Kentucky
One month later
Girls’ night out. Freya had enjoyed a few of those in college, but even then, she’d been an outsider. Morgan and Brie, on the other hand, had both perfected the art of girlfriend bonding and were determined to teach her the nuances of female friendship.
It was interesting because the women were so different. Morgan was open and friendly. A blonde bombshell comfortable in her own skin. She didn’t view other women as a threat, although Freya could tell she’d been stung in the past by women who took one look at her and cast her as a villain. Or dumb bimbo. But Dr. Morgan Adler was neither of those, and past experience hadn’t closed her off to friendship.
Brie was different. A different kind of pretty. A different kind of friendly. Slightly more reserved—but then, Freya knew well why she held herself back from others—but she was skilled at superficial friendship. She knew how to hang with the girls and have fun. She was learning to open up more. Be herself with people.
Freya didn’t fit with either of them, but they’d reached out to her in friendship when she’d chosen to move to Kentucky to be with Cassius, and one thing Freya needed in this world was friends.
Tonight, they were at a bar for girls’ night, and Freya was enjoying every moment. She’d been this girl once, before her family died. She’d had friends. She’d crushed on boys and dreamed of being Jane Goodall.
She wasn’t sure about the Jane Goodall part, but the rest… She could be that girl again. Woman now, but the headspace was similar.
Their waiter delivered their second round of drinks—soda for Brie, beer for Morgan, vodka martini for Freya—when Ripley’s wife, Amira, arrived. “Sorry I’m late. The sitter had the wrong date on her calendar and I had to scramble to find another one because damn but I need a night out tonight.”
The team was off on a multiday overnight training thing, which had been the inspiration for girls’ night out, and it had been natural to include Amira, who’d spent the months the team had been deployed as a single mother to her and Ripley’s three children. Their son was eight, and they had two daughters, five and three. The eight-year-old was prone to night terrors—especially when his dad was deployed—and if anyone needed a night out, it was Amira Ripley.
Amira was gorgeous with long, thick dark hair, big brown eyes, ample curves, and warm brown skin. She had a big laugh that made every room feel a little brighter.
The waiter delivered Amira’s drink and announced that some guy at the bar had picked up their tab. They declined as a group. They were not here to play a pickup game, but the waiter said it had already been paid.
Freya felt a tingle in the back of her neck. “The guys are here,” she said, standing and scanning the room.
“They can’t be. They’re off playing commando or something,” Brie said.
“No. They’re definitely here.”
The song changed, and Freya recognized the opening drums to the song “Africa” by Toto. She smiled and waited. With the same uncanny ability they had of being invisible in the jungle, the men somehow materialized, stepping from behind and between patrons of the packed nightclub. It was as if they’d been vapor, but now they’d taken human form.
“Wow,” Morgan said as Pax stepped up behind her and kissed her neck. “How do you do that?”
“It’s a skill,” he answered.
“Not you. Freya. She knew you all were here.”
Freya laughed at Pax’s disappointment that Morgan hadn’t been impressed by his trick, but she gave an honest answer. “I can always feel when Cal’s near. Plus…” She nodded to the speaker in the ceiling. “The song.”
“Told you the song would give us away,” Bastian said.
“You knew before the song,” Brie pointed out at the same time.
Cal grinned down at her, and her heart did that fluttery thing. “Will you dance with me?”
She nodded. They’d never danced before. It was fitting that this song should be the first.
The others followed. They were the only four couples on the dance floor. It wasn’t really a dancing sort of place when there wasn’t live music playing. But she didn’t care. She was in Cal’s arms. And it was sweet seeing how Amira glowed as she looked up at her husband of ten years.
Freya returned her attention to the man holding her and knew she was emitting a similar glow. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you would be gone for another day at least.”
“We finished up early. Decided it would be fun to surprise you. But if you want your ladies’ night, we can go. I just wanted this one dance.”
“Stay. I’m sure the others feel the same.” There were plenty of girls’ nights in the future, when the men would be deployed again. Now that they were all back from Djibouti, none of them wanted to waste a moment of their time together.
She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of being pressed against him. The beat rose, and the chorus swelled, and she was in Cassius’s arms, and she still had no idea what she was going to do with her life, but right now, she was in the only place she wanted to be.
The song ended, but they stayed on the dance floor. She held him close and breathed him in. A song by George Michael came on, and Cal said, “Bastian picked that one.”
She smiled. “Brie said he got the dates cleared for their wedding. Is the whole team going to get the week off?”
“Yes. Just got it approved today.”
“Good.” Bastian’s grandmother—an Elder in his tribe—was ill and had requested that Bastian and Brie have their wedding early. Initially, they’d intended to get married next spring, but with his grandmother’s request, they’d been scrambling to arrange for the wedding to take place in one month. Once they’d decided to marry, when didn’t matter.
Most of Brie’s friends lived in the Seattle area, and the reservation where the ceremony would be held was on the Olympic Peninsula, so travel wasn’t a problem for most of the guests. The main problem had been making sure the team could be there. Bastian had asked Cal to be his best man.
“I can’t wait to see you in your dress uniform.” She grinned.
“And I can’t wait to dance with you at the wedding.” He pulled her closer. “When you’re ready, I’m going to ask you to marry me.”
“I know. And when that happens, I’ll say yes.” They’d agreed to put off talk of marriage until after she figured out what came next. She had months of sorting through issues with the CIA after more than a decade of classified work. She wanted to be free of all the legal complications before binding him to her.
The song ended, and all four couples returned to their table.
Morgan was practically bouncing with excitement now that Pax was here. She’d been crushed when the multiday training had been announced just as they were settling in at home.
“So…since we’re all here,” Morgan said, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you all about.” Morgan had been hinting there was something big in the works. This must be it.
“My dad…he’s doing his usual meddling and sent me a request for proposal he happened to notice.”
“No,” Pax said before she could continue, but he laughed, showing it was a joke.
Everyone knew Morgan had issues with her father. Things were better, but it was a long road to true reconciliation. It would take years and a lot of work to rebuild their relationship.
“Yeah,” Morgan said. “You aren’t going to like it.”
“Then no. For real this time.”
She covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “So you know how during World War II, the Army sent out a group of guys to track down and recover art and artifacts stolen by Nazis?”
“No,” Pax repeated. “I mean, yes, I know. And no, I don’t like where this is going.”
“Syria,” she continued, “as you all know, has a big problem with antiquities theft. Smuggling. It’s all funding terrorism, and the Army—”
“Yeah. Definitely not. You aren’t an operator.”
Morgan smiled. “But Freya is.”
Beside Freya, Cal stiffened, but he didn’t voice objections like Pax. Pax’s objections were valid. Cal’s objections, if he had any, would not be.
Morgan shrugged. “Basically, the Army put out a request for proposal for some analysis of what’s been stolen, what’s been destroyed, who’s buying and who’s selling. It’s similar to the work I’ve been doing with the professor at William & Mary. My dad thinks I should submit a proposal. They might send some experts in with a team of Delta operators or something as protection, to track the trafficking, identify the dealers. Find the buyers. The sale of antiquities is funding terrorism. If they can stop the money flow, it will weaken the organizations.” She looked at Freya. “Isn’t that what you were doing in Congo? Interrupting the money flow?”
“You want to go to Syria?” Pax asked, his face lit with horror.
“No. Not me. I’m too noticeable. But my company could do the training necessary for the person who does go. And it’s more likely to be Turkey and Iraq.” She mumbled both country names, probably knowing Pax wouldn’t find it that comforting.
“I’d probably work the European end,” she continued. “Many of the artifacts are ending up in the hands of wealthy European collectors. Anyway, I’m thinking of submitting a proposal, but Freya, I’d need you on my team. And Brie, your experience with USAID would be helpful too. They’re infiltrating aid organizations. And…the foundation you’re starting is likely to be a target of terrorism. Your cause is education for girls…and that’s exactly the type of thing ISIS and similar groups wish to stop.” She turned to Amira. “I’ve got a job for you too.”
“No,” Ripley said, “One of us in a hot zone is enough. The kids—”
“It’s right here in Kentucky. I need you for translation work and your mad computer skills.”
Amira was fluent in Arabic—her parents were Syrian immigrants—and she worked from home as a software engineer. Freya didn’t know when the woman slept with three small kids, a thirty-hour-a-week job, and a husband who’d been deployed for months. Amira leaned forward. “Sounds interesting. How many hours per week?”
“If I get the contract, only a few at the start.”
Morgan glanced around the table. “It’ll take months for the Army to award the contract, and if I do get it, it could take months more before it really gets going.” She looked at Pax. “I have no plans, ever, to go into a war zone. But I can’t make the same promise about Freya.” She met Freya’s gaze. “I need to know if you’re interested or if I should find someone else with your unique set of skills. There’s no need to answer tonight. I just want you to think about it.”
“You want to form a team of Monuments Women?” she asked.
Morgan smiled. “In a sense, yes.”
Freya sat back and looked at Cal. She knew her work for the CIA had terrified him. This wouldn’t be much better. Worse, actually, because it could involve going undercover in Syria, Turkey, Iraq, Yemen, and who knows where else.
But it wasn’t CIA, and it was still work to stop terrorism.
She took Cal’s hand and pulled him away from the group so they could talk without everyone listening in. She glanced back and noticed everyone was watching, and pulled him deeper into the crowd.
“What do you think?” she asked.
He cupped her face, staring down at her with a look that turned her to jelly. “I’m scared to death because I know how much you’re willing to risk. But I also know you’d be brilliant.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I love you, Freya. And I will never hold you back from what you want to do.”
Emotion swamped her. “God, I love you.” She pulled his head down for a deeper kiss, then pressed her forehead to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through his shirt. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight.
Finally, she looked up. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “A hundred percent. You’ll be amazing.”
She kissed him again, then took his hand and pulled him back to the table. Everyone—especially Morgan—looked at them expectantly.
She grinned. “I’m in.” She lifted her drink. “To the Monuments Women.”
Morgan let out a squeal of excitement, and everyone raised their glasses and said in unison, “To the Monuments Women.”