Campaign of Desire (CSA Case Files 4)
CSA Case Files, Book Four
Kennedy Layne
Copyright © 2014 Kennedy Layne
CAMPAIGN OF DESIRE
Copyright © 2014 by Kennedy Layne
Kindle Edition
E-Book ISBN: 978-0-9899739-7-7
Print ISBN: 978-0-9899739-8-4
Cover art by Sloan Winters
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
To my newly formed street team, Kennedy’s Special Operations Group, for spreading the word about the CSA series. Thank you for all that you do! A special shout-out to Lisa Simo-Kinzer, for keeping things running like a well-oiled machine…
As always, to my partner in crime—and my wonderful husband—Jeffrey. I’m thankful everyday that you are by my side on this journey.
Prologue
C
rest placed his palms on the cool tile and bent his head, allowing the continuous stream of hot water to knead the back of his neck. The pressure was dialed in exactly the manner he liked it, but it was nowhere near the deluge required to erase the tension that consumed him. The information that was about to come to light could alter the
espirit de corps
of his team. He didn’t like discord.
Sorting through the various courses of actions that were available, Crest resolved his dilemma and pushed himself off of the wall. He’d chosen the members of Crest Security Agency and he had full faith in their abilities, even in what could be the most difficult months ahead. He turned the handle slightly to the right, enduring a few seconds of invigorating chill before rotating the knob to the off position. The water tapered until all that remained was a drip. If only he could as easily contain what was about to occur.
Crest suppressed a frustrated sigh when he heard the ring tone of his phone. It wasn’t even zero five hundred and the last thing he needed was another problem thrown into the mix of what was sure to be a lousy fucking day. He pushed open the ornately etched glass shower door. The scene of a water nymph striding across a lily-strewn pond had caught his eye due to the mischievous look on her ethereal yet beautiful face. Curious thing though—just for a second he thought he recognized Jessie in her smile. He quickly dismissed such fancy and retrained his mind. He grabbed a white terry cloth towel and then wrapped it around his waist before picking up his cell that he’d placed on the gray granite of his sink. The number that appeared on the display just proved that karma was a bitch.
“Crest.”
“This is Stan Louis Dunaway. I’ll make this brief. I’m throwing my hat into the Presidential ring Thursday morning. I want security details for my daughters and myself until the Secret Service takes over. I’d like to meet this afternoon.”
Crest leaned his head back and stared at the bathroom ceiling, calling for patience. He took a deep breath as he relaxed his hold on the phone. This wasn’t the most opportune time to take on this type of assignment, but he also knew something this prestigious didn’t make good business sense to pass over. Favors were vital when it came to specific cases and doing one now for someone whom was almost certainly going to be the future President would be beneficial in the long run.
“Congratulations, sir.” Crest stepped out of the shower and onto a plush looped rug that he’d discovered on a trip to D.C. last year. The color matched the darker gray flecks of the granite. The hotel manager had fallen all over himself to make sure the concierge had gotten Crest’s people the manufacturer’s information. As he felt the soft fabric underneath his feet, it had been well worth the wait. “It’s going to take me some time to put the logistics together, but I should have things in order by three o’clock. I’d like for your campaign manager to be at my office as well, with a list of names that contain paid personnel, volunteers, and anyone who will be associated with your run.”
“I’ll have Paul get right on that.” Crest could tell from the long pause that Dunaway had more to say. The request he was about to make didn’t come as a surprise. “Lach McKinnon has been a solid agent. I want him to be the one assigned to Phoebe. She’s being resistant to the idea of having someone around all of the time, and I’m hoping that since she knows McKinnon she’ll be more receptive to the idea.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Crest replied, not making any promises. He first needed to speak with his team and then contact Gentry Protection, a firm that specialized in outsourcing professional armed guards. Before any of that could be done he had to deal with his initial problem. “I’ll see you at three.”
Disconnecting, Crest then carefully placed his phone back onto the stone countertop as he thought of his group of cherry-picked men and women. Connor, Jax, Kevin, and Ethan were all former Marines. Lach had also served four years before he later became a Bureau Hostage Rescue Team member and then eventually a Team Leader. He joined CSA after a highly publicized and politically sensitive hostage rescue went south on him. Crest refused to allow the man to fade away into nothing. His talents were too vast and character too noble not to be utilized in service to some just cause. Taryn was the only squid Crest had chosen. She was a secret squirrel from the Navy Intel Specialists and the only one that he’d run across in his career that he felt he could truly trust. She was damn good, but he’d long feared that her past would eventually catch up to her. That left Jessie, Crest’s personal assistant who had somehow turned into his proverbial Achilles’ heel.
“Son of a bitch.”
Crest refused to believe that his decision to turn down female companionship last night had anything to do with Jessie and now he’d have to replace that damn custom shower door he’d chosen personally. He’d been tired, had business on the brain, and was concerned about Taryn and what he’d discovered about her past. It would certainly affect her future, as well as her present state of mind. Him wanting peace and to be alone had no direct correlation with the fact that Jessie had started to attend Masters on a regular basis, a kink club owned by Connor and Jax. At least she wasn’t dating that shit-heel Taggart anymore. It didn’t take her long to figure out his bullshit. Crest had given her a choice between staying at the agency, knowing there would never be anything between them, or her handing in her resignation. Jessie had chosen to stay and keep him in hell, although seeing her face every day had become a lone ray of sunshine in the darkness that consumed his existence.
Once things settled down, Crest would take part in his particular predilection, which merely took the edge off—at least long enough so that it kept him from engaging in anything beyond a professional relationship with Jessie, among other things. He was capable of hiding the blackness within, yet thankful that the lifestyle he led allowed him an outlet. He would never expose to someone as innocent as Jessie what kept him on the reservation, in the box he’d built for himself.
As for today, Crest had things to do and places to be. Intelligence was about to be handed out to his team that would change the way they viewed one of their own. He had faith that each and every one of his elite handpicked crew would choose the higher road and make the right suppositions. Every choice, action, and decision they made was a reflection of him. The days ahead proved to be long and trying, but he’d faced worse and came out on top. Today would be no exception.
Chapter One
Ten months ago
Northern Africa
L
ach McKinnon wiped away the sweat that was dripping down from his brow into his eyes, not that it would be a problem for much longer. Dusk had arrived and the sun had set on the North African skyline. Nightfall heralded an end to the suppressing heat. What many people whom had never been to these deserts didn’t understand is that the sands refused to hold the warmth and the air cooled quickly without the blazing sun. Tiny particles of grit clung to his skin, giving his flesh that granular sensation he’d always hated and could never forget. It didn’t matter that he was dressed in desert digital camouflage from head to toe in order to blend his body in with the bleak terrain. The sand still managed to make it inside the layers into every crack and crevice.