by Karen Anders
She rescued people. She didn’t need rescuing.
Russell was just being his protective self. Part of her wanted to let him in, all the way in, but that would make her too susceptible to his charms. She had already somehow gotten her whole family into danger. She wasn’t going to add Russell to the mix, too. She would figure this out. This was her problem, not his.
She typed the words White Falcon into Google. The results that came back were predictable. Images for white falcons that surprised her. She had no idea there were albino ones. But nothing that would pose a threat to her or her family.
Opening up her email, she quickly typed:
[email protected]
Hello, Marco, I need to talk to you urgently. Let me know when I can call you.
Neve
She pressed Send and closed the laptop. If anyone knew any information about this White Falcon, Marco would. She’d hauled him and three DEA agents out of the Pacific when one of their drug busts on the sea had gone south when she’d been assigned to a cutter. Marco had told her he was her forever friend. Panamanian, a slick street fighter and a steadfast ally of the DEA, he told her he’d owed her his life and for her to let him know when he could repay her.
She lay down in the dark and closed her eyes, but all she could see was Russell in his full, naked glory, sporting that impressive erection. That image was burned into her brain, and it just got that much harder to get him off her mind.
But he was just like her father. He didn’t believe in her abilities, didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt. He’d saved her life tonight, and she felt a twinge of remorse for not at least thanking him, but she couldn’t seem to get the words past her tight throat.
She was grateful and she was crazy about the man, but she wasn’t going to get tangled up with him for many reasons, no matter how beautiful he was.
Oh, God, the man was beautiful.
She fell asleep and spent the night dreaming about white falcons with malevolent red eyes fluttering outside her window, and toward dawn a very erotic, wholly arousing dream of Russell in his bed with her and the sheets pulled off her naked, writhing body, his head between her legs, giving her an intense amount of pleasure.
She woke up throbbing.
As the room brightened into day, she pushed off the covers, dressing carefully, her shoulder stiff and aching, the skin around her cuts tight and painful. In the mirror, she saw that she had a black eye, and bruises on her arms and torso where her attacker had held her and kicked her. She leaned against the bathroom sink for a moment to get control. All the times that she’d ever been hurt had been job related. Most of her feelings after those incidents were about failure stuffed into a heavy layer of guilt and self-recrimination.
But she’d been attacked by someone who’d wanted to end her life, and she didn’t know why. A killer who was associated with an unknown someone she didn’t know how to fight. The uncertainty and the fear overwhelmed her for a moment. She dropped her head, and with quick anxious breaths breathed carefully around the panic.
This threat wasn’t just against her. It was against her whole family. Thane, her oldest brother: tough, opinionated, an alpha male, teacher and naval hero. Tristan, also a hero, decorated, another alpha and so strong and capable. Nova, her twin; they were eerily connected, like two beating hearts joined as one. Smart, sarcastic, bold and beautiful, a crack helicopter pilot who had saved countless lives. And her mother, who had given her Inuit blood and features, born of a proud and rich culture of hardship and survival that ran through her blood and was embedded in her bones. A sweet, happy homemaker, a huge support for her family and her husband who was away so much. Then, her father, big bear of a man who had shaped her into the woman she was today, a Bering Sea fisherman, stoic, honest to a fault, tight-lipped and with integrity to spare. So damned good at what he did, braving the elements and the odds year in and year out to support his family. She loved them all, and her throat got tight just at the thought of losing any of them. She squeezed her eyes closed and maintained her composure only by sheer, stubborn will.
She would prove that she could do this, save her family just as she’d been forced most of her life to prove herself. First on her father’s fishing boat, then the challenge of the coast guard, one she welcomed. She could blame her dad for her need to strive for excellence. Now her mettle would be tested again and she wouldn’t fail. Get to the task first and complete it with dazzling competency. She didn’t need to ask for assistance; it made her feel helpless in the process.
She opened Russell’s medicine chest, searched around, carefully avoiding the box of condoms, and found ibuprofen. Popping three pills, she washed them down with a swallow of water from the tap.
Packing her bag, she walked out of Russell’s bedroom, pushing away all her thoughts about him, even as she felt a twinge of jealousy as to who he was using those condoms on. Then that made her think of his gorgeous body again. She swore softly at the way that image made her knees weak. It was necessary to get her head screwed on right.
Neve entered his bright and spacious kitchen. The aroma of something hot and cinnamony, mingled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, made her mouth water. Seeing his kitchen in the bright light of day, she was suddenly floored. There were splashes of bright colors, lush, healthy plants everywhere and the granite countertops were as neat and inspection-ready as any marine barracks. Even the whimsical ceramic frog near the phone was full of organized pens and pencils. The stainless-steel fridge sported an array of Post-it-notes, flyers, Chinese food and pizza menus and what looked like...childish artwork.
She hadn’t noticed any of this last night because she’d been too mired in her own reactions and thoughts from the afternoon’s events.
She got closer to the drawings and smiled at the depictions of cars and robots. She read the name at the bottom: “Georgie,” penned in colorful crayon. That had to be the artist. Her heart melted as she thought that there was someone in Russell’s life named Georgie who proudly drew for him.
Curiosity gave her a moment’s reprieve from her heavy thoughts of death and Panamanian hit men with wing tattoos.
The door leading to the garage opened, and she heard the sound of footsteps and the opening and closing of a door. Then Russell, glistening and bare-chested with only a pair of snug black running shorts on, his well-muscled thighs bulging beneath the hems, came into the kitchen.
He stopped and smiled and said, “Good morning.”
Wow, the man had a knockout smile, and those shorts left very little to the imagination. She whipped her eyes back up to his only to meet his deep blue gaze and see the glint of knowledge that said he knew what she was looking at and thinking about.
He cleared his throat and sidled by her as the timer on the stove started chiming. Donning oven mitts, he opened the oven, pulled out what looked like coffee cake and shut it, setting the pan on the stove.
“Perfect timing,” he stated.
“That looks good enough to eat.”
He raised a brow. “Think a jarhead can’t cook?”
“No, just one more thing I didn’t know about you.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he said cryptically, his voice a husky rasp, hitting her hard where it hurt. Damn the man. “My mom made sure both Dex and I knew the basics. This is her recipe, and I loved waking up to this smell.”
“Yeah, it’s wonderful how smells bring back good memories.”
“And bad, sometimes,” he said.
She nodded. Too true.
She was relieved when he ran upstairs and took a shower; they ate what turned out to be the most delicious coffee cake, and he took her home. He insisted on walking her up to her apartment, but she just needed him to go. The new door was in place, thanks to Dex. She went inside but stopped Russell at the threshold.
“Neve—”
“I’ll be fine. You get back to your life. I’m sure you’re very busy.”
“I’m always he
re for you,” he said.
She closed the door and leaned against it, her eyes darting around her apartment. Just as she set down her purse and dropped her bag in her bedroom, her cell phone rang.
“Chica,” Marco said when she answered. “¿Qué pasa, beautiful?”
“Marco, thank you for calling.”
“Yeah, sure. Anything for you, chica. What’s so urgente? Marco is here to help.”
She took a breath. “I was attacked last night.”
“Santa mierda! You are okay?”
“Yes, thanks. I am, but the man who tried to kill me is dead, and I don’t know why he targeted me.”
“This is very upsetting to me. Why do you think I can help?”
“He spoke Panamanian Spanish.”
“What did this hijo de puta say?”
“That I couldn’t escape, that he would have revenge against my whole family.”
“¡Basta ya! Tell me all the details. Exactly what he said.”
“Marco, he mentioned the White Falcon. Does that mean anything to you?”
There was utter silence on the other end of the line, ominous. The skin on the back of Neve’s neck prickled.
“Dios mío.” His breath hissed out, and she bet he was making the sign of the cross. He always did that after that phrase. “Are you sure that is what he said. El Halcón Blanco?”
“Yes. I’m sure. What does it mean, Marco? Tell me straight. Don’t hold anything back.”
“Muy, muy dangerous. Muy ruthless. Did this hombre have a wing tattoo on his neck?”
“Yes.”
“Dios mío, chica. You must get protection for you and your family. Rápidamente. This White Falcon is a gunrunner, Egyptian-born, very bad. Did you receive a plain envelope with the line ‘Death will come for you on swift wings’?”
“Yes.”
“Esto es malo. This is bad. He will never stop coming after you.”
“Why? I have no idea what he thinks I’ve done to him.”
“What has happened recently in your life? Have you been to Panama or Colombia?”
“No. I broke my collarbone trying to save three people from a terrible storm off the coast about ten weeks ago. I haven’t been anywhere.”
“These people. What are their names?”
“Just a minute.” She went to her laptop and opened it up navigating to the official report. “Cadoc, Galina and Tai—”
“Saad?”
The surname jumped off the page at her. “Yes.”
“Santa Madre de Dios! That is...Dios...was his brother and two sisters. He blames you for not saving them. He must have taken all this time to track you down, and now that he’s found you, you are not safe, none of you are safe. But, he will come after you first, there is hope there.”
“Marco, do you know where he is?”
“Yes, but only rumors, the Darién Gap, a very bad place. I am ready to help. My life is yours, bella.”
*
Two days later, Neve settled into the conference room in a comfortable seat across from Special Agent Davis Nishida and Special Supervisory Agent Kai Talbot at the NCIS San Diego office. “We’ve looked into this White Falcon threat, and Agent Nishida has talked to Marco de Cruz. The White Falcon is Ammon Blanco Saad. He changed his name to Set after the deity of disorder and violence. If you ask me, he’s an egotistical maniac with visions of grandeur, and that makes any slight toward him personal. That is why he is coming after you, even after you attempted to save his family. He’s part Egyptian, part Colombian, and an international gunrunner who is married to Lizeth Maria Sosa Torres de Set. She’s the daughter of Raúl Torres,” Kai said. “His wife’s crest is a falcon. Combined with his Colombian mother’s last name, that’s where he gets the moniker.
“His wife is one of the most powerful people in the Latin drug world, leading one of the largest trafficking rings in Central America. She’s transporting thousands of pounds of cocaine into the US and is on the DEA’s watch list. But her money laundering has her marked by the US Treasury’s Office of Foreign Assets Control, or OFAC.”
“What does this all mean?” Neve asked, her stomach lurching, dread settling in the pit of her belly.
“The hitter was identified as Juan Ramos, assassin for hire and a dead end. We have no hard evidence that Set put a hit out on you or was involved in the attempt on your life. I think his motive is clear. He is blaming you for the deaths of his brother and sisters.”
“What happened during that rescue, Neve, so we’re all aware?” Agent Nishida asked.
“I have a copy of the report.” She handed them a sheaf of papers.
She swallowed back her guilt and discomfort. Retelling the story wasn’t going to be easy. “It was off the coast during a terrible storm. I had an argument with the pilot. He didn’t want to risk me or the crew, but I argued that I could handle it.”
That storm spooked her. It reminded her of what her father used to have to fight against while crabbing and the pressure of being a woman rescue swimmer. She hadn’t been sure the pilot’s bias against her winching down to the survivors didn’t have to do with her being female. She didn’t want those people to die because of some sexist pilot.
“The wind took the helicopter and me with it like a feather in the breeze. I slammed against the side and fractured my collarbone, but I didn’t quite realize it at the time.
“They winched me to the surface, and one of the survivors was already floating face-down. I tried to get her in the basket first, hoping that they could revive her, but her brother panicked and took me under. The seas were so rough, and I was fighting him for my life. I almost drowned and my arm was going numb. But I was able to get away from him. After that, I lost track of him in the waves. His body was recovered an hour later, but the sister who had already drowned...they never found her. His other sister had severe hypothermia. She didn’t make it.”
What had happened was so tragic. It was unfair to her, but he wanted to blame someone and grief affected people differently.
“We’re opening an investigation and will actively pursue this, but at this time we don’t even know where they are hiding,” Agent Nishida said, dragging her out of her thoughts.
“The Darién Gap. Marco told me that’s where they have a compound.” She knew of the stretch of wilderness; she’d even hiked it once. She’d worked the Panamanian waters on the California-based Coast Guard National Security cutter Crockett for two years before her acceptance into the swimmer rescue program, nabbing drug runners in narco-submarines, self-propelled semi-submersibles that stuck close to the coastline and carried tons of drugs from South America to the US.
“That’s also problematic, Neve. The DEA and ATF have an active investigation on them, although they don’t know exactly where they are. It’s hampered by the dense wilderness, the sheer number of baddies in the area and their ability to hide. Now that we have a definite location, thanks to Marco, we can begin searching, but that could take months. It’s a dense area with plenty of obstacles for any kind of force, along with the red tape we have to hurdle to get permission from Panama.”
“You’re basically telling me there’s nothing you can do.”
“Other than putting your family members into protective custody, and that is in the works, we’ll investigate this hard, joining with the DEA and ATF, working it out. In the meantime, as a precaution preliminary to moving your family members to a safe house, the local police will up the patrols in your area. Have you notified your family?”
“Yes, I contacted them after Marco told me why he thought I might be targeted. My brother Thane is in the hospital from a hit-and-run. The cops don’t think it was an accident. My parents are in their early fifties, and Dutch Harbor isn’t a hotbed of criminal activity. The local police have indicated they will patrol their home. How can I keep them all safe? I can’t wait days, let alone six months.”
Kai’s face showed her frustration and concern. “We’re taking this seriously, Neve. I promise you. It
just takes time.”
“Thank you for looking into this for me. I appreciate your efforts.” She got up from the table and both agents exchanged a glance, one filled with discontent and worry.
“Call us if you need us,” Kai said, rising and setting her hand on her arm. Neve nodded and realized that she had to do something. Because she’d been unable to help Set’s family, he had targeted her and her whole family for death.
This was now up to her.
As soon as she was out of the building, she put in a call to Marco, now hyperaware of her surroundings. Looking over her shoulder was something she was going to have to do until Set was in custody or dead. When he answered, he said, “What’s the plan, chica?”
The thought of losing her family, or even her own life, while the DEA and ATF took their time building a case against the White Falcon and his notorious wife made her sick and terrified. There was no way she was going to sit back while this threat was active. There was only one thing she could do. “I’m going to have to kill him before he kills us,” she said.
*
Rock had been trained to kill the enemy. Trained and carried out that mission every day he was in combat. But he’d been shadowing Neve for two days, and what he saw made him realize that she was going on the offensive. She was preparing for battle.
A stone-cold warrior in a body to die for.
Everything she did, every line of her body was poised.
He was pissed because she was gearing up and she was leaving him out. Leaving everyone out. He’d been carrying around all this anger inside him. She had never seen him, not once. He was a ghost that was as close as her shadow. It was what he’d done for a living, and he’d been damn good at it.
Solo. Lone she-wolf.
Well, she was going to get the shock of her life.