 by Cara Dee.jpg)
Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“The best intelligence is the knowledge that your enemy doesn’t know you have.”
Crew Finlay’s ego had taken a hit or two. He couldn’t lie. As a Marine, he’d been one of the best. As a private military contractor, he’d…messed up a bit. Or failed spectacularly. Whatever. And now? A year into his new gig, working in private security for Elliott Jones, Crew had a lot to prove. He refused to screw this up too. They had people to bring home. So when he found himself holding a cartel freelancer hostage, he steeled himself and vowed not to fall for the bastard’s lies. As if Crew would believe this man was an undercover Fed. Come on.
Nah, this tall, older drink of water was full of it. Adrien Mercier, or whatever his real name might be, was going down. Until one day, when Adrien turned the tables, and then Crew was the one sitting with his hands cuffed behind his back.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Adrien Mercier
“I’ll be there in a few hours,” I replied. “Contact will be reinitiated with Petrov at midnight.”
“Copy that. Good luck.”
The call ended, and I pocketed my phone and got back in my car.
Five weeks. So help me God, I was going to be home in five weeks. I refused to disappoint Jack one more time. Those days were over. I’d…I’d give my all, my absolute all, to bring down the Blancos, but if I didn’t…so be it. I would walk away. I had to.
Crew Finlay
Was this a joke? Reese had fucking told on me? “I can’t believe this.” I trapped my phone between my shoulder and cheek so I could shove the clothes I’d picked out into my duffel bag. “You didn’t say anything to Mom, did you?”
“Fuck no,” Dad replied. “But you can’t blame me for being worried, Crew. Especially when you hardly visit no more.”
He had to throw that in there too. I was busy! And I kinda liked having most of my family back in Brooklyn. It was so far away from LA.
I clenched my jaw and kept packing my bag. So I’d fucked up majorly during my brief stint as a private military contractor last year. I’d blown the cover for both my partner and me, and we’d ended up in the cell next to the guy we’d been sent to fucking Belize to rescue.
“I’m not blamin’ you for being worried,” I muttered irritably. “I’m blamin’ Reese for rattin’ me out.”
I’d had to be saved like some fucking loser in Belize. I came from a family where almost every man had served in the Marines, so they hadn’t turned to the police or anything. Uh-uh, they’d planned their own rescue op. Dad, Uncle Greer, Uncle Kyle… And several of their friends, who were either former military or former private contractors. River and Reese, mainly. Friends of Uncle Greer.
It seemed I couldn’t turn around in this industry without seeing someone who’d been part of that rescue. It was fucking embarrassing.
Dad sighed on the other end of the line. “You’re gonna have to live with our fussing. You’ll always be our baby.”
“Urgh.” I stalked into my bathroom and grabbed some shit there too. “You’re supposed to coddle the youngest, you know. Not me.” I was the eldest among my siblings, for chrissakes. “I’m almost thirty.”
“You usually turn twenty-nine before saying you’re almost thirty,” Dad drawled. “Besides, we coddle all our babies.”
What-the-fuck-ever.
“Listen—”
“No, you listen.” He cut me off. “This isn’t a bad thing, son. It ain’t like Reese told me any details, so just look at it as a lifeline. Greer and I will know where in the world you are, and if shit goes sideways, we—”
“Can come to the rescue again. Yeah, I got that.” I was so fucking fed up with the overprotection. I got it at work too, though Elliott was more subtle about it. “I really gotta go, Dad. My flight’s in two hours.”
“Okay. All right.” He couldn’t conceal the worry in this tone. Story of my damn life. “You know I believe in you, right? You’ve never failed to make Mom and me proud, whether you was learning to ride your bike or when you served your country. And you better believe in yourself too. That’s important, you hear? Otherwise, you’ll hesitate when you can’t afford it.”
I knew that.
“Shit—Mom’s home,” he said. “I was supposed to tidy up in the living room.”
I snorted. Typical Dad. Big, bad Marine—drop him in any warzone, and he’d be fine. Mom was another story. He was so whipped for her.
“Be safe, okay?”
“I will,” I replied.
“Good. I love you. And say it back—don’t be all yeah, yeah, whatever.”
Fucking dick, he thawed me out. It was impossible to be mad at that oaf. “Love you too. Talk to you later. I hope Mom tears you a new one.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing, son. It’s called foreplay.”
“Okay! And we’re done.” I ended the call to the sound of his laughter. Fucking hell.
Since my shitty little apartment was like five minutes from LAX, I made it with some time to spare. Now I just had to wait for my travel companion.
I dicked around on my phone as the seats around my gate filled up with passengers. We had to connect at JFK, and then we were on Delta to Nice in France.
It was pronounced Niece. I’d looked that up.
I wasn’t what one might call well traveled or remotely good at geography, unless we were talking the Middle East. I knew Kandahar, Fallujah, and Lashkargah like the back of my hand.
I’d spent most of my twenties there, re-upping as soon as I’d had the chance.
For as long as I could remember, I’d been chasing something.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek and studied the background photo on my phone. Still couldn’t fucking believe Toby was dead. I was supposed to have left all that behind me. A Marine lost friends in the desert, not outside fucking San Diego. At a barbecue, to boot.