Hard Man to Kill (Dark Horse Guardian Series Book 4)

by Armstrong, Ava

  Einstein whined and entwined his bull dog body around their legs. Lara giggled and they opened the door to let him out. Holding hands, they walked down to the water’s edge. Although they were interrupted, he didn’t want the mood to end. Illuminated by the moonlight, Lara’s face was a vision of loveliness. His lips found hers again and now her hands were on him, lightly touching his biceps, then her hand touched the back of his neck. The feeling of her fingers entwined in his hair gave him a warm rush. His hands slid down her back and he planted them firmly on her shapely behind, as he pulled her into him. She probably had no idea how much he appreciated the curvaceous lines of her derriere.

  “Let’s go inside.” He whispered into her ear.

  Soft lamplight illuminated the bedroom, as Lara turned to face him at the foot of the bed.

  “It’s so quiet here….I didn’t realize how much I would miss silence.” She breathed the words softly. His arms pulled her to his chest.

  “I can’t speak, I want you so much, darlin.” He nuzzled her neck, and felt her smile.

  Unbuttoning Lara’s shirt, his eyes dropped to her pink buds erect, waiting for his touch. He often wondered what he did to deserve her. Standing before him like this, his eyes soaked in every detail of her feminine qualities. She was a visual feast. He wanted more than ever to partake in the delights she offered to him. Kissing her firm breast kindled a desire in him that was indescribable. Whatever she wanted, he would do it. She suddenly became his Kryptonite.

  He felt Lara’s hands push him onto the bed. Seated now, at the foot of the bed, his arms encircled her waist and his lips were on her nipples, teasing her. He felt her breath, hot and irregular on him, which only served to ignite a stronger flame. His hands traced the feminine curve of her hips. He wanted her, but he also wanted time to stand still, as he showered her abdomen with light kisses and listened to her response.

  He picked her up and laid her onto the foot of the bed. Standing above her, he saw her watching him from half-closed eyes. Her hair was a mess and she gave him a little smile, as if to say, I want you right now. He continued kissing her belly and heard her giggle. It was a sexy sound, and he knew he was doing something right because she was delighting in it. Moving lower, he planted long, wet kisses along her inner thighs, and the sounds she made told him he was right where she wanted him.

  In the dim light of the bedroom, he got excited just moving her legs apart and touching that place that was oh so feminine and beautiful to him. Catching a glimpse as he parted her thighs, he imagined the pink folds of her delicate skin to be that of a lovely flower blossom, opening for him. For a long time he kissed her there, feeling her body writhe with pleasure, hearing her moan as she reached the peak of desire and begged him to stop for a moment.

  All the while, his desire was ramped to a peak that was nearly uncontrollable. If she only knew how much he loved to pleasure her this way, she would probably be surprised. Pleasing her excited him. As she reached the peak of frenzy once again, he moved above her. Feeling her arms pulling him atop her, listening to her whisper, “I love you, Ben,” over and over. The climax together was breathtakingly beautiful. This was making love, and it was all that he wanted for the rest of his life.

  As he scooped her into his arms afterward, he waited for her breathing to become normal.

  Nuzzling her neck just below her ear, he whispered, “I love you, darlin.”

  Then, he knew he had to tell her. There was one more mission with Saleh. And, one more person he needed to dispose of. As he explained why he had to do this, she placed her finger on his lips.

  “I know.” She whispered. “I understand. Just come back to me.”

  ~ Ali Najjar ~

  Washington D.C.

  For six years, he’d held the position he had wanted since a young child, the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. His life was one of making the right connections at the right time. Perfect planning, one might say. His report for POTUS was ready, and he was sweating bullets before the meeting in the inner sanctum of the oval office. He read the report one more time, making sure he didn’t leave out any details. Kip Larson would have to go. He would be the scapegoat for this whole mess with Keegan. There was plenty of evidence to prove Larson and Keegan were renegades, doing things that were not authorized by the CIA or the president. At least, that would be how his report would read, and it would be the centerpiece of the case he would make.

  The alarm on his phone chimed. Fifteen minutes. He had been waiting in the outer chamber for fifteen minutes. The sweat began to trickle down his back between his shoulder blades. His shirt collar felt too tight. Usually, he wasn’t this nervous. Playing golf frequently with the president, he felt he could calculate his moves fairly well. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. It wasn’t easy to cut the throat of a director beneath him, but this was the only way out for him. The press was making a circus out of the incident and a press briefing in the rose garden was planned for the afternoon. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that the president was in a foul mood. Word trickled down to him that things were not running smoothly. Khouri was never supposed to die in this mission. He was the undercover operative selected by the Muslim Fellowship, hand-picked to take out Keegan.

  The secretary’s assistant approached him. “He’s ready, sir.” The walk down the hallway into the oval office seemed to be the longest of his life. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. Damn, he didn’t have a handkerchief. The last thought that flitted through his mind was his wife, Linda. He didn’t even know why her image was there. A former Miss Universe, she was stunningly beautiful and fifteen years younger than him. Although she professed her love for him, he knew she was with him for the money and prestige. But it was a deal he had become accustomed to, even liked.

  Focus on the task at hand…..he inhaled as he strode confidently through the doorway of the oval office. “Mr. President, good to see you…”

  Only one other person was in the room. Good. This would be a private meeting. The under-secretary of state, a minor player in the big game, Thomas Hornby, shook his hand, but didn’t look him in the eye. Then Hornby sat on the sofa, absorbed in studying something on an electronic device.

  “Ali…” the president started. “I want this meeting, for the record, to be short and to the point.” Ali had known the president for many years, considered him a friend. Never would he have believed the words uttered next. “You will be relieved of your position as Director of the CIA immediately. I know this may be a shock to you, but the announcement will be made in two hours in the rose garden.”

  Ali sat frozen, unable to think or breathe for a few moments. It was as if he was in one of those nightmares where something is happening but you couldn’t move or get away. He watched the president walk about the room. The man wasn’t even looking at him; he just spoke as if this meant nothing to him. Just another day, one more decision that needed to be made. Meanwhile, Ali watched his entire life circle the drain and wondered where he would end up. Surely, he’d be appointed to an ambassadorship or some other position.

  “I’m sorry, Ali.” The president continued. “This is the end for you as a government employee. Your paperwork has been prepared and is ready in the outer office. Your office is being sorted and packed as we speak. Hornby will take you to the security area and you are to leave your badge, electronic devices and all other government issued items with him.”

  As Ali stood to leave the room with Hornby, there was no handshake, no goodbye, nothing. The president sat at his desk and started reading something on the computer screen. Ali’s wife’s face was in the forefront of his mind as he emptied his pockets with Hornby at the security area. He felt naked and alone, humiliated. All of this happened to him because of one man, Ben Keegan.

  The security guard called the car service and he stood out front. The driver got out and opened the door of the limo. Ali slid in and listened to the door close for the last time. Soft, classical music played in
the limo until it arrived at his 2.7 million dollar stone front townhouse. The driver got out and opened the door for him and he nodded to him, as he always did. The three-level townhouse comprised of 5,490 square feet cost him five thousand a month. Shaded by Crepe Myrtles, it had been home to him and his lovely wife for the last seven years. He tapped the security code and entered the wood-paneled entryway. Sunlight streamed in through the beveled glass windows.

  The maid was out grocery shopping, as was her habit every day at this time. He walked through the spectacular library, remembering parties and private moments with Linda. The mill-work was stunning. There were four wood burning fireplaces completely restored to their original beauty. He would miss the high ceilings, hardwood floors, and fabulous wine cellar. But most of all he’d miss the rear terrace and the balcony above where he made love to his beautiful wife on more than one occasion. His eyes were drawn to the sign that Linda had hand-painted on an ancient piece of wood, Welcome Home, it said.

  He was no longer Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. He had recently found out that his wife was having an affair with a handsome younger man. She would leave him, no doubt. He was washed up, finished. Didn’t even get a comfortable ambassadorship. His debts were incalculable. He was ruined financially. His beautiful young wife, Linda, required --- no, demanded --- a lavish lifestyle that he could no longer provide. As he gazed into the antique mirror he realized he was an impotent, penniless old man.

  He reached into the nightstand on his side of the bed and brought the Smith and Wesson revolver to his mouth, angling it upward. Pulling the trigger was his last and final act.

  ~ Saleh ~

  He glanced at his phone and noted it was 9:00 PM, not the usual time to be released from the hospital. He was being spirited to the rear entrance with an undercover police escort. Saleh had not been prepared for all of this attention and hated it. The last few weeks had been grueling. Nursing a couple of bullet wounds in his leg, it seemed he’d have a perpetual limp. The press had been pursuing him since he arrived at the medical facility, but his identity and other details were not made public. The news story was piecemeal and undeveloped. The focus remained on the dead men and why they were in the United States. Keegan was the hero of the story -- the exact opposite of what the State Department wanted, he guessed.

  But, he realized he’d have to get used to this new way of life. Smiling, fighting his way through crowds with bodyguards surrounding him. It would be something he’d be doing as long as he remained on the earth. He was about to execute the biggest terrorist on the planet, with the assistance of Ben Keegan. But Keegan wanted no accolades for the hit. The credit would be all Saleh’s.

  While in the hospital, Keegan slipped in once to speak with him. It was nighttime and he nearly gave Saleh a heart attack. But he remembered the few bits of information he imparted.

  As Saleh slid into the bulletproof Escalade, he tapped his phone. “I’m on my way.”

  “Yup.” The voice on the other end of the phone answered and the call ended. The phone was an unusual one. A burner, it had been programmed by Keegan himself, and had a geosynchronous satellite connection. Everything was encrypted.

  The SUV swung into the nighttime traffic, then deftly wound through a few snarls to the outskirts of Portland, Maine. Now headed for a bunker beneath a shooting range on Panther Pond, Saleh finally exhaled and laid his head back upon the cushioned headrest. Within an hour, the vehicle had deposited him. The place was hidden and wooded on Panther Pond. A man named Rusty came to the gate and let him in.

  “You’re safe here, for the time being.” Rusty smiled. Saleh watched as he locked the gate and they walked for what seemed like a half mile to a large building overlooking the pond. “Go ahead in. This is the range. Ben’s waiting downstairs. Lots to talk about tonight.”

  Saleh made his way through the shooting range following Rusty to the far corner. A hidden door led to a staircase. He noticed Rusty bolted and locked the steel door as he turned to descend the stairs.

  “Hey, Saleh.” Keegan was there. He shook hands with Keegan and the three of them sat down at a table to talk. Rusty had some food for him.

  “Go ahead, help yourself. We might be here a while.” Rusty seemed to be a gracious, quiet man. Saleh found himself eating the salsa and chips and drinking a few bottles of water. There were sandwiches and Keegan motioned to him.

  “Eat, please. You and I will be flying out of Logan Airport in the early morning.” Keegan explained. “We will end up in an armor-plated SUV in Dera Ghazi Khan. Your father, he is expecting you. You contacted him, and gave him the story we discussed, right?”

  With his mouth full of food, Saleh nodded. Keegan continued, “And you taped the phone call, like I asked you to. Can you play it back for me?”

  Saleh tapped the phone and found the conversation. He watched as Keegan turned up the volume and listened raptly to each word. After listening, his eyes met Saleh’s. “Good. You were perfect. He suspects nothing.”

  As he finished eating and wiping his face with a napkin, Saleh had only one question. “Why? Why are you doing this for me?” He couldn’t understand how Keegan could be so kind to a stranger from another country. A potential enemy, really. It made no sense to him.

  “I understand. You wonder what’s in this for me…” Keegan said, and his steel blue eyes bore through him. “I want the bastard dead. It’s as simple as that. No more, no less. You should be the guy running the show. You have a heart, a soul. Your father does not. He is ruthless. Your people need you. This act we are about to commit, it’s for the greater good….do you understand?”

  “It is destiny.” Saleh replied. “I’ve been born to do this. That’s how I feel.”

  “You have such potential, Saleh, do you understand what the word potential means?” Keegan asked him.

  “Yes.” Saleh answered. “Filled with possibility….”

  “You’ll need a team of bodyguards. I can pull them together through a good friend of mine in the area. It’s important that you realize, you will not be able to walk freely among people without protection. Once your father is out of the picture, you will have a bounty on your head. If they kill you, this will all be for nothing.” Keegan stopped.

  Saleh felt himself nodding. It wasn’t an eager type of nod, but one of tacit approval. He knew what he was getting himself into. Life, as he knew it, would be changed forever. But, he was ready.

  “Good. Sleep here for a few hours. I will wake you early and we will drive to Boston.” Keegan touched his shoulder. “You’re a brave man.”

  Saleh watched Keegan leave. And Rusty got him a blanket and pillow for the bed in the back.

  “I hope you’re okay with this, but I’m locking you in here for your own safety.” Rusty said solemnly.

  “I understand.” Saleh responded. “Actually, I am glad you are doing this. Thank you.”

  The door closed and Saleh listened as the lock was set. The silence in the bunker was restful, with only the faint sound of air as it passed through the vent near the bunk. Saleh let his body sink into the bed and fell sound asleep. He had not felt this relaxed for weeks, maybe months. His sleep was without dreams. The next thing he remembered was Keegan tapping him on the shoulder saying, “Get up, we’ve got a plane to catch.” It was 4:00 AM.

  ~ Ben ~

  The news of the CIA Director’s suicide put a chill through Ben. He heard it as the broadcast streamed over the speaker in the car. Ali Najjar had been a thorn in his side since he started working for the CIA. Many times he wondered if Najjar was reining in Kip Larson. The relationship between the two men was shadowy and nearly non-existent.

  Through his back-door investigation, it was as Ben suspected. It was Najjar who wanted him gone, because he knew too much. He played the conversation out in his mind, Keegan has been successful, but…..the time has come to get someone else. He could ruin us if any of this stuff was ever made public…..

  Pulling up to a McDonald’s, Ben was in
disguise with a long dark wig and Yankees baseball cap. The license plate flipper was used three times during his travels. He ordered a breakfast sandwich and pulled away from the drive-through, eating as he drove. Saleh consumed his in four bites. Once finished, Ben explained the next step.

  “Here’s your passport. Your name is Basir Abbas. You’re a soccer player from Morocco. Your bag is in the back of the car. It contains a soccer uniform and some personal items. It’s a carry-on. No time to waste when we land. We have first class tickets. If you’re asked any questions, act like you don’t understand English and I will come to your aid. Got it?”

  “Yes.” Saleh replied. He seemed as cool as anyone could possibly be. Ben hoped he would always be this easy-going. It would make things a lot easier and would draw less attention.

  The two of them passed through security with no problems. On the plane, Saleh asked what time they’d arrive in Pakistan. “You can sleep for a while.” Ben assured him. “This is going to be a long flight.”

  His thoughts drifted to Lara, alone now at Clearwater Farm. He was hopeful she was enjoying the solitude for the moment. Her life had been nothing but chaos for the last five months. Once he finished off Salib Madi, he would be returning home.

  Ben focused like a laser on what was to come. Salib Madi was awaiting his son’s return. A celebration had been planned for Saleh. Ben loved homecomings that had lots of distracted people letting their guard down. He couldn’t have planned a better scenario to have the gruesome ruler meet his demise. Ben was dressed as a Pakistani national with a passport confirming that. He wasn’t getting paid for this hit, but the payment would come in due time with Saleh in charge. Things would change. He’d get intel for special forces that would be a goldmine, a treasure trove. The tide would turn. He would arm the women and work quietly in the background, instructing them how to kill the men who subjugated them. He would train them how to protect themselves and their children.