Authors: Misty Evans
The open living space held two expensive Italian leather couches facing each other in front of a large stone fireplace. Two chairs were positioned nearby in a slightly separate area with an antique side table and floor lamp. The art on the walls—mostly seascapes—looked original. Who knew the scrawny kid with a mop of dirty-blond hair and freckles would grow up to have such nice taste?
Cal was removing his blast jacket. Bianca saw a gun tucked into his waistband as he raised his arms to get the jacket over his head and his shirt rode up on his stomach.
“I didn’t realize you and Emit had stayed in touch.”
“We hadn’t until his sister ended up in trouble.” Cal motioned her away from the front windows. “I couldn’t exactly take you to a friend’s house or anyone you or I have stayed in touch with over the years. If the idiot shooting at you is smart, he’ll have every one of them flagged.”
Just like the way she had with Cal, leading Tephra right to his doorstep. “Take off your shoes.”
He stopped, looked down at his sneakers and back up at her. “What?”
“You’re tracking sand and water all over the floor.”
He did a half eye roll, losing the shoes and looking at her. “Happy?”
“How did you know Emit wouldn’t be here?”
“He’s in risk management and doing a gig for Blue Chip Casinos. They have an international poker tournament in London this week. Figured he’d be out of town.”
Apparently, Cal had figured right. “Since when do you know about poker tournaments in London?”
“I know a few things that might surprise you.”
The foyer was open all the way to the front and he walked past the staircase and another antique, this one a hall table under a large framed mirror on the north wall, to get to it. He checked the door and the windows beside it before seeming convinced everything was secure.
He headed for the kitchen and Bianca followed, not sure what she should do.
The dark floors gave way to creamy travertine. The cabinets were a pretty cherry color and the marble countertops had swirls of a rich brown, white, and a hint of the same cherry color. Muted light bounced off the gleaming stainless steel appliances and four oblong pendant lamps hung from the ceiling over the breakfast bar.
Cal went right to the side-by-side refrigerator and pulled both doors open, scanning the contents. “No fresh milk or fruit, but”—he lifted a bottle of yellow mustard from the door and showed it to her with a grin—“plenty of beer and condiments.”
Beer and mustard.
Yum, yum
.
Bianca opened a couple of cabinets, pulling out crackers, cereal, and a box of pancake mix. “All is not lost.”
“Cool.” Cal withdrew a couple of bottled waters from the fridge and set them on the counter. “We have food, water, and a roof over our heads for the next few hours. We can sort out what’s going on and make a plan.”
A few hours? Then where would they go? Like Cal had said, they couldn’t exactly go to friends or family. Tephra would be watching them, and who could they trust in government?
At this point, no one.
“I’m going to check upstairs.” Cal pointed at the odd menagerie of food she’d found in the cabinets. “Help yourself to some lunch.”
Bianca hugged herself and leaned back against the counter. Cal’s footsteps grew distant as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. Lunch seemed like a mundane thing to think about when her life was in serious jeopardy.
Then again, it might be her last meal.
Forcing herself to move and do something,
anything
, to take her mind off of her predicament, she searched the cabinets for a skillet and went to work making pancakes.
Chapter Nine
After double checking they were indeed alone in the house and everything was secure upstairs, Cal stood near the master bedroom’s patio doors. They went out on a second-story deck that looked out over the ocean.
Downstairs, he heard the distant, homey sounds of Bianca moving around in the kitchen. Clanging pots, running water.
They couldn’t stay on the run forever. At some point, he had to get to the bottom of what was going on. He’d had time to think on the boat, but he still had more questions than answers. For the life of him, there was no way he could wrap his brain around the idea that Rory Tephra was alive and well and doing wet jobs for the CIA.
On the flip side, whoever had come after Bianca was good. Prepared, quick, dangerous.
Ground zero. I need to find out where this all started before I can figure out where it’s going.
But first, he needed backup.
Inside the master bedroom’s walk-in closet, he searched for the satellite phone he knew Emit had hidden under a trap door in the floor. After moving some shoes and lifting a corner of carpeting, sure enough, there it was.
Making sure Bianca was still busy downstairs, Cal drew out the phone and punched in the phone number to Rock Star Solutions, Emit’s private division of his risk management business. The high-risk division dealing with protection services.
Cal hadn’t been entirely truthful with Bianca. He and Emit had stayed in touch over the years, Cal referring a few good men Emit’s way for employment with RSS. SEALs who’d left the teams but still had the training and valuable skills his old friend needed to keep high-risk targets and their loved ones protected from the crazies wanting to do them harm.
Ironic that Emit had needed Cal’s team to rescue his sister, but Marlene had always refused to use her brother’s services. After her ordeal with the kidnappers, she still hadn’t returned to Doctors Without Borders, but Cal bet when she did, she took one of Emit’s bodyguards with her.
The call was answered on the first ring. “Rock Star Specialty Services,” a woman answered, cheerful but professional. Her voice was clear and crisp and held no accent. “How may I direct your call?”
Emit had told Cal if he was ever in need of anything to call. Cal had laughed about it. Him needing protection? That would never happen. Sure there were plenty of nuts out there who wanted to take him out, either for revenge or simple sport, but he’d never worried about them.
Now, he wasn’t an active SEAL. Maybe he never would be again. He could protect Bianca better than anyone else, but only if he knew who the enemy was, how many, and what their mode of operation was.
As it stood, he wasn’t certain about anything. “I need to speak directly to Liber, please.”
Emit had always had a thing for Roman deities and hard rock bands. Liber was the Roman god of freedom, a name Emit had picked as a code word for himself…the protector of freedom.
The woman didn’t hesitate. “Are you in danger?”
“Someone with me is.”
“Is it imminent?”
He sure hoped not. “Not at the moment, no, but it could become that way soon.”
“Are you on a secure line?”
“Yes.”
“Name and problem?”
“Cal. An assassin is after my wife.”
The woman seemed to take this information in stride. “Please hold. Liber is out of the country, so this may take several minutes. Please do not hang up unless your life is in immediate danger and you must take cover. Liber will not be able to call you back.”
“I understand.”
The phone made several clicking noises as he was put on hold. Soft music played in the background. Cal eased toward the closet door, heard Bianca continuing to bang things around in the kitchen, and relaxed for a moment. He sat on the floor and rubbed his eyes, listening to the soothing music and hoping he was doing the right thing.
A minute passed, then another. Cal had been SEAL Team Seven’s leader for a reason. He knew when he needed a unit, or a friend with the right resources, to help him achieve a successful mission. This was definitely one of those times.
Another click and Emit came on the line. “Cal? Is B okay?”
The sound of his old friend’s voice reassured him. “She has a cut on her cheek from a bullet and she’s freaked out, but she’s okay.”
“Are you sure you’re on a secure line?”
“I’m on your sat phone at the vacation house. It better be secure.”
“You’re at the house?” He chuckled. “I told you you’d need my help some day.”
“I’m in deep shit here, Emit. The guy after Bianca is Rory Tephra.”
A pause. “You’re losing it, man. Tephra’s MIA, probably dead.”
“Something is fishy about this whole thing. I don’t know who or what to believe, and after what happened in Afghanistan, I don’t have many friends.”
“Sit tight. I’ll have an extraction team at the house in forty-five minutes, maybe less. They’ll take you to ground and I’ll hop on a plane and get back there as fast as possible. We’ll figure this out.”
Forty-five minutes. Cal bent his knees and put his back against the closet door. “And if the assassin shows up before then?”
“Get Bianca out and we’ll regroup on the fly. There’s a go bag under the floor where you found the phone. Disposable cell phones, two handguns, and some other security hardware that will come in handy. Call me from the road and I’ll have the extraction team meet you wherever you are.”
It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. “I need wheels.”
“South end of the street in the big yellow A-frame is a guy named Means. Fighter pilot who works for me freelance on occasion. Tell him I sent you. He’ll find you something.”
“I don’t have that kind of money on me.”
“There’s cash in the bag, but you won’t need it. Means will fix you up and charge it to me. Trust me, buddy. I got your back.”
Cal hung his head between his bent knees for a moment and breathed a heavy sigh. “Thanks, Emit. I owe you.”
“You rescued my sister. This is the least I can do.” He let that sink in, then said, “Stay safe. I’ll see you in approximately ten hours.”
The line went dead. Cal replaced the phone and drew out the go bag. Exactly like Emit had said, there were phones, guns, and cash.
Cal replaced the floorboard and carpet, took the bag, and headed downstairs, the smell of something warm and familiar filling his nose. The scent reminded him of his stepmother’s kitchen, where something had always been cooking. His mouth watered.
He stashed the bag under a couch cushion in the living room, deciding it would be easier to tell Bianca about the extraction team and his plan after he’d eaten.
Bianca stood at the stove, humming, a spatula in one hand, the other on her hip. She was barefoot and had tied an apron around her waist. It emphasized her curvy bottom and Cal’s mouth watered for a different reason.
He hadn’t eaten all day, hadn’t been hungry until now.
He wanted to slip up behind her and wrap his arms around her, nuzzle her neck, like he used to do when they were newlyweds. She’d always been a fairly good cook, not as good as his stepmom, but almost. Delene had come into Cal’s life at thirteen—a hard age to accept a new mother. Delene had been good to Bianca though, and she’d spent hours teaching Bianca all her recipes. Cal had grown to love and respect his stepmom because of how much Bianca loved her.
Bianca now glanced over her shoulder at him. “Hey, I made pancakes. They’re not great since I didn’t have milk or eggs, but I did find butter that hadn’t expired, the real stuff, and threw a couple tablespoons of that in with a dash of vanilla.”
She used the spatula to pile a couple on a plate and set the plate on the breakfast bar. Maggie stood sentry nearby, wagging her tail at every move Bianca made, patiently waiting for her own pancake.
This was how it should have been with them. Easy. Normal. A big, fancy house, a couple of kids, a dog.
What the hell happened to us?
Bianca glanced at him. “Cal?”
“Yeah.” He sat in one of the chairs, grabbed the syrup she’d set out and drowned the pancakes in it. As he dug in, the first bite of maple, vanilla, and butter exploding in his mouth, Bianca returned to the stove, her back to him once more.
Regardless of the lack of ingredients, the pancakes were delicious. He watched as she poured more batter, cocked her hip to the side, and rested her right foot against her left ankle. Her purple toenails were dark against her fair skin. Strands of hair had, as per normal, escaped her ponytail and hung down the back of her neck. She’d removed the sweatshirt but still wore his T-shirt, the bottom edge of it drifting just under her butt cheeks.
She flipped the cakes in the skillet, turned to look at him. “What’s the verdict?”
“They’re delicious,” he said around a mouthful.
The right side of her mouth quirked slightly and she turned back around.
“Bianca?”
“Hmm?”
“Why is someone trying to kill you?”
She glanced at him, this time with a look that said she thought he was dense. “Because I know Senator Halston leaked the information about your mission. It’s his fault the mission was a failure and three Navy SEALs died.”
“Has to be more to it than that.”
Her brows dipped and she tapped her finger against the handle of the skillet. “At first, I thought so, too, but what? I mean, I know a lot of highly-classified information, super-secret stuff, but so does my boss. Doesn’t mean we should be targets for an assassin.”