Seal of Surrender (4 page)

Her shoulder struck the hard corner of a chair and pain shot down her arm. She clutched the gown's bodice to her chest and scrambled to her feet. After a quick adjustment to refasten the collar of her dress, Irena fixed him with her most lethal glare. “Open the goddamn door, Drake. I'm leaving.”

“Sit down and I'll promise to keep my hands to myself.” His smarmy grin sent a fresh flood of adrenaline unfurling through her queasy stomach. “For now.”

A quick scan of the room showed no other options for escape. From previous meetings in this office, she knew the side door led only to an interior bathroom with no phone access. Left with little choice, Irena eased into the nearest chair and forced her ragged breath to calm. With a steady voice and an unyielding stare, she tried to hurry the process along. “What exactly do you hope to accomplish with a new mission?”

“Hospitality. You have a way with the less fortunate, Irena, because of your background.” His hot gaze devoured her like a starving football fan with a plate of fresh chicken wings. “You know, war-torn refugee and all.”

“So I play June Cleaver while you do what?”

“Business.”

“What kind of business?”

“The private kind. That's not your concern. Your concern is saving as many of these people as possible, yes?”

Irena considered him, her eyes narrowed and her lips tight. The damn key was still in his pocket and she'd left her mace at home on her dresser. Shit. “Fine. When do I leave?”

“Day after tomorrow.” He rose from behind the desk and headed for the exit.

Finally, this mess of an evening was over. She stood and crossed the room, close on his heels in her mad rush to freedom, realizing too late he hadn't released her at all.

Drake lounged against the door, the key twirling around his finger. “You want out, babe? You'll have to earn it.”

He grabbed his still-erect cock through his trousers and stroked before lowering his zipper. “Come give your daddy some loving.”

Bile rose in her throat. Irena swallowed hard and stared at him with open loathing. She considered a standard knee to the nuts, but discarded the idea when Drake pulled a small knife from his pocket. Dammit.

A deep male voice cut through the tense silence, one she recognized from the bar. “I think the lady would prefer not.”

Chago had ducked inside the private bathroom when the sound of Drake's key grated in the lock. From his vantage point, he'd peered through a miniscule crack into the office beyond. Way not happy didn't begin to describe his displeasure with what he'd witnessed. Fists clenched, he now itched to punch the shit out of the smirking bastard before him.

Without removing his gaze from Drake, he stepped closer to Irena. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I'm fine.”

Satisfied, he focused all his attention on kicking his recent acquaintance's sorry ass.

This asshat was beyond slick, a sure sign of shitloads of dirty laundry stuffed away in his past. He'd had the unfortunate luck of dealing with one too many narcissistic sociopaths in his eons not to recognize their ilk on sight. His earlier dislike of the guy had now blossomed into full-blown hostility. Chago eyed the man still lounging against the door, his fiery Basque temper demanding he pummel Drake's face until all his pearly whites were scattered on the floor.

Drake seemed oblivious to the escalating danger of the situation as he flashed a lazy grin at Irena before zipping his fly.

Chago's anger clicked one notch higher toward homicidal. With deliberate gentleness, he grasped Irena's elbow. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Beyond ready.”

“Babe, you may go.” Drake unlocked the door. “But Chago, do stay a moment. I have something I'd like to discuss with you.”

He escorted Irena out the door and waited until she disappeared before barking out a harsh response. “I have several things to discuss with you too.”

Drake waved him back into the office. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

The man was either an idiot or a megalomaniac. Either way, he was going down. “Let's skip right to the part where I start kicking your ass.”

“Funny. A man with a sense of humor.” Drake walked to the far wall and removed a crystal decanter from the cabinet. He poured himself a hefty portion of liquor and returned to the desk. “You and I could come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

“Really?” Chago stepped back into the room and closed the door. “Do enlighten me.”

“We're in the same business. When you think about it, we're two sides of the same coin. Sides I'd like to merge.”

“Trust me. We would not merge well.” Chago's idea of merger included Drake's face and his fist.

“What prompted you to come here tonight? A military contractor wouldn't be interested in the opportunities the Omega Consortium offers. Your sort is the reason for our existence.”

“I came to secure something of value.”

“Hmm. What might your prize be? My girlfriend?”

“From her reaction, I'd say you are a single man again.” Chago walked to the window and leaned against the wall. “Are we going to discuss this further or can I leave now?”

“What were you doing in my office? Don't lie to me.”

No sense in lying. This idiot couldn't find his ass with both hands. He shrugged and focused on the view outside. “Planting bugs.”

“Excellent! Means people are interested in what I'm doing.” Drake stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle, his hands folded behind his head. “It's all about effectiveness. Who sent you?”

Chago shot him a sardonic glare and pushed away from the windows.

“Fair enough. Doesn't matter anyway.” Drake turned away with a dismissive wave. “I've got people everywhere. I'll find out soon enough. You'd be wise to not meddle in things you don't understand. Remember that in the future.” He stood and started toward the exit without a second glance.

“And you'd do well to keep your fucking pants zipped.”

Drake opened the door and turned, too late. A massive fist smashed into his face, filling the room with the muffled cracking of bones and teeth.

Chago didn't miss a step, plowing over the top of his opponent's now unconscious form on his way to the hallway. “Hasta la vista
,
shithead.”

• • •

Irena collided with Chago at the far end of the dark corridor, his grip on her waist the only thing that prevented her from tumbling head over ass.

“What are you doing here?” He released her fast and continued his stomp down the passage toward the elevators, his tone as clipped as his pace. “You should be long gone, Irena.”

“I didn't want to leave you alone. Drake can be … unpredictable.” She tagged along beside him, marveling at his imposing form. She'd heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight from Drake's office and her gaze fell to Chago's scuffed knuckles.

Joy zinged along her nerves. She'd bet money Drake got his pride handed to him on a platter courtesy of her new friend. Her only regret was she hadn't gotten to witness the beating firsthand. Irena suppressed a tiny smile and hurried along, struggling to match Chago's longer stride.

“Benedict's an asshole of the highest order. I'd suggest you find yourself another boyfriend.” He punched the elevator button and paced.

She stood still, watching him stalk the floor like a caged tiger. For a large man, he moved with predatory grace. Heat bubbled through her blood, despite her solemn vow to avoid men for the time being. “Thanks for helping me. Things could have turned out much worse.”

He stopped and pinned her with a pointed glare. “Why would you ever get involved with trash like him?”

“It was one time.” She dropped her gaze and took a sudden interest in her shoes. Funny. She'd been asking herself the same question all night. “And Drake is not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, so he's just your fuck buddy then?”

“He is not my fuck buddy!” Her sexual affairs were none of this man's damn business anyway. Why should he care who she slept with? Still, she couldn't seem to stop the excuses. “He was … available.”

Cringe. Her overloud pronouncement echoed through the vacant lobby. The words sounded crass, cheap. Things she'd never meant to imply. How could she tell a man she'd met only hours before about the terror of the bombing raids? About the deep, gnawing loss she'd experienced when the Burmese school had been struck by mortar fire. About the unquenchable need to reaffirm life. Those were things he couldn't possibly comprehend.

The elevator arrived and they both hustled inside. Chago reached to push the button then returned to his corner, his arms crossed and gaze averted. Irena shuffled uncomfortably in her own space and tried to pretend his presence didn't disturb the hell out of her.

“Look, I'm not easy with my affections, okay?” Shit. There went her mouth again. She didn't owe this man any explanation for her behavior. So why couldn't she stop talking? “When you've seen the things I have, you need some kind of life affirmation to keep going.”

“Hmmm. Is that what they're calling it these days?”

Irena glanced up to find him focused on the ceiling. She returned to studying the carpet.

“Look. I'm a man of war. I understand the need to affirm life.” Chago sighed, stepping closer to rest his hand on the wall beside her head. “But what occurred in that office was not affirming anything except the fact Drake Benedict is a supreme … douchebag.”

Her bottled-up stress erupted into a catharsis of giggles. To hear such an intimidating guy call her boss a douchebag had been the highlight of Irena's disastrous evening. His poleaxed expression only made Irena laugh harder. Soon helpless tears streamed down her cheeks. “I — I'm sorry. I can't stop thinking about the look on Drake's face when you came out of the closet. Priceless!”

He studied her for several moments before cracking a smile of his own. “You really do have shitty taste in men.”

“Beware, mister.” She chucked him on the arm, her giggles subsiding. “For a minute downstairs, I thought you were pretty hot too.”

His gaze narrowed. “Hot?”

“Don't worry. The minute has now passed.”

“Maybe your taste is improving, querida.”

Chago moved closer and grasped her chin, raising her gaze to his. His thumb traced over her lips and incited a tingle that nosedived straight between her legs.

Irena's pulse raced and her throat went arid. The scent of his aftershave, cassis and vanilla, surrounded her. He hovered, allowing her an opportunity to break free. When she didn't move, Chago closed the miniscule gap between them and his lips brushed softly over hers.

The flavor of bourbon, sweet and dark, flooded her senses. He deepened the kiss, his tongue flicking over the seam of her mouth before delving inside. She moaned, moved closer. He slipped a hand to the small of her back and locked her in place while he explored her depths.

Had any man's kisses ever affected her this way before? Irena's befuddled brain gave up searching for an answer.

He stroked her bare skin and she purred — an honest to God purr — as his rapidly increasing erection pulsed against her belly. Christ, she wanted him. Now. Her fingers traced down his chest to skim the waistband of his trousers, eliciting a deep, male groan.

A bell dinged and they flew apart.

Irena struggled to regain her breath and her composure. She wiped the back of a shaky hand across her lips and stared at Chago. His tie hung loose, his coat disheveled and his shirt an utter mess. Had she done that to him? Irena liked the idea of ruffling his tail feathers.

Chago focused on her, his eyes fever-bright, yet within seconds an invisible wall seemed to crash down around him and his stony façade returned.

Two could play at the ignorance game.

Irena fiddled with her own appearance and checked her makeup in the mirrored paneling. The doors opened and she rushed to exit, determined not to be the one left behind.

She made it two steps, halted by his grip on her wrist. “I'll see you soon, Irena.”

“Don't count on it.” She shook him off and fled toward the relative safety of the ballroom.

Irena's new assignment arrived by courier the following afternoon.

She answered the door in her rattiest pair of sweats, her glamorous appearance from the evening before completely gone. Time spent at home in her apartment was a precious commodity these days and she wasn't about to waste time with fancy clothes and makeup. Instead, Irena had slept until noon and enjoyed the breakfast of champions — sugary kids cereal and toaster pastries — before settling in for a long overdue session of DVR'd crime scene dramas.

The doorbell's insistent buzz revived a quiver of dread in her stomach. With a sigh, she peered through the peephole, half expecting to see Drake on the other side. Then she remembered Chago's magnificent takedown and her fears subsided.

After signing the necessary forms, Irena accepted the thick envelope with Omega's stark, red logo embossed in the upper right hand corner. She tipped the delivery guy and secured the locks then returned to her seat on the overstuffed sofa, tore open the packet, and surveyed the contents.

Inside she found a round-trip voucher to Kinshasa, a list of the necessary vaccinations, her travel visa, and a detailed dossier on the two principal players in the conflict — one a militia leader, the other the head of a rag-tag band of mercenaries. Both men had the lean, hard look of depravation.

According to the ticket, her red-eye flight departed Dallas the next evening with a short layover at Heathrow before starting the thirteen-hour trek to the Congo. Long flights were an occupational hazard. Irena made a note to stock up on magazines and a good book to pass the time, along with the requisite bottled water and toilet paper. A girl needed some comforts.