The Omega Team: Precious Cargo (Kindle Worlds Novella)

Precious Cargo

An Omega Team Novella

Kindle Worlds Story

By

Brenna Zinn

Dear Readers,

I remember reading about Texas in an Illinois grade school and thinking I'd  probably never see the great state where real cowboys ride their horses to work every day and everyone wears western hats and boots. Then again, I never dreamed I would elope in Gibraltar with a Navy man who hailed from the Lone Star state. But here I am, smack dab in the middle of Texas, still married to the same wonderful man and boasting not only the greatest daughter on the planet, but three dogs who are as big as long horns.

In between grade school and now, my journey through life has taken me all over the United States, as well as many places throughout the world. Using my travel experience as a guide and peppering in interesting characters I’ve met along the way, I love nothing better than weaving tales of romance and leaving readers yearning for adventures of their own.

Dedication

Special thanks to my wonderful friend Ned who provided invaluable information into the world of Special Ops, my husband for his patience and love, and to LL for being such a loyal fan.

Most importantly, a huge thank you to Desiree Holt for inviting me to write in The Omega Team Kindle World.  I cherish our friendship dearly, and I hope I made you proud.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Where to find Brenna Zinn

Books by Brenna Zinn

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Blurb

Master Sergeant Duke Gunnison sucks at retirement. He has no intention of turning in his combat boots for golf shoes. His former life in Special Ops, where he protected innocents and fought dangerous enemies, provided the rush he continually craved. Without the constant missions to feed his adrenaline addiction, he’s lost his sense of purpose and he struggles to find meaning in his new life—until he gets a life changing phone call.

Grey Holden, a founder of the prestigious private security agency The Omega Team, offers Duke a chance at a second life doing what he was born to do—a special op to safeguard the daughter of an important Ukrainian diplomat. But Mila Bartosh is not only a special envoy’s daughter, sent to accompany her father as he negotiates the removal of troops in eastern Ukraine. She’s on a secret mission of her own—to exact revenge on a powerful Russian mob boss, guilty of unspeakable crimes.

Mila is determined to help protect her father and accomplish her treacherous undertaking at all costs. But as her tasks become more complex, she unexpectedly reunites with the man who stole her heart and then vanished into the night, never to be heard from again, until now. Her love’em and leave’em paramour is none other than her new American bodyguard Duke Gunnison. With innocent lives on the line, can she carry out her missions while avenging her broken heart?

“I brought you here from the country to keep you safe, Mila. How can I do this if you continue to put yourself in harm’s way?”

The Slavic accent of Mila Bartosh’s father thickened with his rising voice, despite her assurances. Yure Bartosh, the fiery Ukrainian man who teased that each gray hair on his head was due to his daughter, would not be so easily placated this time. He paced the length of the parlor in their hotel suite, hands clasped tightly behind his back, filling the overly decorated space with heated energy.

“Poppa,” Mila soothed as she looked away from the room’s wall of mirrors. “I was just as safe in the country as I am in the city. You took great efforts to make certain I know how to take care of myself, and I can.”
As well as you
, she thought, glancing back to take one last peek at her appearance. With her dark hair swept back into a sophisticated ponytail, makeup covering the smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose, and wearing a dress both chic and shimmery, she hardly recognized herself. The once rough-and-tumble tomboy had actually grown into a lady.

“You are wrong. Leaving is dangerous,” he insisted, frustration adding a sharp edge to his tone. “How can I get you to listen to reason?”

Undeterred, she dropped a tube of lipstick into her beaded clutch. “We’ve been together in this building more than four weeks and I’ll be out for just a little while. No more than a few hours. I’ll be fine. Everything is fine.”

“Everything is fine, she says.” Her father waved age-spotted hands to heaven. “Our country is being overrun by Russians, our people are in a panic, and I’m the poor farmer who’s being sent to Budapest for talks to end the conflict. Everything is far from
fine
.”

And I’m the diplomat’s daughter who’s on a mission and slowly going insane in this stuffy hotel.

Her father needed her help though. He might not believe he needed extra eyes watching his back or experienced hands to care for him should he be hurt, but it was true. The death threats he’d received from their own countrymen who wanted the talks to fail, and Ukraine to once again fall under the control of Russia, had convinced her of that. Turmoil brewed everywhere within their country, and knowing who to trust was difficult if not impossible, even among those sent by the government to protect him.

Anyone dear to him was in danger too, including her. No easier way to control a man than to control the people he loved. Up to now, she’d acquiesced to all her father’s wishes, appreciating the reasons for what had to be done. There was much at stake in the current game of geopolitics between the two countries so deeply at odds with one another, as well as within Ukraine.

But slipping out with only her father knowing she was leaving or where she was going was a risk she had to take. She would be careful and limited how long she was gone. She was hardly a novice at staying under the radar. Plus her father should be safe during her absence. The men on rotation that night had guarded her father for years. If they couldn’t be trusted, no one could.

“The Russians are at the border, not overrunning Ukraine,” she countered, using the calm voice she’d perfected years before in nursing school. “Our people are nervous and rightly so. And you are no longer a poor farmer. You’re a respected ambassador who will once again keep our country intact and protected.” She moved to her father and kissed him lightly on the cheek, avoiding his neatly trimmed beard and mustache. “We’re in Lutsk, on the western edge of Ukraine, far from the Russian border. And I am just an average woman going out to a club for one night. After a few drinks and some dancing, I’ll come straight back to the hotel. I promise.”

“You are far from average, heart of my heart. You are my world. My very reason for living.” Her father held her by her arms and stepped back, taking her in with a long gaze. “Look at you in this fine dress. You are every inch your mother. So beautiful. She would be proud.”

“She would be proud of you too. You’ve become a very important man. The fate of our nation rests on your shoulders. Lucky for us all, you have very strong ones.”

“Ah, you flatter me, but your flattery will not change my mind.” He removed his hands and leaned his wizened face close to hers. “You are safer here.”

“Then we shall soon find out who is right, won’t we?”

“Ach!” he groused. “You’re also stubborn like your mother. Look what happened to her.”

Mila squared her shoulders and tightened her lips. No scare tactics or reminders of her mother’s murder from so long ago would change her mind. She’d been confined to the hotel for over a month, keeping her from her task. The talks in Budapest were a week away, and she could only guess at how long she’d be there to help protect her father while he negotiated with the Russians. She needed to get out even for a short time. Who knew when she might have this opportunity again?

Her father held his ground as well. Ever the seasoned statesman, he easily donned a facade of practiced impassiveness.

They stood looking at each other, neither willing to back down.

“I love you and respect your wishes, Poppa, but I’m not a little girl running barefoot and half-wild on the farm anymore. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old woman who is educated and street smart,” she said, breaking their mulish silence. “I need a little breathing room.
You
need some breathing room. This will be good for both of us.”

Obstinate as ever, he gave no reply. How could a man dubbed Ukraine’s Finest Diplomat be so pigheaded?

“Please, give me one night to myself without having to defy you to take it.”

Several intense moments passed as they stared at one another, marked by the
tick, tick, tick
of the gilded clock on the fireplace mantle. She could go on like this forever. Then again, so could he.

The apple didn’t fall far from the tree
, she mused while remaining outwardly taciturn. She might look and sometimes behave like her mother, but she was nothing if not her father’s daughter.

Finally, Yure sighed. “Very well. I do not agree with you leaving, but if you absolutely must go, take security with you. I’ll feel better if there are a few men there for protection.”

“And have all those big apes hovering around me with wires hanging from their ears and guns on their hips?”
Hindering my every move?
How could she possibly do what she needed to do if constantly surrounded by armed men?

Mila gave an emphatic shake to her head. “No. Absolutely not. They will only draw attention. I’ll ask Sergei to drive me and will have him stay close by until I’m ready to come back.”

Her father rubbed the bridge of his nose. Through the windows of his brown eyes, she saw a complex debate playing out in his mind. Sergei was the one guard he trusted above all others, having worked with her father for almost twenty years. Though no longer as quick and nimble as in his youth, Sergei would give his life for either one of them without a second thought.

“Is there nothing I can say or do to change your decision?” he asked, concern deepening the lines between his brows.

She answered his question by simply smiling and picking up her clutch from the table. As much as she’d do anything to please and protect her father, she had to go. A debt needed to be paid.

“Then wait a moment.” Yure walked across the room to an ornate side cabinet, pulled open the top drawer and withdrew a small pistol.

“At least take this,” he said.

Mila patted her thigh. “I already have one.”

“Duke” Gunnison had seen his leg twisted at a gut-churning angle after his team’s convoy had run over a bomb in a Croatian field. His left arm had bled like red rain when two bullets from Serbian rebel forces made holes the size of dimes in his biceps. And after flying through a second-story window and landing on an old Volkswagen Beetle during a Special Ops mission in Sarajevo, his entire body had turned various shades of black and blue, plus a sickening green.

Yet for all he’d put his physique through during his Army career, he was pretty certain he’d never been rougher on it than he had in the last five months since retiring from the military.

He pushed aside a potato chip bag from his bare chest and leaned forward in his extended La-Z-Boy to examine the rest of his reclining form. By some miracle, the definition of his abs still managed to show under sun-darkened skin. His thighs remained toned, at least while he flexed them. Unfortunately, the best part of his view was the new red briefs covering his Johnson.

He’d promised himself to lounge around the house a while and figure out the next chapter of his life when he got out of the service. The steady climb of his weight and softening of his muscles attested to his success on the first half of his pledge. The second half was proving considerably more difficult though.

What did a crotchety ex-Delta Force soldier with skills in espionage, hostage rescue, explosives and the like do in the civilian world? His experience couldn’t be listed on a resume, no matter how good he’d been or the number of medals he’d received. Hell, the United States government barely acknowledged the existence of Delta Force. As far as any potential employer could know, he’d spent twenty years since the age of seventeen as a cryptologic linguist specializing in Slavic languages. Other than working as a translator—no thanks—what prospective jobs were realistic, not to mention personally satisfying?

He reached into the bag and pulled out another handful of chips, then, one by one, slipped the salty snacks into his mouth while pondering the question for the hundredth time. He was a smart guy. He could pick up and live anywhere, whenever he wanted. The world was his oyster. All he need do was make a decision and follow through to the best of his ability like he always did.

So why was making this particular decision so problematic?

Perhaps his sister’s idea of starting his own wilderness outfitter company in Colorado or Alaska wasn’t as crazy as he’d first thought. He had plenty of money. He had talent. He was still relatively young. Sure, he might not be the easiest guy to be around, but if he worked on being a little more pleasant and put his back to the physical demands of the business, he could be extremely successful being a guide out in the wild.

Maybe then he’d find inner peace.

Maybe then he’d feel fulfilled.

Maybe then he could even find a nice girl and settle down.

His hand froze, leaving a final broken chip stranded an inch from his lips.

Settle down?

Oh, hell to the no.

That was it. He needed to lay off the greasy foods. They were affecting his brain. After working almost half his lifetime in counterintelligence and dealing with people who spoke in half-truths or lied as easily as they breathed, he knew too damn well he’d never find a woman he completely trusted. Aside from his military buddies, who had pulled him from more scrapes than any man should have lived through, putting his complete faith in anyone else simply did not compute. Not one little bit.

Except…

His heart felt a pang, and a long sigh slipped from somewhere deep inside.

The woman from Crimea.

She’d saved his hide during that mission, plus a whole lot more. A whole lot more.

I’ve never felt this way about anyone.

I want to be with you.

I…I love you.

He shook his head and dropped the remaining chip back into the bag, refusing to think about his last Op, the woman or their time together. Right now, he needed to get up, put on some gym shorts and go for a run. Get some air and work his muscles. At the very least, he should throw on some clothes. A robe or something. A decent man wouldn’t lounge around the house all day in his underwear munching junk food and watching crap on television. He knew far too much about Showcase Showdowns, who was screwing who on the soaps and the latest celebrity gossip.

His cell phone rang, interrupting the disturbing realization. Duke brushed his fingertips on his briefs, cleaning off residual crumbs and salt before picking up.

“Hello.”

“Duke Gunnison?”

“Who wants to know?”

“This is Grey Holden.”

Duke sat up and peered at the display on his phone, his lips turning up just a fraction. He recognized the name. How could he not? He might not have worked with Grey Holden, but he sure as hell had heard about the guy. The number, however, had a Florida prefix. Lots of retired military lived in Florida, but the only Grey Holden he knew about hailed from Montana.

“I don’t know any Grey Holden. You’ve got the wrong number, brotha.”

“I think you do. Does Operation Eastern Shield from two thousand six mean anything to you?”

A full-on smile took control of his mouth. “As a matter of fact, it does. Want to tell me why a man from Montana appears to be calling from a state crawling with lovebugs the size of hand grenades?”

Duke heard a long breath being pulled and then let out.

“I hate those fucking things,” Grey said.

“I don’t blame you. Nasty little critters.” Duke retracted the footrest of the recliner and stood. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call, Lieutenant Holden?”

“Just call me Grey. Like you, I’m a civilian now.”

“A civilian with connections. How did you get my number?”

“Let’s just say I’m still in contact with people in high places.”

Little surprise there. Grey Holden has been one of the best, most respected Delta Force team leaders in recent memory. The man had skills, as well as balls the size of grapefruit.

“I’ve started a new business called the Omega Team, with a former Tampa Bay Police Detective. We’re a private firm doing special projects for people who need help and are prepared to pay for the best. Two days ago I received a call from a foreign dignitary who needs someone to watch his daughter. Based on the circumstances, I think you’re the best man for the job. You up for some work, or are you still in retirement mode?”

“A babysitting job?” Duke walked to his bedroom and grabbed a pair of cargo shorts from the floor. Holding his cell phone between his shoulder and his ear, he pulled the shorts up his legs. “I’m a soldier, not a nanny.”

“This is a precious cargo mission. The dignitary is involved in some high-level talks with Russia. His daughter was recently drugged at a nightclub and there was an attempt to remove her from the club while she was unconscious. Her bodyguard saw the situation unfolding after he’d parked and entered the building.”

“Her bodyguard left her alone?” Duke struggled getting the snaps of his shorts to connect. Jesus, he’d gained some weight.

No more chips and beer. Period.

“She had ordered him to stay in the car while she did her thing inside. Fortunately for her, he obeyed her father’s orders of sticking close. After parking, he’d given her a few minutes then he went in. He said he’d stayed in the background and tried to blend into the crowd. Not an easy thing to do, I’m thinking. The guy is fifty-five years old.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“No. He’s worked for the family for years. One of the only people they trust.”

“I know the feeling. So what happened?”

“He said she starting talking to a man at the bar. After a few hours of drinking and chatting, she started swaying and fell into his arms. Then another man came up and they tried taking her quietly out the back door. The guard stepped in, and it sounds like one hell of a fight broke out. In the end, he got the girl out safely, but ended up with two stab wounds, a broken jaw and cracked ribs. He’s currently in the hospital.”

“Do they know who the guys were?”

“Yes. She identified them both to the local police and the head of her father’s security team. One man, a big guy with a skull tattooed on his fist, is known locally as Crusher. He was the one who came in to help escort her out. The other guy, the one she was talking to, is Alik Ivanov.”

“The mobster?”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Yah. From some of my many missions in the area. He was a piss-ant wannabe thug when I was just starting out in the Army. I’ve heard over the years he’s made a name for himself. There’s a lot of unrest and unstable governments in that part of the world. Perfect opportunities for corruption and organized crime for those with the right connections.”

“Ivanov now controls most of central and eastern Ukraine, as well as the Crimean Peninsula. He specializes in human trafficking, drug running and transporting illegal arms. He’s been busy fostering pro-Russia unrest and supplying pro-Russia separatists with guns and supplies. Apparently, he’s close to Kremlin officials looking to take back control of the area while making big money. The entire region is a hot mess. Although the local officials say they’re looking for both men, it’s a safe bet nothing will be done. Ivanov is one ruthless bastard with people in high places on his payroll.”

“I know all about it.” Duke rummaged through a pile of clothes at the end of the bed. He found a relatively clean T-shirt and sniffed it. “So was the girl a specific target because of her father, or was this a random pick for trafficking?”

“As of this time, no one seems to know for sure. But I can tell you, if Ivanov didn’t know who she was, he certainly does now. Most likely she’s pinging hard on his radar. She was a big fish who got away, which doesn’t look good if you’re supposed to be a smart, tough guy. I’m sure the Russians would love having her in their hip pocket.”

“So the dignitary is Ukrainian.”

“Yes. He’s been tasked with going to Budapest to negotiate with Russia to keep the Reds out of Ukraine. As far as many Russians are concerned, Ukraine is still theirs. Just recently, they regained control of Crimea.”

“I heard about that too. The story was all over the news.” Duke jostled the phone between both hands while pulling the shirt over his head and poking his arms through the sleeves. The stretchy material molded to his biceps and chest a little tighter than when he’d bought it a year ago. Either he had to get back into shape or buy a damn new wardrobe.

“There are so many Ukrainians who support rejoining Russia, the government is having a time of finding loyal Ukrainian military and local law enforcement. In the past five years, eight Ukrainian officials have been murdered. That’s why The Omega Team is involved. We’ve been contacted to provide a small but capable security detail for both the diplomat and his daughter during the talks, to bolster what protection they already have. Once the talks are finished, the job ends. I’ve hired former CIA agent Burton Laramie for twenty-four/seven eyes on the diplomat. He’s already on his way. I’d like to send you to shadow the daughter.”

“Why not just move the girl to another country? France or Great Britain? I know Ivanov has influence locally, but surely not all the way across Europe.”

“I asked that as well. She refuses to leave her father’s side. From what I’ve been told, she’s quite the ball of fire. Sounds like you’ll have your hands full if you agree to this mission.”

“Why did you choose me to babysit the daughter instead of protecting the diplomat? Safeguarding him is a much better fit for me. I’m not cut out to be a glorified nursemaid.”

“You have extensive precious cargo duty experience. There are few people out there with better records for extracting less-than-cooperative targets.”

“We both know that’s not a good reason. Watching the diplomat is precious cargo duty too, but you’ve given that job to someone else. Try again.”

“The diplomat’s name is Yure Bartosh.”

Duke’s feet rooted to the ground.

No. It couldn’t be.

Ukraine was a big country with plenty of Bartoshes running around. No way Yure Bartosh could be connected. No fucking way.

“So?”

“His daughter is Mila Bartosh.”

He grimaced as though he’d taken a sucker punch to the gut.

“My sources tell me you may already know her. Is that true?” Grey asked.

Grey Holden had incredible sources if he knew about Mila Bartosh.

Letting out a long sigh, Duke considered how best to answer the loaded question.

“Yah,” he finally replied as he ran his hand through his hair. “You could say that’s true.”