The Princess And The Mercenary

by Victoria Paige

  She shrugged out of her trench coat and hung it on the rack behind her desk. Walking over to the single-serve coffee machine she kept for visitors, she asked, “Anyone want one?”

  Sully grimaced. “Hate that shit. Not real coffee.”

  Yara laughed. “That’s because you’re used to mud.”

  “I’ll take one.” Jeff unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing a slight paunch. He hadn’t aged as gracefully as her father. His face was frequently blotchy red, his late nights and too many shots of Scotch taking its toll. His head of blond hair had thinned and was streaked with silver. Ever since his divorce, he’d thrown himself into work and had stopped using the gym in the building.

  She pressed brew and turned back to them. “Well, we can’t delay and we can’t just dump the crates there. The press has been critical of the way humanitarian companies are collecting donations and delivering aid.”

  Yara handed Jeff his coffee. “Besides, Tariq’s uncle has a low opinion of aid organizations. He thinks our government is using them to transport mercenaries into the country to assassinate him. Tariq had vouched for ERAF because of our friendship. Can you imagine if we simply dump the aid there accompanied by only PMCs?”

  Her father’s jaw clenched, glowering at her, but Yara refused to quail. “Think about it. This is the time to make this happen. There’s a ceasefire—”

  “You’re forgetting, pumpkin, there’s never a ceasefire for the other players. Al Qaeda controls thirty percent of the country and are scattered everywhere. Not to mention several militias. If they know that Sully’s daughter is in the city—”

  “I doubt they even know who you are, much less what I look like.” At his continued unbending stare, she used her last ace—calling him what he wanted. “Dad … come on. The UN compound in Taiz will be heavily guarded.”

  “I see Yara’s point.” Jeff scratched his chin. “The UN is brokering a peace agreement between all concerned political parties and Tariq could use our support. This can work to our advantage. Yara showing up in the midst of the world’s worst humanitarian crisis in this time of unprecedented progress in a country torn by war?” Her father’s friend bestowed her with a proud smile. “You might land another VOGUE cover, my dear.”

  Yara’s grin froze and her jaw hurt from trying to fake it. She had no qualms of using her public image to further the advocacy programs, but landing on the cover of VOGUE wasn’t anywhere in her priorities. That cover sparked a backlash of tabloid articles accusing her of being a pretty face swindling people out of millions of dollars and ERAF was not delivering the aid where it needed to be. This mission to Yemen was her chance to prove the press wrong and reclaim her parents’ philanthropic legacy which had seen numerous slurs from the press in the past few years.

  Sully impatiently checked his watch. “I need to get back to LaGuardia in an hour.”

  “What?”

  “Concert, pumpkin.”

  “You need to slow down.”

  Her father’s irritated gaze softened. “I will. One last tour.”

  “That’s what you said four years ago.”

  Jeff’s phone buzzed. “Yeah? Send them in.”

  Shit. They’re here.

  Less than a minute later, Len entered the office escorting two men.

  Both were tall, well over six feet, and muscular—but not the meathead type—and dressed in khaki cargos and black fitted tees.

  The mercenaries.

  2

  Sleeve tattoos.

  Dark eyes.

  Unsmiling face.

  Everything about this man was forbidding. His close-cropped hair and rough stubble emphasized a hard, angular jaw, and hinted of someone who hated his razor. A muscle ticked in his cheek as if the mere sight of her pissed him off.

  She straightened her spine and lifted her chin, transferring her gaze to his associate, who was, at least, smiling.

  Sensing her consternation with Tall, Dark, and Broody, the man said, “Don’t mind Spear. He rarely smiles and is a grouch to everyone.”

  Her attention pulled back to the man in question, noting how the lines on his sun-bronzed face deepened as he scowled at his partner.

  “I’m Max Stein.” The sandy-haired man extended his arm and shook hands with Yara, Sully, and Jeff. “I’m the better looking and more charming one.”

  They turned to the broody presence on their left.

  “Kade Spear,” came the grunted introduction and a reluctantly offered hand.

  Despite the less than enthusiastic reception, her father and Jeff shook the contractor’s hand vigorously, pleased with what they saw. Yara’s eyes froze mid-roll when Spear’s stare zeroed in on her.

  Charged air crackled between them, a distinct pause in time, before his large hand swallowed hers, searing in its heat and intimidating with its grip.

  Eyes clashed and an invisible gauntlet was thrown.

  “Ms. Emerson.” Her name was a rough drawl.

  She resisted the urge to snatch her hand from his and let the handshake run its course, but her skin grew heated and her heart rate picked up.

  She’d never hated a person on sight before now.

  “Mr. Spear.”

  She stepped back.

  “Glad we’re all here.” Jeff slouched at the edge of her table. “Yara’s going to be point from now on since she’ll be accompanying the aid shipment. She’s our princess, so handle with care.”

  Not helping, Uncle Jeff.

  Yara made her way around her desk, needing a barrier between her and the blast of disdain Kade shot her way. She pulled the collar of her turtleneck from her skin, feeling a sudden tightness. Sweat bloomed at her nape and the room became stuffy. She tried to concentrate on Jeff’s words as the other two men’s expression morphed into alertness, their faces shutting down.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kade said under his breath. A string of curses followed, causing Max to shoot him a glare. “Last we spoke you indicated that you would be accompanying the aid.”

  Jeff turned red and coughed into his fist. “My doctor didn’t clear me for travel. Hypertension that needs to be monitored. Besides, it makes more sense for Yara to go, she’s been the face of ERAF—”

  “She’s”—an angry finger jabbed in her direction—“not gonna last a day!”

  Whoa! Yara recoiled. What. A. Jerk!

  “Listen here, mister,” she snarled, leaving the safety of her desk and marching straight up to her preordained adversary. “Don’t think because I’m dressed in cashmere and Manolos, that I don’t know shit about humanitarian aid or the conditions we’re going to face. I’ve run logistics and played the politics game for the past five years on our different missions to Liberia, Sudan, and the Republic of Congo. I’ve been on the ground and I’ve encountered the scum of the earth.” She let her eyes give him a once-over and was gratified to see his eyes narrow, her meaning not lost on him.

  “What the hell are Manolos?” he muttered.

  “Out of everything I said, that’s all you’ve heard?”

  The amused gleam in his eyes told her she’d fallen for the bastard’s bait. Ugh, to not have a knife handy and stab him right here.

  Max cleared his throat. “Before blood is further spilled. Ms. Emerson—”

  “Call me Yara, please.”

  “Yara.” Max grinned, but she wasn’t fooled. Kade’s partner wasn’t pleased she was going either, but he had more tact. “Yemen is the most hostile place on earth right now—”

  “Because of the civil war? AQAP? ISIS?” She enumerated with saccharine sweetness before giving them a narrative of the State Department’s briefing. “It’s my business to know these things. Otherwise, our donors would think twice before handing us millions of dollars in aid.”

  “A State Department briefing is nothing but blanket warnings and sanitized truths,” Kade shot back. “They don’t want to scare off people like you who would help paint a better image of Americans. Winning hearts and minds is useless in Yemen. No
matter how much aid you give them, we are considered interlopers—the infidels—and we’re all fair targets.” This time it was he who gave her a once-over, his gaze lingering on the spot she had on her turtleneck. Yara instinctively raised a finger to touch the pink stain. His lips twisted in a sneer. “How can someone who worries about a smudge on her expensive top hope to survive in a war zone?”

  Bastard. He did that on purpose. Yara quickly lowered her arm, but not before everyone saw where her hand had been.

  “Have you ever been in an ambush?” He continued his attack, expression hard and tone coated with menace. “Have you ever been held captive under threat of beheading—”

  “That’s enough,” Sully cut in and exhaled heavily. “Christ.” He scrubbed his face with his palm before casting Yara and Jeff a worried look. “Should we call the whole thing off?”

  “Absolutely not!” Yara exclaimed. “You heard the UN last week. It’s the worst humanitarian crisis in the world right now. There’s no telling when the Saudis will enforce the blockade again. Our aid workers are gathering in Ankara. And Tariq”—she blew out a breath—“I have to be there.”

  Her father didn’t reply but gave her a contemplative look. Sully was a member of the board but left the running of the foundation to Jeff. With the CEO seeing this as a publicity coup for the organization, there was no stopping Yara from going.

  “So, gentlemen,” she said, directing her attention to the two contractors. “Either you’re here to discuss the security proposal and contract, or I’ll get another referral. But I will be in Yemen next Wednesday before the cargo arrives.”

  If Kade’s eyes were steel blades, she’d be cut into ribbons by now.

  Back at ya, buddy, she thought. The feeling is mutual.

  “We just got a new Gulfstream, Uncle Jeff. Why are we not using it?”

  Kennedy frowned. “I don’t think you want to risk a sixty-five-million-dollar plane in a country like Yemen.”

  Kade controlled his desire to surge to his feet, lean over Yara Emerson’s desk, and strangle her. Three chairs were arranged in front of her table. Sully had left to return to Europe for his tour. Kennedy sat in the far-right chair, while he and Max sat side by side on the remaining two.

  Yara flicked a glance at him before returning her gaze to the ERAF CEO. “But it was a donation specifically for the use of foreign aid, not to shuttle our executives. I don’t understand why we have to spend four hundred thousand dollars more.”

  “The Gulfstream 650 can only fit eight passengers,” Max said pleasantly. “As you can see from our proposal, there’ll be nine passengers all in all.”

  She tapped her pen on the paper. “This is another point I wanted to ask. Why do we need eight security contractors? There’ll only be fifteen of us and, once we assemble in Taiz, the UN is providing security at the compound.”

  “We like to keep a one-to-two ratio especially in a country like Yemen,” Kade gritted through his teeth. “If you add in the rotation, it’s not even one-to-two at certain times.” He smiled condescendingly. “We provide 24-7 security but not every man is expected to work more than forty-eight hours straight. That’s unhealthy, don’t you think? ”

  Her mouth tightened and, rather than answer him, she steepled her fingers and regarded him in challenge. “Your rate of twelve hundred dollars per contractor per day is almost double the industry average, which I believe is now six hundred fifty dollars a day.”

  So the lady did her research. Kade admitted he was impressed.

  “We employ only the best,” Max answered.

  Yara continued to stare at Kade.

  His eyes slitted.

  He stood up.

  “Spear …” Max said in an alarmed tone.

  Kade leaned over and yanked the contract from her fingers, ignoring her startled gasp.

  His peripheral vision noted Jeff rising from his chair.

  He held Yara’s eyes for as long as possible, before grabbing the pen from his cargo pant pocket and crossed off the “8” and put in “10.”

  Kade smiled without humor as he shoved the contract back at her, relishing the furrowing of her brows, then the dropping of her jaw. This princess would find out she couldn’t yank his chain anytime she pleased. He had intended to talk to her about increasing the number of contractors because it was she, and not Kennedy, who was going, but Kade didn’t get the chance before she went on the offensive.

  “What the hell is this?” Yara fumed. “Can’t take my questions and this is how you respond?” She tapped a finger on the number in question.

  Kennedy glanced at him. “Care to explain?”

  “Gladly,” Kade responded, holding the older man’s gaze. “It was supposed to be you on this trip.”

  “Are you being sexist?” Yara’s eyes widened. Damn, her eyes were magnificent when she was pissed. They flamed amber. Kade gave himself a mental headshake.

  “Sexist has nothing to do with it. It’s who you are.” He took a couple of breaths, the next words promising to choke him. “You’re a beautiful woman. The daughter of rock legend Sullivan Emerson.” He glanced at Kennedy. “Figured you’re gonna have press coverage at the airfield?”

  Jeff nodded.

  Kade planted both palms on the table and leaned in. “You may not be known in Yemen at the moment, but with the way news travels on social media—not to mention the Dark Web—you can be sure you will be tagged and targeted. If Al Qaeda gets their hands on you they’ll use you for their sick propaganda—”

  “You’ve already mentioned that,” Yara cut in. “I’m not complaining about the numbers. I wanted an explanation and it was rude the way you yanked the contract from my fingers. I expect more respect than that.”

  Kade bared his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile, but nodded a fraction.

  Yara huffed. “I take our donations seriously and I want to make sure every penny from our donors is put to good use. It is my job to negotiate, to get the best price without compromising the safety and well-being of our aid workers. Is that so wrong?”

  Kade had to hand it to her. She turned this on him as if he was the unreasonable one. He leaned back, sliced his head to the right once, and returned it center in a negative, then sat down.

  “Words, Mr. Spear.” Her eyes dipped to the contract. “Use them.”

  The corners of his mouth threatened to rise in a grin. He squashed it down.

  “The extra security around the hotel in Ankara. Is it necessary?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve vetted them,” Max added and went on to give more references.

  Yara smiled sweetly at his partner.

  Kade bristled. Max turned on the charm when he needed. Didn’t matter. Kade would be the one keeping an eye on the princess. As much as he dreaded it.

  After another twenty minutes of back-and-forth, Yara initialed where there were changes, signed and pushed it back to them. “E-mail me a copy. Tonight or tomorrow at the latest would be great. Oh, and let me know how many rooms I should reserve for your team. The sooner the better.”

  Max answered her. Kade was about to interject but knew she’d balk and he’d rather not rock the boat at the moment. The ulterior motive of SSRR’s real mission began to scrape at his conscience and a suffocating need to get out of there made him surge to his feet. Max frowned at him.

  “When do you need down payment?” Kennedy asked, surprised when it was clear Kade was leaving.

  “You can pay us in full after the job,” Kade replied.

  Yara’s delicate brows arched. “That’s a first.”

  “We stand by our work.” He shrugged and offered perfunctory handshakes, nodded his goodbyes and strode out ahead of Max.

  3

  They were stuck in the Holland Tunnel on their way back to New Jersey.

  “Would it have been too much to ask for you not to be such an ass?” Max asked.

  “Yes.”

  His friend chuckled. “Thought she was sharp. Not at all what I expe
cted.”

  Kade agreed. In the short time he’d spent in her presence, she’d gotten under his skin. At first he thought it was because he disliked her on sight, but she almost made him smile.

  Almost.

  Misunderstanding his silence, Max said. “We can add more men if you’re worried about her safety. She seemed amiable to that as long as you explained it to her.” He glanced at him. “Reasonable, actually.”

  Kade grunted. “Where’s Brody?”

  Warren Brody was their analyst. A former Navy cryptologist and overall cybersleuth-slash-hacker.

  “Still in Africa.” Max angled his eyes at him. “You know how he is.”

  Brody preferred a nomadic lifestyle and rarely reported back stateside. He said being on the ground in Africa and the Middle East gave him a better pulse for collecting intel. However, Kade suspected it was because he was uncomfortable with the rest of the guys who were stronger tactically in the field and more physically fit.

  “He’ll be available, though. I already pinged him. Zeke is also finishing up the South African gig so he’ll round off our ten. We can have them fly straight to Ankara.”

  Zeke Russo was a former Army Ranger, their demolition expert, and, unlike Brody, was very much a team player.

  “Make sure they’re in Turkey by Friday.”

  Max cleared his throat casting Kade a quick glance. “Was it really necessary to lecture Ms. Emerson about our rates?”

  “Needed to keep it real.”

  “It’s not like they’re footing the bill.”

  In fact, ERAF might not want to pay them when they find out SSRR planned to use the humanitarian mission to get rid of their ERAF sponsor in Yemen—Nasir Haddad. They were hired by the Saudis through the CIA that had their own stake in seeing the rebel leader gone.

  Saudi Intelligence also claimed that ERAF was ferreting chemical weapons for the Nasir Rebels. Kade had his doubts about that claim especially after meeting Kennedy and Yara Emerson.

  “We’re seeing this humanitarian mission through, chemical weapons or not,” Kade said.