Rescuing Emma (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) Read online

  “Just hurry up in there. I need a hot shower if I’m going to make it through this night with you lunatics. And I want cake!” She shimmied out of the dress, hanging it up on the door. Becky began humming as she bathed. Emma smile. She loved her friends, especially Becky who’d been her bestie since high school. Joely and Dina came along in college and the four of them had been inseparable since. The Fab Four, they’d dubbed themselves. Okay, they ripped that moniker off from one of their all-time favorite bands, but they were the female version with loads of pictures to prove it. Vacations, birthdays, holidays, weekend jaunts up to the Finger Lakes wine country of upstate New York, Saturday nights out, and Sunday morning post-hangover brunches. And next, there would be London, the grand celebration of Emma’s big 3-0.

  She grinned. Maybe she would find her Mr. Darcy here, one who secretly desired a nerd-girl, if only for one wild weekend.

  Chapter 3

  “Unbelievable!” Nate slapped the copy of the London Times in his hand against the bar. The paper carried an excerpt from yet another article by the Washington Evening Post’s own political contributor E.J. Lewis. “Nothing but a hack and bleeding-heart liberal. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!”

  Ghost, who’d been enjoying the piano music inside the Bassoon Bar, sipped his drink, one pale eyebrow raised. “What are you grumbling about?”

  Nate turned, showing Ghost the paper. “This Lewis guy is spouting off and waxing poetic about illegal immigrants again. If he had his way, we wouldn’t even have Border Patrol, just fancy concierges standing there handing out the keys to America with idiotic grins on their faces. He has no idea what kinds of low-lifes slip across unsecured borders, the kind who kidnap little girls and kill innocent people. Man, if I ever meet this guy…” Nate exhaled, shaking his head.

  Ghost waited, then prompted him. “What? You’ll what? Knock him on his ass? Wasn’t too long ago you were a bit of a bleeding heart yourself before you got old and cynical,” he smirked. “Let me see that,” he reached out, taking the paper from his friend. Ghost scanned the contents. “He’s not advocating open borders, just recognizing the need for asylum-seekers to have an easier pathway to citizenship, them and Dreamers. That’s not the same thing.” He tossed the paper down onto the bar.

  “It is if the bad ones take advantage of the system,” Nate grumbled. That’s how sleepers get into the country. “And I’m not old, you asshole. I’m only thirty-two.”

  “Four years away from recommended special forces retirement, grandpa,” he laughed. As for the other, it’s a good argument to overhaul the laws to prevent that, but not keep out those in need. Hell, man, our job is to protect those very people. We do it all the time.”

  “Yeah,” said Nate, pinning Ghost with a hard stare, “but our job is to protect Americans first. After all these years, after all we’ve seen, I’ve come to realize we can’t just give everyone the benefit of the doubt. When we do, someone’s kid gets kidnapped or wife ends up beheaded.”

  “You’ve grown jaded, Nate. And grumpy as hell. I think you need some R & R. Good thing command gave us a couple of days off because you need to unwind. Nice of the ambassador to recommend it and for the Brits to put us up in style,” Ghost said, raising his tumbler of scotch.

  Nate grimaced. They’d spent the morning at a ceremony honoring his unit. Ambassador Rand had arranged it in coordination with the U.S. and British top brass. It was held at the U.S. Embassy live-streamed on just about every network and cable news show. The first half was private with medals of appreciation awarded to him and his men by both France and the U.S. government, no press. Their identities, as always, were shielded, but the second half was for the public. U.S. Army General P.K. Davidson spoke on their behalf for a grateful nation. Penelope Rand stood between her father and mother, wide-eyed, safe and sound as flashes went off and shutters clicked. It was a great moment for the people on both sides of the pond. It also sparked another vocal debate about border crossings in the United Kingdom and western Europe.

  Between it all, Ambassador Rand and British High Command invited them to stay in London for the weekend before returning home, all expenses paid. The General consented, granting them leave, but reminding them by Monday, play time was over.

  He and the men had been set up at a posh London hotel, the Corinthia. Their suites faced the Thames and were decorated in rich shades of brown, wine, and rust. Nice as it all was, it was over-the-top for Nate who was used to shades of army-green, military rations, and if lucky, a small, hard bunk. It was only two days though, hardly enough time to get used to luxuries, sweet-smelling body washes, and room service, but enough to remind him life didn’t always have to be so rough.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Damned if he would admit out loud that he agreed just a little with the well-written article. After everything he’d been through in the past few years, he’d lost all optimism. It had been replaced by a brooding pessimism slowing eroding the man he used to be.

  “So, let’s drink a toast, grab the boys, and go see the sights. Maybe we’ll get you laid!” Ghost clapped Nate on the shoulder and lifted his two-fingers of whiskey in salute. Nate picked his own up, clinking the glasses.

  “Down the hatch, brother.”

  “Naw, man. You’re in London.” And with his best British accent, Ghost lifted his pinky finger and said, “Cheers!”

  The Rocks-Hall Garden night club was jam-packed with bodies. Emma, Becky, Joely, and Dina squeezed into a corner table overlooking the dance floor one story below. The lights flickered and spun bouncing off the cut-glass mirrors on the walls behind them. The beat of the music pounded out a fast tempo. A sea of men and women moved like an ocean current going between the bar along the opposite wall and down the stairs to gyrate to the bumping rhythms of house music. The DJ kept the party going, effortlessly mixing in the next song.

  “Okay, ladies,” Dina addressed their group, “we’re here on a mission. That mission is to celebrate Em’s birthday and to get laid!”

  “Dina!” Emma exclaimed, “that’s just crude.”

  “Damned right it is,” she laughed. “What happens in London, stays in London so unclench your fluff-muffin, Emma. It’s time for you to get your groove on. Now, who shall be the lucky gentlemen?” Dina Jones flipped her long, black hair over her shoulder, looking around. She was tall with mocha skin that gleamed like burnished bronze and had the athletic build of an Olympic runner. In fact, she did run track in college placing first in state for cross-country. Running was her favorite form of exercise and because of it, gave her a stunning figure that was the envy of them all. She was also touted as one of D.C.’s legal community’s rising stars, an outstanding accomplishment for a black woman in a white man’s world.

  “Someone worthy of her fluff-muffin, Dina,” said Joely. Joely Winter was the blonde bombshell of the group, but her looks were deceiving. Joely started her own business five years back after inventing a line of titanium prosthetics for athletes that allowed them to not only run, but swim, rock climb, bike, do yoga, whatever their passion. It had to do with both the electronics and the physical design of the prosthetic limbs. Joely was a renowned bio-engineering prodigy and graduated MIT at the age of fifteen before going on to study alongside some of the top creative minds at the Institute for Bioscience and Biotechnology in Maryland. It was there that she came up with the idea for the prosthetic. After three years in research and development, the first prototypes came onto the market and the military became the first to contract with her to provide these advanced robotic limbs to combat veterans. She was a multimillionaire by age twenty-five and four years back, she added fashionable design to the product dubbed WinRunner. Joely was damn-near as famous as Nike.

  It was Joely who organized their trip abroad, getting everyone their plane tickets—first class, no less—and reserving their suites at the Corinthia.

  “Would everyone please stop calling my vagina a fluff-muffin!” Emma blushed, looking around to see if the group of people a
t the next table had overheard. They were giggling and watching her. They’d heard. Great.

  “It’s better than cookie,” said Becky, “or vajayjay or peach or flapjack.” By the time she’d uttered the last, Becky was laughing uncontrollably. Her red curls bounced as she fanned herself. The sprinkling of freckles across her nose stood out against her white skin, and her green eyes sparkled.

  “Flapjack? Oh, that’s just wrong,” said Dina. “Hoe cake would be better. My mama used to make hoe cakes when I was a little girl.” She looked at Emma, considering. “Yes, ma’am, that’s a much better name for your mantrap. Your hoe cake, girlfriend, all smothered in butter and sweet syrup just waiting for some hungry man to come along and gobble you up, then lick his fingers.” She grinned shamelessly.

  “I give up!” Emma threw her hands in the air. “You’re all nasty hussies intent on getting me into trouble.”

  On cue, their waitress arrived with a tray of shots. She passed them around.

  Joely lifted hers in salute and Dina, Becky, and Emma followed suit. “To our birthday girl,” she began. “Long may she reign, and long may she ride with a long, hard—”

  “Joely!” Emma reached out, trying to stop her friend’s toast, laughing hysterically.

  “As I was saying,” she continued, “with a long, hard joystick thrusting inside!”

  “That’s not much better,” said Emma.

  “Well, it’s better than cock,” she replied.

  Becky clinked her shot glass to Joely’s. “Nothing’s better than cock.”

  “Here, here! Cheers to our friend, our Emma. We love you, baby.” Dina clinked her glass to Emma’s and all four tossed back the first of many birthday shots.

  “Let’s dance!” Becky grabbed Emma’s hand and dragged her down the flight of stairs to the dance floor below. They moved between the gyrating bodies to a small space and let loose, dancing to the DJ’s beats. Another waitress appeared bringing them more shots. Joely made sure the spirits flowed freely.

  By the third song, Dina and Joely joined them grabbing two men standing off to the side and dragging them onto the dance floor. One was a very tall black man with an engaging smile and the other, a stiff-hipped Hispanic with twinkling brown eyes.

  Becky tugged Emma’s arm. “I need air. Come back to the table with me.”

  Emma nodded, following Becky off the floor. She glanced back and burst out laughing at look of horror on Joely’s face. Her dance partner couldn’t dance, and worse, he didn’t seem to realize it.

  Nate watched Hollywood and Skyscraper out on the dance floor. They were making moves on two beautiful women, but as far as he could tell, Skyscraper had Hollywood beat. That didn’t stop Hollywood from giving it his all.

  “What, exactly, is he doing?” Doc snorted, trying to smother a laugh.

  “Is that…no, it can’t be!” Eastwood exclaimed.

  “The robot. He’s doing the damned robot.” Nate covered his eyes, mirth shaking his shoulders.

  Ghost pulled out his cell phone and hit record. “In the interest of international security, we need to warn women across the globe, right?” He sipped his beer, aiming the eye of the camera on his friend.

  “He’s going to kill you, Ghost,” Eastwood said.

  “He’ll have to catch me first. Uploading to the ‘tube now.” Ghost smirked.

  “At least he’s out there trying,” said Doc. “Kinda hard to down the guy when he has a dance partner and we’re over here on the sidelines. Time for us to cowboy up and get ourselves into the saddle.” He looked around the crowded club. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he grinned.

  Nate turned, following Doc’s line of sight. A woman in a hot-pink dress began climbing the stairs to the second floor. The higher she went, the more of her he saw. “Did she forget her skirt?”

  Eastwood slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s just the style these days. Don’t knock it. It’s a time-saver. Less clothing to remove. You gotta admit, she has a nice pair of legs.”

  “I guess I just prefer a woman who’s a little more understated,” Nate said.

  “Well you can’t have the redhead,” Doc interrupted, “because she’s mine. Damn, redheads are my kryptonite. They always break my heart, but I still can’t resist. If she has freckles, I’m going to fall in love tonight.”

  “You know it’s the other way around, Doc,” Nate said, throwing side-eye at his friend. “Women fall all over you. Hell, we can’t get rid of them. They’re three-feet deep into those damn dimples everywhere we go.”

  Doc stroked his chin, smiling. “My secret weapon, man.” He looked at Nate. His commander had gone through a dark time in his life three years ago, had endured a loss so painful, he wasn’t sure Nate had recovered. He simply carried on, but it changed him. “And I’m not the only one, brother. The ladies line up to get to you. Must be all that blue-eyed brooding. Yeah, women love a dark, brooding man.”

  “I don’t brood,” Nate barked. He glared at Doc.

  Eastwood chuckled, raising his beer mug. “Aw, man, you don’t even know you do it. Hell, I’m attracted. That’s some sexy glowering going on, you big, beautiful hunk of burning love.”

  “Goddamn pervert. First, a voyeur, and now some kind of ammo-loving pansexual.” Nate shifted his focus to Eastwood, raising one eyebrow.

  “Damn right. I’m equal opportunity, brother,” he laughed.

  Ghost, who’d remained quiet during their exchange, spoke. “So, does that mean the one in pink is up for grabs because I do like a nice pair of legs, plus, she’s kinda hot.” He looked up noticing where the two women stopped at a table by the wall.

  “As long as you don’t get within sniffing distance of my little redheaded gal, we’re aces.” Doc stood.

  “Then let’s go introduce ourselves,” Ghost downed his beer and set the mug down. When he stood, a hand reached out pushing him back into his seat.

  “Stand down, Williamson,” Nate commanded.

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said. I said it, didn’t I?” Nate looked at Ghost. “Have you forgotten about Dee?”

  “We’ve only been on three dates. It’s not like we’re engaged,” Ghost replied, annoyed.

  “But she likes you, and you like her, and she’s the General’s granddaughter. The very same general who granted us this leave. If you screw around on her, and he finds out, it’s all our asses. Nope,” Nate glanced up to the second floor, “I’m gonna have to insist. Sorry, Ghost.”

  “Well, hell, guess I can take on two, if they’ll have me.” Doc turned, heading for the stairs.

  Nate followed on his heels. Doc glanced back at him, chuckling. “Do I look like I need a babysitter, Outlaw?”

  Nate raised an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, you do. Especially after the Major’s sister.”

  Doc groaned. “Now why’d you have to go and bring that up? It’s not my fault she asked for a breast exam.”

  “You’re not a real doctor, Jason,” Nate reminded him. “And you were in the Major’s pantry, during a family barbecue no less, not on a battlefield.” He stepped past Doc tossing his final comment on the subject over his shoulder, “Her fiancé wasn’t happy about it either.”

  Chapter 4

  Emma fanned herself, eyes closed. “Lordy, it’s hot in here. I need another drink.”

  Becky lifted the napkin from beneath her now-empty gin and tonic, waving it first at herself and then fanning it towards the back of Emma’s neck who was holding her hair up. It was a futile attempt to cool them both down. “Make it two, please,” she said, glancing around. “Where is our waitress?”

  “Couldn’t say, but maybe I can solve your problem. What’re you ladies having?” Doc approached the redhead, dimples flashing.

  Becky dropped the napkin, swallowing hard. Emma noticed the fanning had stopped and turned. She was greeted by a wall. At least, it was as wide as a wall, and solid. Looking up, she found two of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen gazing back at her. Th
ey were framed by dark lashes set in a strong, handsome face. She opened her mouth to ask him to back up, then froze. He was frowning.

  “What?” Emma looked down in confusion. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks causing her to overheat all over again. Her slip of a dress had slipped down one shoulder revealing the top-most sneak peek at her nipple. “Oh, god,” she uttered, quickly pulling the strap back onto her shoulder.

  Doc choked back a chuckle while Becky, struggling not to laugh out loud, reached out to pull Emma’s hair over her shoulder in a comforting gesture. She leaned over, whispering, “I’m sure he didn’t see anything.”

  “So, I was asking what you ladies were having? I’m Jason, by the way. My friends call me Doc, and this is Nate.” He clapped Nate on the back.

  “Oh, are you a doctor?” Becky asked, immediately returning her attention to the handsome, brown-eyed, dimpled man.

  “Not exactly. I’m a battlefield medic. U.S. Army, ma’am. Nice to find fellow Americans here.” Doc poured on the charm. “Who’s your friend?” He turned to Emma, smiling.

  “My best friend, Emma. It’s her birthday.” Becky offered, smiling big.

  Doc extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Emma, and happy birthday. Twenty-one?”

  Emma bit her lip as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her embarrassment had not yet completely subsided. “Thirty, actually,” she replied.

  “That cannot be possible,” Doc exclaimed. “You don’t look a day over twenty-five at most, tiny thing that you are.”

  Nate rolled his eyes. Emma noticed and frowned.

  “Well, I don’t think age has much to do with size, and you’re just being kind” she said.

  “Not at all. I meant it. So, it’s a birthday celebration, huh? Well, maybe we can help you make it a party. We have a couple other friends here with us. They’re out on the dance floor right now.” Doc pointed. “Those two right there. See the guy doing the outdated dance moves? Sad to say, he’s with us. So’s the tall one but at least he has rhythm.”