Sweet Recovery (Ex Ops Series Book 4) (12 page)

I had never been to prison, but somehow, I imagined that was how inmates on death row felt. The clock was ticking, and the end was in sight. Only, I wouldn’t get to experience the freedom of death, but a transfer to a different prison.

Looking up at Sanjay Kahn, I studied him covertly through my eyelashes. He sat diagonally across the table from me, speaking to my father who sat at the head like the king he thought he was. And that begged the question, if Richard Wellington thought he was king, then who or what did Sanjay think he was in this criminal underworld they lived in?

With the help of Barbara, I had managed to learn a few things about the man I had been bartered off to. He was the son of Sandeep Kahn and his very American wife Allyson Kahn. A search on the internet had produced a few business articles about the Kahns owning large pharmaceutical companies overseas, from the United Kingdom to India.

The search had also produced a large amount of pictures with Sanjay and a gorgeous redhead. The pictures were linked back to a few gossip rags from the UK, had gone back for the last two years, and ranged from them at dinner to tender moments on a park bench. The gossip sites had stated she was an American yet didn’t say much else. The last picture of them had been taken just five months ago, which had surprised me.

Why would Sanjay get married to me if he had been in a long-term relationship with someone else just several months ago? Was it strictly business? Had the redhead meant that little to him that he could brush her off and move on to a loveless marriage with me so soon?

Sanjay, my father, and basically any other person involved with their businesses were very careful to keep all conversations about said businesses away from me. However, that didn’t mean I had not managed to catch snippets of conversations here and there while eavesdropping. I knew now that Sanjay and his father were interested in expanding their business, much as my father had done, on the not so legal side of the law. I didn’t understand that. The Kahn’s seemed to already be ridiculously rich, so why put their entire lives in jeopardy just to make more money that they didn’t really need?

Was he heartless enough to make everything about business? At least my father loved my mother, even if it was a psychotic-stalker sort of love.

Casting my eyes back down to the red napkin, I ran my thumb over the golden embroidery and wondered if the mystery woman was hurt over Sanjay the way I was hurt over Lucas.

“Virginia!” my father’s voice boomed suddenly, causing me to jump in surprise.

Lifting my head and looking him in the eye, I answered warily, “Yes, sir?”

“Your mother just asked you a question, and you didn’t even notice she was talking to you.”

His eyes were angry, his mouth drawn in a tight line, and his hand twitched on the table top as if he wanted to reach over and slap me. If I had more courage, I would dare him to do just that. Perhaps if he hit me in front of my mother, she would finally see the light and leave him again.

Setting my wineglass down, I did my best to apologize meekly to him. “I’m sorry; my mind was elsewhere. Please forgive me.”

Turning to my mother, I asked softly, “What did you ask me, Momma?”

“What do you think about Tyrian purple for one of the wedding colors? I know it’s one of your favorites.” Her eyes held worry, but nothing else about her composure betrayed what she might be feeling.

It was one of my favorite colors … and entirely too ironic that my mother would pick that color. Once upon a time, I had daydreamed of marrying Lucas in that color. I had never wanted a white wedding dress. To me, white was a blank canvas, bland and unfeeling, just waiting to be filled with color, movement, and emotion. Purple was romantic. It reminded me of magic, fairy tales told long ago, and happily ever after. Now it was a reminder of what I would never have.

I didn’t get a chance to answer before my father asked, “Why that color, dear?”

He would ask, wouldn’t he? My mother’s explanation of it being one of my favorites couldn’t possibly be enough. No, he had to dig for some reason he thought acceptable. Well, this question I could answer to take the scrutiny off my mom.

Keeping my concentration on the stem of the wine glass that I was slowly twirling on the tabletop, I gave him the answer that would appease him the most. “Tyrian purple was the most expensive dye in ancient times, so expensive, in fact, that it was reserved for royalty and the extremely wealthy. It was highly coveted because it did not fade as fast as other dyes and retained a beautiful color even when fading from sunlight. It’s been worn by Roman Caesars and tracked as far back as the Bible.”

The table was silent now, but I didn’t care to look up to see what they thought of my answer. Instead, I thought of the purple dress I would never wear. How Lucas would have smiled at my unusual choice of color as he stood, waiting for me at the alter with an arch made of fresh flowers. How the sun would have shined on everyone in the field where the two of us sat under that tree. That was a dream … and I was living a nightmare.

“It sounds suitable,” my father finally murmured.

I barely held back my snort of laughter. Of course the king of Chicago would want his daughter surrounded in a color meant for the powerful. He had to establish his place in the world every little way he could.

It was another deep, masculine voice that had me lifting my head up from the view of my glass. A voice that surprisingly sounded warm and inviting instead of the cold, decisive one that ruled my world.

It was Sanjay’s voice.

“I think it sounds more than suitable, Richard. I think it sounds like a gorgeous color for an exceedingly stunning woman.”

His warm brown eyes bore into my own, giving time impression he was completely genuine, and I wanted to believe him so badly it hurt my heart. I was in desperate need of someone to be kind and honest with me besides my mother and my maid. It was that needy vulnerability that reminded me of the rules to this world: beauty, elegance, and lies. Sanjay Kahn was no exception to those.

Pulling my hand off the wineglass, I started to fidget with the gold locket around my neck as I did my best to feign gratitude for the compliment. “That’s very kind of you to say. Thank you.”

Sanjay pulled his gaze from my own and turned to ask my father some question about the stock market and investments made in some Chinese industries.

I returned my gaze to my wineglass as I silently patted myself on the back. Perhaps I would never have the beauty and elegance of my father’s world, but it looked like I was getting quite handy with the lies end of it.

Lucas

“The Regulators down in Miami may have finished the op regarding the sex slave ring operation Rivera was involved in, but they were also nice enough not to take all of our fun away,” Commander Jaxon said as he stood at the front of the briefing room, laying out some of the details of our next mission. “They’ve sent along information they discovered on their end regarding some of the customers who purchased ‘goods’ from Rivera’s source,
a Cuban don named Lazaro
Sandoval.

“Thankfully, Sandoval was only a seller in the sex slave underground for a couple of years. In that time, however, they found documentation of transactions for over one hundred thirteen women, all of which would have never been known about had it not been for Young’s contact, Brett ‘Ice’ Grady.”

The mention of Ice’s name brought back dozens of memories. We had gone to war together, watched each other’s backs. He was a former Green Beret who had worked with me in the Army. He had also been one of the few people I had told Ginny about after joining the Green Berets.

Ice was a take no shit, stick a boot up your ass and lay you flat on your back sort of motherfucker. That was probably why he had told me I was one of the biggest dumbasses he had ever met the night I had spilled my guts about the last time I’d seen Gin at the cabin and what I’d done.

I would never forget what he said next. “You’re one dumb son of a bitch, Lucas. My woman died, and I would go to Hell to bring her back if I could. You just let yours walk away.”

If only he knew Ginny had walked in and out of my life once again, he would probably call me something much worse. That was exactly why I hadn’t gone back to his club and told him about any of it.

“Young, you paying attention?” My commander’s barked question brought me back to full attention.

Fuck. I might have stopped the drinking, but it looked like my mind was still fucked up over Gin. No matter how hard I tried not to think about her, she crept into my thoughts, anyway. I needed to stop this shit and get my head in the game.

Turning my head and giving him an unflinching look in the eye, I responded, “Yes, sir.”

He considered me for a moment then turned back to his briefing. Stepping aside, he hit the remote on the lights and turned on the digital projector. On the white wall, an image appeared of a million dollar plus home with obvious Spanish characteristics.

“This villa is located in the so-called ‘millionaires row’ of Pedramala, Spain. This town is in close proximity to the historical old towns of Benissa, Moraira, and Calpe and only seven minutes away from the sea. Know what that means?”

Riley was the first to speak. “Easy access to smuggle things in and out via the ocean.”

Jaxon pointed a finger at him. “Exactly.” Changing the picture to a floorplan, he pointed to the wall. “Study it, gentlemen. Five bedroom suites upstairs, a kitchen, library, family room, formal living room, formal dining room, and breakfast room downstairs. Bars on every window and a state of the art surveillance system. What that floorplan means is that there’s about ten thousand square feet to hide someone, and we’re the lucky bastards who have to get past security to do the search.”

Jaxon changed the picture again, this time to a mid-forties man of Spanish origins. “Luis del Toro is a third generation billionaire. His family owns some of the more well-known tourist resorts in the country. From Ice’s information, he also likes to own women.”

The silence after the statement was deafening. It didn’t stop our commander from giving us what we needed to know.

Changing the picture again, this time to a pretty redhead with blue eyes, he continued, “This is eighteen-year-old Brie Olsen. She went missing six months ago after she left her parents’ farm for a senior class trip to Miami. The last place she was spotted was on a group dining trip to a restaurant on the beach. She finished her meal then asked for permission to walk down to the shore. She has not been seen or heard from since. Thanks to Ice’s information, we have reason to believe that del Toro purchased her.

“Our mission is simple. We’re going to split up into four teams and infiltrate the house on the north, east, and west sides while leaving the last team between the south side and the ocean. If anyone tries to get away, they’ll cut them off there. We’re going in, finding Brie Olsen, getting the hell out of Spain before the authorities are tipped off, and taking her home to her parents.

“In your dossiers, you have all the specifics of the security team, surveillance equipment, and backgrounds you need. You have the next twenty-four hours to figure out how we’re going to get in and out of that house, and no one is leaving this room until we do it. I refuse to find this girl dead, goddammit! We’re taking her home!”

Jaxon flicked the room lights back on, and all of us opened our dossiers and started reading. The clock was ticking, and little Brie Olsen’s life might depend on us. Every man at this table would forsake family, obligations, or anything else that might keep him from this mission. Not just because there was a young woman who needed help, but because each of these missions were personal to us.

It was justice for everything Bobby Baker’s wife had endured during her kidnapping, confinement, and torture. It was retribution for the two teammates we had lost while trying to get to the source of this particular sex slave ring. It was doing the right thing in a world that seemed to always go wrong.

Hopefully, it would also keep me busy enough not to think about a certain woman who had revenge fucked me then stomped on my heart with her stiletto heels in a motel room back in Miami.

Chapter

10

Ginny

Two and a half Months Later…

Sitting in my usual spot on the armchair next to the windows, I used a fine-tipped black marker to shadow and detail the small rocky cliffs attached to a tall stone tower. My subject sat on her little ledge, looking longingly out at the stormy horizon.

I had given her Rapunzel hair to represent a chance at freedom, but put shackles on her legs to show her imprisonment. Although my Rapunzel had blood dripping from her ankles to show how she had fought to free herself at one time, the overall air of the piece showcased her resignation.

As I had done with my Little Red Riding Hood piece, the Rapunzel piece was done in shades of black, grays, and white for the exception of one section where her dress was a crimson-tinted version of the Tyrian purple that would soon be used in my wedding to Sanjay.

After I finished the small details to make the rock look rough, I set the marker down and reached for my glass of lemonade … and vodka.

My life had been pitifully reduced to mixing vodka with anything so I could drink it practically all day. If my vice had been cigarettes, I would be a chain smoking chimney. However, since it was vodka, which I had learned could be easily masked in other beverages, I was probably well on my way to being an alcoholic.

It was the only thing I could get my hands on to help me get through my days, though. It wasn’t like I could walk out the door and find the closest drug dealer for a pill to make my problems go away.

Everywhere I turned, there were bottles of alcohol. All I had to do was pilfer a bottle from the entertainment room, another bottle from his own office, and perhaps a bottle from the kitchen pantry. I had bottles stashed all over my suite because Barbara had started taking them away from me.

My only friend had turned on me, and if I weren’t so numb, that would probably hurt like hell. Thank God for not feeling a damn thing. The nosey old broad could take what she could find, but she never found them all. Nope. There was the small suitcase on the top shelf of my closet where I kept a bottle stashed at all times. Since vodka was practically odorless in mixed drinks, I was good to go unless someone picked up my glass and drank out of it.