James, Honor - Assignment: Rock Hard Love [Hawt Men In and Out of Uniform 1] (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  Flipping through the messages, he paused on the only two that mattered. One, their boss was coming in with a new prospective case. Good news. Everyone was getting antsy without much to do but hunt for possible leads. The second was from her. Hope Bradshaw had been on vacation with her latest beau, but apparently that had tanked and she was coming back early. He hated the idea of her seeing anyone else, but since he was her boss and she was part of his team, he couldn’t do anything about it.

  So he sat back and watched as she dated and hooked up with other guys and basically made himself miserable imagining all they were doing. Yup, he was a glutton for punishment in the worst way. But since he couldn’t have her and no other woman did a damn thing for him, he would just have to suck it up and keep suffering.

  Everyone assumed he was basically one step up from a monk. Pretty close, actually. But they also assumed that because of his position he was extremely careful and vetted anyone he dated. A guy didn’t need to vet a date if he never dated.

  Running his thumb over the words of the message, he let out a breath. He wanted to see her. They’d been missing one another, between his trips out of country to look into rumors and her trips to D.C. as their go-between. He hated the politics. Then he’d gotten back only to find out she’d gone on vacation, which he should have remembered since he had to approve the time, and it had been two long weeks without her in the offices.

  Sticking the note into the locked drawer of his desk where all her handwritten notes and phone messages were, his hidden secret, he pulled off his tie and went into his private bathroom. Yanking off the dress shirt, he tossed it into the basket of dry cleaning he’d have to drop off later and faced himself in the mirror.

  Too many missions, too much hard living, too much coffee and not enough sleep hadn’t helped his aging process. Not that he was old. At thirty-four, he was still in his prime as an agent. Yes, the shooting back in 2010 had slowed him down for a time, but he was going strong once more.

  A few more gray strands in his black hair, a few more wrinkles around his dark-green eyes, and his broken nose still looked broken. A few new scars littered the face that his mother had always claimed to be so handsome. Square jaw, slight cleft in his chin and a fucking dimple in his left cheek. He hated the damn dimple, but thankfully, it only ever came out when he smiled. And he really had no reason to smile in his line of work.

  Eyeing up the bullet-wound scars on his chest and shoulder, he rubbed the one that had nearly take his life. Missed his heart by a quarter of an inch, but the trajectory had let it punch through his left lung and out his back, bouncing off a vertebra. The one in his shoulder had been a through-and-through as well—clean, no major damage, just a hole and two new scars.

  Leaning over, he turned on the water to splash his face a couple of times. Swiping a towel, he dried off and faced himself. Eventually, he’d have to give up the field work, be a desk jockey to finish out his time until he got shuffled out with his pension. If he was lucky. If he wasn’t, he’d die on an op in a blaze of glory. While it would suck for his mother and kid sister, he’d be dead and not overly concerned. The team would go on. They were well trained and would keep moving forward. Hell, more than likely Hope would be the one pushed into the hot seat of responsibility. She could do the job and do it well, and she was way more politically correct than he could be even on his best day.

  A sharp knock had him leaning back and looking across his office. “They’re gathering in there, boss. You coming?” William asked.

  “Be there in a couple. Just going to grab a shirt and a coffee. Folders are on the corner of my desk if you guys want to get a head start on the reading material,” he said.

  William came in and grabbed them up. “See you in there,” he called as he left again.

  The material was thin, just the most basic of information they’d been trying to glean on the latest possible shipment of blood diamonds coming in. If they could stop those shipments, they stopped the cash and the weapons the cash would buy. The insurgents and warlords would then have to come up with a plan B for arming their men to kill their enemies. While everyone said they should go straight for the source, it didn’t work that way.

  Tossing the towel, he went to the file cabinet and pulled out the bottom drawer, his spare clothing stash. Digging out a T-shirt he pulled it on over his head and then finger combed his short hair. He needed a haircut, and soon. As an ex-Marine, he still liked and preferred to have it short, but he just didn’t seem to have the time anymore to squeeze in a haircut.

  Grabbing up his own folder, he collected his mug and went to the community coffee pot. Pouring a cup, he took a sip and groaned in pleasure. One thing about working with this agency, they made sure they only had the best fucking coffee on the planet available.

  Sipping more, he headed in to brief the team on what they knew and pass out assignments to find out all that they didn’t know. Which, on this one, was way too fucking much.

  Chapter Two

  July 27, 2013 - Mount Haven, Wyoming

  Pulling the horse to a stop, Hope pulled her hat lower on her head and looked out over the plains of Wyoming. The day was hot as hell, but she was still dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt because she knew that when she walked through the corn she would get cut, if not.

  Sweeping her blue-eyed gaze across the flowing wheat field below her, she then turned to look out at the cornfield that was currently the area in question.

  Typically, Hope didn’t return to her hometown. She didn’t return to her farm during any sort of time when she could be called on a mission, but when her Aunt Mary called her and assured her that there was evil doings, Hope had to return. Her request was the one she typically used…she had to go visit this boyfriend or that one.

  Her horse snorted and she laughed, patting the beast’s neck and smiling. “I know, boy. I know. I’m an idiot.” She was an idiot because she had committed the worst sin imaginable in the Agency. She fell in love with one of her teammates.

  No. Check that. She fell in love with her freaking team leader. Yep. There was a special place in hell just for her. “Come on, boy. Let’s go and have a look see, shall we?” she said to the horse and checked her rifle once more.

  Pulling her hat down on her head tightly, she kicked her horse’s flanks and took off for the corn field instead of the golden wheat that beckoned her like a golden swimming pool.

  * * * *

  Tying her horse to a low branch, Hope pulled the rifle from its casing and patted the neck of her horse. “Be right back, Bernie.” Her boss would shit kittens if he ever knew that she had basically named her stud horse after him. Yep. Again. She was going to hell.

  With her rifle at her side, she walked along through the corn, happy she had pulled her gloves on as well. Shit, she hated walking through green cornfields. They cut like knives if you weren’t careful.

  That’s when she heard it. She heard the low talking, the sound of a hum, and that had her frowning. Huh. Maybe her Aunt Mary hadn’t been having a flashback from another time like she so often did.

  She shifted on the balls of her feet, she turned silently—thank you, CIA training—and looked through the thick corn. Interesting, she thought to herself.

  She knew how time was important in all things, as was patience.

  She stood completely still for likely twenty minutes until she finally smiled. Now she got it.

  Shaking her head, she stepped into the clearing with her gun leveled on the teens and cocked it. “Hello, boys. Do your mommas know that you are out here growing weed in my Aunt Mary’s cornfield? Don’t you boys realize that woman never sleeps and she watches her crops like a hawk?” Even if half the time she was looking for her long-dead husband and sons, but that was neither here nor there, the boys knew that.

  The taller redhead gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched the gun. “Ms. Bradshaw. We didn’t know you was back in town.”

  “Amazing, the things that happen, huh? Ever he
ard of an airplane or telephone?” Hope asked with a grin. “Now. Recreation or monetary gain, and whose bright idea was it?”

  Turning the weapon, she tsked. “Now, Tommy Henderson. I suggest that you come out from behind the corn before I have to wing you, and you all know I can.” She had been a rodeo queen and could shoot like nobody’s business.

  The young boy stepped into the clearing and swallowed hard. “We weren’t doing anything wrong. We just couldn’t afford to buy it so we found out on the internet how to grow it. You did it too, right?”

  “Nope. I’ve never enjoyed giving up my control.” Call her a freak, that’s what she was. Period. “Now then. Here is what is going to happen. You boys are going to pull up the plants by the roots, put them in a burlap bag, and then you are going to go up to my Aunt Mary’s house and offer to help her this summer. You are going to mow her property, you are going to trim hedges, prune trees, and you are going to do a good job or I will ensure that you boys learn not to mess with an Agent in the Bureau. Right?” It wasn’t a question. It was an order and they knew it.

  Shifting so that she had her weapon at her shoulder, she watched the boys as they did as she instructed.

  * * * *

  September 1, 2013 - Mount Haven, Wyoming

  Another call. Hope rubbed her forehead. God above, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could do this. Lifting her hand, she called for another Scotch. Today had been a bad day. This time, Dr. Harper called her and told her that it was getting bad enough that her Aunt now needed to have constant supervision. Hope couldn’t take her back to the capital with her. She spent too much time on missions and honestly, her Aunt could be used against her, and that was something that Hope could never allow to happen.

  Looking at the e-mail from Dr. Harper, she hit “reply” and asked him to set up the in-home supervision for her aunt. Damn, that meant that she had to go home and explain it to her aunt. Wonderful.

  She tossed the Scotch back once more and leaned her head on the bar top. When did life become so complicated? Oh, she knew when. It became that complicated when her mother and uncle both passed on the same day, sending her already-fragile Aunt Mary into a full-blown mental breakdown, which was only worsened by the onset of dementia.

  Stepping away from the bar, Hope slapped a twenty down and told Barb and Willie, the bar owners, good-bye. Just another joy of having grown up in a town with a total population of 302.

  She was about to leave when she saw a massive biker walk into the bar as if he owned the place. He sure as hell wasn’t local, and he had the look in his eyes like he was looking for trouble. Well, hell. She looked to Willie, “You might wanna see if Mike is sleeping at the speed trap or if he’s available. I have a bad feeling.” What sucked was that her bad feelings were typically right.

  Damn.

  Taking Barb’s notepad, she walked up to the hoss of a man. “What can I getcha?”

  When he looked down at her, she could see it. There was recognition there, just like there was for her. Oh Hell. Bad! Really bad! Covers were worked on from the moment you joined. You never went home so that you didn’t out yourself. Ever.

  And here she was. Standing right before Sue “Brickhouse” Thomas. And yes, his parents honest to god named him Sue. Thank you, Johnny Cash.

  “You,” was growled from the man with the heavy beard, mustache and sideburns that made him look more of a mountain man than a biker.

  “And?” Okay, so maybe one should never poke a bear, but she never had followed direction well. She ducked the first blow, as she had seen it coming with the move of his shoulders. Her fist instantly went out and she connected with his family jewels and dropped, twisting and turning.

  She heard the yell, the shout and knew that shit was about to hit the fan. Whirling, she shook her head. “No.” They would get hurt. The bar was filled with a bunch of old farmers, and while they would put up a fight, she wouldn’t ever chance people she thought of as family being hurt, not when it was her fight.

  Turning her back was bad. She felt him grab the back of her shirt and toss her.

  Hitting the column hard, she shook her head and rose to her feet. Shaking herself, she held her hand out again when the eighty-year-old Henry Fredrickson was about to jump in. “I got this, Mr. Fredrickson.” Okay, so none of the people in her hometown had seen her fight. Hell, they all thought she was a secretary. So wrong.

  Walking back to the big brute of a man, she smiled, wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, and shrugged. “Damn, and here I thought you were supposed to be tough, Sue.” Again, poking the fucking bear. She needed to learn better!

  A big, beefy fist once more swung at her. She twisted, ducked, grabbed his fist and jerked the arm up and behind his back. Grabbing the zip ties that she always carried—stupid, crazy world—she zip-tied his hand to his belt loop and belt.

  “Oh, I can still beat you with one hand behind my back,” the big biker said with a laugh, and lunged again.

  She moved like the wind. She twisted, turned and soon had the other hand tied behind his back again. She heard the sirens then and sighed. Shit. Now she was going to have to admit to the Sheriff just what she was, and that would be bad because there would be a report, and then that would go up the chain of command. Dammit.

  She didn’t watch the door as she should have, though. She was too stupid, thinking of trying to keep David from finding out about the mess in her hometown when she felt it.

  The slide of a blade into her side, a whisper at her ear telling her that Cramer sent his regards.

  The searing, hot pain nearly took her to her knees, but she fought against it. Not good. At all.

  Hearing the sheriff, she stepped back, grabbed her jacket and put it on. “He came in looking for trouble. He took a swing at Barb and I zip-tied him with some ties that Willie had from last time those boys from up the road showed up.” She was lying her ass off, but thank god, the couple nodded and then everyone else fell in line.

  “I have to head out. I’m supposed to be meeting Aunt Mary’s new nurse.” She gave the sheriff a kiss on his cheek and headed out while he was distracted.

  * * * *

  Shit. Of course the doctor and nurse had made it back to her Aunt’s house before she had. Parking her car, she thought of options. She was sweating, felt sick and knew she was losing blood, too much. Shit.

  Seeing the tool shed, she got out of her truck and painfully walked to it. Closing the door, she took inventory of what was in there and grabbed two hand towels and used one to clean the wound, painfully. Shit, being stabbed hurt like a bitch!

  The second towel she pressed to the wound and then grabbed the duct tape. “If duct tape can’t fix it, it can’t be fixed,” she muttered sillily. Sugar and salt water. She needed to drink something soon to help balance her blood loss.

  After her entire back and stomach was wrapped in gray tape, she braced her hands on the counter, tears flowing freely because she was in massive pain.

  A deep breath and she forced herself to get dressed with one of her aunt’s old shirts that was hanging on a peg, and headed into the house. Soon. Hopefully soon she would be able to get them gone, and she could go to her room and pull out her medical kit. She hoped she would be able to stitch herself up. If not, well, then it was super glue all the way.

  Chapter Three

  September 18, 2013 - Augusta, West Virginia

  Hope was hurting like hell. Her side had become infected and she had to steal some antibiotics from the local doctor in her hometown. Yeah, that was bad of her, but a girl had to keep her secrets. Walking into the office as if she didn’t have a care in the world, she laughed at something that was said, shrugged and said, “A girl needs a guy for every weekend, right?” Yeah… whatever. “Will you bring me coffee when you come as well, please?” she asked sweetly to the intern that was following her. When he nodded, she did as well and walked into the meeting room.

  Taking her seat, Hope pulled out her iPad and waited for th
e meeting to start.

  Walking in as Will was passing out the folders, he nodded to everyone. Not one for idle chitchat, David headed to the front of the room and hit the controls. The lights dimmed a bit, except for right over each chair. A small light in the ceiling allowed for easy reading of materials.

  “All right, folks, we have some serious trouble with this one. We know a shipment is inbound. But that is it. As you will have noticed from the folders you have and what’s being streamed to your pads, we’re sitting a little high in the water of information.” Turning, he tapped the big plasma display and it brought up the information they each had on hand.

  “Tomas Santiago, an informant you all know and love to hate, has dropped a bug in the director’s ear. He’s heard of a shipment that is bound for the States sometime in the next month. He doesn’t have hard and fast details, as it’s coming to him through a third party, which means the damn diamonds could be here any day or next year. We need to hit up our sources, get them to put their ears to the ground and dig up all the juiciest shit from the rumor mills.”

  He swiped a finger along the screen. “As far as Tomas can determine, this man, tentatively identified by Interpol as Juan Marcus Franklyn, is the man who’s sending the diamonds to purchase the goods. No, I don’t know what the goods might be. No, we don’t know who the broker is on this deal. And no, we don’t know where the diamonds will be cashed in. What we have is Juan, diamonds that are rumored to be in the billions-of-dollars range, and very little chatter.”

  He turned to face them and the lights went to normal levels again with the press of a button. “I need you all to make sure your contacts know this is big. They should send us any information they have, but be cautious. We are not one hundred percent sure that Juan is the warlord. He could be a mediator or just hired muscle. With that in mind, Hope, Douglas and William, you three and I will be going overseas as of tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred. We need to do some poking around on local soil. So, you have this afternoon to ensure everything you have to tie up here is tied up and get your contacts hustling. The rest of you are to remain here and filter all information. Use Interpol if you need to, they are available to us for any connections you may find overseas. Any questions?”