Wet For Her Warriors (Book 5 of the WILD -- Warriors Intense in Love & Domination -- Boys of Special Forces) (29 page)

Tait turned his
gaze toward the waves that Kellan just evoked. His face constricted in thought.
“Damn. I didn’t think about it that way.”

“But there’s a
good chance I’m right.”

“Yeah, you bastard.
There’s a good chance you’re right.”

“That’s not even
where my awesomeness of ‘right’ stops.”

As the guy
looked back, he rolled his eyes. “Why doesn’t
that
surprise me?”

“She also meets
needs in
you
, dickwad. And it goes far beyond the miracle of her
confession at the monastery.” He flashed half a smile. “She’s brought that fire
back to your face. Ignited you in ways that I’d given up on witnessing again. You’re
laughing again. Driving like a maniac again. Damn it, you’re even hogging all
the fortune cookies in the takeout bag again. You may have a few extra pieces
of luggage on board your brain train, but
you
are back—and for that, I’m
not sure I can give the woman enough orgasms to express my gratitude.”

“But maybe I can
help you try.”

Kell met his
friend’s uplifted fist with a countering bump. “Hell yeah, you can.”

That was
normally the spot where fate tried to cue up an imaginary soundtrack of sappy
bromance music, extinguished by Tait regaling him with the newest Seahawks
news. The team’s championship had given the guy permission to convert from
fanboy into freakboy, and there was always some new trivia Tait was gleaning
about the team. Fate, in its mercy
and
cruelty, had other plans. They blended
back into some fern and ti bushes together as a man approached from a bend in
the beach, running a hand through his designer haircut as he spoke rapid Korean
into a cell phone.

Kell tossed an expectant
glance at Tait. His buddy had always been the better of them with foreign
languages. His jaw tensed when T shook his head and grimaced. “Weird dialect,” he
whispered. “I’m only getting every third or fourth word. I think he’s
referencing a meeting and saying that a ‘final bid’ will be requested tonight. Either
that or he’s ordering kimchi for takeout.”

The guy took a
turn inland, down a narrow path cutting through some sizable boulders. Kellan
stifled a groan upon realizing they’d have to hump over the rocks to keep
following him unnoticed. Luckily, their target stopped for a long second, his
voice rising in the middle of an argument, giving them time to find footholds
on the boulders. Things weren’t easier once they reached their goal, since haircut
boy was on the move again. They had to step more carefully than he did. Boulders
on the island were notoriously unpredictable due to the eroding effects of the
weather, so they hustled as cautiously as possible.

“Where the fuck
is he going?” Kellan finally muttered.

“Not sure.”
Tait’s answer was grim. “But I’ll bet he’s not on his way to a friendly fuck in
the woods, which means my hackles are up.”

Kellan grunted
his agreement. He didn’t need to say more. T’s statement addressed what they’d
both noticed. The man was on a direct trajectory back toward Hale Anelas.
Shit
.

Abruptly, the
boulder walls flared out as the ground dipped down by at least ten feet. They
now overlooked a sizable, sunken clearing carpeted in beach sand and surrounded
by the looming boulder walls. It was like the island’s own version of Bruce
Wayne’s manor—

Complete with a
bat cave at one end.

“Ker-ching,”
Tait murmured. Kell nodded.

Haircut hunk
made his way to a double-sided steel door that was clearly a recent addition to
the scene. The portal had been custom-cut to fit the large opening in the rocks.
As the guy ended his phone conversation with a couple of terse words and
stuffed the thing into the back pocket of his jeans, Kell joined T in dropping
belly-down against the nearest boulder. They watched him walk to a smaller rock
near the door and stomp on the thing, revealing it as a trigger for the door,
The portal retracted on itself, accordion style, to let the man inside the
entrance.

“Fuck me,” Tait
murmured.

“All they’re
missing is the signal in the sky,” Kell added.

“Something tells
me they want to stay off Gotham’s grid. And everyone else’s.”

Kell swept
another stare through the surrounding boulders and foliage. “I don’t see any
suspicious red camera lights,” he stated. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not
here.”

“Do we still
follow him?”

Kellan could’ve
punched the guy for putting that question on him. “Well, I know what Franz
would advise.”

Tait twisted his
lips. “He’d want us to pull back and wait for the CIA to do their magic spy thing.
Probably loop the feds in on it, too.”

“Which could
take weeks.”

“At least.”

“Even though
there’s a meeting going down tonight.”

“
Especially
because there’s a meeting going down tonight.”

Tait snorted
hard before letting a significant pause go by. “How close do you think we are
to the ranch now?”

“Maybe three hundred
yards.”

“In other
words—”

“Too damn
close.”

Tait cocked his
head so their stares met. They didn’t exchange thousands of words with the look
this time—because they didn’t need it. They already shared the same conclusion
about their action plan. The next second, Tait acted on it. With a soundless
roll, he slid off the boulder, leading the way down to the cave’s entrance.

It was simple to
locate the same rock their predecessor had used for the entrance. Kell hoped
that whoever awaited the guy inside didn’t have the thing rigged to any
additional sensors. If they did, then he and Tait would have a very short visit
here, Bowies or not.

The door opened
with nothing more than a whisper of sound, forcing him to give Benson and his
penchant for the high end at least one approving check mark. Once inside, they
found themselves in a passageway illuminated by top-of-the-line camp lanterns,
though a maze of wires ran along the walls in indication there’d be an upgrade
to electrical fixtures soon. That was the place’s only nod to the modern world
so far. Giant tufts of moss still hung from the ceilings, and the air was damp
and musty. Kell would’ve given a kingdom for his mission vest right now,
outfitted with all the tools they’d need to collect more evidence. In its
place, he locked his mind into experiential memory mode, all five senses
engaged to commit as much of this place to his mental recall as possible.  

Tait held up a
fist, ordering a full stop to their progress. The reason was clear. Voices
penetrated the air from up ahead, where the lighting also amplified. Kell thanked
fate upon finding an alcove big enough to squeeze into, with Tait snagging a matching
nook a few feet ahead. They took up their vantage points and went into complete
stealth mode: breathing shallow, ears open, senses alert.

“Mr. Tan. What a
pleasure to meet you in person.”

Before Kellan
could get a visual bead on the speaker, the shaving cream commercial voice gave
him away. Benson, in all his I’m-better-than-you-because-of-the-suit glory.

“Forgive me for
not dwelling on pleasantries, Gunter.” The man who stood opposite Benson now, looking
on as haircut boy melted back into the shadows, eschewed a full suit in favor
of a crisp white button-front shirt and custom-tailored pants. He also had a
better haircut than Benson, spoke in a London-educated accent, wore one of the
nicest watches Kell had ever seen, and called Benson by his first name. He was
definitely a heavy hitter for the Koreans—whatever the hell it was they were
hitting at. “As you can well imagine, the general’s time is valuable, so I am
here on his behalf to act as final emissary for our country. He seems to think
your set-up here is impressive; I am here to support or deny that theory. We
know how emotional generals can be.”

The last
sentence bugged out Kellan’s eyes.
Generals
could be emotional?  

“Of course,”
Benson responded, again smooth as Gillette foam. “We have, as you know, enjoyed
enthusiastic patronage from the general over the years. He has…interesting
tastes in his leisure pursuits.”

“I’m not here to
discuss where the man prefers to put his dick.” Tan straightened and crossed
his hands, again every inch the London gentleman. “I’m here to discuss where he
can store his arsenal.”

Kellan grinded
his knuckles into the stone wall, focusing on the pain in place of cutting
loose a roar of outrage. This was worse shit than he’d ever suspected from
Benson, even after his revelatory phone call to Forte.

“What would you
like to review first?” Gunter asked Tan.

“You know the
answer to that,” the Korean returned. “My sources state that you have already
met with the delegation from Tehran. How much have they offered?”

“Seventy million.”

The man
re-crossed his hands. “Which means they’ve only offered sixty.”

Kell took a
chance on angling his head out far enough for a clear view at Benson, who stood
deeper back in the cave. The guy was in his Armani finest, choosing a dark gray
suit despite the humidity of the night, keeping his red tie knotted. His face
was a mask of smooth impassivity, allowing it to crack in just the slightest
smirk at Tan. “Why don’t we return to that pice of the conversation after
you’ve viewed all the details?” He stepped back and flipped a switch, turning
on another sizable light over a wooden camp table. “For now, please step into
my office.” He motioned haircut boy over. “Chris, grab us some drinks. What’s
your pleasure, Tan?”

“Alacrity,” the
man snapped. “Get on with it.”

Benson swept a
diplomatic arm toward a table covered with giant sheets of paper that were
weighed down with rocks. Kell stole enough of a glance to see that they were
architectural blueprints and geological surveys. His eyes also adjusted to
notice the extra people in the chamber, taking care to stick to its shadows. In
addition to Chris and another pretty boy from Benson’s team, Kell recognized
Casey, the Abercrombie model wannabe who’d led the group sack on Tait’s drunken
ass last week. Tan had a henchmen with him, too: a giant who almost had to duck
to fit inside the cavern. The big bastard had Kell more concerned than all
three of Gunter’s boys. Unlike the fashionistas, it wouldn’t be pleasant to
take him on.

Benson ran a
finger down the middle of a map close to Tan. “Here’s where you met Casey on
the beach. As you have likely already learned, most of this side of the island
has more rugged terrain, dominated by the half-dozen state parks and the Na
Pali range to the north.”

“As well as the Pacific
Missile Range Facility at Barking Sands to the south.”

Kellan drilled
his hand harder against the stone.

Benson lifted a
smooth smile. “Yes, sir. There
is
that.”

Tan braced both
hands to the table. For the first time, he seemed to relax. “It
is
an
ideal insertion position.”

“Hmmm, yes. You
must admit, it’s a more discreet alternative to launching a full-bore assault
on the west coast of the U.S.”

Tan chuffed. It
was probably the closest thing the man came to a laugh. “We all recall how well
that
worked out.”

“No one clearer
than my partner.”

Kellan was
certain every hair on the back of his neck jabbed straight up. Before better
sense could stop him, he looked over to Tait. His buddy glared back, clearly
wrestling with the same gut-punching rage. Benstock’s elusive silent partner was
once again the burr under both their saddles—but this time, the guy was drawing
blood.

Tan tapped a
finger to his mouth, deep in thought. “Tell me again about the logistics of
mobilizing transports on and off the beach.”

Benson cocked another
confident grin. “Disguise your vessels as night fishing fleets, use only the
quiet skiffs, keep to the darkest hours of the night, and I guarantee you won’t
even encounter curious seagulls. The neighbors go to bed early.”

“Including the
Army captain who lives to the immediate south?”

“My, my. You
are
thorough.” Benson began a slow stroll around the cavern, forcing Kell and Tait
to duck back into their alcoves. “Take John Franzen off your list of concerns.
He is indeed with the Army—in their Special Operations Forces.”

“Ahhh.” Tan’s
tone resonated with relief. “That means he’s likely in my country more than
yours.”

“Beautifully
phrased,” Benson offered. “And if I may add to it, consider that most of the
locals have trusted the Franzen family for generations. Very few will suspect
that the nocturnal comings and goings of their ‘new neighbors’ are anything
more than a corporation’s eccentricities in building up their new island resort.”

“Brilliant.” Tan
peered again at the big sheets with their intricate plans. “But do any of those
‘loyal locals’ know about this cave? And its connection to Hale Anelas?”

“The last time
the family stepped foot in here was to wait out Hurricane Iniki, in nineteen
ninety-two,” Gunter explained. “Before that, the passage wasn’t actively used for
over a hundred years, since the days when pirates ran slaves, jewels, gold, and
other illegal contraband up from the beach and into the original mansion.”