I couldn’t figure out how it was possible but there it was. I’d take jerking myself off on her ass over fucking someone else.
If the guys knew my thoughts, they’d likely think I was the one who needed a psych eval.
“You got something to wear over that vest?” Matt asked Liberty.
“My shirt.”
Her response had me taking in what she was wearing. Loose-fitting tee that wouldn’t conceal her tact vest, jeans, and a pair of Oakley boots.
“Those jeans give you enough room for an ankle holster?” Matt continued.
Liberty raised her right pant leg, exposing the compact .9mm. She dropped the material and moved to the left, repeating the process. A fixed, sheathed blade was strapped around her calf.
“Lose the knife,” I told her.
“Why? This is my normal carry.”
“You ever run in jeans with that strapped on?”
“No.”
“Trust me, you’ll thank me later. Big difference between jeans and ACUs. The nine’s fine where it is but the knife’s gotta go. I’ll give you one of mine, clip it inside your bra between your…”
Fuck, what was I supposed to say? Between your tits? Breasts? Cleavage?
Liberty’s head tilted a fraction, her chin going toward her shoulder and she smirked.
“You ever run with something in your bra? Between your…” She skipped the elusive noun and went on. “Because I can tell you, running with something shoved in your bra isn’t comfortable.”
Trey didn’t bother fighting his laughter when he clapped me on the back and said, “Yeah, Drake, you ever run with something in your bra?” He chuckled some more and turned to Liberty. “Clip it to your vest. We all do shit different but I keep mine bottom left. I’m right-handed so it’s a smooth draw for me. And I have an extra button-up. Your shirt’s too tight, the vest will show, as will your holster. Plain clothes and urban warfare is a whole new game. You need all your gear, but have none of the convenience and accommodations of your uniform.”
“Right,” Liberty mumbled.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about—you’re like a’ urban combat virgin,” Trey snickered. “And we’re all happy to pop your—”
Before Trey could finish his sentence and earn himself a size-eleven boot to the ass, I cut him off, “Grab a shirt from my bag.” Liberty’s stunned eyes came to mine and I continued, “Grab my extra knife, too.”
“Dude, my shirt will fit her better,” Trey argued.
Trey wasn’t wrong—he was smaller than I was, not by a lot but enough that Liberty wouldn’t swim in his clothing. Problem was, there was no chance my woman was wearing his shirt.
“We’ve got two hours to get to the port. Traffic this time of day is heavy. We leave now, we got a chance of getting there before Lore catches a ride and heads wherever the hell he goes when he leaves the docks. What I know is we don’t have time to stand around and chat about fucking shirts.”
Liberty wisely took off toward the stairs, and as I finished checking my sidearm, Logan came to stand in front of me. “She’s with me.”
“Come again?”
“We’re breaking off into twos,” he told me something I very well knew. “Liberty’s with me.”
A sting of irritation pricked the back of my neck as I studied my ALPO. As second-in-command, it was his job to lead the team if I couldn’t. Never had he flexed his duty. Then again, I’d never given him reason to question my ability and sound decisions.
Until now.
Knowing he was right but hating the fact he was, I agreed. “Me and Matt will take point. You and Liberty in the middle. Trey and Luke take the rear.”
With a jerk of his chin, Logan went back to sorting his kit. Minutes later, Liberty came back with my navy blue button-up on. She was swimming in it, but had the tails tied in a knot that somehow made it look fashionable.
Boots, jeans, men’s shirt, and Liberty McCoy was still sexy as fuck—knowing what she had on underneath her clothes—that being a tactical vest and multiple weapons, was hot, too. The woman was badass yet somehow she remained feminine.
“You straight?” I inquired and bit back asking more, like if she had extra magazines on her. Something she’d find annoying and frankly patronizing. Especially since I wouldn’t be asking the rest of my team if they had extra ammo.
“Yep.”
Top to toe—sexy.
Top to toe—a warrior.
Fucking hell, it was seriously gonna hurt when she was gone.
19
Thankfully, the temperature in Beirut dropped as it got closer to nightfall. Logan and I were sitting in the back of a taxi on our way to the port and I was sweating like crazy—any hotter and I’d soak through Drake’s shirt. I was actually fighting the temptation of wiping away the rivers of perspiration dripping down my chest. The only thing stopping me was Logan pressed up against me like we were a couple vacationing in Beirut.
The thought was so asinine it was laughable. But that’s the impression Logan had given the driver when we’d gotten into the car and told the man to take us to some restaurant a mile’s walk from the area in which Lore had been spotted.
As soon as we’d walked out of the apartment building, Drake and Matt had split right and without a backward glance, started down the street. Logan had waited for us to get into a taxi until Drake and Matt had found one themselves and drove off.
We’d left Trey and Luke on the street corner as they pretended to look at a map. They looked every bit the tourist, if tourists looked like large, menacing men.
“Relax,” Logan whispered, then his hand picked mine up off my lap and he threaded our fingers together before placing our combined hands on his thigh.
I stared at our hands thinking how wrong they looked. I knew it was fake and part of our cover, but I wanted to snatch my hand away and scoot over. Funny, a few weeks ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about holding a good-looking guy’s hand. But that was before Drake.
Before my heart had stupidly picked him.
When we arrived at the restaurant, Logan paid the driver, helped me out of the car, and placed his hand on my lower back, giving me a tiny shove forward.
“Babe, you gotta relax.”
I nodded and did my best to follow his instructions, though every second his hand was on me felt wrong. So wrong it was ridiculous. We skirted the entrance to the restaurant and started our mile-walk back to the port.
“Bravo en route,” Logan called in.
“Check.” Drake’s voice came over my earpiece.
“You got it bad.” Logan chuckled.
“What?”
“He’s not even here and you shiver when you hear his voice.”
“You felt that?”
“Got my hand on your back and you tucked into my side. Hard to miss.”
Then I realized what we were talking about and I stopped dead which forced Logan to stop. His hazel eyes came to me and they were full of mischief and maybe a hint of good-natured flirtation.
“Do you mind?”
“Mind what, darlin’?”
“Darlin’? You’re from Michigan, not the South.”
That was something I’d learned about Logan. He was from a place called Bad Axe or at least that’s where he said he was from. It sounded made-up, but the way he’d sworn it was where he was born made me believe him. Then his mom had moved him and his three sisters south to Detroit after his dad had passed. Which was something that still bothered him, even if he didn’t say it. The hurt that flashed in his eyes when he mentioned his father’s death was unmistakable.
“So I can’t say “darlin’” because I’m from Michigan?” Logan’s lips twitched in a way even I had to admit was sexy. “Is that a law?”
“How about we drop the conversation and start walking?”
“Which conversation? The one about how you shiver when you hear Drake’s voice or the one where you’re looking at me like I’m the hottest man you’ve ever seen?”
My mouth dropped open. I closed it, swallowed, and did this several more times as I tried to find words.
“I’m going to stab you,” I growled.
“Relax, darlin’, my mic’s off. I’m just bustin’ your lady balls. Happy for Drake.”
Thank God for small favors. At least Drake and the rest of the team didn’t hear Logan announce I shivered when I heard Drake’s voice.
“I’m not lookin’ at you like you’re hot, I’m looking at you like you’re crazy. And there’s nothing to be happy for Drake about.”
Logan leaned down with a wicked smile and quietly told me, “I know I got reason to be happy for Drake. I’d tell you how I know, and what those reasons are, but I’m sensin’ you’re getting wrapped around the axles from the possibility of Drake knowing you were trembling in my arms. And it sucks for me, but that shiver wasn’t because I was touching you, but because you heard your man’s voice. You’d have a serious conniption if you knew how I know Drake’s got a lot to be happy about. Which means I’m happy for him.”
No. No way. There’s no possible way Logan had heard us last night. The door had been closed and neither of us was loud.
“Holy fuck. Babe, that red in your cheeks tells me I didn’t know jack shit, but now I do and I have to tell you, I was pleased as fuck that for the last week my brother’s had sweet in his bed even if that bed was a shitty cot, and the reason behind that woman in his bed was because she was having trouble sleepin’. I was still happy she was next to him and he was giving her what she needed. Because if there’s one thing about Drake, he’s got a lot to give and there are not a lot of bitches out there that deserve all he has to give. So I was glad he was giving it to you—someone who deserves it.”
I wasn’t sure what Logan was talking about but I was sure I didn’t deserve anything, most especially kindness and comfort from Drake.
“Maybe we should stop talking about this,” I suggested.
“Maybe you need to start talking and stop hiding.”
Jesus, he sounded just like Drake.
“Maybe we should worry about our surroundings and not my personal life.”
“We’re covered. Trey and Luke are at my six about three hundred yards out.”
My eyes went over his shoulder and sure enough, like Logan had eyes in the back of his head, Luke and Trey were there. Not walking toward us but meandering around like they were having a lazy gaze at the Med.
“How’d you know that?”
“Time in the field. Experience. We’ve worked together a long time.”
Time and experience—two things I lacked.
“Come on.” Logan encouraged and started walking. “Few things. First, out here, when shit gets real, and it always does, it gets real fast. Complex and real. Eyes open—always. Every person is a possible target. Don’t dismiss anyone, not women, not children.”
“Right.”
A nasty feeling slithered down my spine.
“Don’t look at the AO as a whole. Break it down into micro-environments. Streets, alleyways, buildings, targets, civilians—they all present challenges. You need to break those down on the fly.”
“Okay.”
I scanned the area, taking in the water to our right, the busy street we were walking down, the people moving about, tall buildings to our left—some businesses, some apartments, some a mixture of both. Between them, alleys that, when the sun set fully, would be dark. Hidey-holes everywhere. Innocent people going about their lives who could easily be used as human shields.
“And remember these people know the city better than you do. We can study the maps, have the latest satellite images, we can even have scouted the area and the bad guys will always know it better.”
Logan was painting a grim picture and the more he talked the more I realized how inadequate I was.
“Last thing. You don’t leave my side. Doesn’t matter what you see, who you see, what’s going down around us, you’re my shadow. We work as a team, you and me. And if you’ve got something to say, say it. You got a question, ask. You’re unsure, you get a feeling, your gut clenches, speak up.”
“Got it.”
“Good.” Then his hand went to his wrist. He hit the button to turn on his mic and spoke again. “Bravo in place.”
“Check. Alpha in place,” Drake returned.
“Charlie one mike out,” Trey added.
A slight breeze blew off the Med and I inhaled. The salty air filled my lungs as I tried to control my heartbeat. Logan looked completely unaffected. As a matter of fact, in all the time I’d known him, this was the most relaxed I’d seen him.
He was in his element and I wondered if Drake felt the same thing. Then I wished I could see what he looked like. Once again I scanned the area—Beirut had come a long way since the eighties. The waterfront was beautiful and filled with equally beautiful people, beautiful cars, expensive restaurants, complete with an art gallery, and a music hall.
We stopped at an overlook and I leaned against the railing hoping I was pulling off the tranquil pose Logan had taken.
“See anything?” he muttered.
“Parking lot is full. There must be something going on at the art gallery.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Music hall is at the end of the pier. The location of the parked cars suggests art gallery.”
“Agreed.”
A pinprick of awareness skidded over my skin and my scalp started to tingle.
“We’re being watched.”
Much to Logan’s credit, he didn’t move. The picture of professionalism.
“Flip your mic on,” he said but still didn’t look at me.
My shaking hand slowly went to my wrist and I did as he instructed.
“This is Bravo. We have eyes on us.” Logan looked down at me and smiled. His brow went up in a reminder—oh, right, we were a vacationing couple. I returned his grin and he winked his approval.
“Bravo, this is Charlie, move to your secondary, we have your six.”
Without a word, Logan offered me his hand. I took it and we were off on a lazy stroll down the busy pier.
“Where’s it coming from?” Logan inquired.
“What?”
“Who’s watching?” he clarified. “Where’s it coming from?”
There were too many people, too many obstacles, too many places to hide. I had no idea who or where, I just knew the pinprick had turned into something bigger. The same feeling I’d had right before the ambush.
As if reading my mind, Logan squeezed my hand and said, “Here and now, darlin’. Push all the mental clutter away.”
Then my eyes landed on a man, average height, average build, casual dress, baseball cap on. Baseball cap. I gazed around the crowd, nicely dressed, expensive, not a single man was wearing a cap.
“Our two o’clock. The man with the hat. He’s looking down, head to the side. I can’t see his face.”
Not only was he too far away to clearly make out his features but he was actively trying to shield them.
“Good job,” Logan mumbled. And as if the man heard, his head snapped up and his gaze locked onto mine.
Fuck.
Lore.
I didn’t need to be any closer to know it was him.
“I have visual on the target. We’ve been made,” I broadcasted.
Logan kept our slow, leisurely pace like I hadn’t just announced that not only was Lore less than fifty yards from us but he knew he was being watched.
My hand started to move to my hip but Logan pulled me to a halt, spun me so we were face-to-face. His arms went around me and he shoved his face into my neck. “Slow your roll, darlin’. Not now, not here. We need him off the pier and away from all these people.”
“But he knows we’re watching.”
“Yep.”
“That’s it? Just yep.”
“That’s it. Trust your team.”
Trust my team.
“Bravo, you need to move.” Drake’s angr
y growl sounded in my ear which meant he was watching.
Logan ignored Drake’s biting order. Instead, he stood to his full height, brushed the end of my ponytail over my shoulder, and smiled down at me. Teasing. Flirtatious. Stupid.
“Charlie, this is Bravo, advise when the target is street side.”
“Copy, Bravo. He’s giving you a wide berth. Coming straight to us.”
“We’re gonna let him walk right past us. Charlie’s in position.”
Something ugly grew in my belly as Logan spoke. We had multiple versions of the same plan. We had multiple versions of a backup plan. All of them involved Lore either being captured or killed, preferably captured, detained, and questioned. Multiple exfil locations. We had eyes in the sky, and God forbid, air support if needed. We were covered, we had good intel—as Lore was less than a few yards away and strolling right by us. We’d gone over every scenario the six of us could dream up.
Yet my belly was tight and was screaming at me that something wasn’t right.
“R and S didn’t see any guards?”
“Negative and as expected. He’s never had an entourage.”
No, he hadn’t. Lore was a lone wolf.
“This is Charlie. Target is on the street. We’re in position. You’re good to move.”
“Bravo-Four continue,” Drake barked and it took me a moment to remember I was Bravo-Four.
“This is Bravo-Four,” I returned. “Please repeat.”
I was looking up at Logan, not understanding what Drake was asking.
“He wants you to continue your line of thinking,” Logan whispered, which was pretty much useless because the mic on his throat was meant to pick up the slightest of sounds.
Drake obviously heard Logan’s explanation therefore didn’t repeat his request. With a nod of encouragement, Logan broke our embrace and started to move us in the direction of the street.
Not following protocol or answering Drake’s inquiry, I spoke to Logan.
“Something feels off. He came out of a classy restaurant. One where the other patrons entering were dressed to the nines, and he’s casual with a ball cap on. That doesn’t fit. Next to that restaurant is an art gallery with what looks like some fancy show going on. The pier is jumping with people. That worries me. He’s about splash and headlines.”
Taking Liberty: The Next Generation Page 14