by Dana Volney
Felix nodded. She could practically see his calculating mind gears at work. Everything about this man was sexy. A dark shirt outlined his chest, abs, and arm muscles, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to reach out and touch him.
He ground his box-shaped jaw especially tight. “Where was your team? Why didn’t you turn the info in to them?”
“They didn’t give me a team for this mission, just a handler I’d worked with a couple of times before. I guess I should be glad I’m not dead. They must not have paid Maki to nark on spies. Things have changed since you and me.” She looked away, past him to his gun lying on the counter. It hadn’t escaped her notice it was positioned perfectly to pick up and shoot her if necessary. There was no more “you and me,” and she was going to have to face that truth along with the one that said she wasn’t getting out of the mess this time, even with Felix’s help. “They knew who I was. Within a day, they were tracking my real name. I don’t know who all he has on the payroll these days, but they are earning their money. Since I got out of Istanbul four months ago, I haven’t accessed the files because at first I suspected the laptop was embedded with a GPS, which is why I took the battery out. But it’s also heavily encrypted. After the log in timed out I haven’t been able to get back in. Darek is a clever SOB. If—when—I turn it over, it’s my ass on the line.” She shook her head. “I have to clean this up, or I have no future.”
She never should’ve involved Felix. Coming to Seattle was another bad call in a list that was ever growing. She needed to get it the hell together. For the last month she’d merely been on the run, leaving no time to make a plan to get rid of the laptop and restore her life.
Felix was silent. And still. He just stood there looking at her … no, through her.
She grabbed the gun she’d stuck in the back of her pants. “I thought about wiping out the whole family, but that’s more than 100 people if I really want to be free from revenge, so … ” She winked and pivoted to get the last bits of information out of Parsa that she could before Felix took over her kidnapping and turned it into a playdate with the police. Not that she’d actually let him take her along for that joy ride.
“Stop.” He was at her side. “What has worked on him?”
Oh-kay. This is new. “I let him sit for a while in the dark, but you showed up sooner than I thought you would, so our little party has only been raging for about a half hour now. I got the jug of water out once, and ever since then he’s been chatty.”
He swore under his breath and she surrendered her gun to his outstretched hand. The contact of his rough-skinned fingers was fleeting, but, God help her, she wanted more. “Not a word in there.”
“He keeps saying that he’s not in with Darek anymore and that he is trying to find protection.”
Felix switched on the light, and Parse’s head snapped up. She’d left him gagged with a gash on his brow. She knew he was a part of the asshole-for-hire network—but she might feel a little bad if it turned out he wasn’t as evil as she’d thought.
“Mr. Bahman.” Felix took off Parsa’s gag then leaned on his corner desk and crossed his arms over his sculpted chest.
She rested her shoulder on the door frame and crossed one foot over the other. This ought to be good.
“I’ve told her everything I know.”
“Why don’t you tell me about your work with Darek?”
“As I’ve said before”—he looked to her as his upper lip curled before turning back to Felix—“I don’t work for Darek anymore. After she stole from him, he became very paranoid and shut down operations to regroup. He found out I’d been skimming. I was lucky enough to escape to the United States. I’m trying to make a deal with either your government or one of his enemies. Whoever can give me the best deal. That is who I was meeting with today. Well, the enemies anyhow.”
She’d heard this song and dance twenty minutes ago and wasn’t sure she believed him—it was an easy way not to have to give up any real information. It seemed Felix was trying to decide as well, going by his intense, dark gaze. But, damn, if that were the case, they’d met a lot of people today the government would be interested in talking to at length.
Felix turned back to the guy bound to a plush office chair. She’d probably owe Felix a new chair when this was all said and done. Parsa had knocked himself over a couple of times already, staining the chair with his blood, loosening the arms, and possibly breaking one of the rollers.
“Be specific”—Felix’s tone was steady and one she might not even dare mess with— “about your work with Darek.”
She had brought a shit ton of problems with her and entangled Felix’s life with them in the process. His tone was appropriate.
“I was making deals on Darek’s behalf—telling him a higher price and the buyer a lower price and pocketing the difference.” Parsa went over the same thing he’d already told her about gun deals, land deals. Name anything nasty, and he’d arranged it.
“What is Darek doing about finding her?” Felix’s head tilted her way.
“I don’t see how this is going to make a difference. My information is months old. I could just lie.”
“Then lie and see what happens.” The muscle in Felix’s jaw jumped as he stood and towered over the slender man.
“There was a bounty out on her with the caveat she must be taken alive because he wants to make sure he gets everything back she stole. Copies included.” Parsa’s dark eyes found hers. “It won’t end well for you if they catch you.”
Her body went cold. Nothing she didn’t already know, but chilling to hear nonetheless. “Did you recognize me today? Did you tell anyone?”
“No. I wasn’t paying attention to you. I was worried about my own issues. If I had, I wouldn’t be here, and you’d be the one tied up.”
Felix stepped out of the room and motioned with his head for her to follow. His brute demeanor was a strong freaking turn-on.
His phone was in hand then up to his cheek.
“Who are you calling?”
He returned her gun—like she really would’ve killed her hostage in Felix’s apartment. Their skin didn’t touch this time, and she tucked her gun into her back waistband.
“Winter. We need to contain this.”
Contain this? She didn’t want to know Parsa’s history or how much of a douchebag he was. She wanted to know where Darek’s team was so she—correction they—could attack them first. Until she got that information, she was not giving up Parsa.
“Come to my place to get Bahman. You may want to call Alex and let him know we have a potential informant for the CIA.” He raised a brow at her. “And also information to be served up at a later date. It’s his lucky day.”
Oh hell no.
“You can’t be serious.” She didn’t keep her voice down or the disbelief from shining through.
Felix glanced at her then to the office door before disconnecting with Winter.
“Over my dead body you are giving him away that easily.” She crossed her arms, the cold steel of her gun pressing into her lower back.
“You want to go to jail?”
He was serious.
“No. I want to stay alive. He knows more than he’s saying.”
“Then he’ll tell Alex or the CIA and we’ll stay in the loop.”
“I don’t have that kind of time.”
“He doesn’t know anything more about your trouble, and that’s what we need to focus on.”
While they were going to sit and twiddle their thumbs, Darek’s men were getting closer. Who knew who Parsa’s bodyguards would tell now that they were free. If Darek hadn’t tracked her to Seattle by now, he’d get the hint soon.
• • •
The knock on the door came twenty minutes later—eighteen minutes after Felix had untied Parsa and fifteen minutes after Arabella had decided not to talk to Felix anymore.
“Hey,” Felix greeted Winter at the door.
“Hi.” She walked in, su
rveying the room. Winter’s glare landed on her, but Arabella didn’t change the set to her jaw. She wasn’t happy with Felix, and Winter was a close second for enabling him. “You better hope we can make this right.”
Yeah, she already held that hope firmly in her throat. Her life was circling the drain. She didn’t want to bring Felix, Winter, and the security business down with her. Despite her actions today.
Arabella stood in the living room, away from the bank of windows, Parsa sat on the couch, and Felix guarded the front door. This was the first time she’d ever disagreed with Felix’s tactical approach, and it didn’t feel good.
“Did you call Alex?” Felix asked and set down his beer.
“Yeah. I’m going to take Mr. Bahman to Alex’s downtown office. He’s meeting me there. He called a pal of his in the CIA who is coming in.”
Felix had shared with Parsa the plan to get him to the CIA so he could tell his story in return for a new identity or whatever. Felix was failing to see that the dealmaker and moneyman she’d taken wasn’t exactly an innocent person—he’d negotiated business deals as well as hits before on the family’s request. She’d spent the last fifteen minutes mentally testing ways to overpower Felix and detain him long enough to get out of there with Parsa. She couldn’t choke him out quickly enough before she got seriously hurt in the process, she couldn’t lock him in any room that would hold him long enough for her to escape, and she really didn’t want to shoot him. But now her time had run out. She’d been too slow on the draw to kidnap Parsa a second time.
Maybe her subconscious had wanted this to happen the entire time. Maybe she was sick of running and needed someone to help her. Not just anyone. Someone she could trust. But it seemed the tables were turned, and she was the one no one trusted.
Parsa stood, ignored her, and nodded at Felix. After Winter gave Felix a look that obviously meant “this isn’t over,” the boss lady and Parsa were out the door.
Felix stood there, watching her. Arabella felt naked—he was seeing right through her. The day, the last four months, caught up with her, and she couldn’t take the pressure any longer.
It was over. All of it. The job she used to live for held no satisfaction, the place she called home was foreign, and the man she married just sold her out.
CHAPTER FIVE
Felix trashed his empty bottle as Arabella sat on the recliner. They couldn’t avoid talking about all this shit, and if he stared at her much longer, he wouldn’t want to talk. He’d want to do things with his lips, hands, and dick. Which was pretty fucked up, considering she’d just made him look really bad.
“Why did you get a job at Wyn Security behind my back? You’re slipping if you thought that wasn’t going to be suspicious.”
“You weren’t supposed to find out until the next day or two.” She sat back in the recliner and crossed her legs. “After you’d come up with a plan to get Darek, of course. None of mine have worked, and him and his men are getting too close.” She took a deep breath and her shoulders sunk. “I got sloppy. I was running scared.”
“Why didn’t you just come to me?” He ached to reach out for her. The fact that she’d thought he wouldn’t be there for her hurt more than her deception. The manipulation was tactical—that part he actually respected—but what he couldn’t wrap his head around was that she chose that angle first.
“I couldn’t take the risk you’d say no. You’re my last option.”
He closed his eyes. “How could you think I wouldn’t help?”
“Because of the last time we saw each other.”
And there it was. The fuck-up of all fuck-ups once again bit him in the ass.
She wouldn’t look at him now—the carpet suddenly had her attention. He didn’t blame her. His chest ached and his throat burned. It didn’t take much to set him off about that mission gone wrong.
More than two years ago, they’d been assigned to work Safar, a middleman, out of Al Khubar, Saudi Arabia. Arabella had an in with a contact, so she was able to get the introduction. She was supposed to work Safar for information on who was supplying him weapons, where he was passing them on to, and how.
Officials suspected that Safar was helping to supply weapons to Darek and militia groups who were a direct threat to oil pipelines in the area.
Despite Felix’s forceful objection, Arabella really had been best suited for the mission. Her deception of non-threatening behavior was always impressive, and he couldn’t remember a time she wasn’t able to make a mark feel comfortable enough to spill his guts. But it wasn’t always pleasant for him to witness. He fucking hated watching her groped, breathed on, and sometimes kissed—those were the times he could barely stop himself from running in and decking the assholes. This mission had been no different. Undercover work was not the same for women as it was for men in Middle Eastern countries. She couldn’t go in with a man, or he’d been seen as the contact, and she was at a lot more risk given their general views on women. He couldn’t be in the same room with her if she were to apply her best skills, but Felix and his team had been her support for intel gathering and backup. They set up nearby and took shifts roaming the area to be close if something went wrong.
The mission was going smoothly. She’d managed to get close enough to Safar to find out where the weapons were going, but when she stumbled upon a shipment coming in—one his team should’ve known about—Safar’s overly ambitious henchmen assumed she was there to screw them over, and shit went downhill from there.
Felix’s team had grabbed their weapons and run as his worst fear was realized. Over the comms, he’d heard some of the questions they were asking her, the hits to convince her to talk, and then her line had gone dead. He’d gone in guns blazing. He had no idea how many people he shot that day—he just knew if it wasn’t Arabella or his men in his crosshairs, he fired. But Safar and his men had moved her out of the compound quickly. They’d been clearly ready for a raid.
He’d called it in, needing backup and satellites to track her. When the call came to stand down, that Safar had been traced to a ship in the Persian Gulf, he’d had no choice because he didn’t have a boat or the equipment to track her himself. Felix and his team swept the compound for any other usable data, returned to their ops base long enough to load up their gear, and then moved out to the station in Riyadh.
Waiting for news on a hostage was something he never wanted to go through again. Especially when there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Thirty hours. That was how long he’d had to wait to know if his wife was dead or alive.
When the call had finally come in that the boat had been successfully taken and she was alive, he’d paced until she’d arrived at the base. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t sleep. He’d needed to hold her in his arms, check her over, and look into her eyes.
He hadn’t done any of that.
He’d seen her bruised arms, swollen eye, bloodied clothes and lost it—he’d been mad and scared and plain damn terrified, and he’d yelled. Not at her but about the situation, although he may as well have been yelling at her, because she’d never said a word in the few minutes they’d had before she’d been taken away for a debriefing. He’d thought he’d get to see her again that night, but instead he’d gotten orders for another mission and had to leave. He’d never been able to say he was sorry and kiss her lips. She was gone. Safe. But gone.
A week later, Louis called Felix into his office in southern Afghanistan, but only Arabella was there, alone, her arms hugging her chest. She’d healed, but not all of the marks were gone.
The sight of her, her presence mere feet away, had damn near brought him to tears. He hadn’t wasted a second scooping her into his arms and holding on as tightly as he’d thought was comfortable for her—cracked ribs didn’t heal in a week. She’d buried her head in his chest, and he’d breathed in her warm scent, kissing her temple. She’d tipped her head up and pressed her lips into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
“I’m so gla
d you’re here,” he’d whispered in her ear. “I can get leave. Let’s get out of here.”
“Actually”—she’d pushed back from him and raised her head to meet his gaze—“I’m on my way to another assignment.”
“You need time—”
“No. I don’t.” Her stare had hardened and his blood had run cold. “I can handle myself.”
Then she’d stepped out of his embrace completely. He could still feel her warmth leaving his chest and her cotton shirt sweeping past his fingertips.
She could handle herself. Of that there was no doubt. But sometimes a person’s luck just plainly ran the fuck out. What if next time she didn’t make it back? The notion that always sat in the back of his mind moved to front and center last week. He wasn’t willing to attach himself to a person who might not come home. He couldn’t.
“I came here only to tell you we’re done.” Warm and loving Arabella had disappeared, and Nox had taken her place—the cold and calculating woman who could see every angle and use it to her advantage was the one who faced him then.
He raised his eyebrows. He had no words. Done? What the fuck does that mean?
“Take care of yourself.” She walked past him, not looking into his eyes.
He’d never wanted to relive that moment. He’d pushed it down until all that was left was the anger and not the hurt. That mission, and subsequently their relationship, had gone to shit only months before half of his team was killed in Afghanistan. To say that all of those incidences had put him over the edge and caused him to quit the military would be an understatement.
“I should’ve known about the weapons deal.” His quiet voice, his quiet heart … there was a sadness from that night, from his army buddies being killed, that he hadn’t yet been able to overcome.
She didn’t move in the recliner, and he was relieved. He wasn’t ready for her to see his guilt and pain. “Your team was supposed to be the best.”
Knife to the chest.
“We missed a leg of his business deals. We didn’t know he operated with Isaac. We didn’t send you in there only to put you in danger.” There were so many small-time weapons smugglers it was hard to nail all of them down. It wasn’t an excuse, just a miserable fact. One that he’d paid for every day since. He and Arabella were good in bed together and that was it, and what other proof did you need than that disastrous mission?