Kilo

 

She tensed, and her bullshit gasp of propriety hit right before she hightailed it out of the living room.

The woman could wear her coat of respectability all goddamn night.

I didn’t give a fuck.

I saw right through it.

Her eyes, the scent of desire, the way she’d looked at my chest—the woman wanted to fuck. Me or the uniform I’d been. I still couldn’t fucking tell.

Which was only pissing me off more the further this woman sank into my headspace. And the sole reason I’d been off the couch before my shirt had hit me in the face.

Yeah, I took her clothes. To fucking clean them. I’d left her a shirt. My shirt. And I wanted to see her in it, not have it thrown in my face.

This was why I didn’t fucking engage.

Any other woman, and her wet dress still would’ve been in that bathroom.

Rewiring a detonator that’d gotten damaged in the fucking cluster this assignment had become, I was trying to focus on anything other than a wet redhead who smelled like need when my cell lit up.

Glancing at the screen, I debated ignoring it like I usually did.

The light went off in the bedroom, and my decision was made.

Swiping to answer, I held the phone to my ear.

“I have that information you asked for.” The typing that typically filled the background noise of every one of November’s calls came through the line.

“What intel?” My mind elsewhere, I couldn’t remember what the fuck I’d asked him for.

“Specs.”

“Specs?”

“Calculations.”

Shit. Right. “Go.”

He rattled off the calculations I used to be able to do in my head with visual sight lines. Listening, I counted.

Then I waited until he was finished, mentally double-checked my numbers, and gave him my own calculations. “One-point-five kilometers.”

“One-point-four-seven, but yes.”

“I rounded up,” I defended.

November paused.

Christ. “What?” November’s pauses were never good.

“Delta flew in from Greece.”

Fuck. “Alpha called him in?” Delta was a goddamn prophet. The former SEAL wasn’t only a beast on the battlefield, he also had a sixth sense. The trifecta of intelligence, strength, and the ability to analyze anything, he was a fucking force. He was also who you brought in when shit was completely FUBAR.

“Yes,” November answered.

“Because?”

“Alpha and Blade have circled NAP three times, and I’m tracking down every angle we have. No movement.”

Shit was always relative. “No movement at all, or you lost Carlos’s trail?”

“Both.”

I glanced down at the device in my hand. “I’ll handle the marina.” I’d go back once I knew she was asleep.

“Alpha wants you to stand down until we have Carlos in sights.”

“Tell him that if blowing Carlos’s hundred-million dollar deal in illegal arms to hell didn’t bring the asshole out of the woodwork, then he’s gone to ground.”

“From a financial perspective, that amount will only make a small dent in Carlos’s net worth. From a psychological perspective, Carlos is vengeful.”

I fucking got it. Carlos made that much in a month, and Alpha was looking for the fucker to surface on the principal of the hit. Alpha also didn’t do half-assed. He’d not only want Carlos, he’d want all the players, including the CIA suit and whatever terrorist fuck Carlos was selling a small army’s worth of weapons to. All of which put me and the redhead on ice. “Give me the bottom line.”

“You’re in a holding pattern.”

“Not in fucking Italy, we’re not.” At a minimum, Carlos would send someone for salvage recon. If I wasn’t wiring that marina, then I didn’t want the redhead anywhere close to this.

“Moving her now is a risk.”

“Staying is worse. Just because Carlos went to ground doesn’t mean his contacts aren’t out looking. You said yourself Capodichino was crawling with hired guns.” Fuck this. “Patch Alpha through.”

“Hold.” The line went quiet.

A few seconds later, Alpha cut in. “November told you we’re in a holding pattern.”

“I told him I’m not staying in country.”

Alpha sighed. “Parameters?”

“Keep Delta. Give me Blade. I’ll get the redhead out.”

“The Gulfstream’s compromised.”

“Not fucking flying commercial.” That was for damn sure.

“November?” Alpha asked with the usual unspoken line of communication he and the hacker had between them.

“Zulu can fly in tomorrow.” November typed. “I’ll get him clearance to land at Salerno airport. He’ll be on the ground by twenty-two hundred local time. Good?”

“Kilo?” Alpha asked.

I glanced at my watch. Fuck. “Fine.”

Then Alpha asked the question I didn’t want to answer but knew was coming. One I’d been thinking about since a redhead had sat on my lap and asked for a goddamn toothbrush. “Destination?”

“Miami.” Sealing my fucking fate, I hung up.

The redhead walked back into the living room still wearing the towel.