Burned
Burned
By Kaylea Cross
Copyright © 2013 by Kaylea Cross
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LFD Designs For Authors
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
ISBN:
9780991905058
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my long-suffering husband, Todd, whose sense of fun and humor balances out my more serious nature. Thanks for putting up with me, hon! The Van Halen references in this one should make you smile. xo
Author’s Note
This is the third book of my Titanium Security series, and I hope you enjoy Sean and Zahra’s story. I love how Sean’s fun-loving personality brings some light into Zahra’s dark world, and that he’s strong enough to win her trust.
Up next…Ex Marine Scout/Sniper Blake Ellis and the woman he shouldn’t want but can’t stop thinking about.
Happy reading!
Kaylea Cross
Table of Contents
Malik Hassani ordered his bodyguards and the two other men from the room before making the call. Once the door shut behind the last man, he crossed the carpeted floor of the office in the house where he’d taken up residence and sank into the plush leather chair behind the wide mahogany desk. His men were trustworthy to a point, but he hadn’t become a senior official in the Inter-Services Intelligence by being naive. That’s why he’d personally swept the room for bugs when he’d entered it this morning, alone.
Once he was ready to begin, he took an encrypted phone from the intricate wood inlaid center drawer and paused another moment to collect himself before dialing the number he’d memorized more than a week ago.
It was very late on the US East coast but he didn’t worry that the person he was calling might not answer. Not with the leverage he had over them.
“Hello?” the contact answered on the third ring, the voice low and fearful. With good reason. They both knew Malik was the only other person who had the number.
He didn’t waste time on pleasantries because he wasn’t in a pleasant mood. “I assume you know what happened yesterday?”
A pause, followed by a hard sigh. “Yes.”
“The operation was a complete failure,” he snapped, his temper surging. “My operative is dead and all of the targets are still alive. This is unacceptable.” He was infuriated that the American security team had thwarted his plans twice now. Worse, they had signed on for contract work with the NSA and now Malik had been forced to take added protective measures, using various hideouts and relying on the loyalty of his men to keep him from being captured or killed. He’d planned far too carefully for the opportunity to eventually seize control of the Pakistani political machine and he wasn’t about to jeopardize that now.
He wasn’t stupid enough to trust his men’s loyalty any more than necessary. Money in the amount the Americans were throwing around to garner information about him could prove a powerful and irresistible lure. At this point his best advantage was that the global intelligence agencies thought he was across the border somewhere in Afghanistan, when in reality he hadn’t left Pakistan. But that element of surprise wouldn’t last much longer with the amount of international pressure to find him.
He drew in a calming breath. “I want this taken care of now. Not tomorrow, not next week.
Now
.” The Titanium security team members had exposed him in the first place. He wanted them all eliminated for that, and killing them on American soil would make it clear he had the means to get to anyone he wanted, whenever and
wherever
he wanted. The way Mohammed—an operative his advisors had tapped as the most capable for the previous job—had botched the hit on the NSA safe house was an embarrassment he planned to erase with this next act.
“I gave you the information you needed,” the contact shot back, clearly pushed to the limit. “I’ve done everything you’ve demanded of me, at huge personal risk, and it’s not my fault your operative didn’t do what he was supposed to.”
“We both know you face a much greater risk than losing your job or going to jail,” he retorted coldly. The photos he’d sent of the children at their private school in Jordan had made it clear his was no idle threat.
A brittle silence filled the line and Malik heard a hard swallow. “Don’t...don’t hurt them. You promised me you wouldn’t hurt them if I did everything you said and I have—”
“I promised not to hurt them if you complied with what I need done, and what I need done has definitely
not
been accomplished yet. Do you understand that?”
“Y-yes.”
No tears, and thank Allah. There were few things more irritating than having to listen to someone weeping. That sort of shameful weakness sickened Malik. “I have someone else in place in Baltimore,” he continued, consciously softening his tone. “All I need is the team’s new location and he’ll take care of the rest.”
“But I don’t know where they are anymore—no one does. Because of the bombing the team’s being split up and everyone’s moving to new secret locations that only they and the Director know about. There’s no way I can find their locations without them knowing it’s me.”
The pleading edge to the tone grated on Malik’s nerves. “Then you had best find a way, hadn’t you? Innocent lives are depending on it.”
That implicit threat did its job. The answer he wanted came a moment later. “I’ll find them. I’ll find the locations, okay? Just swear you’ll give me some time and you won’t do anything to—” Another swallow, and a clearing of the throat, as though saying the names aloud would make the idea of losing them too real. “Please. They mean everything to me.”
“I know they do.” They were the reason he’d been able to solicit the mole’s cooperation in the first place. And since then he’d received new, even more enticing information about a member of the NSA-sanctioned team that he intended to put to use shortly. But first… “I need those locations, fast. Get them to me within a few days or I’ll impose a deadline you won’t want to be up against.”
“All right, I understand,” the contact said hurriedly. “It’s going to take me some time. I’m not even sure how to go about doing this.”
“You’ll find a way.” The family’s lives depended on it.
Without waiting for a response he hung up and placed the phone on his desk as he called his men back into the room. He’d dispose of the phone himself later when he was sure no one was around to see. His bodyguards entered first, both former Special Ops from the Pakistani military, followed by two of his most trusted men who had both served under him in the ISI. He had many supporters within the military and intelligence community. Powerful men who shared his vision for a new Pakistan and abhorred the weakness of the current government that made the country an American ally. And those same men would help him seize control when the right moment came.
“The contact is going to find us the new locations,” Malik announced in Urdu. “In the meantime, call Amir and give him his first instructions when he’s at the designated place. This new information could be the opportunity we need to start eliminating our enemies.” He tapped the closed file on the desktop. “I want to send a message to the world that this is only the beginning of the attacks to come in America.”
“Just Amir alone? You don’t want us to have backup ready?” one of his men asked in confusion.
“Not until we have the exact locations. I’ll determine the next course of action then. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the two men answered.
Malik waved a dismissive hand at them. “Go.”
One of the men opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it and pivoted to leave. Malik looked over at his bodyguards, both positioned by the door. “You as well.”
They cast each other a silent look, then turned and walked out.
When the door shut behind them and he was alone once again, Malik eased back into his chair and opened the manila file folder on his desk. If the team locations didn’t pan out, this information was likely to prove very useful. But even if the mole didn’t find the locations, he had no compunction whatsoever about carrying out the threat he’d made. He’d expose the mole and kill the family to ensure that no one would ever dare cross him.
He closed the file and picked up the phone to destroy it and erase any evidence of the call.
Pakistan required a strong leader who understood the country’s true place on the global scale, and was unafraid of wielding the ruthless hand necessary to make their homeland an Islamic nuclear superpower. Malik was that man, and he’d earned his reputation for ruthlessness for good reason.
As Zahra Gill and her teammates were about to discover firsthand.
****
Zahra shoved the last of the cutlery from the kitchen drawer into the cardboard packing box and reached for the canister of cooking utensils placed next to the stove. She’d moved enough to know to leave the bathroom and kitchen for last. But then, she’d never had to pack this fast before.
Her heart drummed an erratic tattoo against her ribs. It was almost five, just three hours since her boss had called to give her the news. Some of the Titanium guys would be here any minute to do the heavy lifting and she still had a thousand little things to do.
After wrapping up the dishes and glasses in newspaper in the hopes that they’d survive the trip to her new place, she raced to her bedroom to pack away the items in her bathroom. Even with the air conditioning on she was sweating in the late September warmth. She swiped the back of her hand across her damp forehead and hastily dumped all her toiletries into a small duffle she’d left on the tile floor, refusing to let herself get emotional. Since the bombing at the NSA’s so-called safe house two days ago, she’d had enough to worry about without this added stress. Didn’t matter that she’d lived in this place for almost two years and loved her two bedroom apartment. So what? It was just a place she’d rented. Stupid to feel so emotional over it. Like she was being torn away from a security blanket or something.
Her life was way more valuable than her attachment to this stupid apartment.
Lugging the duffle into her bedroom, she dropped it next to her already stripped double bed. She took a deep breath before forcing herself to deal with the remaining items she’d purposely left for last. On the night table with her reading lamp sat a framed picture of her and her mother. Beside it lay her mother’s most cherished possession, a gold filigreed broach inlaid with a tiny ring of sapphires around the edge. Zahra took the frame and carefully wrapped it up in one of her thickest sweaters before placing it on top of the clothes packed into the large suitcase resting on the bare mattress. Turning back for the broach, she exhaled then curled her fingers around it. The piece was beautiful, a family heirloom presented to her mother on her wedding day.
Swallowing, Zahra closed her fist around the cool surface and tucked it away deep into the pile of clothes. “I’ll be okay, Mom. Don’t worry,” she murmured, and zipped the suitcase closed with difficulty. It was gonna be heavy, at least seventy pounds. Because of her bad hip, for a moment she thought about waiting for one of the guys to help, but dismissed it. All she had to do was get it on the floor.
She gripped the handle with both hands and tugged, setting one knee against the edge of the mattress to lug it backward. It slid fine until it reached the fulcrum point at the edge. Bracing herself, she tensed her muscles and gingerly eased it forward a few more inches. The suitcase tipped over and started its inevitable fall. Normally she’d let it hit the floor and not care but with the framed photo in there she tried to slow the descent.
The inevitable happened. Her right hip locked and every muscle in the vicinity grabbed in protest.
A sharp cry of pain escaped as she froze and grabbed for the mattress to keep from toppling to the floor. The suitcase slammed into the ground, just missing her feet. Eyes closed, trying to breathe through the agony shooting through her damaged joint, she stayed very still until the worst of the spasms had stopped. Almost afraid to move, knowing she’d suffer for days because she’d been too stubborn to let someone else move the freaking suitcase, she straightened slowly. Then hissed through her teeth when another fiery bolt shot through her hip, like someone had plunged a red-hot knife into her.
Dammit, now she wouldn’t be able to walk without her cane and everyone would see her. Pressing her lips together, she wiped a hand over her damp face and took stock. The hated reminder of her injury was in her closet, hidden from view. She hadn’t used it in almost a year, not since her sadistic physiotherapist had been particularly mean or she’d overdone it early on in her rehab.
Cursing her stubbornness, she hopped and hobbled her way to the closet and grabbed the damn thing. She’d just leaned on it to take her first step back to the bed when her cell rang in her back pocket. Expecting it to be Alex, her boss, she was surprised to see an unfamiliar number and hesitated only a moment before answering.
“It’s Hunter,” the deep male voice said. “We’re downstairs and everything’s clear. You ready for us?”
Yeah, I can’t wait for you all to see me hobbling around like an eighty year old with a hip replacement.
But the urgency of the situation far outweighed her discomfort and self-consciousness. “Sure, come on up.”