Surrender (The Command Series Book 3) (6 page)

Upon hearing his name, the Italian asked Nathan something, perhaps to translate, which he did.

“No, no,” Giovanni said, then continued in his language. She was too overwhelmed to listen to the translation from Nathan. The landscape whizzed by. She didn’t know how she felt about what had just happened. Like last time she’d witnessed death, she was completely numb.

“Olivia.” Nathan jarred her out of the fog. He must have asked her something, but she couldn’t fathom what it was. “He wants you to know he’s not angry.”

“Great.” Like she cared what Giovanni thought. This is why he’d come to South Africa, why he wanted to seek out the rhinoceros. Here, you could actively hunt another human. It was legal, and all but encouraged. Her stomach filled with bile, and the revulsion toward Giovanni was acute. Nathan had taken the final shot, but he’d done so reluctantly. Giovanni had hungered for the kill, and then didn’t have the balls or the decency to finish it himself.

“What’s he saying now?” she demanded.

Nathan’s expression didn’t change. “That you’ll join him for dinner.”

Ethan wished he could have put the bullet in Giovanni’s gut instead of the poacher’s head. This was a mess. He’d thought the chances of running into poachers were unlikely, but he had the worst fucking luck on missions.

The Land Cruiser hadn’t yet come to a stop as Olivia jumped out and headed off, presumably for her room.

“Go take care of her,” Giovanni said.

Ethan almost stopped breathing. Another kill order? The poacher he’d done to speed the death along, as Gio’s shot had been fatal. But this? Never.

“No,” Giovanni continued, understanding the hesitation. “Make sure she’s not going to do something stupid.”
As in, alert the authorities.

Ethan was certain his face didn’t show an ounce of what he was feeling on the inside. He climbed out of the truck and followed after her, thankful that Giovanni was gone from his sight, even though it was in direct conflict of his mission. A pair of gray monkeys skittered across his path and darted up a tree, calling to him when he knocked on her door.

She didn’t answer. He wondered if he was going to have to pick the simple lock, but then soft footsteps thumped closer and she came into view, less than pleased when she saw who it was.

“What is it?” She only cracked it a few inches, like the simple glass door would be able to stop him if he wanted to get into her room.

“I need to know if you’re all right.”

She didn’t look like she’d been crying, she looked . . . the same. Maybe more wary of him, but that was a good thing. The weird unease in him grew. She hadn’t fallen apart.

“I’m not the one who just killed somebody, so maybe I should be asking you that.”

He couldn’t help the sarcasm. “You’re worried about me?”

“No, I guess not. You seem rather comfortable with what went down.”

It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. He didn’t want her thinking he was a coldblooded killer, even though that was often the role he played.

“I didn’t draw my gun until I had no other choice. Giovanni’s shot hit the poacher in the chest. A punctured lung or worse. That man was in for a very slow, very painful death.” Her lack of response forced him to be direct. “Are we going to run into issues about this?”

Her face turned to ice. “No. I won’t cause problems for you.”

“Good. I know what I said, but don’t come to dinner tonight. Giovanni is dangerous and you need to stay away.” He didn’t bother to be polite or say goodbye. Instead he left her standing in her doorway, thinking he’d just threatened her. But he’d taken off because she’d unknowingly lied to him. Her green eyes and smart mouth were already causing him a mountain of problems. If she wasn’t around Giovanni, maybe Ethan had a hope of focusing on what he’d come here to do.

Thank God she listened.

“Where is she?” Giovanni asked, watching the path, waiting for Olivia.

“She didn’t look too good. She might have gotten sick,” Ethan lied.

Giovanni waved the statement away. “She’ll be all right.”

It was surprising that she had seemed all right. No screams, no tears. Ethan had seen plenty over the years to recognize that her reaction was different. The shooting had been traumatic, but not traumatizing for her.

Had she seen death up close before?

He reminded himself of his objective for the millionth time. Giovanni had yet to meet with anyone, or discuss times and locations, but the logical voice in Ethan’s head would not be quiet. He had to stick closer to Giovanni and stay far away from her. It didn’t help that the Italian man’s eyes were permanently fixed in the direction of her cabin. Giovanni salivated like a dog after a bone.

Hopefully the encounter with the poachers clued Olivia in. She was
not
equipped to handle Giovanni like she claimed she was.

“Go fetch her,” Giovanni snapped, tired of waiting.

Shit.
“Of course. Perhaps . . .” Ethan hesitated. “Never mind.” He shoved back his chair.

The Italian took the bait. “What is it?”

“Maybe you should wait. The violence might have left her cold.” He received a blank look. For as classy as Giovanni thought he was, the man couldn’t understand a goddamn thing unless it was crude. “After watching that man die, I don’t think she’s going to spread her legs for you tonight.”

Giovanni shot him a smug look. “Death can be an aphrodisiac.”

Ethan’s fist tightened into a ball, willing the dark thoughts away.
The mission,
his brain reminded.
Focus.
You are not responsible for protecting Olivia Wallace.
He’d only taken a step away from the table when Giovanni spoke again.

“You’re probably right, though. Sit. I don’t need that American bitch colder than she already is. I can try romance.”

The relief that seized Ethan was too strong to ignore. It was only because he didn’t want the added complication. It had nothing to do with her mouth, the things she said, or the way she tried to dominate their every kiss. Jesus, kissing her . . .
Stop thinking about it.

Giovanni constantly checked his phone throughout the dinner, stopping once to type out a response, then tossed the phone down with a curse. “My father,” he said. “When I didn’t answer him on my mobile last night, he called the main lodge. He wants me back in Rome immediately.”

Ethan knew not to push. Giovanni liked talking about himself so there was no need to prompt him.

“Something has happened,” Giovanni continued, muttering under his breath.

Beneath the surface, Ethan’s heart kicked. Had Vitale discovered Constantine’s fate? “The plane is fueled, if you—”

“No,” he snapped, then calmed. “I need at least another day. I . . . just got here.”

Giovanni had already satisfied his urge for blood with the poacher, and he wouldn’t disobey Vitale’s order to return home unless he had a good reason. More proof that this trip wasn’t about safari.

When dinner was over, Ethan escorted Giovanni along the dark path, lined with bushy trees, to the man’s cabin.

“Can I get you anything?” Ethan asked.

Giovanni waved a hand, a clear
go away
. “No, I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The door banged closed in Ethan’s face. Rather than be annoyed, he checked to see if the sensor he’d placed in the door hinge was still hidden. It was. And he knew it was operating because his phone had vibrated as soon as he pulled open the door for his employer. If Giovanni had plans of slipping out without Ethan knowing, too bad.

Ethan spent the next hour in his cabin scanning the recording of the bug placed in Giovanni’s room, and then reported in with his handler, Daniel. Neither activity was useful. No one in his field office knew why Vitale wanted his son to come home. How many ops now had Ethan gone unsupported on? It felt like all of them.

The pressure to find the terrorist cell’s connection to the Abramos built with every passing day. They were only a month from the anniversary of the radical Serbian group’s last attack. The terrorists were going to want to make another statement, and most likely with a higher body count this time. Tomorrow Ethan was going to redouble his efforts and do everything possible to show Giovanni he could be trusted.

There was an email in one of Ethan’s dummy accounts from Jason Dunn. The marshal wanted Ethan to know he had an invitation to Shawn and Kara’s wedding, but Jason needed an address to send it. The invitations were coded and security would be tight. With everything that had happened, the Dunns needed to take precautions.

Ethan’s worries concerning the Dunns had increased. The situation with Constantine’s death could bring the Abramos to his friends’ doorsteps.

Friends.

Was that the correct word to use? They’d invited him to the wedding, but Ethan hadn’t done a damn thing right by them. The CIA was even worse. Using Jason’s wife as a pawn. Failing to protect the Dunns when the Agency lost control of an obsessed hitman. That Juric mission was supposed to be Ethan’s last for a good, long while. The familiar, crushing guilt stormed in, but it was broken when his phone shook. Giovanni’s door alarm.

The SIG Sauer slipped easily back into the holster and Ethan darted out into the night. It took all of five seconds to spot Giovanni, who stumbled along the path lit by his cell phone’s screen. All alone. He was risking an animal attack over asking his private security for an escort. Now, why was that?

The skin on the back of Ethan’s neck grew hot when Giovanni bypassed the lodge and worked his way toward Olivia’s cabin. It made sense why Giovanni hadn’t called for him. It’d be easier to attempt seduction without Ethan in the way. What the hell was he going to do, he wondered, as he followed silently behind, fading into the landscape. Was Ethan going to watch this play out? What the fuck was going to happen if Giovanni got out of hand with her? Would Ethan blow his cover to help a woman in need?

You didn’t last time.

Giovanni abruptly swung left and scurried behind one of the vacant cabins. Ethan flattened himself against the side of the building and inched to the corner, keeping his breathing quiet as he listened.

“Good evening,” a deep voice said in Italian.

“You’re Amin’s man?” Giovanni answered back, his voice filled with disbelief.

The man’s Italian was weak and heavily accented. “Yes. Is this a problem?”

“No.”

There was shuffling and Ethan risked a quick glance around the corner. Johannes, the driver from the other resort. He didn’t look anything like a gentle creature now. There was a menacing automatic tucked in the waistband of his pants. Ethan slipped back against the wall before he was detected. The name Amin meant nothing to him, so he repeated it in his mind, committing it to memory.

“My boss wants to do business,” Johannes said. “You have—”

“A taste.” There was more rustling, then quiet. One of the men let out a long breath, followed by the sound of metal sliding against itself. The bolt of a gun was cocked. A magazine ejected and slammed back into position. “Like I told Amin,” Giovanni said, “I have crates of these and I can arrange transport. What do you have for me?”

“Boss . . .” Johannes sounded worried. “He doesn’t want this.”