Target of Mine: The Night Stalkers 5E (Titan World Book 2) Page 7

  Altman managed five stiff steps away until he was standing at one of the big windows. Beyond him lay the MacArthur Causeway and the sprawl of Miami Harbor.

  “You got an issue with me, Altman, spit it out.”

  “It’s not you. It’s— Shit!” Altman turned and dropped into one of the chairs.

  Drake crossed to the bar. Crown Royal XR—the former head of GSI had expensive taste in whisky. He poured two fingers each into a pair of tumblers, decided that Altman wasn’t the ice or splash-of-water type, and then poured a third finger into each one. He walked over and handed one to Altman before sitting down across from him.

  The whisky soothed Drake’s aching throat. The warmth slid down into his stomach.

  “Okay, Lieutenant Commander. Better if we have it out now before the ladies get back.”

  The SEAL stared at his glass a long time before knocking back half of it. “I’m just trying to protect her.”

  “From who? Me?”

  Altman shook his head and continued to study the thick brown carpet. “From herself.”

  “Oh my gawd, girlfriend. You really don’t get it, do you?” Zoe’s wink asked forgiveness after the fact for the familiarity.

  “What don’t I get?” Nikita looked helplessly about the small boutique. Not a black t-shirt or pair of camo pants in sight. She did most of her civilian clothes shopping at thrift stores because they were cheap and what the hell did she care. She almost swallowed her tongue when she glanced at the price tag on a simple white blouse.

  The shopkeeper hovered in the background, doing a very credible job of not being irritated at being called to work early by the hotel manager.

  “You’re with Drake Roman…the Drake Roman,” she said it loudly, with a tone of awe.

  Nikita wanted to shush her, but Zoe didn’t leave her a moment to do so.

  “I heard that when the military took out that al-Shabaab camp in Somalia, that it was actually Drake Roman and his boys. And that coup in—”

  This time Nikita did shush her, with a hand over Zoe’s mouth. But Nikita could feel Zoe’s smile against her palm and finally caught on. “We aren’t supposed to talk about those things.”

  Zoe looked properly chagrined and they both glanced guiltily toward the shopkeeper, who was listening avidly and doing her best to pretend she wasn’t. And so the rumor mill gets started. To what end, she wasn’t sure, but Zoe seemed to know what she was doing.

  “So,” Nikita did her best to put her nose in the air. “If I’m with the Drake Roman, what should I get?”

  “Oh, I’d start here,” Zoe’s grin was wicked as she reached for a lacy bit of nothing. The La Perla bodysuit didn’t even pretend to cover anything. In fact, it was designed to not cover anything. It also had a four-figure price tag.

  “Not a chance!” Then to mask her out-of-character reaction, “I think that Mr. Roman needs to be much nicer to me before he deserves me in that.”

  “How about for me and the luscious Luke then?”

  Nikita couldn’t have heard that correctly. “You aren’t seriously thinking about…” Or was she?

  Zoe put the bit of lingerie back on the rack and shook her head. “No. But it might be fun to shock him with it anyway.”

  “Can we be serious about this?”

  “Oh, Nikki,” Zoe shook her head. “Clothes shopping is never serious.”

  The nickname from her past stopped Nikita’s protests by overwhelming her with memories she didn’t want.

  Zoe began walking among the racks and pulling off item after item. When she had an armful, she guided Nikita back to the small changing room. “Start with these.”

  “Start?” There were more fancy clothes here than she’d worn in an entire lifetime.

  Zoe ignored her as she pushed her into the changing room. Thankfully, she didn’t stay after hanging up the items she’d grabbed. Nikita had been sufficiently mortified by the comment about her breasts on the helicopter.

  At the threshold, Zoe looked back over her shoulder. “It’s obvious you haven’t slept together yet.” Thank god she kept her voice down this time.

  Nikita resisted the urge to ask how she knew that.

  “How good a kisser is Mr. Drake Roman?”

  Nikita sighed, “Very good.” She could still remember the fire that had lashed between them as they’d held each other hard. Judging by that, sex with Drake would be very rough and tumble, and very good.

  “Crap! I should have known. Sooo envious!” And she was gone.

  Nikita picked up a flowing silk caftan of tropical colors with a plunging neckline; definitely no bra could be worn with this one, that would be barely long enough to cover her underwear. How was a woman supposed to sit in such a dress?

  It turned out, that wasn’t the worst of the options Zoe had chosen. Behind the caftan hung the black La Perla bodysuit.

  “It’s not my story to tell.”

  “Bullshit!” Then Drake wished he’d spoken more softly. The whisky hadn’t numbed his sore throat nearly enough. “You try to kill me, then tell me I don’t get to know why. Spill it, Altman.”

  “You this much of a pain in the ass to your commander, Roman?”

  “Are you kidding? You’ve flown with Pete Napier. Do you think I’d be still walking around if I talked back to him?”

  “But I get your shit?”

  “He never tried to kill me either. So he gets a pass. You don’t.”

  Altman stared down into his glass. He hadn’t touched it after that first big swallow.

  Drake sat back and took another sip of his. Was this what it felt like to be Altman or Napier? Assured, calm, drinking a quiet whisky in a luxury suite? Well, maybe not the last. And looking at Altman, maybe not the first two either. But an odd contentment had come over him, as if for only the second time in his life he was in the right place at the right time.

  The first time had gotten him into the Night Stalkers. He’d been a decent gunner for the 101st Airborne. Then the Night Stalkers had come up short a man when one of their crew chiefs stepped off his bird and onto a landmine in an area that had supposedly been cleared. They’d needed a new gunner for a mission that night and he’d been available. Once he’d had a taste of what it was like to fly with them, he’d fought like a madman to get in. They were the best people he’d ever flown with. It took him two more years before he flew with them again, but he’d made it.

  He wondered where that feeling of rightness would lead this time. He’d only had it that once, so banking on it turning out well might be presumptuous, but he’d bet on a good hand until someone forced him to fold.

  “Nikita comes from a shit past,” Altman finally ground out.

  Drake’s contentment froze in that moment and the whisky suddenly churned in his guts. Someone touching her who wasn’t—

  “Not like that,” Altman was looking right at him. “Though I like seeing that you’re the kind of man that would piss off.”

  “Damn straight!”

  Altman just nodded before continuing. “Got in with a merc outfit. A bad one. One that didn’t like spending the extra money on intel, even though she had the lead right in her hand but needed a payoff they wouldn’t give her. Got her dad and her fiancé killed in a single mission.”

  “Oh, crap!” That sure explained her reaction to the GSI guys.

  “They were a lean outfit, so lean that she was also on the comms when they went down. Talk about a lady who’s had a world of hurt…” Altman knocked back another big swallow of his drink.

  “That’s what gave her the drive to take on ST6 selection.” Drake knew it was true even as he said it.

  Altman nodded. “Volunteered Navy. SEAL track from day one. Before she made it through boot camp, someone gave me the heads-up to come watch her. I did. You know from making it into the Night Stalkers that it’s ninety percent mental.”

  “And ninety percent brutal.” For the Special Operations teams, being motivated or excellent wasn’t enough—you had to be both. />
  “You got that right. She’s got it, that indefinable it. But I wasn’t kidding when I said to watch your goddamn step with her. There’s something inside that’s hurt and angry, and real goddamn dangerous. She’s got a hard control of the former and can use it to direct the latter where I need it. You crack that barrier and screw up one of my best people and you’ve got me to answer to. We clear?”

  Drake considered the idea that Nikita wasn’t as tough as she looked. That wasn’t right. She was tougher. Her strength ran all the way to the core, or SEAL Team 6 wouldn’t have let her in to begin with.

  “We’re clear. But she’s—”

  And he heard the door open behind him. He glanced over his shoulder as sandals slapped across the suite’s marble foyer. Two women laughing together. At least someone had been having a good time.

  They stepped into view and Drake jolted to his feet.

  Nikita wore a…he didn’t know what to call it except amazing. Two sweeps of pleated white fabric swept around either side from behind her neck. They rode over her breasts and crisscrossed on her abdomen before disappearing around the back. A flirty black skirt barely reached mid-thigh. She was completely covered, but with deep cleavage, a bare midriff, and long legs.

  “You were right, Zoe. Look at them.”

  Drake couldn’t turn away to see Altman’s reaction.

  “Do a spin,” Zoe instructed Nikita with an elfin laugh.

  Nikita twirled about. The only thing covering her back was her hair, reaching only a few inches onto her shoulders. The two sweeps of fabric actually melded into the dark skirt at the base of her spine.

  Drake strode up to her, “Remember how I said you were gorgeous?”

  Nikita nodded uncertainly.

  He slipped his hands around her waist and onto that beautiful bare back. He whispered for her alone, “I lied. You’re way beyond gorgeous.”

  Nikita didn’t know what to do with him.

  Drake had always been a pleasant enough, smooth-mover of a guy who had the added benefit of being an excellent gunner and crew chief. But the man confidently holding her in the cruise ship’s luxury suite was someone else entirely.

  Without forethought or intent, she leaned into him. She’d never needed anyone to lean on, but somehow, leaning on Drake Roman felt…safe. Not that she’d ever needed safe.

  When he kissed her, she eased into it. Unlike last night’s hot and heavy, there was a sweet tenderness to it.

  “Yes!” Zoe’s whispered cheer, which she probably would have accompanied with a fist pump if her arms weren’t full, was enough to pull her back from it. But the warmth and peace stayed with her as she eased away.

  Altman was watching her carefully. She couldn’t read his thoughts but his look made her want to hide her face against Drake’s shoulder, so instead she retreated another step.

  “There’s more,” she said to fill the awkward silence and signaled to the shopkeeper, who had been thrilled to help Zoe carry the purchases. They’d probably made the shop’s quota for the whole trip in a single go. She’d finally thrown the last of her caution to the wind when Zoe had suggested they could just bill the whole shopping trip back to Titan and J-dawg wouldn’t dare argue. She’d liked the sound of that. Even better, he’d probably whine the whole way, and then they could sic Sugar on him to get him back in line. On that premise, they’d made a few purchases for Zoe as well.

  “This way,” Zoe flashed a big smile, then led the shopkeeper into the master suite.

  “I’ll take the top one,” Nikita snagged the first of several dress bags out of the shopkeeper’s hands. “I got this for you, Drake.”

  She’d bought it as part of the role they were playing, but now it seemed more intimate and personal. Nikita slipped the white Armani jacket from the black plastic and held it out, open and ready for him.

  Drake turned and slipped his arms in. She tugged it up onto his shoulders and ran her hand down the lines of the back. They’d guessed at his size and done well.

  When he turned, he was dazzling. He still wore her tight black t-shirt and tan khakis. Combined with the white jacket, he looked both wealthy and dangerous. With the power of his light kiss still on her lips, she was having trouble meeting his eyes.

  “Oh, the fit is perfect, I am so glad,” the shopkeeper inspected Drake with a professional eye as she came back into the room. “No need to take it to our tailor.” But it wasn’t only the jacket she was looking at. Whether it was because of how handsome he looked in the jacket or if she wanted to see the notorious Drake Roman was unclear. But he definitely made an impression.

  Drake reached for his wallet.

  “Oh, there is no need, Mr. Roman. Your lady-friend has been most generous already.” She’d signed a big tip on to the room charge just for J-dawg.

  As she left the suite, there was a small gasp of surprise, then the shopkeeper spoke softly. “Good afternoon, Arthur.” Her tone, which had warmed up the instant Zoe had gathered a third of the shop into the dressing room and had remained cheerful and friendly throughout, went distinctly cool.

  “Arthur” rapped his knuckles on the open door. “Good afternoon,” he stepped into the suite without so much as an invitation. He was a lean man in a sharp suit that looked inappropriate for the setting—as if he was trying too hard. His overly cheery smile faded as he inspected the four of them carefully, instantly dismissing everyone except Drake.

  “Yes?” Drake managed a decent mix of arrogant and curious.

  “I’m sorry. I was expecting someone else. I had understood that this was Global Security’s suite.” But he didn’t back out. Global Security International, GSI. Arthur had just said the magic pass phrase.

  “Was is the operative word,” Drake replied without even an eyeblink of hesitation. His voice chilled like the haughty person he was supposed to be and Nikita wanted to warn him about doing too much.

  She’d spent the night deep in GSI’s files, so she knew the source of Drake’s reaction. Not only mercs, but by the end they’d added kidnapping of women and children to their list as part of a blackmail attempt.

  She slipped her hand around Drake’s arm to caution him, but decided that playing the dumb brunette was to her advantage at the moment.

  Arthur blinked slowly though she could see his mind working quickly. “A…change in circumstances?”

  “Let me just say that after our…acquisition of GSI, their people are no longer a factor. I’m now looking out for their business interests.” Who was this man she was holding on to? It certainly wasn’t Drake Roman the pleasantly thoughtful Night Stalker gunner. This was a dangerous man who could easily command an entourage and stage a lethal takeover of a competitor.

  A part of her wanted to shove him away, disgusted with the merc attitude she knew all too well from her days at Curtis Contracting. But another part of her wanted to hold on tight and stay close to his unexpected power.

  The ship’s horn blared to life somewhere above them, a muted roar through the closed windows.

  “Excuse me. Departure is always an exciting time aboard a cruise ship and I should leave you to enjoy it. Especially as you are traveling,” he nodded toward Nikita, “with a friend. But perhaps I may interest you in attending an art auction during your cruise,” he produced a card. “The gallery is always open for viewing and the first auction will be tomorrow evening.”

  Drake took the card, glanced at it, then dropped it on the bar counter instead of pocketing it.

  “We’ll consider it,” then his dark and dangerous mood shifted. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I am completely at the mercy of whatever whim takes my lovely lady.”

  “Of course, sir,” Arthur agreed smoothly and then withdrew.

  Drake led them all out onto the wrap-around verandah. He leaned heavily on the forward railing, which offered a sweeping view of the dock and the many islands that dotted Miami’s harbor. Blue sky, shining water, islands packed with luxury homes, it was quite the scene. A glance down rev
ealed dozens upon dozens of other passengers doing the same thing they were, leaning on their own suite’s verandah railings to watch the busy harbor.

  “Did I do okay?” There was the Drake Roman she knew. She’d been right to hang on to him.

  She kissed him on the cheek this time and whispered, “You did great!” It was an intimate moment, and one she rather enjoyed.

  Altman’s slap on his back didn’t dislodge Nikita’s hold on his arm, which was good or it would have knocked him over the railing and into the ocean far below.

  “Next time I need an undercover badass, you’re my boy,” Altman almost smiled.

  “Amazing what three years in the Yale drama department can do for you.”

  “If you went to Yale, why aren’t you an officer?” Zoe was standing on Altman’s other side.

  “Because I never went back for year four. I enjoyed acting. I enjoyed actresses especially,” then he felt stupid for saying that aloud. He was going to need to negotiate an unlimited do-overs license with Nikita. “But I wasn’t anything special and I spent an entire summer getting cut at auditions in Seattle just to prove it. That’s a major theater town and I didn’t get a single casting—only got a handful of callbacks.”

  “Theater to military?” Nikita’s voice had changed. It wasn’t just like she was continuing the role from the suite; it was warmer. As if she was genuinely interested.

  “Granddad on my mom’s side flew Hueys in Vietnam. Was flying lumber in Seattle—picking hard-to-reach timber out of the deep forest with an Erickson Aircrane. While I was losing all those auditions, I stayed with him and Grandma. Every night he’d tell me stories over a beer. On the days I couldn’t line up a tryout, he’d take me aloft with him. Liked it better than a whole lot of stage doors slamming in my face.”

  A trio of dockhands were gathered on the concrete dock in bright yellow vests and hardhats. Nearby was a massive bollard with a six-inch-diameter line run around it and back to the ship. The dockhands were just waiting. Finally one answered a radio call, then the three of them walked up to the heavy line and flipped it off the bollard and into the water. The ship began cranking it aboard.