Hot as Hell

by Monette Michaels

  Fortunately, he hadn’t had to wait to track her down—it was as though fate, karma, or plain dumb luck knew they were meant to be together. Now, all he had to do was not blow it. He needed to play it cool. He’d protect her, prove himself worthy of her trust and affection, and then claim her.

  Perhaps, Dawn was his reward for all the years of being undercover in the world’s worst hell holes, protecting innocents from scum like MacLean.

  “Better grab some chow.” Conn nudged him. “Ren wants to brief us on the op so we can get some shuteye. We’ll be wheel’s up at 0500.”

  “We? As in all of us?” Sam followed his friend to the informal buffet Berto had set up on the counter space next to the stove.

  “Yep. All but for Berto,” Conn replied. “He runs this place while I’m on ops.”

  What could the op entail that Ren required two women to be anywhere in the vicinity of MacLean and his perverted buyer? Guess he’d find out soon enough.

  After getting his food, Sam went back to his seat and found Keely had taken the one on the other side of him.

  “Hey, Sam.” She stared at him, a serious expression on her beautiful face. “Thanks for helping my brother and DJ in Belize. DJ told me you and Dawn saved her ass when she went in to rescue Tweetie.” She gave him a one-armed hug. “As far as the Walsh family is concerned, you’re part of the family now.”

  Sam didn’t know what to say. No one had ever thanked him for doing his job before. His cheeks burned from embarrassment. “Uh…”

  “The proper response, MacCrocker, is thank you”—Dawn prompted from the end of the large island—“happy to have been of help.”

  Sam frowned at Dawn who narrowed her eyes and circled the hand holding her fork in the air as if to say “hurry it up.” He turned to Keely and said, “Thank you. Happy to have been of help.”

  Conn snorted and then coughed as he choked on the food he’d just shoveled into his mouth.

  Dawn aimed a wide smile at Sam. “See? I knew you were educable.” Then her lips turned down and she muttered, “Unlike some wankstains I know.”

  “Wankstains?” Keely asked with a giggle.

  “Odious wastes of space,” Dawn clarified and took a vicious bite of the chicken, rice, and bean-filled tortilla she’d put together.

  “Would one of those wastes of space be Ron Lloyd?” Sam growled out. “Was he why you quit Interpol?”

  “Yeah. Ron’s a proper arsebadger… um—” Dawn looked at Keely and offered a definition, “A painful shit of a person.” She then turned her complete attention to her food, effectively closing off any further conversation about Lloyd.

  Eventually, Sam would find out exactly what Lloyd had done to force Dawn to quit and just what the man might have been to her. If the asshole had hurt her in any way, well, Sam would be happy to enact some payback on his little cat’s behalf.

  Once the meal was over and the island cleared, they moved to the adjacent hearth room. A large flat screen over the fireplace was obviously hooked up to a computer which had multiple windows open. One window displayed a real-time satellite image of a container ship flying a Panamanian flag. Another showed a satellite image of a large estate with the latitude and longitude of Aruba. The estate image was also live and depicted signs of active security patrols.

  “Is that where MacLean’s staying on Aruba?” Sam asked Ren.

  “Yeah. His alter ego Lazaro owns it through one of his many holding companies.” Ren activated another window which featured a slide-show of MacLean’s estate from various angles and altitudes. “As you’ll note, he has good security. Comparing the feeds over the last two days, MacLean has brought in more men for his upcoming visit. We have to assume what happened in Belize has put him on alert.”

  “But not so much that he refused to travel to meet his buyer and complete the sale of the girls.” Sam fisted his hands on his thighs.

  Something in Sam’s voice had Ren eyeing him warily. “Yeah. The fucker seems awfully confident his new identity shields him from the interest of the U.S. intelligence community.”

  “Which it would’ve normally, but for the fact Sam intuited Lazaro-Oraio was MacLean,” Keely added with a smile for Sam.

  His intuition hadn’t counted for much with his CIA bosses. It had taken Tweeter’s hacking MacLean’s system and Keely finding patterns verifying Sam’s gut to gain permission from the Defense Intelligence Agency to pursue the traitor into Aruba.

  “You don’t think the arsehole’s concerned about Interpol tracking him? After all, we just shut down his main Central American drug distribution center,” Dawn said.

  Ren shook his head. “Sorry, Dawn, but no. You and your team did good work, but to a man like MacLean, Interpol’s an irritating gnat, one he feels he can swat away and still blithely continue doing business as usual.”

  “Well, that sucks,” muttered Dawn. “I really want to nail this arsehole. If for no other reason, so I can wave my former Interpol ties in his face when he goes down.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked Ren, but his gaze was fixed on Dawn’s face which showed none of the anger her voice and words had revealed. But the emotions were there; he felt them almost as clearly as he felt his own.

  Conn nudged him and handed him an iPad displaying the same views as the large flat screen.

  “Dawn and Conn will be doing the close-in work to set up the obtaining of MacLean’s DNA. Their job is also to keep MacLean and his buyer occupied while the Dutch military, which will be liaising with us on this op, takes over the container ship and secures MacLean’s estate.” Ren pulled up a picture of a hawk-nosed Arab wearing traditional robes and headdress. “This is MacLean’s buyer…”

  Dawn inhaled sharply. Sam saw a look of horror—or recognition?—sweep over her face before she blanked her expression once more. Her body betrayed her, though, as she fisted her hands on her thighs.

  There was no doubt in his mind—she knew the Arab. How? When? And why was she afraid of the bastard?

  If she didn’t come clean, he—or Ren, who’d also noticed the momentary look of fearful recognition—would ask.

  “…Sheikh Benrabi. His tribe in Yemen has sworn allegiance to Daesh, better known as ISIS, and its brand of radical Islam. He plans to keep his murdering band of terrorists happy by providing them women. We’re fairly certain that wherever Benrabi goes in Aruba, MacLean will be with him until their deal is done. Both men also share a love of gambling, women, and alcohol.”

  Dawn snorted with disgust. Yeah, there was a past there and not a nice one.

  “Dontcha love how some people pervert their religious beliefs for their own interests?” Sam muttered.

  Ren nodded. “And that’s how we’ll get MacLean … through Benrabi and their shared vices.”

  “Fuck me,” Sam bit out. “You’re going to use Dawn as bait.”

  “Yeah, because it’ll work.” Ren’s lips thinned. “Benrabi loves women. All types. But he especially loves upper-class women from Northern European countries. The asshole thinks he’s Allah’s gift to women.”

  “Sort of like Ron-the-wanker-Lloyd,” muttered Dawn.

  Her snarky statement had everyone, but Sam, chuckling. Yeah, Lloyd and Benrabi had both frightened or possibly hurt Dawn in some way. Neither man would ever get a chance to hurt her again, if he could help it.

  “I don’t like it,” Sam said. “There has to be another way to obtain MacLean’s DNA without using Dawn as a lure.”

  “Stuff it, MacCrocker,” Dawn snapped out. “Let Ren finish briefing us before you go all Neanderthal.”

  Ren chuckled. “Sam, there’s always a risk, but she’ll be wired and monitored remotely at all times. Conn will be nearby anytime she’s in the public areas of the resort and casino. They’ll have connecting suites.”

  “I know Sheikh Benrabi,” Dawn said. “He’ll definitely want to get together and share old times. I know he’s fond of Baccarat. If I can get him to play cards, his partner-in-crime will play also. Can we
get hotel security to play key positions in the casino? All we’d need would be a waitress to pick up one glass with your boy’s saliva all over it. Then I’d play for a bit longer to allay any suspicions, then leave with my newly-met-crush Conn, and we’d be done. Right?”

  “Very much what I’d planned, Dawn. Hotel security is already on board to help us. With the Dutch military’s help, we’ll detain MacLean and Benrabi when they go to meet the container ship to finalize their deal,” Ren said. “How do you know Benrabi, Dawn? I need to know if putting you out there will endanger you and Conn.”

  Sam knew there was a good reason why he wanted to quit the CIA and work for SSI. Ren’s concern for his employees proved it.

  “I met Benrabi when I was sixteen.” Dawn’s voice quavered. She took a breath and continued, “My father, the Earl of Oxenham, was ambassador to Yemen. Benrabi attended many functions at the British Embassy, and my mother and I also attended social functions in Yemen. Benrabi was seen everywhere, knew everyone. You couldn’t avoid him.”

  Dawn looked down at her fingers which were clenched in her lap. Taking another deep breath, she relaxed her fingers and gave Ren a crooked smile. “Benrabi was, shall we say, attracted to me. He offered my father money for me. He truly felt he was offering me a great honor to become his seventh, but number one, wife.”

  “Frick-fracking hell? Really?” Keely’s nose scrunched in disgust. “That’s… barbaric.”

  Dawn shrugged. “I agree, but that’s their culture. If his pursuit of me had stopped after my father firmly declined the honor, then my father’s real mission in that country as part of MI6 might have concluded differently—and things might be different today in Yemen.”

  “MI6?” Ren arched a brow.

  “Yeah, my father was former Special Air Service and then entered diplomacy, much like your CIA agents serve in your embassies.” She laughed. “Politics and counter-intelligence are so often partners in our violent and highly changeable world.”

  “So, what happened after your father told him to fuck off?” Sam said. Because something had, something bad enough for her father to abandon an intelligence mission in a volatile part of the world.

  “Father was much more polite than that,” Dawn said in a wry tone.

  “Just fucking tell me what Benrabi did,” Sam growled.

  Dawn’s breath hitched—and for a second or so, he wasn’t sure she’d answer. Then she blew out a breathy sigh and stiffened her spine.

  “My parents were attending a function at another embassy. I’d stayed home. Benrabi kidnapped me… right out of my bed. Four embassy employees died trying to protect me. I felt so… helpless.” Dawn went silent for a second, then continued. Only the strain in her voice revealed how much the recounting affected her. “Father rescued me before anything… bad happened. He then chose me and my mother’s safety over his mission.”

  “Damn right,” muttered Sam.

  She shot him a grateful look. “We went back to England. Father is still in counter-intelligence and I can’t tell you what he does, or I’d have to kill you.” Her lips quivered into a small smile at the joking retort. “To sum it up, Benrabi lost me once… he’ll remember me as Lady Dawn Wilson and will definitely want to reconnect.”

  “Fuck, he’ll want to try again. Men like that don’t like losing and…” Sam shook his head.

  “Sam…” Dawn moved to sit next to him on the couch and rubbed his arm. “Ren’s plan will work. I’m no longer a young, helpless girl. I’m trained. I’ll be armed. I won’t let him take me again. Conn, Ren … you … will all be there to back me up. This is the kind of work I do and have been doing for years. Trust me to do my job. I trust you to do yours.” She squeezed his arm, then let her hand rest on his forearm.

  Okay, trust. She was asking for his and was freely and wholly giving hers. Plus, she’d called him Sam for the first time, a promising overture on her part.

  Don’t fuck this up, Crocker.

  For several seconds, he let Dawn’s touch, her scent, her words wash over him as he thought about the plan. Thought about what he knew of MacLean’s personality. Thought about how he could never be seen while MacLean was on the resort property because the fucker knew him.

  Why had he ever insisted on that face-to-face meeting with old Syd back in D.C.? If he hadn’t, he could be the one in the casino with Dawn.

  Since Sam couldn’t be seen in public with Dawn, he damn well planned on protecting her in private. He’d share her suite. To protect her cover, he could use Conn’s room for ingress and egress.

  Finally, he muttered, “Fuck, just fuck. It’s the only way, isn’t it? MacLean normally wouldn’t mingle with strangers. He could just as easily arrange for gaming at his estate or a private club and provide all the women and booze Benrabi could want. But he would go out in public and mingle to cater to a valued client, because the Syd I know is a grade A brown-noser.”

  Shit.

  Sam turned to Conn. “She’s never out of your sight. Ever.”

  “Got that.” Conn nodded. “Plus, you, Ren, and Keely will have eyes in the sky. Right, Keely?”

  “Yes…” Keely answered Conn, but focused on him. “Sam, the DIA reached out to the Dutch who liaised with the resort hotel. We’ll have complete access to the resort’s security room and will have eyes on all the public areas of the resort, inside and outside. Plus Conn and Dawn will be wired for audio and video and in communication with us at all times.”

  Sam frowned and looked over at Dawn who appeared totally unconcerned about the op. Was he overreacting? “How will she be wired? It’s hot as hell in Aruba.”

  He didn’t even want to think about how little clothing she’d wear—at how many men would ogle her petite curvy body. Shit, he had it bad and wasn’t hiding it well at all. Ren had just shot him a curious glance.

  “Show him, Dawn?” Keely suggested.

  “All of it?” Dawn squeaked. Her calm facade finally cracked. Her blush spread over her face and down onto her neck.

  “The necklace and earrings only. The mike, no.” Keely laughed. “This isn’t an X-rated briefing.”

  Ren muttered, “Not funny, sprite.” Keely’s response was to stick her tongue out at her husband.

  Sam, Conn, and Berto shared quizzical looks.

  “Okay, this necklace,” Dawn pulled it out from under her shirt and showed it to all, “and another couple Keely gave me are cameras and will send live video feed to any computer via bluetooth over a satphone connection.” She then touched an elaborate earring that cuffed all along the rim and down to her ear lobe. “This is my receiver for audio communications from the team. The mike for live audio feed is a button mike and is, um, elsewhere on my body.” She turned a rosy shade of pink. “They’re all controlled and relayed via this diamond watch which is a powerful satphone.” She tapped her wrist.

  “Where elsewhere?” Sam demanded, stuck on the mike and Dawn’s obvious loss of composure.

  “Oh, for chrissakes.” Keely huffed. “Tweeter created a button mike for when I ever got to go out on op again—”

  “Which will happen for you as in never,” Ren said, a dangerous look in his eye. “Not letting you out of my sight ever again. You always get into trouble.”

  Keely glared at her husband. “Bite me, big guy. I’d be doing this op, but MacLean knows what I look like.”

  Ren growled.

  Keely snorted. “So, before I was rudely interrupted by Mr. Overly-Cautious, Tweeter created a small mike that I had a jeweler add to one of my nipple rings. Since Dawn has pierced nipples, I gave her one of my extra sets.”

  Sam almost swallowed his tongue. “Nipple rings?” He couldn’t help himself and eyed Dawn’s chest. He didn’t see any evidence of nipple jewelry. Hell, he couldn’t even see the outline of her nipples. She must have on a heavily padded bra. But his imagination could easily fill in the blanks. He forced himself to sit still and not adjust his very painful hard-on.

  “Yeah, nipple rings. Get over it, Crock-o
f-shit.”

  Hell, she was back to name-calling.

  Dawn glowered at the men. “And all of you bleeding perverts stop staring at my chest.”

  “But it’s such a nice chest.” Conn winked, a grin on his lips.

  Sam elbowed Conn, hard enough to tip his buddy over the arm of the sofa.

  Conn laughed and muttered just loudly enough for Sam’s ears, “Jealous much?”

  “Now that we all know I’ll be thoroughly protected by technology and by Conn, can we get on with the briefing so I can take a shower and get some sleep?” Dawn asked. “I only managed a nap on the charter here, plus I haven’t had any real sleep for almost thirty-six hours. I can operate on cat naps, but I’d like to be totally on my game when I reel Benrabi in. Plus, Oraio—”

  “It’s MacLean.” Sam and Ren said at the same time with similar growls.

  She nodded. “—MacLean has to believe I’m dumb arm candy and that requires all my brain cells to be fully rested.”

  “Not much more to tell,” Ren said. “Our mission is to get evidence to prove Oraio and MacLean are one and the same person. We have the full cooperation of the Dutch military, the local law enforcement, and resort security. As for the kidnapped girls, the U.S. military has a forward operating base on Aruba which will back up the Dutch and the Arubans, if needed.”

  “Good enough,” Dawn said. “Whatever the arsehole is called, he’s still Oraio the drugs, guns, and human trafficker, and I’d like to see him finally caught. Interpol will never bring the bastard in as long as wanker Ron is running the op on their end.”

  Sam’s lips twisted. He would take it as read that Dawn had never had any kind of relationship with Lloyd outside of working on Interpol missions. The look on her face and tone in her voice did not speak to former love-interest-gone-bad, but former-boss-as-fuck-up.