Savvy paced outside Captain O’Leary’s office. What had she done? She’d accused Harry of assaulting her twice. In bringing up the first, unreported, assault, she’d undermined her own case. Already, she could hear the questions. “If this is true, why didn’t you report him five years ago?”
Because he’d held control over her career.
She’d reported it to Seth, who at the time had been out of Harry’s chain of command. Seth had discussed it with her at length, and in the end, left it up to her if she wanted it entered into Harry’s file. Entering it into the record meant pursuing charges.
Likely the fallout would have all been on her. She said/he said. That he’d penetrated her would go uncontested. Harry would claim she’d consented. He’d told her that to pass the training, she had to prove she would have sex to maintain cover and further the mission. He’d told her she had to consent or she’d fail. He told her she had no right to say no. No right to decide who was allowed to put their dick in her body.
Even so, she’d said no. But she hadn’t fought him either, fearing submitting to rape really was part of the training, really was a requirement.
After all, she was training to be a covert operator for the Special Activities Division of the CIA. They did expect their agents to use any means necessary. Sometimes up to and including sex.
Seth had assured her sex with her trainer wasn’t a requirement to pass training. But he’d also acknowledged her “no” would be seen as ambiguous—she’d said the word but hadn’t fought him—and would play against her.
She’d asked if making the allegation would end her career in the CIA. Seth said he didn’t want to believe that…but he couldn’t offer any reassurance either.
And now here she was, five years later, making the allegation that could take her out of the game when she was on the cusp of an important mission. Lubanga was not only in her sights: she had orders to pull the trigger.
She wasn’t a fan of assassinations. She thought it was more advantageous to use ball twisting to make these bastards the USA’s tool, but at the same time knew that practice had an expiration date. Despots didn’t like being beholden to the US for very long. In this instance, she had no doubt Lubanga had it coming, and would perform her duty without breaking a sweat.
She’d do it for Zola, the girl who’d been raped by Mobutu on her father’s orders. Zola, who’d lost her beloved sister the same day.
She stopped pacing and stared at the wall, seeing nothing but Zola’s face as she shared her nightmare with Savvy. What would happen to Lubanga if Savvy was pulled from this mission?
She’d made the accusation to protect Cal. Plus it was true. But if Cal hadn’t been at risk, she never would have said a word. If Cal hadn’t stepped in, Harry might’ve raped her again—claiming it was preparation for the op—she’d have fought him this time, but she might not have said a word out of fear of risking the mission.
What did that make her?
She was victim-blaming herself and couldn’t seem to stop.
Right now, Seth was in the base commander’s office, confirming her account of the rape five years ago. Thank goodness he was here now to back her story. He was the only person who could.
Cal and Harry were both in the base’s small, temporary brig. What have I done to Cal?
She’d been so stunned to see him in the darkness; she’d been unable to hide her terror. And when he’d attacked Harry, doing what she’d been too frozen to do, she’d been utterly grateful.
Since she was seventeen, there hadn’t been anyone to defend her. She’d learned to defend herself and was fine with that until a man she couldn’t fight—not without losing everything she’d been working toward since the day a suicide bomber killed everyone who mattered—assaulted her, and she’d discovered physical strength wasn’t enough. Not when men like Harry had power over her.
So she’d worked her ass off to move up the ranks. Here, she’d found autonomy. If any man assaulted her here, she could fight back without fear of a crushed career. That wasn’t exactly true for the female soldiers, sailors, and marines based at Camp Citron. She was aware of her privilege and the benefits of being outside military hierarchy.
She’d never expected Harry to show up at Camp Citron. She certainly hadn’t expected him to take over her op and then, mere hours later, assault her outside her CLU. But then, he’d never had any reason to think or believe she’d fight back. She hadn’t even called for help.
He’d counted on that.
He hadn’t counted on Cal.
Her emotions were in a jumble she couldn’t mask. This wasn’t her. She was calm and cunning. She was the manipulator who twisted others, just like Cal said. She was never the one caught in the emotional whirl—at least, not outwardly.
Now all her defenses were gone. She was worried about Cal. Worried about her job. Worried she wouldn’t be able to embark on this mission. In less than six hours, she’d gone from the top of her game to the lowest she’d been since the moment she’d decided not to pursue assault charges against Harry.
The office door opened and out walked Seth and Captain O’Leary. The base commander stared at her for a long moment before saying, “Sergeant Callahan witnessed what appeared to be an assault?”
She straightened her spine. “It didn’t just appear to be an assault, it was one. Harrison Evers pinned me to the wall with his hand on my throat.”
“I heard you got in a fight with one of my sailors this evening. Are you claiming he assaulted you too?”
“No, sir. I hit him. He said something vile about Brie Stewart, and if I didn’t take him down a peg, Chief Ford would have. I didn’t want to see him land in the same place where Sergeant Callahan is now because a foolish sailor was baiting him.”
“You seem to think you’re beyond the reach of my command, but I assure you, Ms. James, this is my base, and no one—not even SAD CIA operators—escape my rules.”
“I know that, sir. But the sailor didn’t, and I used that to my advantage.”
“You’ve done excellent work with SOCOM over these last months, Ms. James. For that reason, you will only receive a reprimand in your file for the incident in the club. But if anything like that happens again, you’ll be on the next flight home.”
She wouldn’t land in the brig, then. So in a sense, she was beyond his reach. He just wouldn’t admit it. “Yes, sir,” she said.
He and Seth continued toward the exit. She imagined he was eager to return to his bed—after all, it was past two in the morning.
“Captain, what about Sergeant Callahan?”
“He will be released.”
Relief washed over her. “Thank you, sir.”
“As will Mr. Evers. I understand the two of you have a mission to undertake.”
Her gaze flew to Seth. Surely he didn’t intend to send her to Dar es Salaam with Harry after what he’d just done?
“The mission is critical, Savannah,” Seth said. “Earlier this evening, you convinced me you’re the best suited for it, and I can’t send you alone.”
“Sergeant Callahan was slated to go with me on this mission. He’s fluent in Lingala. I have his passport and alias set up.”
“But the parameters of the mission changed,” Seth said, reminding her why she’d accepted Harry as her partner hours ago.
She was going to Tanzania to kill a DRC government official. This was assassination, pure and simple. As a SAD officer, she accepted the risks. If she failed, if she was caught, she was acting alone, not at the behest of the US government. She’d likely die in a Tanzanian or Congolese prison.
Cal hadn’t agreed to that.
She needed to tell him. To give him a choice.
If he said no, she’d have to go with Harry. He’d use the role of master to the hilt. He’d relish abusing her, and she wouldn’t be able to fight back. Not without breaking cover. Their roles would be all too real.
“I want Sergeant Callahan for this mission,” she said, even as her heart fissured over this undeniable betrayal of the one man who’d stood up for her, the one man she’d wanted from the moment she’d met his gaze across a conference table.
When Cal learned the truth, he’d hate her.
Cal studied Savvy as the C-130 sped down the runway. The plane held a half-dozen marines and supplies bound for Manda Bay. She’d chosen the seat across from him near the tail of the aircraft and donned protective headphones. Between the headphones and other passengers, there was no way for them to discuss the mission during the flight.
He’d been released from the brig at two thirty in the morning and was told he’d be departing on the transport as scheduled. Savvy hadn’t stopped by his CLU to offer an explanation, and he’d decided not to go to hers. He needed to sleep. They’d have time to sort things out before departure.
But daylight brought no communication from her, and he’d been surprised to find himself alone in the vehicle that delivered him to the airstrip the US military shared with the international airport. He’d begun to wonder if the op would be canceled, when she arrived seven minutes before their scheduled takeoff.
She’d dropped into the seat across from him with little more than a nod in his direction, donned the headphones, and cracked open a file. She stared at the papers on her lap as if they held the meaning of the universe.
They reached cruising altitude. The interior was loud, but not so loud the headphones were necessary. Still, she kept them on. He’d been watching her for twenty minutes, noting that she had yet to turn a page.
He’d been looking forward to seeing her. He’d wanted to check the bruises on her neck, make sure she was okay. Find out what had happened to Harrison Evers. But the concern had evaporated in the wake of her avoidance. Her utter lack of acknowledgment of what had transpired last night.
He reminded himself she’d been assaulted. It was wrong of him to expect her to be rational, cool, and calm today. She’d said the man had assaulted her before, and Evers had indicated the same with his words and actions. She had the right to be messed up.
If this were a normal situation.
But nothing about this was normal. They were heading into a covert op, and he knew next to nothing of their plan. Worse, he needed to know if she was on her game. He needed Savannah James—or Freya Unknown-Last-Name—Paramilitary Operations Officer for the Special Operations Group within SAD. He needed the covert operator who could do everything he could do, backward and in high heels.
But he didn’t know if that woman had boarded this turboprop.
Flights always took longer on C-130s, and he estimated they’d be in the air about three and a half hours. Too long to wait to find out what was going on in that complex brain of hers.
He unbuckled his harness and moved to the empty seat next to her. Her fingers tightened on the files in her lap. He reached over and extracted the papers from her grip and set them aside. He slid a hand down her arm and took her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. Her hand was tight, stiff, then all at once, she relaxed and squeezed his hand.
After a moment, she pulled off the protective headphones and leaned her head on his shoulder.
Something in his chest shifted.
He was holding hands with Savvy as she leaned on him, and it felt…right. Good. Like something he’d needed forever but hadn’t known.
Several marines sat too close for them to attempt conversation, and a guy sitting across the empty fuselage watched with unabashed curiosity. Cal didn’t care.
He liked the way she leaned on him. The way she was willing to accept comfort. The way her hand felt in his.
And he was thankful he hadn’t been cut from this mission, no matter how much he hadn’t wanted it at first. The idea of her in the role of sexual plaything to anyone but him made his blood pressure spike.
It was messed up, but he couldn’t deny it. The fact that he didn’t like the idea of any other man touching her—even if it was only an act—was a problem to deal with when they returned to Camp Citron.
Right now, he was a soldier embarking on a mission, and as he would on any mission, he’d protect his teammate at all costs.
Chartering a flight from Manda Bay to Nairobi took longer than Savvy had hoped because the pilot was gone on another flight. It was early evening when he returned, and ten minutes later, they were back in the air for the short flight to Kenya’s capital.
Savvy had never been in Kenya before, but Cal had when he’d traveled with his mother through the region for an extended visit several years ago. It was too late to buy a truck by the time they arrived in the city, so they got a hotel room not far from the airport, then found a nearby restaurant for dinner.
The public setting meant they still couldn’t talk, so Cal maintained a lively chatter about his previous visit while Savvy listened, enjoying being on the receiving end of Cal’s congenial side.
He was a charming man, which was what had drawn her to him from the start. He’d just never been inclined to be that way with her. Now either he was acting with greater skill than she’d expected, or he’d genuinely softened toward her after the events of last night.
It broke her heart to know that while she might have deserved this kindness before, she didn’t now. She’d betrayed him by dragging him on this mission, and her betrayal was straight-up self-serving self-preservation.
The thought made her lose her appetite, but she forced herself to eat. She was an operator. She needed fuel to get through this mission. Fuel and sleep.
The hotel room had two beds. They could put off the charade of being lovers for a night and get the sleep they both needed. Cal did a good job of using her alias during dinner, proving he could handle this sort of op with ease. Not that she’d doubted him, but still, she’d tried to make it easy in selecting names that would be familiar for him.
Back in the hotel, alone in their room, a distance settled between them. Alone, they were operators on a mission. Professionals with boundaries. They only had to act like they were intimate when in public.
She took a shower, then crawled into bed as Cal took his turn showering. As instructed, he hadn’t trimmed his beard, but he still was more kempt than she wanted. Two days of travel would help, but he’d still be closer to the movie-star-handsome end of the spectrum when they met with Lubanga.
She dozed as she tried to figure out when would be the best time to assassinate the minister. She could—and should—copy his laptop files first. That had been the original goal, and that order hadn’t been rescinded.
She’d checked.
The data she gained from Lubanga’s computer would be valuable to the US as DRC filled the vacuum created by his death. Maybe they’d get proof for the DRC president showing Lubanga’s attempts to gain the military’s allegiance.
The bed shifted, bringing her fully awake. “Mani?” she said, using his alias even now. It was never good to slip into real names, even when alone. That was how mistakes were made.
“We need to talk, Jamie.”
She liked how he understood that rule and followed her lead. He had a future in covert ops, if he wanted one. She glanced around the room. She’d swept it for bugs. No one had any reason to know they’d be here. But still, they’d booked the room and then gotten dinner. That had provided an opportunity. They should have ordered takeout, then gone to the hotel. A mistake on her part.
“The room is clean. You checked. And I just checked again while you were sleeping.”
She nodded. He was right. They needed to talk. They needed to plan this mission. She needed to tell him the truth.
“Tell me about Harrison Evers,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“I know you can’t talk about CIA stuff. Hell, you probably can’t even confirm he’s SAD. I get that. That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking about you and him. What he did. To you.”
She was silent for a long time. Too long, she knew.
Finally, Cal said, “I spent two hours in the brig last night because I defended you. I had every reason to believe I did the right thing, and every reason to think I might have thrown away my Special Forces tab at the same time.”
She rolled over on the bed to face him. He was on top of the covers, while she was underneath. Another thing to like about him. He respected her boundaries and didn’t assume an invitation, even though in the past, she’d hinted he was welcome in her bed. He didn’t operate in the past. He lived in the now. She stroked his cheek. “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met,” she said without thinking.
He grinned, but then said, “Don’t change the subject.”
“But it’s such a good subject.”
He laughed. “I can’t disagree, but I don’t want to talk about me.”
“He raped me,” she blurted. “Five years ago. Said it was part of my training. He claimed the only way I could pass is if I proved I’d fuck to protect my cover. I believed him enough not to fight him. I didn’t resist, but I said no. Over and over. I didn’t want to have sex with him. I chanted ‘this is rape’ as he shoved his dick inside me. He laughed and told me to relax and enjoy it.”
His jaw clenched, and he said, “Oh, Freya. I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes teared at that, that he would offer his sympathy to her true self, the woman who had been raped by her trainer. “You heard him call me that last night. I should have guessed.”
“It’s a beautiful name. A shame you can’t use it.”
“I don’t really know who Freya is anymore. I used to think she had a few things in common with the powerful Norse goddess, but now I’m not so sure. Freya made choices I’m not proud of.”
“Freya was operating in a fucked-up world and did what she had to, to survive.”
“Thank you. For understanding.”
“I wish I’d beat him more instead of stopping when he hit the ground.”
She shrugged. “It was nice seeing him hurt, but if you’d seriously injured him, you’d still be in the brig.”
He brushed her hair from her forehead. “It would be worth it.”
“You’re a good man.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “Cassius,” invoking his real name for the first time, just as he had hers.
His lips pressed against her forehead. “Sleep. We can sort out the rest tomorrow.”
She closed her achingly tired eyes and rolled to the side and fell asleep.