by Charles, Eva
Before my feet hit the pavement, I send Delilah a reminder of the consequences if she goes rogue. Then I send another message.
GW: She’s in.
Unknown: How did you get her on board?
GW: Between me and her. Not your concern.
Unknown: If you ruin her, I’ll kill you myself.
GW: Fuck you, Smith.
8
Gray
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
It’s hot as hell, and sticky from all the rain last night. There’s not a soul back here, nor will there be, until the sun burns away the remnants of the storm. Wet brush overhead, pesky critters swarming, and no Wi-Fi makes Jessamine Café the perfect place for a clandestine meeting.
I’m here to drop a bomb. The mother of all bombs. Not an actual explosive, but it will cause plenty of damage, just the same.
I hope like hell that I haven’t misjudged the players I’m assembling. While there’s no shortage of talent and character among them, the yarn that holds us together is a complicated weave, with a number of weak spots that could unravel the entire mission. Those weak spots are emotions, and that mission is the culmination of my life’s work.
The frosted glass door swings open and Smith steps onto the deserted patio, coffee in hand, startled look on his face. And it’s just the beginning. His composure returns before he reaches the table where I’m seated. “Didn’t expect to find you out here in the swamp. Aren’t you worried about melting all over your custom-made shirt?”
I snicker and take a gulp of coffee before peering into his eyes. “That’s interesting, because you’re exactly the man I expected to see here.”
Smith stiffens, every inch of muscle tense, but the wheels turning madly.
While he searches his internal drive, his eyes narrow, with the surrounding skin drawn into tight creases. “You were expecting me?”
I nod.
I’ve known Smith since I was sixteen, and I’ve never seen him quite so off his game. He can be deadly serious, but he’s never at a loss for words. He’s the guy who always has a quick comeback at the ready. Something clever and cutting. But right now, he’s got nothing.
“I’m Lone Wolf,” I say, divulging my covert identity. He’s been told his meeting is with Lone Wolf, but this is more than he bargained for—much more.
Smith continues to eye me cautiously. “You’re Lone Wolf?” he repeats, testing the words as they roll off his tongue, much the way one does when speaking a foreign language.
“It’s a bit pretentious, even for my tastes, but Gray Wolf would have been too obvious.” I motion toward an empty seat. “Take a load off.”
Smith pulls out the chair across from me and plops his ass down. “I—I—fuck me.” He leans back and rubs his palm over an unshaven jaw. “You better start talking, princess.”
Princess. The nickname my brother JD tagged me with when we were kids. It stuck because he’s always thought I was soft and liked to be comfortable. And because it’s what brothers do. Taunt each other and wheedle themselves under each other’s skin. I call him asshole every chance I get. It’s one of the many dysfunctional ways we say I love you in my family.
“What the hell is going on, Gray?” The color is gone from Smith’s face, and the alarm in his voice is palpable.
My gut burns like a sonofabitch. Smith’s not blood family, but he’s damn close.
I mulled over the words I would use with him today. Sifting carefully until they were milled into a fine grain that could be swallowed easily. My focus had been on making it palatable for him, without divulging too much. What I never considered were my own feelings and the emotion that would bubble up as I prepared to tell him that everything he knew about me up until this point was a lie. Maybe not everything, but enough to unsettle anyone, even a tough sonofabitch like Smith.
I had imagined there would be some measure of relief in confessing. Some lightness from the unburdening. But reality feels more like the heavy ache of grief.
As I wrestle with my emotions, I draw a breath and blow it out slowly. Even after my lungs are empty, the weight in my chest is still there. But I don’t hide. I look Smith right in the eye, because I’m not a coward and he deserves the respect.
“I’m running a black op that’s going down sometime in the next month—six weeks at the outside. I need to borrow a couple operatives for the duration, and I might need your team to provide cover if the mission comes to Charleston—although I don’t expect that to happen.”
Smith’s brow is furrowed tight. “I already know all that from my meeting at the Pentagon. I want to know how you’re involved. I do want the details, but first—what the hell are you doing running a black op? And who the fuck do you work for?”
“I can’t talk about who I work for, not specifically. But from your meeting, you know the government is involved—the US and the Amidane governments. That’s all I can say about it. You know the drill as well as I do.”
“No.” He pounds a fist on the wrought-iron table, causing it to wobble.
I grab my coffee so it doesn’t become a casualty of the outburst.
“That’s not good enough. How did you become involved in paramilitary activities? And when?” he barks.
“Not paramilitary. Covert.”
“The CIA?”
I shake my head.
“The Bureau.” It’s not really a question, and I’m not a fan of guessing games, so I don’t respond. “Did they reach out to you while your father was running for president, or after he was elected?”
I take another drink of coffee, letting the bitter roast saturate my tongue. “I was recruited in college.”
Smith gapes at me like I have two heads. “College?”
I nod.
“Christ. How have you kept it a secret for so long?”
“It really wasn’t that hard to pull off.” Sad, but true. “My mother was dead. My father focused most of his energy on criminal activity, and on keeping JD in line. As it turns out, he spent some of that energy molesting little girls too.” The thought of it makes me want to dig up the bastard and kill him again. This time with my bare hands.
I glance at Smith’s stony face. He isn’t a babe in the woods, but he doesn’t have an inkling about how my father got his just deserts. This isn’t the time to savor my father’s death.
“JD was preoccupied with everyone’s safety,” I continue, “especially Gabby’s, taking care of Zack, and plotting his revenge against Dad. Chase was young. By the time you came into the picture and began poking around in my business, it had become a way of life. And I had gotten good at it.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but I raise a hand to stop him. “We can discuss the particulars of my life at another time, if it’s really necessary, but right now we have more important things to talk about.”
Smith rolls the coffee cup between his hands, seemingly transfixed by the motion. “Puts me in a difficult position,” he says quietly. “JD is my business partner, not to mention—”
“JD is an interested investor in Sinclair Industries. He’s not an active partner. In any case, he doesn’t have the clearance necessary to be read in on any aspect of this mission. Wouldn’t matter if it were me or someone else running the show.”
Smith nods. He knows it’s true, and I know he would never disclose classified information to anyone—not even JD. “What do you want from me?”
If something happens to me during the mission, I want you to protect Delilah with your life. I want you to get her out and ensure her safety. That’s why I selected his company over the other two I was offered. I know he’ll do everything in his power to save Delilah, if it should come to that.
“I need you to lend me an operative who can provide security and act as my driver. It has to be someone known to you. They need strong skills, and must be entirely trustworthy. Some familiarity with Amadi culture is a huge plus, but not a deal breaker. It will require at least one trip abroad. I’ll expedite the necessary clearance and
paperwork.”
“What about Trippi? I’m sure he’s involved in this somehow.”
Trippi is my driver and provides security. He’s not here now, but he’s close. Smith is right. Trippi is involved and has been for a long time. “He’ll be providing security for someone else.” I look Smith squarely in the face. “I want Delilah too.”
“What?” he roars.
“The mission requires a woman. One who’s multilingual, won’t crumple in the face of danger, and who looks like someone I might fuck. Delilah fits that to a T.”
His fists are clenched on the table. “It makes me sick to hear you talk about her like she’s a whore. If I didn’t know how you really feel about her, I would grind your pretty face into the cobblestones.”
This is the part—one of them—where emotions weaken the fabric. But rightfully so. His reaction tells me that my instincts are right. He will do everything in his power to protect her if things take a bad turn.
He contemplates me carefully, trying to put the pieces together. “You need a driver and security because you’re assigning Trippi, your trusted sidekick, to Delilah?”
“I’m assigning him to Delilah for a whole host of reasons that I’m not getting into with you.”
“The Bureau is bringing her in?”
“I’m bringing her in. I can use whatever assets I feel are necessary to complete this mission successfully. As you are fully aware, that’s how these things always work.”
“No one knows about her?” Smith cocks his head, gauging my reaction.
“Everyone who needs to know, knows. I don’t take any unnecessary risks with my team, and I won’t take any unnecessary risks with yours.” And I sure as hell am not taking any risks with Delilah.
Smith is fuming, but he knows that even the best-run ops are messy. It’s the nature of the beast. From his meeting at the Pentagon, he also knows this is a vital mission for the country. Words like duty and honor mean everything to him. Plus, he hasn’t told me to go fuck myself yet. That’s encouraging.
“Delilah came to me after Christmas. Said she couldn’t work at Wildflower anymore because her feelings for you were getting in the way of the job.”
“Did she?” I knew Delilah had run to Smith after the night we spent together. It had pissed me off that she went to him without talking to me first. I’m still pissed about it. But I never knew what she told him. “What else did she say?”
“None of your goddamn business.” Smith empties his coffee cup and places it carefully on the table. “She agreed to this?” The skepticism in his voice is scathing. But if I were in his place, I’d be skeptical too.
“She will.” I respond with more confidence than I’m feeling. I’m still not entirely sure how I’m going to convince her, but it’s going to be ugly. That part I am sure about. “It will be easier on her if you let her go without a fuss when she asks. I don’t want her to know you’re involved with this yet.”
“Why not?” Smith challenges. “Why can’t I loan her to you the way I’m loaning my other guy? Why do I have to let her go?”
“Because she’ll begin overthinking everything if she believes she’s serving two masters. If she isn’t focused, she’ll put the mission at risk and it will become dangerous for everyone, especially for her. It’s not a big secret that Delilah worships you.”
Smith swats a swarm of gnats away from his face. “You’re going to use her feelings for you, and your feelings for her, to make whatever story you’re concocting believable. That’s not going to interfere with her focus?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have feelings for her.” The only person I’m kidding here is myself, but I force a jeer to make a more persuasive argument. “But I must be on top of my game, if I’ve convinced even you of that.”
“You’re a sonofabitch, and a goddamn liar.” The tips of his ears are flaming and his words are caustic, but his tone is measured. “I don’t care who you work for or how long you’ve been running ops. You’re playing a fool’s game if you involve a woman you can barely keep your hands off in a covert mission.”
“Why don’t we let Delilah make the decision? I’m just asking you not make it difficult for her to leave when she comes to you. This is a matter of national security,” I add for good measure. “You know this from your meeting at the Pentagon.”
Smith’s lips are pursed, and the smoke is bellowing from his ears.
“She’s perfect for this assignment—and it’s perfect for her,” I say quietly. “She needs this.” The last part is the nail in the coffin. It’s manipulative, but it’s true. And Smith knows it.
He fills his cheeks with air and when it escapes, it’s like a deflating balloon. “How is someone who was in the limelight like she was going to be able to fool a big fish with airtight security in place?”
“She can’t. We’re going to do it in plain sight. She’s the flavor of the month—actually, she’ll have to be more than that to be convincing.”
Smith glowers and curses softly.
“Delilah’s gorgeous. There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t want to trade places with me. She’s been publicly shunned by her government, and she’s found a nice little landing place in my lap. It won’t be difficult to sell that story to the people I’m dealing with.”
“Pfft. Delilah will never agree to what you’re proposing.”
“We’ll see.”
“So this is why you’re so damn protective of Wildflower. It’s your cover. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.”
It is a cover, and a vehicle for me to spy on political and industry leaders from around the globe. My father opened Wildflower to gather dirt on his detractors so he could blackmail them when it became expedient. I harvest member information and feed it to the government. Their motivations aren’t always any more noble than my father’s were. Perhaps mine aren’t either.
“It’s more than just my cover. Maybe it started that way, but it’s become an important part of who I am.” It’s true. Wildflower has allowed me to indulge and perfect my Dominant ways to my heart’s desire.
Smith looks beaten. He might feel stupid, but I suspect he mostly feels betrayed.
My gut twists, and the coffee sloshes against my stomach wall, the acid burning the lining. Smith’s feelings are nothing compared to the pain my brothers would feel if I told them I’d been lying to them for nearly fifteen years—especially JD. The betrayal would be devastating. Unforgiveable. I push the thought away.
“You’re not stupid. I was always JD’s little brother,” I say gently. “There was never a reason to look any further.” I don’t apologize. Smith isn’t a naïve civilian. He was a member of the elite Delta Force, and has plenty of his own dark secrets. Although none of this makes me feel any better as I watch him battle with his emotions.
When I’ve had enough of sitting with the guilt, I stand to leave. “I’ll take care of your team. Get them back to you in one piece. You have my word.” Smith doesn’t look up. “I’ll be in touch,” I add, before walking away.
“Gray?”
I stop and turn.
“She’s good people. The best. She’s tough and prickly and she can slit a man’s throat in the blink of an eye, but inside, her heart bleeds like any other woman’s. Don’t add to the heap of misery she’s already faced in her life.”
My hope is to lighten her burden, not add to the pain. But I don’t share that with him. “Understood.”
“You better do more than understand.”
“We worked up close for the better part of two years. You don’t have to tell me about her vulnerability.” It keeps me awake at night. It has for years. Long before she ever set foot into Wildflower.
9
Delilah
PRESENT DAY
When I arrive at the security office, Smith is already here. I was hoping to have a few minutes to myself, but maybe it’s better if I don’t have any more time to think. I spent most of last night tossing and turning, worrying about tellin
g him that I’m leaving.
As I approach Smith’s doorway, he’s on the phone, looking out the window. All I see is the back of his sandy head above the chair.
If I go sit at my desk until he’s finished, I might not find the courage to come back. So I stand outside his office quietly, trying not to eavesdrop. It’s not hard, because my mind is elsewhere, bogged down by my own problems.
What am I doing? Leaving a job that I love—well, maybe not love, but I like it a lot. It gives me security and stability. And I love my teammates—all of them—and Smith. He trusts me implicitly, and leans on me more than anyone else. This feels like the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. Damn you, Gray Wilder.
“Delilah. You need something?”
I blink a few times. I didn’t hear Smith end the call.
“Um.” I nod. It’s only a temporary leave, Delilah. Like a vacation. You’ve earned a few weeks off. “Got a minute?”
He motions for me to come inside. I shut the door behind me, my fingers white-knuckling the cold knob. My mind is racing, but my body is moving in slow motion, weighed down by a sense of dread.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, taking a seat across the desk.
He leans back in the chair, bouncing a pencil eraser on the desk top. I don’t know where to begin. Smith watches me patiently, waiting for me to speak, but my well-rehearsed bullshit is stuck in my throat.
“How’s Kate?” I ask, in a grand show of cowardice.
“She’s tough. The road’s rocky, littered with landmines, but we’ll get through it.”
“It’ll take her some time. It’s amazing what the human spirit can withstand. If she needs anything—if you need anything—” I can’t do this. I can’t leave him now. Not until things are better with Kate. It’s not right. “I should get back to work.” I stand and rub my sweaty palms on my pants, pretending to smooth the wrinkles.