by Desiree Holt
Raw Edge Of Danger
The Omega Team Series
Book 1
By
Desiree Holt
Raw Edge of Danger
Copyright 2015 by Desiree Holt
Published by Desiree Holt
Copyright 2015 Cover Art by Scott Carpenter
Editing and Formatting Services by Wizards in Publishing
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
From Desiree
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
From Desiree
People ask me all the time if I always wanted to be a writer. I don’t know if “always” is the word but certainly for all the years I can remember. I was a voracious reads, as were my mother and sister and books held a royal place in our home. The funny thing is I always thought I would write mysteries because that’s what we all read. I didn’t read my first romance until 2004, when I was sitting with the same three chapters of a mystery on my computer that had been there for three months. But then my eyes were opened and they never closed.
Submitting that first book was scary, but after a lot of rejections you stop being scared and become determined I’m glad I never gave up, because I am having the most fun in my life I have ever had. (Well, maybe not ever! LOL!) So here I am, with all these titles under my belt.
Writing a book is a solitary experience but it never comes to the bookshelves, virtual or other, alone. For me it starts my treasured friend and beta reader extraordinaire, Margie Hager, who has the best eagle eye in the world. Thank you, Margie my love, for all the hours you put in to help me bring my stories to life. And for your friendship, which is a highlight of my life.
Thanks to the ladies of Belle Femme authors—Cerise Deland, Brenna Zinn, Dalton Diaz, Regina Carlysle and Samantha Cayto who are my BFFs. Guys, you make me smile on the very worst days.
Then there is my family. Do they read my books? Absolutely not! But they are the best public relations team in the world. From my daughter Amy who tells all her clients about me to my son Steve who makes sure he lets everyone he knows when I have a book released to my younger daughter Suzanne who is my good right hand and my granddaughter Kayla who is my wonderful left hand. Guys, I could not do it without you. If you see me at a convention, Suzanne will not be far from my side.
My cats, of course, keep me company while I write. And you all have seen pictures of Bast at the keyboard with me. She thinks she should get co-author credit!
Thanks to all the people who let me pester them for information, on all the different topics I tackle, from SEALs to Force Recon Marines to Delta Force soldiers to the local sheriff to the people at Beretta and the folks at the San Antonio Stock Show and Rodeo. I’m sure I’ve forgotten someone and if I have, I am so sorry because the time you continue to give me is very special.
Last but very far from least are all of you, my wonderful readers, who send me such great emails and posts and are so faithful. A special shoutout to Phuong Phen, Fedora Chen, Shirley Long and Patricia Sager who have been with me since my journey started and in frustrating times give me the inspiration to push ahead.
I love you so much. You are my extended family and I send you all many hugs.
There are a lot more stories to come. Please stay tuned.
Desiree
Raw Edge of Danger
Grey Holden was on a mission to find the source of illegal arms. The death of his best friend on a compromised mission left him filled with anger and dedicated to bringing down whoever was responsible. Athena Madero had her own mission, to take down a major politician who had been preying on young girls for a long time. She hated him enough to quit her job as a cop and go on her own hunt for evidence. When she and Grey crossed paths, chemistry sparked and suddenly, unexpectedly, shockingly, there was a lot more between them than searching for evidence and pinning down a traitor. In a split second, they were riding the raw edge of danger. Together.
Chapter One
Tampa, Florida.
Home of the Tampa Bay Rays baseball team, the Lightning hockey team, the Buccaneers football team, the Gasparilla Festival, palm trees, oppressive heat, and the fucking lovebugs. Fucking lovebugs. If anyone ever found a way to eradicate the damn pests, Grey Holden had no doubt they could be president or anything else they wanted. Not the climate a native of Montana would have chosen for his headquarters. But the choice had not been his. Circumstances called the shots on this one.
Of course, if he happened to have a boat, there was the beautiful waterfront. Not to mention the myriad of excellent restaurants with more varieties of food than he’d seen in most other places. And it was easy on the eyes to see women in skimpy outfits rather than jeans and sweatshirts. Not that it mattered, since he wasn’t even spending much time looking. He had other things on his mind, things that had brought him to this, a community he’d learned contained the most expensive real estate in Tampa.
But none of these things were on his immediate horizon. Grey had a single focus, a mission for a team of one—himself. Until that was completed, he couldn’t let himself be distracted by any of the things the Tampa Bay area had to offer, tempting as they were. He knew how dangerous diversions could be.
His target was Senator Drake Bostic, the man he knew to be responsible for hundreds of thousands of weapons sold to terrorists throughout the world. The weapons used the night his team had been trapped and his best friend killed. Nailing him was what had brought Grey to this city, and his time since his arrival had been spent gathering the equipment he’d need and tracking his prey. By this point, he even knew how many times a day the man took a leak.
Today, he was scoping out Tanglewood, the very upscale community where Bostic had his home, and checking out the security situation. The guards at the gate paid attention, but Grey had known exactly how to get around that. Phony identification was as easy to come by in Tampa as it was anywhere else.
As he drove the streets, he mentally catalogued the number and placement of the opulent houses with their massive Tudor or Spanish or Southern architecture, their precise landscaping, their pristine windows reflecting the sunlight. The only differences between scouting a mission in Afghanistan and one in Tampa, Florida, were the landscaping and the people. The process was still the same, casual and stealthy. Blend in with the scenery if you were out where people could see you. Make mental notes of danger spots and possible traps, places with no escape.
The car he used was a rental, booked with his fake identification. He knew the guard at the gate would take down the license plate, so he had to make sure it didn’t lead to anywhere. Driving slowly, casually like the real estate agent he pretended to be, he scoped out which houses had their own security gates and which ones were less vigilant. His particular target fell into the first classification, but, even though a high brick wall surrounded it similar to what he saw on some of the other homes, Grey wasn’t worried. He’d handled tougher situations.
He took photos with his cell p
hone of the location of cameras on the house he targeted, while at the same time checking out the homes on either side. He also took shots of the street and of the houses from different angles. When he got home, he’d transfer it all to his laptop and begin to plot his attack.
He might have been puzzled at how a man with the senator’s high profile managed to keep his illegal activities out of the public eye for so long. Then he realized power and money could take care of anything. People could know what he really did with his life, but no one wanted to be the whistleblower. If he fell, he took way too many people with him, so everyone kept their mouths shut and turned a blind eye to the destruction being wrought.
As he eased along the winding streets, he rolled the windows down and inhaled the fresh morning air. This was the one difference he appreciated. The scent of magnolias and freshly cut lawn tickled his nostrils, a nice change from the dirt and sand of Afghanistan. The breeze was soft, balmy, as opposed to the wicked, cutting wind that blew in off the Hindu Kush Mountains. For one very brief moment, he wished he were actually taking the day to enjoy this, to unwind in the relaxing atmosphere of this city on the shores of Tampa Bay.
But, as seductive as the Florida climate was, Afghanistan was always with him, along with the treachery that had killed his best friend. He would do well to remember that. He had a mission, one more important than any he’d been on in all his time as a member of a Delta Force or Special Operations Group team. He’d better get to it.
Satisfied at last he had whatever information he needed, he headed out of the community, waving at the guard who opened the gate for him. A few blocks away, he stopped at a convenience store for a cold drink and to top off his tank. He sat for a moment, looking at the photos he’d taken and analyzing them. To do what he had in mind, he’d need to acquire some specialized equipment, but he didn’t see that as a problem. He’d compromised more sophisticated equipment on his assignments as part of a Special Operations Group than what he expected to find here. Hopefully, with his skills and the equipment he intended to procure, this would be a piece of cake.
He’d scoped out Drake Bostic’s local senatorial office in Titan Towers first, getting hired and working as a member of the cleaning crew for a couple of nights and using his skills to get into the suite. But it was evident from the lack of high security there was nothing sensitive kept there. It made sense. The man had to be smart enough not to leave things around where others could access them. No, his home offered the best secrecy and security.
Grey rested his head against the back of the seat, closed his eyes for a moment, and, just like that, he was back in Afghanistan, in the middle of an ambush and a firefight.
“I’m hit, Grey.” Pain laced Lucky’s voice. “Hit real bad.”
Grey cradled his friend in his arms, desperately trying to staunch the rapid flow of blood from the man’s chest. They had a medic with them, but he was just off to Grey’s right, tending another man who had been hit.
“We’ll get you patched up,” Grey told him, trying to make himself heard over the continued barrage of gunfire. “You’ll be fine. You’re too mean to die.”
Lucky shook his head once, grimacing in pain at the movement. “Get…this…son of…a bitch,” he ground out. “Kill him.”
Grey knew exactly who he meant. Fantasma. Ghost. Everyone in the intelligence community knew of him, but identifying him was another thing. Probably the main reason they called him Ghost. He was invisible, leaving no trace and evaporating into the night. But JSOC had gotten a lead on who it might be, information they shared with no one except Grey’s SOG team. The more the information was shared, the greater the chance for disaster.
Like tonight.
They had finally received intel identifying Ghost, information that had been hard to come by. They learned he was a powerful and wealthy politician from Florida, based in Tampa, but a fat lot of good that did them without proof. The asshole was a slippery bastard and buttered his bread well. People loved him. Getting them to acknowledge what he really was would be next to impossible without incontrovertible evidence.
That’s what tonight’s mission was all about. The intelligence report said the lead terrorist in the area had demanded a face to face with Ghost. Something about a lapse in expected shipments of arms and explosives. Word was the jackass had grudgingly agreed—although not too happy about a secret flight to Afghanistan and a meeting in a crude situation like this. If not for the vast amounts of money involved, he wouldn’t be doing it at all.
Grey’s team had been sent to confirm the situation and gather the evidence they needed to crucify the bastard. Grey would have preferred just killing his ass, but he could understand the need to parade him in public and show him up for what he was.
Obviously, the word had gotten out—no matter how hard they’d worked to lock it down. Grey would bet every drop of his blood it happened because the chain of command, even when shortened, had some deceptive links in it.
“I will,” he told his friend. “You got it. But I want you with me, buddy.”
“Can’t,” Lucky wheezed. “See captain.”
“Don’t talk,” Grey urged. “Save your strength. The medic will be here in a second.” As soon as he did his best with the guy three feet away who was bleeding even worse than Lucky.
With what looked like a Herculean effort, Lucky shook his head. “Captain,” he croaked. “See captain.”
Grey frowned. “See the captain? About what?” What was so fucking important the guy had to draw on his last reserves of strength to tell him?
But Lucky was beyond answering him. Grey wanted to kill someone with his bare hands, preferably Fantasma. Ghost. And where the hell was the fucking support he’d radioed the forward operating base for? He eased himself away from Lucky’s lifeless body, reaching for his rifle and ducking low as another barrage of bullets sailed past his head.
Then, suddenly, he heard the rumble of trucks, and searchlights hit the area. Help had arrived, in time to change the direction of the firefight but not soon enough to save Lucky. On the ride back to camp, Grey buried his anger deep to allow his brain to function. If all the king’s horses and all the king’s men hadn’t been able to keep this mission secret and bring down Ghost, how the hell could he do it?
The minute they hit camp, he headed for the captain’s tent to give his report.
“Fucked again,” was the first thing he said. “We’ve got a leaky ship, Captain, and I don’t know how to plug it.”
“Goddamn political bastards.” Captain McCray’s face was a hard mask.
Grey frowned. “I thought we kept this one away from the politicos.”
“I’m talking about the brass sucking up for cushy assignments” In a burst of rare anger, he swept all the papers on the table in front of him onto the floor.
Grey waited a moment for the man to compose himself before he went on.
“We lost Lucky.” Just saying the words was like stabbing himself in the heart.
“Fucking shit.” McCray’s words echoed what Grey felt. “We’ll make sure it wasn’t for nothing,” he assured. “You have my word.”
“Whatever it takes,” Grey agreed.
“Okay.” McCray pulled himself together. “In that case, I have something for you I’d hoped never to have to give you.”
Grey frowned. “What?”
The captain went to his makeshift desk and drew out a lockbox. He opened it and lifted out an envelope that he handed to Grey.
“Before you say anything, I made sure this was what he wanted. Had no family, no one he felt as close to as you. This was what he wanted. He updated it just before you guys rolled out tonight.”
Puzzled, Grey opened the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper. He read it twice, unbelieving.
“What the fuck?” He looked at the captain. “He left everything to me. His house, his bank accounts. Everything.”
McCray nodded. “Like I said, I questioned him thoroughly before I witnessed i
t. The name and phone number of his attorney are at the bottom.”
Grey pointed to the single sheet. “He says use it to catch this bastard.”
“He may have had a premonition. Listen, Grey. In our tight little group, we know who and where that asshole is. Obviously nothing is that secret in the military or tonight’s fuckup never would have happened. If anyone can do this, you can.”
He had a month left on his current tour, his third. He’d considered signing on for one more, but now his plans would change. At his age, if he wasn’t bucking for a higher rank, it was time to get out anyway.
The attorney had been polite and professional. He very efficiently got the deed to the house transferred to Grey and facilitated the process at the bank as well as Lucky’s investment accounts. The amount of money suddenly available to him stunned Grey. Along with his own resources, he found himself sitting on an unexpected pile of capital.
He took a week to set himself up in Lucky’s house, a small bungalow on the city’s west side. Get himself acclimated to Tampa, check things out. He spent another week shadowing his target, developing a timeline of what he did, when he did it, where, and who he did it with. He’d figured the information he wanted had to be one of two places: his political office in Titan Towers or his home in an exclusive residential enclave. Knowing the necessity for secrecy, he voted for the man’s home office.
Now, here he was, ready to closet himself back in the house, planning his own private mission. He’d need some specialized equipment, and he had to be careful where and how he bought it. A copy of the politician’s schedule, easily accessible. Blueprints for the house, on file with the county. Then he’d have to pick the right night, and he’d be in business.
Chapter Two
The little interview room at the police station seemed warmer than usual, or maybe it was just that Athena Madero was hot under the collar. The lingering odor of the many suspects who had spent tense hours here didn’t help. Jodi Farrell, a young, blonde, blue-eyed political intern sat in the chair across from her, head bowed, fists clenched together, as she related the details of her experience in a halting voice.