Live Wire

by Lora Leigh

  “I agree with Jordan, though,” Nik stated. “This setup with Ascarti is just a little too damned handy. Something isn’t ringing right with it.”

  “John and Bailey, Travis and Lilly will be covering Tehya at the party,” Jordan mused. “I have the tracker on her and we have every access to her I can come up with, covered. They’ll move tonight, before they believe John and Travis can get a plan in place to have her covered. This is their best bet, there’s no way they’ll find a better opportunity to grab her, especially with the information both John and Travis have put out there.”

  Jordan prayed it would be enough. From the moment they had set this up, they’d pushed every contact they had and placed pressure at each pulse they could find leading out from the men they’d identified as a threat.

  This party was the only chance they would see in the near future of grabbing her. Word going out was that a team would arrive in the morning to whisk her to an undisclosed location, where her identity would be so completely altered that there would be no finding her.

  Whoever was tracking her, whether it was Ascarti or others, wouldn’t want to risk being unable to find her, or identify her again.

  “Our contact in Afghanistan also reported finally.” Noah leaned against the wall, his dark face covered with a closely cropped beard to hide the scars he carried, frowned pensively as he crossed his arms over his chest. “It seems Tehya’s identity and her location were betrayed by an anonymous party to a low-level criminal formerly in Sorrel’s employ, Thaddeus Alchoni.”

  “Thaddeus is a French-born aristocrat identified as a runner and informant for Sorrel,” Micah continued when Noah glanced at him. “Our contact there called me and reported that word went out to Sorrel’s men within hours of his death ten years ago, that any information concerning the wife or the child that escaped was to be reported to someone they called the Marquis. Alchoni sent the information via a mail service Sorrel had set up years before his death for use by informants who couldn’t meet with him. We have someone trying to track that now, but so far, there’s no further information.”

  “Why didn’t we know about that order when it went out?” Jordan questioned, his voice harsher than he intended at the thought that he had overlooked an important detail in Tehya’s safety.

  “Because it wasn’t an organization-wide order,” Noah picked the conversation back up. “That order only went out to a few of their higher-level informants. Those who weren’t identified as part of the organization after Sorrel’s death.”

  “It was well hidden, just as Lilly’s mother and many of her fine friends managed to hide what they were doing,” Micah growled.

  It had amazed them, all the secrets they had learned once their operative, Nighthawk, had been allowed to return to her former life after she was nearly assassinated.

  How the some of the impossibly rich conducted their personal lives, manipulated their bloodlines, and bought and sold their women as though they were no more than pets or breeding stock.

  Men would choose their mistresses, future wives, or their son’s playthings as young girls, then arrange with their fathers, or even their mothers, for specialized training or interests to be introduced into their lives.

  The girls that rebelled were sent to a clinic in Switzerland that had often used torturous practices to ensure they never rebelled again.

  They created puppets out of their daughters and monsters of their sons. And if the reconditioning didn’t work, then men like Sorrel had arranged “accidents” so skillfully that even their parents never suspected, in many cases, why their sons or daughters had died.

  Finally, Jordan turned to Rory. “You and Turk back up Iron and Casey from here on out. I want everyone ready to move on this if so much as a breath of wind thinks to blow the wrong way.”

  “You have a bad feeling about this, don’t you, Jordan?” Noah probed.

  His nephew had worked with him often enough, knew him well enough, that he picked up on it instantly.

  “Something’s not coming together,” Jordan admitted. “I’m certain they’ll strike tonight, but I’m damned if I can believe it’s Ascarti.” He gave a hard shake of his head. “I can’t pinpoint it, Noah.” And that was so rare that Jordan knew it was usually indicative of a mission going to hell at the last minute.

  Noah’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll make sure we’re all on our toes.”

  They would anyway, Jordan knew. But that feeling was never wrong.

  Looking at the men watching him, for the first time in his career as a SEAL and then an Elite Ops commander, Jordan was second-guessing himself.

  “Turk, you and Rory head out and meet up with Iron and Casey to coordinate your places. Be prepared for anything. I want, at all times, eyes on Tehya in some way. If, by any chance, she is taken, then I want to know where she’s at every second.”

  Rory gave a sharp nod, though his gaze was concerned as it met Jordan’s, then Noah’s. Rather than saying anything, he turned and he and Turk left the wine cellar quickly via the hidden exit that opened into a sheltered, overgrown ravine nearly a quarter of a mile away.

  “Micah, you and Nik cover the gardens outside the ballroom tonight. Get in place so you have a clear view of the doors in case Tehya’s taken out.”

  “We also have the gates covertly wired for security and wireless cameras covering the perimeter,” Micah assured him. “We’re prepared, Jordan.”

  Jordan nodded briefly. As they left, he turned to Noah, his second in command on this job.

  He’d been tempted to take the women who, in his mind, were his wife, as Fuentes and Sorrel believed that if he broke the wedding vows he was known to cherish, then his loyalty to his country would follow.

  But Noah, Nathan Malone as he’d been then, had never broken those vows. Even in the years after his rescue, before his wife had known he’d survived, after years of believing her husband was dead, neither of them had betrayed the vows they made when they married.

  They were happy now. Their son, Riordan Nathan Blake, Nate as they called him, was six, in kindergarten, and driving his parents crazy. Noah lived and breathed for them.

  “You okay?” Noah asked quietly, his darker blue eyes probing as he watched Jordan.

  CHAPTER 19

  The dress was absolutely beautiful, and Nik’s wife Mikayla was one of those serene, at-peace souls who seemed to bring comfort to everyone around her.

  Long, heavy blond hair was pulled back into a braid, her classically pretty face emphasized by the smile on her lips and the laughter in her eyes. And the sheer adoration present whenever she talked about her husband and their daughter.

  Tehya knew Nik had lost his first wife and only child before he came into the Ops. The haunted pain she had always sensed in him had evaporated after he met Mikayla Martin, though. And now, she was still taken aback every time she saw him smile.

  “I knew this dress would be absolutely perfect for you,” Mikayla commented as Tehya stepped out of the large dressing room/bath attached to the guest room and let Mikayla see her creation.

  The floor-length, tissue thin, dual-layer white-and-violet silk whispered from the shoulders to the cinched waist, where it then fell in soft clouds of material to her feet and the matching four-inch heels.

  Tiny violet sequins were sewn in patterns of soft falls of intricate detail along the shoulders and again in a gentle wave to emphasize her breasts. More had been placed at the cinched waist at her hips and again at her midriff.

  The bold splash of color drew attention to her eyes and the soft light tan on her skin. It also managed to give her an air of frailty, despite the height of the heels.

  “Absolutely beautiful,” Mikayla sighed as she moved around, bending and fluffing the material here and there as she checked for whatever it was a clothing designer and maker checked for.

  Whatever she was looking for, she must not have found it. When she straightened and rose, there was a look of supreme satisfaction on her face. “I am proud.” Sh
e sighed again as she fluttered her fingers against her chest. “You look like a fairy princess, Tehya.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Tehya stared into the full-length mirror. “But the dress looks damned good, Mikayla.”

  Mikayla gave a little light laugh and a wink. “The dress complements the girl, is what I always say. It takes more than a pretty dress and a little makeup to do what you do to that dress, Tehya. And it takes a girl just as unique to catch the eye and the heart of the commander Nik and Noah feared would come home in a body bag if he went back into the Ops as a field agent rather than a commander, as he was considering.”

  Tehya ducked her head. She hadn’t known he was considering such a thing. If Noah had discussed it with Nik though, then she knew for a fact it had been a possibility.

  The fact that Mikayla believed Jordan was in the SEALs was besides the point. If he’d returned to the Ops as a field agent, rather than a commander, then the chances of that would be higher.

  She knew Jordan. And she had sensed his discontent in his life before the Ops unit disbanded was riding higher than he let on. But she hadn’t expected that decision.

  “What makes Nik think I have his heart?” That question was uppermost in her mind.

  Mikayla’s smile was soft when she glanced back at her. “I’ve only seen Jordan a few times, Tehya. Each time I’ve seen him, until these last weeks, he’s been tense, cold. But now, it’s like there’s something different about him. It’s Nik’s opinion he’s in love.”

  No, he wasn’t in love, but she wouldn’t be the one to disillusion the little romantic.

  Tehya looked into the mirror again. This dress was a beautiful confection of silk and dreams. It was the romantic heart that had envisioned it, that had created it.

  But when it was all said and done, Jordan would walk away from her just as he had countless other women before her. He didn’t believe in love. It was an illusion as far as he was concerned.

  “You know, Nik hasn’t told me what’s going on.”

  Tehya’s head lifted as she stared back at the other woman.

  Mikayla gave a little shrug. “I don’t just love my husband, I know my husband. He gave me a nice little story to tell anyone if they asked about the dresses I was making for you, who you were, who Jordan was, the whole nine yards.” She waved her hand expressively. “Then this morning he gave me another story about someone close to you dying. He promised me when he retired from whatever it is he was doing, that there would be no more missions. Then he came to me and told me you were in trouble and he had to help. Whatever that trouble is, Tehya, I want you to know, I make a very good friend. And I know how to listen.”

  Tehya glanced away, her throat tightening with the tears she had refused to allow herself to shed.

  “I had hoped I was hiding things better,” she whispered,

  “I doubt anyone but another woman who’s in love, and feared losing that love, would notice,” Mikayla stated. “We’ve only met a few times, but I’ve never looked into your eyes that I didn’t want to cry myself. The worst thing you can do is cry alone. So, if you need a friend.” She gave a little lift of her shoulder, an endearing gesture of a woman afraid of overstepping a boundary, but one whose compassion knew only one way.

  “Thank you, Mikayla,” she answered softly. “And I won’t forget the offer.”

  She would never forget it, but she knew there was little chance of being able to take her up on it. She couldn’t allow herself to ever be caught again. That meant disappearing again and learning to ignore the hunger to put down roots, to own anything, to have friends, family … or the lover her heart longed for.

  “Good. Now, show my awesome dress off tonight and tell everyone how totally unique and expensive I am.” Mikayla flashed a warm smile as she moved to the bed, grabbed her oversized workbag, and headed for the door. “And don’t be a stranger.” She stopped after opening the door. “I’d like for us to be friends, Tehya.”

  Tehya gave a quick nod as she battled her tears again. She hated crying. She hated being on the verge of crying because it still puffed up her eyes and her nose and made her look washed out.

  Which, she imagined, would be good for the overall impression of grief.

  Breathing out roughly, she moved closer to the mirror, pulled at several curls until they draped over her shoulder from the jewel-encrusted clasp that held a mass of curls at the top of her head, allowing them to fall haphazardly around her head, to mix and mingle with the heavy strands that hadn’t been pulled up.

  Rather like a Grecian goddess, she thought, as her fingers trailed over the tiny sequins that ran along the bodice of the dress.

  Glancing at the clock, she drew in a deep breath and searched for her courage. It was a trick her mother had taught her when she was very young.

  She closed her eyes and imagined Jordan this time, rather than a bird flying free. His smile, the sound of those deep, amused chuckles, the way he touched her, the way he held her.

  And she imagined his courage, just as her mother had taught her to imagine that bird’s courage when it first took flight. How high it went, and how brave it must be. And how it wouldn’t survive if it couldn’t fly.

  If she didn’t fly, she couldn’t survive.

  And now, if she didn’t have Jordan, if he didn’t live and breathe, then there was no way she could bear life herself.

  She would face whatever came tonight. She had no choice but that, to ensure Jordan survived. He had been targeted because of her. Someone had tried to kill him, and now he had to pretend to be dead.

  Because of her.

  Because she hadn’t had the courage to run when she should have.

  Because she hadn’t had the courage to disappear in a way that would ensure Jordan never found her either. Now, tonight, she had to find the courage not to run, to walk into that party and to dare whoever or whatever had haunted her all her life.

  She had never done that. She had always run, because she had always seen what happened to the strong, confident, self-assured military-trained men who had done just that in their attempts to protect her and her mother.

  Her hand jerked up, covered her mouth and her nose as a sudden sob nearly escaped, as she felt something inside her beginning to crack, attempting to escape.

  A vicious shudder raced through her, nearly obliterating her ability to hold back a wave of fury and blinding pain.

  Where the hell had it come from?

  Her breathing was shaking, almost shuddering through her as she seemed to gasp for breath.

  She blinked desperately, finally, mercifully gaining control and unable to understand exactly what had happened.

  It terrified her, though.

  The sense of panic, of impending doom grew stronger, and finding the strength to gather her courage enough to walk out of the room took everything she had, because every instinct she had was screaming at her to run. To hide. To ensure no one else died because of her.

  She felt like a coward. Like that little girl who had begged her mother to just send her back to her father so no one else could ever be hurt again.

  Her eyes closed.

  She hadn’t remembered that, but now that event was so vivid in her mind, so fresh it might have happened only yesterday.

  She remembered sobbing after she had learned Sister Mary was dead and how the Reverend Mother and sisters had died at the convent. Her mother hadn’t meant for her to know. Tehya had slipped out of bed and crept to the top of the stairs and listened to her and Matthew Thomas talking.

  Her mother had been crying, blaming herself, and Matthew had been struggling to comfort her when he glanced up and saw Tehya.

  For just a second, she had seen a look of resentment, of accusation in his gaze. He had blamed her for the danger her mother faced, and the deaths that had followed them.

  Tehya had broken down then. She had screamed, sobbed, demanded her mother call Sorrel to come for her. Demanded that they let her return so everyone would be
safe again.

  In a way, she felt as though she were now coming full circle, even though he was dead.

  And she knew it would explode around her tonight.

  She just prayed. She prayed as she had never prayed in her life, that no one died.

  As she finally pushed back that terror and gathered the frayed threads of her courage together, a quick knock at the door had her flinching so viciously her teeth jerked together.

  She was a mess tonight, and she knew it.

  Moving to the door, she paused. “Yes?” Caution weighed heavily on her shoulders now. The knowledge that so many were willing to risk their lives for her made her second-guess every move.

  “It’s John, Tehya.”

  She opened the door slowly until she stared back at the handsome form of one of the men she had worked with for the past six years.

  Dressed in a black silk tux and startling white shirt, he looked both dangerous and charming. Dark blond hair fell over his brow as he watched her with somber concern.

  “I believe I’m escorting you to the party,” he informed her with a quick smile.

  She glanced behind him. “Where’s Bailey?”

  His wife was normally right at his side.

  “She’s waiting in the foyer just outside the ballroom with Kell and Emily,” he informed her. “I’ll escort you both in.”

  “I guess I’m ready, then.” She knew her smile was tight, the tension radiating through her body not as well hidden as she would have liked.

  It would lend weight to the illusion they were attempting to portray, though, she told herself as John held his elbow out to her.

  Curving her fingers beneath his arm, she drew in a deep breath and turned with him to walk down the wide hall to the curved staircase that led to the foyer.

  The dress whispered around her, sliding against her flesh and reminding her of Jordan’s touch even as the derringer strapped to her thigh reminded of the gift he had given her several Christmases ago. Extra protection, he’d told her with a small quirk of his lips.