Personal Target: An Elite Ops Novel (12 page)

Nick was definitely not excited about her field study in Niger, but that was too damn bad. She’d worked hard for this trip, and the idea that she could actually go was so thrilling she could barely contain herself. She’d been horribly disappointed when she’d had to cancel, particularly after the countless hours she’d spent painstakingly organizing the dig, dealing with the constantly changing government officials, and navigating the regulations to get the proper approvals and permits for the project.

And now she was going, all because one of the other professors couldn’t attend due to health issues. Jennifer was sorry for the woman but incredibly grateful at the same time. She hoped that didn’t make her a bad person.

The unexpected opportunity was enough to make her forget, at least for a little while, about the wretched circumstances of her time in Tenancingo and why she couldn’t stay here any longer than absolutely necessary. As for Nick, he would just have to get over his concerns about her travel to Africa. She’d been perfectly safe the last time she was there with the Russ Foundation.

She’d known he was about to argue when she took her robe off. She just wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now. Exposure to Nick wasn’t good for her head or for her heart. He was practically a virus where she was concerned. So . . . a plan.

She shut the door behind her and went to the multi-line phone in the bedroom to call a cab. The dispatcher promised to have a driver there in twenty minutes.
Perfect.

She walked into the bathroom to grab her clothes, hating the idea of putting on the same thing that she’d worn out of Mexico. But there was no other option, unless wearing Nick’s robe worked for her. It didn’t.

She was going home to her waterlogged house as soon as possible. If she could leave without fighting with Nick that would be better, but either way she was leaving. She had to regain her balance, and it wasn’t going to happen here.

She glanced at the small clock on the bathroom shelf. If she hurried, she had enough time to shower before her cab arrived. Wearing his robe and sleeping all night on his sheets and pillow, enveloped in the familiar smell of him, had done nothing for that elusive stability she was searching for.

Taking a shower would go a long way to reestablishing her center. She hadn’t told Nick yet about what had happened all those years ago, and she wasn’t going to do it now either. The time for explanations was past.

She’d just stepped out of the shower and was wrapping herself in a towel when the door opened, and Nick stepped inside the bathroom.

She stifled a shriek—barely. “Hey, don’t you knock?”

He shook his head. “Not when I know the answer will be
go away
.”

“Well, that’s too damn bad. Get out of here. I’ll be out in a minute.” She would have felt more in control if her voice hadn’t cracked.

Making zero effort to leave, Nick leaned into the doorframe and took a good long look, perusing her body to the point where Jennifer imagined the water droplets from her shower were sizzling on her skin. As the heat worked its way from the top of her head to her toes, he turned and stepped back into the bedroom without a word.

She took a deep breath, pissed off and turned on at the same time.
Nope, no equilibrium to be found here.
She was about to pull on the pants and T-shirt she’d worn back from Mexico when there was an actual knock at the door.

“Yes?” she asked, relieved that her voice was steady this time.

Nick held an armful of clothes. “I thought you’d like something clean. Risa, my boss, has some things here for when she can’t get home before a job. She said you could use whatever you needed.” He held out a stack of yoga pants, sweatshirt, flip-flops, and underwear.

“Thanks, I didn’t want to wear those others again.” She reached for the clothing.

He left, and she changed. Staring into the mirror, she cursed her cowardice for not having dealt years ago with the problem she currently faced. She’d been fooling herself earlier. She had to tell him. Still, now wasn’t the time.

God, she’d thought she was past all this, but she wasn’t. And the hell of it was, Nick wasn’t to blame. He’d never known.

She’d quit writing to him and broken off all contact, quit keeping in touch. That had hurt them both, and it had been wrong of her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t realized
how
wrong until much too late.

She’d met Collin Petersen and had thrown herself into the relationship with an abandon that had more to do with burying sorrow than falling in love. Sadly, she hadn’t figured that out either, until well after she was married to him.

What was the point of telling Nick now? It was a bad idea, especially if she wanted to get him out of her life and get herself to Africa. Keeping things to herself seemed a wiser choice.

Maybe she could write him a letter after she was in Niger? No, that wasn’t right either. Was she really that big of a coward?

Perhaps in this particular situation she was.

She arrived at that unpleasant realization as she slipped into the borrowed clothes. When she emerged from the bathroom a couple of minutes later, Nick was seated on the bed, staring at his phone and oblivious to her turmoil.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Hi, yourself.”

“I need to get home. I’ve got a house that’s in shambles, plus I’ve got to make some arrangements for travelling.”

“Right. About that—”

She interrupted him. “I’ve already called a cab, and it should be arriving any minute.”

“No, it’s not. The front gate called while you were in the shower. I sent the cab away.”

“You what?!” She heard the shrillness in her tone and decided she didn’t care what he thought anymore.

“I sent them away,” he explained, as if he were dealing with someone who wasn’t particularly bright. It made her furious. “I’ll take you home, or wherever you need to go,” he added.

She swallowed an angry retort about his high-handedness. Arguing wasn’t going to help this situation. “Can we go now?” She couldn’t disguise the fury in her voice, but she’d stay civil as long as possible. He’d come to get her out of Mexico, and she was grateful, no matter how angry he was making her at this point.

“Of course. Let me grab my keys and wallet, and we’ll be set.”

She waited, stifling the urge to tap her foot as he gathered his things. She followed him downstairs to a sports car she hadn’t noticed last night. The sexy, sleek Italian job looked exactly like what she didn’t imagine he would drive, and she surprised both of them when she said so.

He didn’t seem to take offense. “I like fast toys.” He shrugged and helped her into the creamy leather passenger seat.

The smooth manners she remembered from the summer they were lovers still struck an unexpected spot of warmth. It had been a long time since a man who wasn’t a valet had helped her into a car. Collin had never been much for formalities, even at the beginning of their relationship. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed that feeling of being cared for, of being cherished. Even if, in this case, Nick’s manners were just ingrained habit.

They rode in silence until they were out of the neighborhood and on a main thoroughfare. Nick didn’t ask questions as he drove south along the North Dallas Tollway.

“You know where I live?”

“Give me some credit, Jenny. I used to work for the CIA.”

The acknowledgment took her by surprise. She’d suspected something like that, but to hear Nick put things so starkly was still a shock.

“You mean you don’t anymore?” she asked.

“Nope, but no one believes me when I say that.”

She shrugged. “I suppose that’s understandable.”

He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he changed the subject. “We need to talk . . . about Africa.”

“There’s not much to say. I’m going, and I’m delighted. I’ve been planning the trip for months and thought I’d have to give it up, so this offer from the Russ Foundation is ideal.”

“I heard.” The disapproval was obvious in his tone.

“You don’t have to be so negative about it. This work is extraordinarily important to me.”

“Jenny, are you really that naïve? Do you have any idea what’s going on over there? Thousands of people are dying because of the political unrest, and no one is paying any attention. Cartels from all over Latin America and Mexico are moving in completely unimpeded by law enforcement.”

He had one hand on the steering wheel as they sped down the Tollway. “West Africa has become the new Colombia. Cartels operate side by side with al-Qaeda narco-terrorists moving cocaine across the continent and into Europe by the ton. They’ve exterminated entire villages that won’t cooperate.”

She shook her head. No, she could not listen to this. Besides, the alternative—staying here with Nick—was unacceptable.

“You’re just trying to scare me. The area of Niger I’m travelling to is perfectly safe. I’ll be fine. What gives you the right to have a say in what goes on in my life anyway? Where I go and what I do is none of your business. Africa has got to be better than staying here where I was kidnapped, shot at, and burned out. We’ve hired Tuareg guards for the digs. They’re excellent at security. I’ve gotten all the approvals from the Niger authorities.”

“Which means you’ll be fine unless someone tries to take over the government, which seems to be happening in that country every other month.”

Arguing with him was pointless, and the only other option—not going—was unthinkable. She didn’t answer as he pulled into the driveway of her small rental house. The pansies she’d planted out front by the porch steps as therapy a week ago were wilting in the unusual Texas December heat, a visual aid for how she felt herself.

Nick turned off the ignition. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just trying to show you this situation in a realistic light. The cartels control anything and everything they want over there.”

He was out of the car and opening her door before she realized it. How could he argue and display those impeccable manners that melted her at the same time? She grabbed her keys and slung her trashed purse over her shoulder, cross-body style.

He touched her elbow as he stood beside her. “Local governments are too overwhelmed to notice, even if they had the manpower to fight it. The European drug market is exploding, and West Africa supplies over a quarter of the product. Guinea-Bissau, right next to Niger, is openly considered the first narco-state on the continent. It’s hell on earth there and certainly not safe.”

“Why in the world would they care about me?” She walked away from him, climbing the porch steps and moving to open the front door. “I’m not anyone important.”

He sighed. “A person’s influence, whether great or small, doesn’t matter. You’re an American. That makes you newsworthy and a target for robbery, kidnapping, publicity for their ‘cause,’ or for human trafficking.”

She crossed her arms and stood at the front door, glaring at him. She couldn’t back down, not now, even if everything he said was true. She’d just be extremely careful. Paleo-Niger and the Foundation had excellent safety protocols in place. She’d be fine.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just want to get inside my house and put on my own clothes. I appreciate your getting me out of Mexico. Really, I do. But your work is done. Go spend the holiday with your family. I don’t want you in my life.” That seemed harsh. And yes, it was a bald-faced lie, but she was going with it.

“I’m back. I’m home. I’m safe. I’m fine. And I’m leaving, so I won’t be any more trouble to you. I’m starting a new life, just like you did when you joined the Navy. We have nothing to do with each other anymore. Can’t you let me go?” She hadn’t meant to say that last part. Hadn’t meant to reveal quite so much.

“No, I can’t. I never wanted—” He stopped talking abruptly, as if to keep himself from saying more.

“I still think you’re just trying to scare me,” she muttered under her breath, deliberately misunderstanding him. She was not having this conversation. She couldn’t. Not now when she was so close to a clean getaway. Talking about this would lead to her telling him everything, when she was moments from never having to tell him anything.

She put her key in the lock, determined to go inside and shut the door behind her. But a key wasn’t necessary. The door swung open of its own accord.

Chapter Eleven

N
ICK RACED INTO
the house behind Jenny. In the bedroom he stopped, watching as she took in the extent of the destruction. A cold ball of fear settled in his gut.

All the drawers had been dumped on the floor, the bed stripped, and holes gouged into the mattress. The master closet had been ransacked. Clothing was strewn about and torn, cut with scissors or—more likely—a knife.

This was what he’d been afraid of—even as he’d driven away from the brothel, helped Jennifer clean up at the airstrip, and held her in his bathroom in the AEGIS office.

Was she a target now because she meant something to him?

If they’d found this house, they knew she wasn’t his sister-in-law. Were they coming after Jenny because they knew that hurting her would hurt him?

Whether it was Ernesto Vega or Tomas Rivera after him—or someone else entirely—Nick wasn’t sure. What he did know was that Jenny couldn’t travel anywhere right now unprotected, certainly not to Africa.

No, he’d get someone else to take her. That would keep it completely professional. Bryan could do it. And if Bryan couldn’t do it, Marissa would.

Preparing himself to talk with Jenny about the unpleasant and unwelcome idea of an AEGIS bodyguard, he rolled his head from side to side and turned. That’s when he saw the wires attached to the bottom of the bedroom door hinge.

The blood froze in his veins as he scanned the door casing and visually followed the wires along the floor to a small pile of clothing in the corner by the doorframe. An innocuous looking digital timer ticked downward from seven seconds.

“Bomb!” he shouted. Instinct took over, and he stepped forward to grab Jenny’s arm. He didn’t feel his feet touch the floor once as he hauled her through the doorway and pulled her past the living room to spring from the top step. They’d just cleared the porch when the device detonated.