by Honor James
Hawt Men In and Out of Uniform 1
Assignment: Rock Hard Love
Their team has one mission and one mission only, to stop the flow of blood diamonds into the United States. It’s dangerous, hard work with long hours, tight quarters, and a very select group. Much like a family there tends to be friction, but the friction Hope Bradshaw is currently feeling has nothing to do with the current setting. No, this all has to do with one man.
David Burnett has been fighting a seemingly endless and, perhaps, futile war to stop conflict diamonds into his country. But he has the very best team there is helping him. He trusts them, one and all, with his life and would do anything in return. Of course, what he wants to do with Hope has nothing to do with team dynamics and never has.
The heat is rising as they go on a dangerous mission. Thrown into tighter quarters than ever before David and Hope must trust no one but one another if they hope to survive.
Genre: Contemporary, Romantic Suspense
Length: 47,748 words
ASSINGMENT: ROCK HARD LOVE
Hawt Men In and Out of Uniform 1
Honor James
EROTIC ROMANCE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
ASSIGNMENT: ROCK HARD LOVE
Copyright © 2014 by Honor James
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-451-7
First E-book Publication: May 2014
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
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PUBLISHER
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Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
I dedicate this book to all the men and women in uniform. From civil services to the armed forces, you are all beyond incredible and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you do.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Author
ASSIGNMENT: ROCK HARD LOVE
Hawt Men In and Out of Uniform 1
HONOR JAMES
Copyright © 2014
Prologue
Blood Diamond (also known as conflict diamond, converted diamond, hot diamond or war diamond) - a diamond mined in a war zone and sold to finance an insurgency, invading army’s war efforts, or a warlord’s activity. These terms are particularly used in the context of diamond trading to indicate the negative effects for this sale. These diamonds are mined particularly in Africa where around two-thirds of the world’s diamonds are extracted.
Wikipedia definition 2013
February 4, 2010 - Paris, France
Staring at the Eiffel Tower, he wasn’t really seeing it. Oh, he knew it was there, he just wasn’t seeing it. He was more focused on the target three tables away to his left, the man waiting for his contact to arrive. Lifting his cup of coffee, he sipped at the strong brew.
His own partner was four tables away to his right and slightly in front of him. She was sitting with another one of their crew, chatting like the tourists they were pretending to be. William, their backup on the op, was pretending to show her photos he’d apparently taken on his day out and about. In reality, the man was taking video of everyone at the little cafe in preparation for the contact’s arrival.
Six months to get to this point. Six months of blood, sweat and too many sleepless nights digging for anything and everything they could find. All in the pursuit of tracking the blood diamonds that would be payment for a huge weapons shipment. If the information was right, and they always doubted it at least a little, it would be roughly four hundred automatic guns, nearly a hundred ground-to-air missiles with launchers, and then a bunch of miscellaneous items.
Not that the sale would happen tonight. No, tonight was a hand-off. One they had to witness, get on film and then continue to track. Tonight the blood diamonds would be passed to their target, one Gregory Duvall, by the courier the warlord had hired. The courier didn’t know what he was carrying. They never did, part of the safety net the warlords used. The courier would have gone to a blind drop, picked up the package and the cash for the delivery with instructions for when and where.
Depending on the warlord handing off the diamonds, there might even be a code phrase. Not all used them, but a lot did. Another level of security. They were always getting smarter and sneakier. That just meant that his team and others like them had to stay one step ahead by anticipating and thinking like criminals.
His phone vibrated and he dug it out, his attention never wavering from Gregory. “Yeah,” he said into it. He knew who it was and why the call had come through. “Oh hey, Mona.” It wasn’t Mona, but since he knew that his team members at the other table were stil
l playing their roles, it was a good vocal cue to have so they knew the game was about to alter.
“There’s a courier coming in now. Beige uniform of shirt and slacks, dark blue writing on the back, and has a dark blue cap with the company logo in beige on it. He’s about five-ten, a buck eighty, blond hair and wearing sunglasses. He’s got a sheet in his hand as well as the standard clipboard and what we are guessing is the package, maybe six by eight by six. Just coming around the corner toward the cafe on your left now.”
“Got it. No, that’s perfectly fine, Mona. I’ll take care of it after my meeting of the day, good work. Why don’t you head out a little early and maybe catch a movie. Talk to you tomorrow,” he said and, after a moment’s delay, hung up. It was all code, stuff they’d worked out ahead of time and fine-tuned. The van would get ready to pull out, Gregory’s vehicle was already tagged so they’d be in the lead while he and the other two trailed behind at a very healthy distance.
Pocketing the phone, he tipped his cup up and took a gulp as he checked his watch. Letting a small curse slip past his lips, acting late for a meeting, he tipped the cup up again, working for that last swallow of the coffee.
The courier stopped and looked over the people at the tables. He moved toward a man and bent with a question, getting a shake of the head. The guy either didn’t know what Gregory looked like or was a really good actor. A couple more checks before he reached Gregory and, asked if he was the man in question.
Gregory looked up from his paper and nodded, sitting up and setting the newspaper to the side. Pulling out his wallet, he handed over a piece of ID to the courier. The guy did the visual inspection, checked the name to the paperwork and then turned the clipboard to Gregory. But he held onto the package. A good courier always waited for the signature. And he was good. He even checked the signature to the ID card, smart. With another nod, the package was passed over.
Standing as the package was handed off, he dropped a couple Euros onto the table and set the cup on top, an extra tip and a signal that his partners were to watch Gregory until he moved. Collecting his briefcase and coat, he walked hurriedly toward the street where he ‘bumped’ the courier. “My apologies,” he said, and smiled in that harried way businessmen used, no matter the country.
Reaching his car, he slid behind the wheel and tapped his earpiece. “Courier has been tagged, send Marco to keep tabs on him. Do not intercept, do not pick up and do not detain. This is merely a watch.” Getting the confirmation, he turned on his car and then pulled out the folding map. Another ploy for extra minutes, and in case the target was as aware of his surroundings as his team was.
“He’s on the move.” Her throaty voice in his ear sent a physical jolt through him. Always did, but they were team members and nothing would come of acting on his physical response to her. Only bad shit could come of that, like breaking the team apart and, worse, ruining the camaraderie they all had after being together as a unit for nearly four years.
“Copy, I’m moving out now,” he said. Folding the map—another small delay—he set it aside. Checking his mirrors, he saw that Gregory was sliding into the backseat of his ride. Pulling out from the curb, he took off, his eyes on the mirror. Gregory’s car pulled out into traffic, about seven car-lengths back. Reporting it to the team, he started paying attention to where he was going.
* * * *
Three days later - New York, USA
Sitting next to her, David could feel the nervous energy pouring off her. Every op, she turned into a bundle of nerves right until they went through the doors. Unlike him. He always seemed very relaxed until they went through the door, then he tensed up. Until the op was over, until everyone came out alive, safe, and healthy, he would be tighter than a piano wire.
He was about to say something to her when the signal came. Sharing a look, he held up a finger, counting in his head. Waiting, waiting, waiting. A quick nod and they all slid out of their vehicles, silently, the doors eased shut but not closed completely.
After a look around, he gave the hand signals to the others. They would be radio silent until the takedown. Any sound could give them away and blow it all. They worked under very tight rules of engagement, especially on home soil.
Moving in the front of the team, he gave more signals. The group split up into teams of two. William was with her again, Martin was on his heels and the other six were moving around the back of the building. They entered quickly, silently, and started the sweep. They had to be sure there was no one anywhere that could come up behind them and kill them.
It was dark in the building, street lamps really the only light they had. That was fine, they’d worked in much worse conditions. At least there, they knew the layout of the building, all the doors and windows, all the possible escape routes and, with the help of the satellites, they knew there were six bodies inside. As well as Gregory, who had just arrived with his driver-slash-bodyguard, taking the count to eight.
There would be the appraiser, the buyer and two bodyguards holding the money for the buy. Gregory and his bodyguard took the count in his head to six. That left two unknowns in the mix. He’d told the team they were to be considered armed and dangerous, and combatants until otherwise cleared.
Sweeping through rooms, man over man, they moved fast but with care. No mistakes. Mistakes cost people lives. He didn’t permit mistakes with the team. Finding a locked door, though, that worried him. Leave it, and leave a possible combatant behind them. Get inside, and waste time. Fuck.
Waving up the two behind him, he pointed to the door and, with hand signals, told them to get inside, and fast. They would. They’d also be damned quiet about it, too. No mistakes.
The stairs were just ahead, fucking ambush in the making right there. Stairwells were death traps, but they couldn’t risk the elevator, even if they wanted to box themselves up to be shot. So up they went, one step at a time, guns tracking ahead of them, taking each step with care.
It took seemingly forever, but finally they were up the stairs and everyone stopped, gathering for the push. Martin put the stethoscope-like device to the door and tipped his head as he listened. His hand came up and he put two, then three fingers up. A fourth finger lifted and it didn’t change. Four people that should be in there, that hopefully were in there, were not speaking.
He stepped back and rubbed his fingers together. Money was changing hands. Good. The buy was complete, and with the mic they had pointed at the windows from the van outside, it was all on tape. All nice and neat and clean, just how the big boys wanted.
Weapons came up and David lifted a hand, fingers all spread. He began to tick them down, one at a time before making a fist and yanking it down. In they went, voices loud, guns moving, tracking everyone in the room. His target was Gregory, just as the others each had one person they were responsible for covering, disarming and, if necessary, shooting.
He got his man on his knees, hands behind his head, and got him cuffed fast, pushing him onto his front. Putting a foot on his shoulder, David turned to cover the others. A yell of warning came right before the burn in his shoulder as he was punched off his feet. Grunting, he stumbled and turned to look for the threat and was promptly punched again.
Breathing was hard. He couldn’t hold onto his gun and it slid to the floor, quickly followed by him. His knees hit first, and then he went over, face first, to the floor. More gunfire, the team yelling and then her scent was there, her touch, just as he lost consciousness.
Chapter One
September 18, 2013 - Augusta, West Virginia
“Good morning, sir,” the latest sucker on desk duty said as he entered the office.
Nodding, he moved to the desk and collected his messages. “Everyone in?”
“Yup, they all started coming in about twenty minutes ago. Most headed straight for the coffee machine, though I think Martin may have gone in for a nap at the table.”
Snorting at that, he shook his head and gave his thanks before he moved through the doors to
the real office. The front area and what could be seen to the right of it were all for show, and a deterrent, should they ever be attacked. But they were in Augusta for a reason. When, not if, Washington, D.C. was nuked, they would still be able to keep on fighting, along with all the other various agency offshoots hidden throughout America in places so obvious they were overlooked.
To the left, where he’d just gone, were the real offices, where the agents worked. He was a team leader, but he wasn’t the boss. Their boss worked in D.C. more than not, but every now and again, he popped in to get one-on-one updates and pass along information that couldn’t come over the wire without possibly being intercepted. Shit happened and, in the electronic age they all lived in, hackers were their worst enemies.
Nodding to a couple of people, he paused by the conference room. There was Martin, on the table, snoozing with a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. Shaking his head, David left him sleeping. He’d wake in time for their daily meeting. He always did.
In his office, he tossed the briefcase onto a chair, dumped his jacket and sank into the plush leather seat. He’d gotten it as a welcome-back gift after the month in hospital and six weeks of physical therapy. The fucking thing was like sitting on a cloud, and—his teammates were truly amazing—it had a vibrating upgrade for those days where he needed a Swedish masseuse and couldn’t get to one.