Complicated Creatures: Part One

by Alexi Lawless

  “A beautiful woman leading a team that could have inspired Call of Duty,” Jaime joked. “If that’s not the rare stuff of legend and fantasy, I don’t know what is,” he grinned. “Naturally, we’re curious. I’m on the PTA for Maddie’s school in Oak Park. Hanging out with Navy SEALs and their fearless leader isn’t something I get to do every day.”

  “The PTA is full of alpha women, from what I gather,” she replied, her brow raised. “I wouldn’t want to mess with any of those hellcats, especially on hostage negotiations.”

  Jaime mock-shuddered. “Now ain’t that the truth? Those are not ladies you tangle with,” he said over his shoulder as he ducked down into the galley.

  “Did you all work together in the Navy?” Jack asked as he pulled the bottle from her hand, moving behind her to rub the lotion into her shoulders. Her skin was hot, smooth and supple. Jack felt goose bumps raise on his arms while he touched her skin.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Carey’s a few years younger than me. By the time he was a SEAL, my tour was over, so we never worked similar deployments. After he was injured on a mission, he ran some of the BUD/s training. That’s how he met Rush and Talon.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Basic Underwater Demolition and SEAL school. It’s one of the first training regimens all those guys have to pass,” she explained, watching the guys cast out lines from the stern.

  Maddie was standing on the bench beside them, her own toy fishing rod in hand. Jack smiled at the scene. Three ex-special forces guys and a little girl wearing a tiny pink life preserver with her little pink hat. What a picture that made.

  “So how did you get them?” Jack asked, admiring the way her back rippled with the muscles of a lifelong swimmer. He was insanely turned on. A powerful woman. Beautiful and soft, yet so incredibly strong.

  She shrugged under his hands. “Rush was ready for something new, and he and Talon were inseparable in the service. They’re excellent partners. It was just a matter of time before Talon joined him,” she remarked, groaning as Jack massaged a knot from her shoulder, clearly taking advantage of the suntan lotion situation. It was a move as old as the invention of the stuff. He wondered about what else he could get away with, considering three men who would readily kill for this woman stood only twenty feet away.

  “Riiiight there,” she murmured as he pressed into her left shoulder. He nearly stopped when he noticed a scar the size of a nickel there. “You’ve got magic hands, Mr. Roman,” she told him.

  “One of my talents,” he smiled, tracing the indentation of the scar.

  “Among many, I’m sure,” she replied, moving away before he could ask her about it. “May I return the favor?” she offered, distracting him.

  Jack couldn’t hide his pleasure at the thought of feeling her slender fingers on his body. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side as she poured suntan lotion on her hands. He felt the small callouses on her hands and the strength and efficacy of her movements as she rubbed the lotion into his skin. She didn’t touch him shyly, but she didn’t touch him sensually either. She finished rubbing him down before handing him back the bottle and settling back onto the cushions, her eyes closed behind her sunglasses.

  “What are the other levels?” Jack asked, settling beside her.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, not opening her eyes.

  “You said BUD/s was the first training regimen SEALs have to pass.”

  “The guys are the experts. I’m sure they’d love to brag to you about all the shit they have to survive to make it,” she replied flippantly.

  “I’m asking you,” Jack murmured, turning to raise his face to the dazzling heat of the September sun.

  She said nothing for a moment. Jack could hear the guys laughing at the back, Maddie’s squeal as they reeled in a fish.

  “Those guys survive hell,” she told him quietly. “They’re the most respected and feared combat unit in the world for a reason. Training usually takes at least a year. The physical conditioning, combat diving, land warfare, parachute jumping—it’s unbelievable what they go through. And that’s before they even get into their individual specialties.”

  Jack absorbed the information, alternately impressed and humbled. “What are their specialties?”

  “Oh, those guys have PhDs in bullshit, flattery, and skirt-chasing,” she chuckled softly, lightening the tension.

  Jack laughed alongside her before flipping to his side.

  “You have a habit of doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Deflecting with humor.” He ran a finger along the hand that rested closest to him.

  She cocked a brow, though her eyes remained closed.

  “Carey’s a high threat protective security specialist.”

  “What’s that?” Jack asked.

  “He’s trained specifically to protect US and foreign heads of state or high value persons of interest.”

  “And Evan and Talon?”

  She lifted a hand to cover her eyes, turning her head toward him. He couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but he knew she was watching him.

  “Evan’s a breacher. He does advanced close quarter combat and is particularly talented with barrier penetration and methods of entry. Talon’s a scout and a sniper. Best I’ve ever seen. Makes expert marksmen look like bush leagues past the three hundred meter mark.”

  “So basically I’m on a boat with the A-Team,” Jack joked, putting his hands behind his head as he leaned back, feigning relaxation.

  She smiled, mimicking his move. “Let’s just say you and your family are being protected by the best right now.”

  “Remind me to never piss you off.”

  Her husky laugh was so soft, he barely heard it.

  Jack closed his eyes, enjoying the hypnotic rhythm of the boat swaying ever so slightly with the breeze. Jack listened to Samantha’s gentle breaths as they evened out, checking on her even as he knew she dozed. He lazed beside her, listening to the waves slap gently against the boat, cooled by the gentle drift of wind over the deck while the sails furled gently. To and fro, to and fro…

  Jack woke on a jolt, realizing he was alone. He sat up, looking starboard. He saw Samantha and Evan in the water, Maddie swimming furiously between them with her floaties and life preserver, her little flippers slapping noisily in the water as they laughed and cheered, encouraging her.

  “I get it, bro,” Jaime said as he plopped down beside him, handing him a water.

  “Get what?” Jack asked, glancing over Jaime’s shoulder. Carey and Talon sat back at the stern, chatting and drinking beers, legs kicked up in a lazy approximation of fishing.

  “The fascination. At first I thought it was because she’s—well, look at her.” He gestured toward the water. “But once you spend a few minutes with her…whew.” Jaime shook his head. “She’s not your usual fare.”

  “I doubt she’s anyone’s usual fare,” Jack replied, watching her. All his life, Jack had the benefit of women’s attention in one form or another. They were pliant, often pleasing, and at times downright demanding of his attentions. But someone like Samantha, so indomitable and self-contained, held a surprising and nearly fetishistic appeal for him. He’d known her a handful of days and she was already burrowing deeply under his skin.

  “You planning on doing anything about it?” Jaime asked, as if reading his mind.

  “Have you seen the company she keeps?” Jack joked, casting a meaningful glance at the stern.

  Jaime laughed. “You were always one for living dangerously.”

  “I have a feeling she takes that metaphor to an entirely different place,” Jack commented drily.

  Jaime shrugged, sipping his beer. “Volar bene.”2

  He and his brother chatted aimlessly for a while before Jack joined Maddie in the water and Jaime returned to the stern, helping Talon clean a fresh fish he’d caught. Relieved of duty, Evan and Samantha swam a series of breast strokes in a wide arc around
the boat, racing each other. When she finally tired, Jack helped her and Maddie up the side of the boat, passing her one of his robes after she’d finished drying Maddie and herself off.

  They said little to each other the remainder of the night, distracting themselves with grilling the fat rainbow trout, trading jokes and stories with the group while sexual tension crackled between them like a magnetic field. Either the guys didn’t notice, were very good actors, or they were too relaxed and sun-dazed to care.

  When they finally docked, Samantha placed a gentle kiss on Maddie’s forehead. The little girl was passed out on Jack’s shoulder, snoring softly. Samantha smiled at Jack before stepping back and waving goodbye to the group. By the time he’d tucked Maddie into Jaime’s car, she was gone.

  Chapter 6

  September—Monday morning

  Sam’s office in the Loop, Chicago

  S A M A N T H A

  “Happy Birthday, Sammy girl¸” Carey grinned, strolling into her office.

  “Did you hit your head over the weekend?” Sam slanted him a look as he sat down across from her for their usual Monday morning meeting. “My birthday’s not for a few months.”

  Carey leaned forward, punching her intercom. “Marvin,” he called out to their assistant. “Can you get me and Sammy some coffees? She looks like she’s going to tear my arm off and beat me with it.”

  “I’ll make it a double,” Marvin’s disembodied voice returned over the speaker.

  Sam rolled her eyes. “I’m not in a bad mood.”

  “Baby girl, you’re in a bad mood every morning until you’re two coffees in. I’m just the only one brave enough to meet you before you’re done with your caffeine IV drip.”

  “So make my grouchy ass happy then.” She sat back in her chair. “Why’s it my birthday?”

  “Simon Michaelson contacted me, asking for a meeting.”

  Her brows shot up. “From Leviathan Risk? You’re finally going to get him?” Carey had an impressive recruiting list. Michaelson had been near the top of his list for nearly two years.

  Carey shrugged. “It’s been a long courtship. Michaelson didn’t give me all the details yet, but word has it that Leviathan sent him in on a couple bad situations with limited reinforcements. He’s disillusioned. Wants out.”

  “And you’re gonna open up your loving arms.” She smiled slowly.

  Carey looked smug. “I can’t help it if Leviathan doesn’t know how to take care of their men. Besides, he approached me.”

  “Remind me of his background?” Sam asked.

  “Michaelson was a Major with the British SAS Special Ops. He was in charge of the UK Mobility Unit in Afghanistan.”

  “Mobility Unit?”

  “Vehicular Warfare,” Carey clarified. “We don’t have another specialist in mobility at his level of play. Think of the team he could develop and train up.” His eyes twinkled. “It’d be a sound investment.”

  “Haven’t you been trying to recruit him since we started?” Sam asked, leaning forward. “What was the final straw?”

  “What I’ve pieced together is that Michaelson was sent on his own to Chechnya on a hostage situation. No ground support. He used one of his old military contacts to get chopper cover but got winged trying to get his cargo out. This was the second time Leviathan sent him undermanned.”

  “Chechnya? Christ, that’s like sending Bambi into east Texas during hunting season,” she remarked. “Was it the Russian military or Chechen factions who had the hostage?”

  “Chechen. A splinter faction from the Emir, but the Russian military was no help. Michaelson didn’t go into details, but I’ve heard enough to know it was a clusterfuck if there ever was one.” Carey shook his head, disgusted.

  “Amateur hour,” Samantha agreed. “Leviathan has really started to cut corners. What’s going on at that shop?” she wondered aloud.

  Leviathan Risk, the top dog in private protection and K&R/Asset Retrieval globally, was headquartered in London and had earned its namesake over the years as a Goliath in the security industry. Their CEO, Lucien Lightner, formerly a British Special Air Services Captain himself, was renowned for being a shrewd and cunning businessman. It was surprising to hear how many bad calls they’d been making recently, even for the sake of the almighty dollar—or pound sterling, in their case.

  “Whatever’s going on, that shit ain’t gonna fly,” Carey continued. “Guys like Michaelson don’t have any patience for getting their asses hung out to dry if it isn’t for Queen and country. They’re private sector now. If it’s happened to him, you can bet there’s a line of guys behind him who are getting the same treatment.”

  “What’s Leviathan’s market share these days?” she asked.

  “At least forty percent of the K&R market. Last I checked, they’ve got contracts with the top five underwriters for West Asia, Russia, the Middle East, and North Africa. Since we got in the game, they’ve expanded security and protection services to compete, but they’re still the main pony to beat in Asset Retrieval,” Carey told her.

  “What do we estimate the underwriters billed in premiums last year?”

  “I’m thinking somewhere between forty and forty-five million US dollars, but we’d need to check,” he replied.

  Marvin stuck his long arms in the office after a short knock on the door. “I bring coffee—don’t shoot!” he exclaimed, waving the coffee cups playfully as he edged into her office cautiously.

  “Enter slowly and keep your hands in front of you,” Carey warned. “And whatever you do, don’t agitate her.”

  “Very funny.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

  Marvin and Carey exchanged looks as Marvin handed her the coffee. He backed away slowly.

  “Oh for chrissakes! Just because I’m not a morning person,” she muttered.

  “Not a morning person?” Marvin cocked his head, his grin vivid against his black skin. “Sam, Kim Jong Un wouldn’t cross you before 9:00 a.m.”

  “Wusses, both of you,” Sam rebutted, taking a sip as Marvin turned to leave. “Hey, Marv, before you go, I need you to do some research for us today.”

  Marvin nodded. “Who, what, where?” he asked, whipping out his smartphone. She thanked her lucky stars for his organization. Without him, she and Carey would be adrift.

  “I want you to pull anything you can on Leviathan Risk International and their top officers. Get me their financials, any recent news, and their client roster. Set up a meeting for me, Carey, and Ian McCall in our London office for this week, and let the pilots know we’re flying out first thing tomorrow morning. Have McCall get his ear to the ground. Carey and I will want to know who’s unhappy, why they feel that way, and what it will take to get them over to Lennox. Move any non-priority meetings to next week. Anything crucial gets moved up to today or handed to Rush and Talon. Carey and I can teleconference in from London if they need us.”

  “You got it,” Marvin responded, fingers moving deftly over the screen.

  “And please respond to the email Simon Michaelson sent me,” Carey added. “Set up a dinner meeting asking him to meet Sam and me at the Hawksmoor Seven Dials in Covent Garden on Wednesday night. I’ve heard he’s a fan of a good steak.”

  “Will do,” Marvin nodded, shutting the door behind him.

  “You need me at that dinner?” Sam asked.

  “Nah, but I think it’ll help.”

  Sam tutted. “You just want me to be your la Femme Nikita eye candy.”

  Carey laughed, eyes bright. “Nothing sexier than a woman who knows how to hurt you.”

  “That’s sick, Bear,” she muttered, shaking her head at him in amusement.

  He shrugged. “So we’ll be declaring war on Leviathan by Wednesday then?”

  “Screw birthdays. This is Christmas,” Sam murmured into her coffee, eyeing him over the rim. “We’ve been looking for a way to take down our top competitor. Let’s go to London, do a little fact finding, and see if Leviathan can hold on to their to
p assets…” She sat back, contemplative. “If you could ask Santa for anything at Christmas, Bear, who else would you like wrapped under the tree in a pretty red bow?”

  Carey got a glint in his eye. “Depends on if I’ve been naughty or nice.”

  “I think you know the answer to that,” she answered, lips curving.

  “Naughty then,” he smiled, leaning toward her. He held up his huge hand, ticking off each finger. “Simon Michaelson, one. Then Julien Henri, a jungle warfare expert from the French Foreign Legion who’s supposed to be close to Michaelson.” Carey paused, thinking. “There’s an ex-Green Beret named Kurt doing special recon out of Leviathan’s Dubai office, and a former Israeli Sayeret Matkal officer based in Paris, Avi Oded. He’s one of the best guys in counter terrorism. I want him bad, Santa. Bad.”

  “Nice list.” Sam chuckled, finishing her coffee. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  *

  September—Wednesday night

  Covent Garden, London

  S A M A N T H A

  Simon Michaelson could give Carey a run for his money in the size department. Throw a pelt on him, give him a sword, and he’d be a dead ringer for a Visigoth, she thought as she handed her trench to the maître d, glancing over at the table where Simon and Carey were seated. It amazed her that a man that size had been a specialist in vehicular warfare when it seemed like he’d be more suited to clubbing any unfortunate opponents. Even across the restaurant she could see he dwarfed the table, his biceps massive under his suit as he leaned on the surface, talking with Carey. Simon glanced up, catching her gaze. Sam smiled, walking through the atmospheric warehouse toward them, her Alexander McQueens clicking on the municipal woodwork designed in the floor.

  “You must be the infamous Samantha Wyatt,” Simon greeted, standing as she neared, his hazel eyes taking her in appreciatively.

  “I’m sure my reputation isn’t half as interesting as yours,” she returned, guessing he was at least Carey’s height. He wore a handsomely crafted Savile Row suit, bespoke Jermyn Street shirt, and a City banker tie. But his hands gave him away as they shook hands. They were calloused and rough from years of use, nails clipped to the quick. He glanced over her indigo piqué dress, his gaze admiring.