Wet For Her Warriors (Book 5 of the WILD -- Warriors Intense in Love & Domination -- Boys of Special Forces) (16 page)

“Guess you want
me to thank you for choosing the frost attack, instead?”

After a moment
of contemplation, his friend cocked a brow. Gone was the hot-and-horny lover
boy into whom Kell had morphed last night in the forest. Sergeant Rush was back
in all his carefully-reined glory. “Someone’s in a rough mood.”

“Yeah, well…” He
shrugged, hoping the strange telepathy of their friendship, which had spasmed
back to life a little during their time with Lani last night, would activate
and convey his words as the apology he intended.

“You look like
crap, too.”

“Thanks, honey. But
is my butt fat in this dress?”

There was a
significant pause. “You been hitting the sauce?”

He let another
moment stretch before replying. “Tried to.
Wanted
to.”

Kellan actually
gave half a smile. “But you didn’t.”

Tait surged to
his feet. “Don’t go striking up the goddamn violins.”

“Fair enough.”
Kell held up both hands, but lowered them the next moment, bracing his elbows
to both knees. “But since your head is all here, maybe we should talk about—”

“What time is
it?” There was no way in hell he was letting the guy bring up last night. It
happened; it was over. He wasn’t about to spill how he’d longed to be the one
slapping bodies with Lani last night, or how the woman had taken over his five-knuckle-shuffle
in the shower this morning.

“Half past one,”
Kellan answered.

“Damn. I slept a
long time.”

“You want to go
get some lunch? Lani keeps telling me we have to hit the restaurant at the
Kilohana Plantation during our stay. Guess it’s famous, and the food’s supposed
to be decent. Waitress service, even.”

He sent the guy
a broad smile, again hoping it conveyed more than what he put to words. “That
sounds cool. Unless we have to wear ties.”

“Dude, when was
the last time you saw me in a tie?”

“Hawk’s
wedding?” he conjectured. “Well, the first one. Second time around, we all got
to make like Ren Faire peasants.”

“Sure made it
easier to scratch the nuts. Discreetly, of course.”

He tossed half a
grin as they walked out to the rental car. “I assume nut scratching is frowned
on at this plantation thing, huh?”

Kell chuckled.
“Probably.”

“So we’re on the
needle between Windsor knots and open testicle attention. Sounds do-able.”

*
* * * *

A little over
two hours later, Tait polished off a perfectly-cooked piece of halibut, while
Kell had gone for the restaurant’s massive Reuben sandwich. They’d split a
plate of fries, too, and scarfed on the last of the potatoes while waiting for
the waitress to process the check.

After the fries
were demolished, Kellan tossed his napkin on the table and swung a steady gaze
across the table. “There
is
something I need to talk to you about, T.”

Tait took a swig
on his water in temporary evasion. How the fuck was he going to deflect the
house visit from uncomfortable this time? “Look, man, I don’t really think we—”

“It’s about
Gunter Benson.”

“Oh.” He
disguised his surprise—and relief—by taking another swig. Both feelings were
overshadowed by the ire that came with thinking about Benson and his fashion
plate posse. “What about the asshat?”

Kell’s jaw
stiffened. “I don’t think he’s got straight-up intentions about Hale Anelas.”

Tait almost
laughed. “‘Intentions’? You going all protective papa on me about an estate
that’s not even yours, dude?”

“Like you’d blame
me? You’ve spent enough time at the stables and the beach with Leo to know why
the words mean ‘home of the angels.’”

Or maybe one angel
in particular?

It took one fast
glance with his buddy to confirm Kell “heard” the thought, loud and clear. He
felt a flash of guilt for causing the tight lines at the corner of the guy’s
eyes, but trying to reroute the very neurons of his brain was going to be
impossible. Kellan had to realize, from the second they’d first seen Lani, that
it’d be impossible for Tait to douse
some
kind of attraction for her—and
after last night, that little campfire in his psyche had combusted into a full pyre
of lust. But they didn’t have to dissect the issue, either—nor had he been
concerned about Kell pushing for such a debrief. In the history of their
friendship, the sharing-is-caring sessions had always been Bommer-sponsored
endeavors. If he was officially back-burnering last night’s events, he counted
on Kell to do the same.

“Okay. Giving
you the gold star on that one,” he conceded. “But I still don’t follow your
tack on Benson.”

Kell scooted in
tighter, sliding his trigger finger up and down along the tablecloth,
indicating the rapid spin of his thoughts. “The guy’s hotter for Lani’s land
than a dog for peanut butter, right?”

“Nice work,
Sherlock. But I still bet you can’t name my last deployment from eyeing my tan
lines.”

“Your tan lines
do
not
interest me, dick brain. But Benson and his motives? That’s another
story.”

Tait scowled.
“Motives?”

Kell pulled in a
breath and changed his finger pattern to a full circle. “I don’t think he wants
the place to build a resort.”

This time, Tait
leaned forward. “You’re right. That’s way more interesting than tan lines, even
mine.”

“Something hasn’t
added up about the guy for me, ever since we met him and the pretty boy crew
that first night. I kept wondering why he didn’t want to survey the mansion, the
gardens, or the pasture. He only asked to see the orchard, the beach, and,” —Kell’s
voice hitched for a weird moment— “the lookout point.”

“Interesting
observation. But I’m not the guy to be asking about accurate memories from that
night.”

 Kellan cracked
only a slight smirk at that. He took back his napkin and started folding the
thing with more precision than he gave his airborne harness pack, so Tait knew
the guy was entering serious deliberation mode now. “Something just hit me
wrong about the whole thing, so I started poking around online. Personally,
there wasn’t much to discover about Benson. He’s made a religion out of his
privacy. Has a permanent residence—actually, a small fiefdom—in Beverly Hills.
He exclusively dates indie film actresses, but drops them if they make it into big
commercial releases or start bitching about commitment. He’s got a thing about
publicity and relationship strings.”

“What about the
company? Benstock?”

“Also privately
held. He started it with trust fund money but has worked his ass off to make it
into the multibillion-dollar monster we all know and love. There’s a partner,
too; that’s the source for the last half of the company name. But he’s more
reclusive than Benson. I didn’t hit on anything that his credentials are
stellar, ensuring the company has excellent markers on its bets.”

“He…or she.”

Kell stabbed an
affirming finger. “Good point.”

Tait tapped the
salt and pepper shakers together to keep his own hands busy. “None of this reveals
anything crazy.” So the guy owned an estate in the 90210, was in bed with some
deep pockets, dated girls who gave him street cred in Hollywood, and was a
condescending dickwad to women like Lani, who were the real deal. He studied
Kell with expectancy. Where was the Ricin on the guy’s envelope?

“So on the
surface, Benstock’s main game is real estate purchase and repurposing,
primarily for five-star hotels and resorts.”

“Still not
dropping my jaw.”

“Hold onto your
panties. I’m getting to the juicy stuff.” The guy rolled his shoulders then
settled his elbows back to the table. “Hotels are only the start of Benstock’s
client list,” he asserted. “Close to home, they have a division that secures
high-end properties for filmings and special events for the entertainment
industry. There’s another subsidiary that brokers extended stay property rentals
for offshore investors, those needing ‘ultimate attention to luxury
and
privacy’.”

Tait felt his
teeth grinding. “In other words, oil sheikhs wanting to bang American virgins."

Kellan’s face tautened,
too. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“
What
?”

His friend
nodded tightly. “Benstock has another subsidiary, not listed on their website and
deeply hidden on most others. It’s called Forte. Clicking on links for it
always leads to a screen requiring a password. Nothing came up when I tried cross-searches,
either. I even did a mind-fuck on myself and pretended
I
was an oil
sheikh seeking the ‘services’ of the company.”

Tait hunkered
his brows. “And still nothing?” When Kell affirmed with another head dip, he probed,
“So then what?” His senses started sizzling in commiseration with the
frustration his friend must’ve felt at hitting those dead ends. But he also
knew that in true Spec Ops style, Kell hadn’t given up there.

“I bought a
burner phone, then used it to call Benstock’s corporate headquarters in
California. I faked an accent for the call, something between early Vin Diesel
and vintage Omar Sharif.”

Tait chuckled.
“And I don’t get a sample?”

Kell pursed his
lips with sarcasm. “You’ll thank me for sparing you. Good news is, it worked on
the first five layers of gatekeepers that I spoke to at Benstock.”

“
Five
?
Damn. Who do they let you talk to on level six? The Pope?”

“Not sure. But
get this: the dude I spoke to on level five was strange enough to make me hang
up as soon as he put me on hold, on my way to level six.” The color drained
from Kell’s face. The sight was weirdly fascinating, mostly because Tait had
never experienced it before. “I’m only going to admit this to you, T. The
fucker scared me.”

Tait scooted in
again. “Damn. You’re serious, aren’t you?”  

“Wish I wasn’t.”
Kell’s face, still too pale for Tait’s comfort, gave up that answer. “I
could’ve dealt with a typical henchman act, you know? The whole battery acid
crossed with tacks kind of voice? But this bastard was smooth, like a shiv dunked
in butter—that had attended Oxford.”

“An Alan Rickman
vibe?”

If it was
possible, Kell’s glare narrowed again. “Damn it. Lani hit you with the swoony-over-Rickman
thing too, eh?” Though they shared a couple of snickers at that, the guy’s
humor faded fast. “Strangely, the weirdo’s accent wasn’t what made me eventually
hang up.”

“Then what was?”

“After I went
through the drill of asking about the Forte project and indicated I had
‘substantial’ funds to invest, he got even oozier on the demeanor. Then he told
me, as if he were some servant just checking my martini order, that he noticed
I was calling from a location on Kauaˋi—“ he stopped to let Tait bark the
f
word at that— “and assumed I was on the island to take a look at their ‘unique
opportunity’ here. He assured me that the ‘asset’ was ‘days away’ from being
secured and accessible.” Like a character from a bad spy movie, Kell hunched
his shoulders and leaned deeper over the table. “Then he asked which delegation
I was representing: Pyongyang or Tehran.”

A two-by-four of
shock knocked Tait back in his chair. “Are—are you fucking with me?” He took
another hard gulp of his water. “Don’t answer that. Of course you’re not.”

Kellan worked
his jaw back and forth. “Now you know why I hung up.”

“No shit.” He swallowed
hard. “Rephrase.
Holy
shit.”

“I’ve been
running all kinds of nutso scenarios in my head since then,” his friend
supplied. “Like maybe the words are just some sick inside joke among the
Benstock crowd. Maybe they’re using them to stand in for something else, to
make the ‘poser’ investors run when hearing them.”

Tait shot him a
hard stare. “You really going to play ball with that hunch? Kell, crazy men
print the president’s likeness on toilet paper in both those cities for the fun
of wiping their asses on his face. This intel is too insane not to—”  

“Okay, back that
pony up. Like I said, we’re not even sure it
is
intel.”

Thanks to his
time with Leo the last few days, Tait had perfected the art of eye rolls. He
threw a good one at his friend before charging, “Whoever the hell you called,
he was able to drop a locator pin on your
burner
phone. And if you were
calling from a car—”

“Fuck,” Kell cut
in. “Yeah. I was in Lani’s jeep.”

“Then the reason
why the guy got sappy on you was due to stalling. He was likely repositioning
some private satellites with the intent of photographically feeling you up.”

“Shit.”

“You tossed the
phone after you hung up, right?”

“Straight into
an eco-collection bin.”

“Good.”
Nevertheless, the breath he released was harsh and heavy. “Dude, we’ve got to
call Franz. There’s a good chance he can pull in his buddy from the spooks and
give us guidance on what needs to happen next.”