Delta: Revenge (9 page)

With too much interest in keeping the comforter, she pulled it off the bed, wrapped it around her nakedness, and did a walk of shame to her bedroom.

The room looked almost identical to the room she’d spent the night in. Everything was perfectly designed. The drawers were filled with a few things she’d kept at her parents’ house so she didn’t have to pack a bag if she spent the night. In the corner was a pile of clothes and the remnants from getting ready for her wedding the day before. But it was all so foreign.

With a wayward sigh, she dropped the comforter, found appropriate clothing, and quickly ran into her bathroom to wash her face and brush her hair. They were such simple tasks, but they made her feel a thousand times better. Sophia popped a couple of headache pills then folded the comforter and placed it on her overnight bag. The overstuffed queen-size blanket was going home with her no matter who raised an eyebrow over it.

She let her fingers drift over the cotton. Funny, she cared more about that blanket that moment than she did the wedding dress that was left abandoned on the guest-room floor. So very telling.

Shaking her head, Sophia headed to breakfast. Her parents remaining home came as a surprise. The fact that someone had made breakfast was not. Half expecting to see Colin, and hoping maybe a certain friend of his was wolfing down eggs, Sophia pushed her shoulders back and entered the kitchen. No Colin or friends. Just her parents—and whoever that was making eggs at the stove.

“Hey.” She smiled, slipping into the chair across from her dad and next to her mom. “Thanks for last night.”

Dad nodded. Mom pressed her lipsticked smile closed.

The woman Sophia didn’t know placed a beautifully arranged plate of food in front of Sophia.

“Thanks.”

Then she disappeared as though the scene had been scripted. “So, yeah, thanks. For making last night as nice as it could have been.”

Mom speared a strawberry from a fruit bowl and focused on that instead of responding. Dad took a sip of coffee from his mug.

“Are you guys mad at me?”

“No, honey.” Dad placed his black coffee down. “Your mother and I had an idea she—
we
—wanted to run by you.”

“To get your mind off Josh.” Those were the first words her mom had said, and they bugged the crap out of Sophia.

“I don’t need my mind to get off him,” Sophia snapped.

Dad cleared his throat. “There was an opportunity that your mother mentioned, and…” He worked his jaw. “I tend to agree.”

Great. Reform school for wayward brides? A class on how to land a husband and keep him faithful? “I think I’m okay—”

“There’s a young woman in Honduras,” her mom started, stealing Sophia’s snarky thoughts. “She has a great deal of influence and is helping us already in Bolivia with a cartel intelligence project.”

“Wait, what?” Had Mom just said
help with cartel intelligence
?

Mom speared another strawberry, remaining silent as though the shock of her talking about something other than society culture had shocked them both.

Dad took a bite of his breakfast, watching Sophia try to hammer through the dynamics of what was being said while her hangover was screwing with her.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Your mother’s idea.” Dad swallowed another forkful. “There’s an opportunity for you to expand on a relationship we’ve been cultivating.”

“In Honduras?” Her eyes swung to Mom.

“Yes,” she said primly.

“Doing?”

“Do you want to go to Honduras?”

Hell yeah, she did. “Probably.”

Mom smiled.
Smiled.
What was going on? Was there a society bigwig or a press op Sophia couldn’t pinpoint?

“You would do a good job,” Mom said.

Sophia’s heart jumped through a fiery ring of disbelief. Her mom had not only suggested but encouraged her going to Honduras. “What’s the catch?”

“None,” Dad answered.

Sophia narrowed her gaze on the society queen in front of her. Some people relaxed and let their hair down, but never her mother. Never were Sophia’s grades high enough, friends good enough, or fiancés—well, cut that. Mom loved Dr. Josh. It was
Sophia
she didn’t think her mom liked. Mom loved her. Sophia loved Mom. They had a good relationship, mostly, though it was formal more often than not, and there was always something missing.

“Go to Honduras, Sophia Marie. Take the job.” Mom delicately took another bite of strawberry as Dad nodded. He never played second fiddle to her mom. They acted as equals, which Sophia respected even if she didn’t understand how her father could put up with all the PR-focused crap her mother lived for. But had there ever been an order like this from Mom?

No. Never. So there was one answer, even if Honduras didn’t already sound like Sophia’s kind of gig. “Yes, ma’am.”

And that was that.

Sophia didn’t need twenty-four hours to consider the travel and work that Josh had seen as a weakness—and that he’d used as an opportunity to cheat. She was always ready to leave for a job, and each one grew in intensity. They were the adrenaline-filled, never-sure-what-was-next missions that her parents—mostly her
dad
—had helped organize her for.

Mom smiled. Dad nodded. And Sophia dug into her eggs Benedict, ready for the distraction a job could give her. Two out-of-country surprises in one day. Not bad.

CHAPTER SIX

Six Months Later

Honduras. US Embassy.

The worst part of the addition of armed “company” at the Honduras embassy was that it meant they were sequestered. Sophia chewed on her bottom lip. They already lived in a concrete bunker surrounded by armed troops. The last few months had seen highs and lows in regard to safety and threat levels.

Only twice in her time there had they required the assistance of off-the-books teams. Hiring out a military endeavor meant the US government had deniability and their allies could turn a blind eye—much as they were doing with her in the middle of this hellhole. Sophia was the face of American compassion. She was the aid worker willing to walk the streets of the “murder capital of the world,” where women were seen as the lesser sex. Sophia did so to foster a health program with a local senator, Marco Ferrera, led by his wife, Hana.

What that local politician did not know was that his wife wanted out of the marriage, out of Honduras, and away from the horrors she’d seen perpetrated. She was willing to trade information on his position of leadership in the Primeiro Comando in exchange for an eventual free pass to the US.

The health program was the perfect cover for Hana Ferrera. But when the hired mercenaries showed up, Sophia couldn’t do anything that an aid worker wouldn’t do. She was stuck inside until it was safe.

The newest round of super-alpha soldier-protector men clattered through the stately front door with their dust and noise. They carried a harshness that tinged the air with a violent breeze as Sophia peeked over the edge of the second-floor railing. Guns were strapped to their bodies and in their hands. Their faces were covered in dirt despite the urban location.
Wonder where they’ve been?
They looked as though their day had been jam-packed with saving the world, or whatever they did on their always-classified projects.

At least there were new faces to chat with over a couple of meals before they swooped out as loudly and brashly as they’d come in.

Booming laugher and the baritone voices of men at the peak of an adrenaline high echoed through the embassy’s expansive foyer. It was a grand fortress of US territory in a dangerous, deadly part of the world. Honduras was a land of living pain, her home away from home until this assignment had run its course.

Operation Whispering Willow had been Hana’s brainchild. She fought for women’s rights in Honduras, for women to exist as more than second-class citizens. Hana knew her husband was a dirty politician who likely did more than turn a blind eye to the Primeiro Comando’s activity in Tegucigalpa. She was in secret conversations with the Americans. All Sophia had to do was publicly play the role of an aid worker and privately act as a conduit of information.

“Sophia?”

She jumped, caught staring by Janella, the embassy’s housekeeper-cook-laundress.
Or house mom.
Janny made sure everything ran smoothly for those who lived there. She was also the only other woman on the premises and, therefore, Sophia’s closest friend at the moment and a giver of opinion cloaked as advice whether it was asked for or not.

“Hey, Janny.” Sophia pushed away from the railing. “The cavalry has arrived.”

She tossed her hand. “More mouths to feed. Maybe this bunch brings a couple funny stories to liven up the dinner conversation.” The start of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes crinkled. “I wish this place was back to the bustling building it used to be. Not this empty cavern it is now.”

“I know, I know.” Not for the first time, Janny made it clear she was bored with the skeleton staff currently residing at the embassy. The post had been shut down previously, the risks making it not worth maintaining a full staff. Earlier that year, they’d reopened with two on-site political advisors, Ambassador Jensen and Mr. Brackster, who couldn’t survive without Janny. She came back.

Both advisors were interesting in a reserved way—the complete and total opposite of Janny. Where they were skinny, old white men, she was a heavyset black woman who didn’t give a fuck and supplied no BS-enhanced answers. But Sophia had to give both men credit. They were tough in their own ways, and they had to be in order to work in Honduras.

Ambassador Jensen had known Sophia since she first went overseas with her parents. He understood her, maybe because he knew
both
of her parents. She was tough as her father and as assertive as her mom. Jensen respected Sophia, as well as her assignment, when there were many people who wouldn’t give two thoughts to what she was risking her life for. The PC didn’t affect most Americans directly.

But that was all relative. At any given point in time, different terrorist groups, dictators, and cartels could shift power, and the worst of the worst would be a different list of bad guys. The truth was they were all awful, but there was only so much evil and doom a person could focus on at a time.

“Let’s meet our guests.” Janny put a heavy hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “Maybe there’s eye candy in addition to dinner conversation.”

“Right.” Yes, let’s. There was nothing quite like men who looked as though they bench-pressed locomotives for fun. But really, Sophia was stuck in her head. She’d been uninterested in anyone since—

“You coming?” Janny led the charge down the stairs, and they took the last step in stride, her house-mom act coming out in full force as Jensen and Brackster arrived from their downstairs offices.

Sophia’s gaze danced from the casual dress of embassy advisors to the camouflaged and well-armed gaggle milling through their introductions. They looked like giants. Their equipment carried the edge of danger and their weapons the promise of safety.

She tried for a deep breath, but when guys like this showed up, they generally sucked the oxygen out of the room. It was just their presence—the foreboding, dangerous nature of their very existence. Yes, the embassy had RSOs—regional security officers, the normal armed guards—but the off-the-books military guns for hire were different. They were on-site because of specific threats. Honduras was hostile, a black hole of death. No matter how easily the local villagers welcomed Sophia, their local leaders did not often appreciate US intrusion.

So many people. So many opinions.

As introductions were made, she kept a smile in place. One by one, names were given that were…
familiar
. “Brock Gamble. Grayson Ford. Ryder—”

Her eyes rounded. They were not just familiar names, but their faces rang a bell, too. With only a smidge of doubt, Sophia knew they were friends of her brother. Maybe even Colin was here. Her excitement grew…

“And Javier Almeida.”

Oh. Shit.

There was no Colin in sight, but it was definitely Titan’s Delta and definitely
her
Javier. Heat rocketed up her spine, tingling her cheeks and making the world swim sideways for the moment as she thought about her defunct wedding night and the one-night stand that she couldn’t forget.

Oh God… what if he didn’t remember her? What if introductions of embassy staff were made, and his face didn’t show a glimmer of remembrance? How embarrassing.

Surely, someone on Delta would remember her. They knew her family; some had come to her almost wedding. Javier should have to remember Colin’s little sister. Right? The speed at which her confusion and hope slammed together was nothing short of supersonic.

Which would be more awkward—if Javier recognized her or if he didn’t? God, she was about to spiral into an uncertain-girl-sees-super-hot-guy mess.

“And this is Sophia Cole and Janella Winkler.”

Brock nodded to Janny and tilted his head at her. “Colin’s sister.”

“Hi—”