Stealth Ops Series Box Set

by Brittney Sahin

  “I may be rusty at hand-to-hand combat, but at least I’m still good with a gun.” She clutched the gun in her right hand and batted her lashes a few times before sweeping her gaze to him.

  He let go of his hold and wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck. “Fine. You want to be stubborn and not talk about us—that’s fine with me.”

  He shouldn’t have expected anything different. The woman was infuriating, and of course, sex would only complicate things with her. What had he expected? For her to roll out the red carpet for him?

  “Should we talk about how much I disagree with you being on this op? Being this close to Egon after what he did to you?” His nostrils flared at the mere mention of the motherfucker’s name.

  “Let’s hope it’s him who answered our job request,” she said after a cold beat of silence pinged off the walls in the ten-by-ten storage room.

  “It will be,” he said through gritted teeth, not willing to accept any outcome other than capturing the son of a bitch. They wouldn’t let him get away a second time. Not on his watch.

  She placed the weapon inside a duffel bag and reached for an FN SCAR assault rifle next. “This should work.”

  “I hate that we aren’t shooting to kill,” he rasped. “No way a guy like him will leak any intel, and hell, he probably knows jack shit about Samir. Just like he doesn’t know anything about us hiring him for this job.”

  “As much as I want him dead,” she briefly closed her eyes while maintaining her grip on the rifle, “we don’t have orders to kill.”

  “We don’t even have permission to be here.”

  But that sure as hell wouldn’t stop them. With the possible old al-Nusra terrorist cell being reactivated, they couldn’t bide their time and hope the Feds and CIA were handling things.

  Sitting around and hoping had never been their go-to method.

  Proactive. Not reactive.

  She stowed the rifle, and when she was back on her feet, her hands went to her hips. “Luke deleted the text.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He saw the message you sent me in Berlin just before Egon . . .” Her eyes rolled skyward as if she couldn’t handle looking at him. “He didn’t want me to see it, and so he deleted it. Eva told me.”

  “I knew he saw it, but I didn’t think he’d do that.” Asher turned away and rubbed at his forehead, trying to gather his thoughts.

  “You knew?”

  She circled him.

  “Owen told me.” He sighed.

  She kept her eyes tight on his. “I haven’t talked about what happened . . . because I think Luke’s right about us.”

  “Right about what?” His brows pinched tight, and he did his best not to reach up and grab her by the shoulders. His arms weighed heavy at his sides as he fought the compulsion to touch her.

  She wet her lips as if biding her time before saying, “It’s too dangerous for there to be anything between us.” She held up her palm between them when his lips parted. “I know I’m a hypocrite because I work side by side with my brother. But you’re different.” She lowered her head, stealing her eyes from sight. “It’d be different with you.”

  “What are you trying to say?” A sharp pain cut down his chest, and his lungs burned.

  “You can’t do what I do. You can’t compartmentalize.”

  “Hide behind walls, you mean? Act like it’s no big deal when one of our own gets hurt? Killed?” His forearms tensed. “Is that why you’ve become the way you have? Because you think it’ll be easier to make the tough calls in the field?” His eyes widened at the realization. “If you remove emotions from the equation you think you’re protecting the team. Is that it?” His hand swept over his short hair as his cheeks filled with air.

  She was quiet for a moment and lightly shook her head. “You almost let the other bomb go off in the crowd in Berlin to come for me instead.”

  “But I didn’t.” He placed a hand over her shoulder, no longer able to hold back.

  “That moment of indecision could’ve cost lives.”

  “You think the rest of the team wouldn’t have felt the same damn way?”

  “No. Maybe not even Luke.”

  He lowered his hand from her shoulder and cupped his mouth as he processed everything. “You’re the one who ran into the compound in France last month because you got worried. Or did you forget that?”

  “Because I let my emotions get the best of me!” she yelled. “And look what happened to me after Berlin.” She stabbed at her chest, her voice breaking now. “I can’t be with you for the same reasons you can’t be with me. We’ll only get each other killed—or worse, innocent people could die. We have to protect the team. The missions.”

  She swiveled around out of view, offering her back.

  “Jessica.” He repositioned himself in front of her, and she lowered her hand to expose streaks of liquid sliding down her cheeks. His thumb smoothed over her skin. “There has to be another way.”

  She swirled her finger in the air. “This is the problem. Do you not see it?”

  “See what?” he asked, his voice straining.

  “We’re in the middle of an op, and we’re in a weapons room talking about feelings.” She wiped the tears from her face and backed up, bumping into the duffel bag behind her. “The loss of focus is dangerous.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

  She remained quiet, allowing his thoughts to diverge into multiple directions. “We had sex,” she began, “but there can’t be more than that between us. I’m sorry.” Her eyes dropped closed before she covered her face with both hands.

  God, was she right? Was it truly impossible for them to be together?

  He’d had only two thoughts since Valentine’s Day: revenge for what had happened to Jessica and being with Jessica.

  Never before her had he believed he’d lose his mind over a woman. Lose his focus.

  But he was on an unsanctioned op, and all he could worry about was the woman standing before him. What’s happened to me?

  He scrubbed his hand over his beard. “You’re right.” His tone inched into icier territory.

  “I am?” An unusual touch of disbelief, like a soft echo, reverberated in her tone.

  “Yeah,” he mouthed.

  They had a job to complete, and he needed to get his shit together.

  “Asher.”

  “What?” he seethed, unable to stop the frosty bite to his words.

  “I’m worried you’ll start fighting again.” Her lip planted between her teeth for a second. “You know, to release tension.”

  Her words surprised him, and he directed his focus back to her. Back to her pouty pink lips. Damn you. “I only know of two ways to handle my stress. Fighting.” He paused. “And fucking.”

  Her bra was too thin because he could see her nipples pressing against the fabric of her long-sleeved black shirt.

  “It’s not my call, of course, but I’d honestly rather you do the second option than go back to that fight club when we’re in New York.”

  He edged closer to her, eating up the space between them. “You want me hooking up with other people?” He hadn’t gone near anyone in . . . hell, he’d forgotten how long it’d been.

  “No, I didn’t say that.” Her fingers touched the column of her throat.

  “What are you saying then?” He tilted his head, observing the pulse at the side of her neck.

  “What if we used each other for sex?” A tremble swept through her tone. “You know, release tension. But keep it strictly about sex. No emotions.”

  “You really think we can keep emotions out of it?” He stepped closer and gently gripped her biceps. “You think some screwing-only rule will keep things normal while we work?” A moment later, he pressed his mouth to hers, and she mewled against his lips.

  A chisel.

  Axe.

  Hammer.

  The woman didn’t need jack shit to chip away at his heart. She already had it. Ow
ned it.

  He pulled back but didn’t release his hold of her, and she stared at him as she took quick breaths.

  “Tell me, Jessica. Tell me how the hell we’re supposed to leave emotions out?” He arched a brow and waited for her to find the words. “If you think you can do it, then maybe your heart is made of ice.”

  She shirked free of his grasp and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Maybe it is.”

  He shook his head when she turned away from him. “And maybe you’re a better liar than I realized.”

  “Are you ready for this reunion with your old man later?” Liam knelt in front of a black duffel bag and sifted through some of the supplies Asher had provided him once back at the hotel.

  “I’d rather take a bullet.” Knox turned away from the window in the hotel room overlooking the city and faced the rest of Bravo. “But to be clear,” he began with a smile, “I’m counting on you not to let that happen. I can’t exactly patch myself up.”

  Liam winked. “Hopefully, I still remember my training.”

  “And hopefully, it’s Egon waiting in the wings to take the shot,” Owen said. “There will already be EOD guys and dogs on location to clear the area before your dad begins his speech.”

  “Since there’s so much security,” Knox began, “I think we managed to convince Egon not to use explosives for this job.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Owen looked over at Asher. “Luke and I will comb the area, just in case.”

  “And I’ll take the second tower for overwatch.” Asher tucked his hands into his pockets and eyed Knox. “If Liam can’t get the shot, I’ve got your back.”

  Knox nodded.

  “How hard was it to convince your dad to bring us along for extra protection?” Jessica asked, looking up from her computer as she sat on the bed with it on her lap.

  Her long, denim-clad legs were stretched out in front of her, her back was to the headboard, and her lips now in a hard line. A million thoughts probably raced through her beautiful brain.

  She’d switched to business the moment they’d packed up their SUV and headed to the hotel, as if their sex-with-no-strings discussion had never happened.

  He couldn’t forget it, though.

  And as much as he’d wanted to agree to her ludicrous idea, he knew it’d only make things worse for both of them, whether she’d admit it or not.

  “Dad was just happy I’m coming,” he said. “He wasn’t about to say no to me bringing you guys as security and risk me backing out.”

  “You know POTUS must know we’re up to something,” Liam said with a smile.

  “Yeah, well, since Knox’s dad is contemplating making a play for president in the next election, he’s not about to intervene,” Owen remarked. “And by the way, if your dad gets elected, what the hell does that mean for you?”

  President Rydell was coming up to the end of his eight years soon—but Knox’s dad as president? That’d be some crazy shit.

  “I don’t even want to think about it.” Knox’s palm smoothed over his clean-shaven jaw.

  “Yeah, well, it’s a bridge we may have to cross someday.” Luke rolled up the blueprints and patted them against his thigh. “There’s a chance come 2021 we’ll all be out of a job if the new president doesn’t keep things rolling.”

  “And if Rydell finds out we’re still pursuing Samir—”

  “We could be toast even sooner,” Liam finished for Owen.

  There were way too many things to think about. And Jessica had been right about one thing: he needed to focus. He had to protect his team out in the field.

  Asher crouched in front of the supply bag and retrieved his rifle. His eyes caught Jessica’s as he rose to his feet, but he forced his attention away from her.

  “Let’s run through all the scenarios. I don’t want Egon slipping away, and more importantly, I don’t want Knox getting shot.” Luke moved to the center of the room. “Four hours from now, we’re going to nail this son of a bitch.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Bravo One, what’s your position?” From inside the van, Jessica eyed both laptops in front of her, monitoring all of the feeds, but she’d lost visual on her brother.

  Before Luke could answer, he appeared back in her line of sight.

  “Bravo One, cancel that. Position confirmed.” Jessica switched screens and found Bravo Two—Owen—before confirming Knox’s location as he moved through the crowd with his father.

  God, that had to be an awkward homecoming. Knox hated the political life, but he’d taken one for the team, and she was grateful. Now, they just had to ensure he didn’t take a bullet, too.

  She wished she could get eyes on Bravo Three and Four, but Asher and Liam were out of sight and on overwatch.

  There were only a few locations where Egon would be able to wait in the wings for the shot, and Bravo Three and Four had them covered from their vantage points.

  They couldn’t risk scaring Egon off, so they had to wait until he showed himself—even if that left them with mere seconds before Egon could fire a kill round at Knox.

  Beneath Knox’s blazer was a bulletproof vest, but that wouldn’t do anything to save him from a head shot.

  “Bravo Four, any signs of the target?” She shoved the locks of her long black wig to her back and studied the laptop.

  “Nothing yet,” Liam responded.

  “Bravo Three, anything?” she asked.

  “No visual contact,” Asher said, his voice gritty and hard. “Copy?”

  The man was angry at her, and maybe it’d been piss-poor timing to lay the truth between them that morning, but he’d insisted on the conversation, and so . . .

  How could he not see the danger a relationship between them could pose to missions, though?

  And yet, why did her stomach hurt so bad right now when she thought of their talk? Why did everything inside of her hurt, in fact?

  Sex with no strings. Sure.

  Maybe she was losing her mind. Because when he’d kissed her that morning she’d never wanted him to stop. Sex would be a gateway to more, and she’d been blinded by desire to make such an offer.

  “That’s a good copy, Bravo Three,” she finally answered, blinking her thoughts back to focus.

  “I think I have visual confirmation of the target,” Liam said a second later, and the beats of her heart escalated.

  “Bravo Four, what do you mean by you ‘think’?” Luke asked before she could.

  “I have movement in tower three, but I can’t confirm if it’s our guy,” Liam answered.

  “Four, hold your position until confirmation,” Luke ordered.

  “Shit.” It was Asher. “I think he knows we’re here. He’s on the move. I’m going after him.”

  “Wait,” Jessica yelled, worried about an on-foot chase in the midst of a political gathering—in a foreign country, no less. And, more importantly, something could happen to Asher.

  She scanned the cameras, but she didn’t have a clear view of tower three or Asher.

  “No time. I’ll lose him,” he responded, his breathing labored as he spoke, already in pursuit.

  “One, do you copy?” she asked. “This could be a trap. He likes to distract and deflect.”

  “Copy, T—” Luke’s words were cut off when a loud boom roared, and the van shook like an earthquake had erupted beneath her feet.

  She checked the cameras. The crowd started to scatter just as the alarms sounded. But there was no sign of anything on screen.

  “This is One. The alarms are going off. Sounds like an explosion. What happened?”

  “Shit. I don’t know.” She grabbed her pistol and tore out of the van, finding the mass of people flooding through the arena’s exit.

  Her gaze fell upon a burning car down the street. It was outside of the security search perimeter, but close enough to set off alarms.

  She pressed her hand to her ear. “Bravo Three, do you copy?”

  Nothing.

  “This is Bravo
Four. From my vantage point, it appears the target set off a car bomb to get the crowd to run. A backup plan for an escape,” Liam said over the line. “Bravo Three was still in pursuit of the target last I saw. Copy, TOC?”

  “Copy.” Relief settled in her chest. “You have eyes on Bravo Three? He’s not coming in over comms.” She stowed her firearm before anyone could spot it.

  “I lost visual on Bravo Three,” Liam said, and her lungs burned.

  “Bravo Three, come in,” she tried again. “Do you copy?” She caught sight of Luke, Owen, and Knox exiting the arena on fast approach.

  They split three different ways with Luke heading for her.

  “You okay?” he asked, weapon now stowed.

  “No. We can’t lose him,” she whispered, her mouth going bone-dry.

  “Asher can handle himself. Don’t worry,” he said.

  “But will he bring us Egon back alive?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “How are you holding up?” Owen circled the desk where Jessica sat.

  She stared at her computer, the images of the shooter becoming blurry before her unblinking gaze.

  There was nothing left of Egon’s face. Asher had basically blown his head off.

  And yet, she couldn’t look away.

  This man had killed her friend. Tortured her.

  Her stomach didn’t roil at the sight. Nausea didn’t bubble in the back of her throat.

  No, she felt . . . nothing.

  Numb.

  “I’m good,” she whispered when she realized she hadn’t spoken yet.

  “You sure?” Owen asked.

  “Um, yeah, I’m fine.” She swiveled in her desk chair to face the room, finding Asher removing his vest, blood splattered on his clothes. Thankfully, it wasn’t his blood. “You really didn’t have a choice to kill him, huh?”

  “He grabbed a hostage, Jessica.” Asher glared at her, disappointment toward her suspicions raging in his eyes. “I had to take the head shot.”