself shot at. When I’m home, and let me tell you it isn’t often, I barely have time to buy new batteries before you send me off to another assignment.” She grabbed a thick blue terry robe hooked behind the bathroom door and put in on before walking out.
Bea followed her downstairs into the kitchen. “And now that you had your regulatory orgasm, you’re ready for another mission. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Fuck you, Bea.”
“You know, I wish I could, but I’m without a dance partner and we have a little crisis on our hands.”
Gabrielle harrumphed as she opened the fridge. She wasn’t the only one tight-lipped about her personal life, and she knew her boss enough to guess she had a man.
“There is always a crisis. But this one isn’t for me. I asked you for some R&R, and I’m taking it.”
Leaning on the island, Bea crossed her arms. “You’re the best at what you do.”
“You bet. But even your best needs to take some time off. Otherwise, tired as I’m, I will be at risk of making mistakes.”
“Gabby—”
Swiveling to face her, she signed for her boss to stop talking. “Don’t! I never ask for anything, Beatrice, and you know it. Before my last assignment, I told you I needed time off … hell, even before the last assignment, I begged for it. So now, I’m taking it.”
Gabrielle turned her back to her boss and grabbed some bread and a brand new peanut butter jar—she’d had the bright idea to get one at the airport convenience store. She didn’t say a word, but she suspected she wouldn’t have much time for anything more substantial. She may try to build a thick brick wall around her to keep Bea out, but she couldn’t deny the woman who saved her and later became her friend. So, she sat at her kitchen table overlooking the ocean and began to slather slices of bread. Beatrice came beside her and pulled a chair without a word.
For a long time, the two women stayed silent. Gabrielle ate, her eyes fixed the horizon, where the line blurred between sky and sea. The clouds swirled
darker as the wind picked up and created new patterns. How ironic the weather could fortune tell what was to come. She never truly paid attention before. Perhaps she didn’t care much before for bad omens.
“James called me.” Bea’s voice said the words as if she was telling her that her car broke down.
At Admiral Feander’s first name, Gabrielle’s stomach sank. One of the most prominent men in the country with so many medals he could drown from them, he was an old friend of Beatrice, and even more than that—way before she became her friend, way before all this. Bea may be trained at hiding her emotions, but Gabrielle knew she had more than a soft spot for him. She suspected her friend had fallen hard. They remained discreet about it, and Gabrielle respected their wishes.
“I will only hear about it if it’s about a booty call, because any other answer, I don’t want to know.”
Gabrielle closed the jar as the peanut butter turned to mud in her mouth.
“Gabby, you know he wouldn’t request the help of Purgatory if it wasn’t important.”
Gabrielle untied her wet hair and started combing her shoulder-length strands with her fingers. Anything to keep her hands busy from rubbing her gritty eyes.
“The only way I would do it is if James or his own son were in deep trouble. As far as I know, he seems well and little Simon is leading a stellar life abroad. I say little Simon, but I guess that a genius physicist and biologist isn’t really little. Not anymore. Ask another, Bea … Rickard, Mac, anybody else but me.”
When her friend leaned back in her chair, Gabrielle turned and saw she wasn’t looking at her. Her cat’s eyes were fixed on the same stormy horizon. Her gaze was lost a little and she seemed tired. Beatrice Dante never looked tired. She was fierce, stubborn, dangerous, but never unsure or tired. What was eating at her? Her short red hair was all up in unruly spikes, as if she had combed them with her fingers, one time too many.
“Speak to me, Bea, what are you not telling me? When James calls, you’re usually full of fire and spit. Is something wrong?”
When her friend glanced back at her, she shook her head. “There is a lot I don’t know yet. But James asked for my help, and yours, to extract one of his men, kidnapped during a mission in South Africa. Very hush-hush, not in the books, if you catch my drift.”
“One of his men, you mean a Navy SEAL?” Gabrielle almost laughed at the question. “I always knew one of those stupid, no-brain cowboys would get caught.”
“Well, joke all you want, but these no-brain cowboys, as you call them, are rarely caught. That’s what should worry you.”
“Wait a minute, you said one man. Navy SEALs never play solo, what’s the deal?”
When Beatrice leaned forward, her eyes were bleak. “The man captured was working alone, under a special request from James. Now, he’s stuck, politically speaking. If South African authorities discover an American operating in their country without prior permission …”
Gabrielle snorted. “It would do the exact same thing as before, not so long ago, when you got in the same situation, in the same country.”
Bea dismissed her argument. “Yeah, well, let’s not dwell on past misfortunes, shall we? And you know why I cannot go myself, nor send anybody else but you. There is no time for any type of preparation, and you’re the only one who can deal with this kind of pressure.”
But for how long? The question buzzed in Gabrielle’s ears. On the other hand, she understood her boss. As an operative, she was the most experienced and the one capable of anything, so far. And she had made a vow; she couldn’t deny what she had promised.
“One last mission, before a break. And not a mere two weeks, I want a full two months without you calling me for anything except offering me a drink. Are we clear?”
All the tension seemed to flee from Bea in a rush. So unusual for her, Gabrielle thought.
“When do I have to leave?”
“The jet is ready to take you whenever you’re ready.”
“Wow, you were so sure I would go without a fight?”
Bea smiled. “Not without a fight. I know you need rest, lots of it. The last missions were no walk in the park. But, Gabby, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Please believe me.”
Gabrielle reached for her friend’s hand. “I know, Bea. Otherwise, I wouldn’t jump on a plane to save the ass of a Navy sailor.”
***
Johannesburg, South Africa
The throbbing in his head and side didn’t lessen. Probably because of being in a cell for so long or, almost certainly, caused by the latest beating he received from his captors.
Captain Sullivan Thorne, Navy SEAL and now an undercover agent in deep shit, never ceased to analyze the situation. So far, the guards didn’t have a steady round pattern, nor the same men came and went with any regularity. New faces, new times; sometimes they stayed longer, or they left after a glance. The only consistent men were his torturers. Same three bastards, same questions, same beating. Over and over again, for three days now, if his calculations were accurate. There were no windows or any outside light apart from the blinding neon swaying above.
So far, he knew he could endure this for a while longer. In fact, he had suffered worse in his career, and for the information he gathered for the admiral, he would push himself even past his breaking point. Whatever it was. What worried him most was not the pain, but the lack of water, food, and sleep. He could withstand a lot, but without vitals, he would become weaker, more susceptible to mistakes and slips.
Leaning back against the wall, he extended his legs. His jeans clung and pulled his skin due to the heat and dried blood. One by one, he moved and stretched his muscles, making sure he didn’t get too stiff or sore.
Warmed up, he closed his eyes and tried to catch a power nap before anyone would notice. As he leaned back his head, he heard loud voices and some kind of commotion in the hallway. What forced him to react was a female voice. Definitely female … in hysterics and tears. What the—
The door crashed open and a very blonde, teary, and pregnant female barged into the room.
The guards followed suit and it took everything in him not to smile at how they seemed desperate to get her out of here and calm her down.
Did he know her? Beyond the tears and reddened face, he was pretty sure she was a total stranger. What’s she doing? And more importantly, how did she get in here?
Then, the teary fury turned to him and froze. “Baby? Is that you?”
Baby? Her southern accent was so thick he almost blinked. She hugged her enormous belly with one hand and reached for him through the bars with the other.
“Baby cakes! It’s me, your wife, Jenny Lee. Don’t you recognize me? It took me so long to find you!”
Sully was about to frown when he saw the blonde wink her baby blues at him. Was this a trap?
“Come on, sweetheart, how could you forget me? Please, honey bee, grab my hand, and let me touch you …”
Warily, he got on his knees and reached for her. If it was a trick, the blonde woman would pay for it. When she grabbed his hand, he was surprised by her strength. She cupped his head to awkwardly kiss him through the bars, and he perceived something slide in his hand. A key.
When the blonde kissed him lightly on the lips, the softness unfazed him compared to his pained body and harsh conditions.
The two guards grew restless and pulled her back. She winked at him again, but before he could draw a breath, she punched one guard on the wind pipe, silencing him, while breaking the neck of the other. The blonde turned back and then sliced his throat open. Each movement was done with outstanding precision. She was a seasoned operative, no doubt about it. As she grabbed the guard’s phone, he used the key to unlock his cell.
“Captain Sullivan Thorne, I’m Gabrielle, your rescue party for today.”
Well, well, gone was the accent. Now, it was more difficult to know where she was coming from. A blend-in accent.
“Who sent you?”
“The re
quest was made by Admiral Feander.”
The admiral? He thought he would send a SEAL Team for help, not a single operative.
“You work for him?”
“More or less.”
Frowning, Sully was about to ask for whom she worked when she removed her flower dress over her head.
His brain blanked for a moment as he noticed all the white skin and curves, but mostly the attached pouch. She wasn’t pregnant after all. How he’d believed this in the first place, he didn’t know.
The woman named Gabrielle, now in white lace boy shorts and bra, dropped the pouch on the ground and unzipped it, revealing more firepower. “I wasn’t sure the guards would have what we need to defend ourselves while getting out.”
Sully grabbed one gun and checked the ammunitions before tucking it in his waistband and grabbing another one.