Seducing the Mercenary

Emily squinted into the light as she searched for something that vaguely resembled a roadworthy cab.

Thankfully she still had what was left of her bribe cash in her boots. Passport or not, she had a job to do. She’d contact the FDS from the hotel and see what she could do about getting her papers back.

But as soon as she tried to elbow her way through the people thronging the sidewalks, she sensed a shift in energy that made fine hairs at the base of her scalp stand on end. She stilled, suddenly acutely cognizant.

There was a strange tension in the air. The mass of humanity around her was growing tighter, quieter. A dark anticipation began to throb tangibly through the crowd.

Emily’s pulse quickened.

Soldiers were beginning to clear the street and line the road, holding people back with automatic weapons.

The air literally began to crackle with a mounting expectancy. Then the crowds grew suddenly hushed, and now she could hear only the rattle of palm fronds in the wind. Something was coming.

Emily’s heart beat faster.

She began to look for exit routes. She knew from experience situations like this had a way of rapidly flaring into extreme violence. But anything vaguely resembling a cab was a good hundred yards off, and the crowds were closing her in even as her brain raced to comprehend what was going on. She was trapped, being wedged and jostled down toward the curb that edged the main street. She gripped her bags tight against her body and peered down the road, trying to see what was happening.

A burst of automatic gunfire suddenly peppered the air, and she jerked back as a convoy of military Jeeps rounded the corner at the bottom of the road. Soldiers triumphantly brandished AK-47s high above their heads, firing with abandon, the sound ricocheting between buildings as the convoy roared up the street.

Emily ducked as the vehicles neared her vantage point, but to her surprise, instead of fleeing in terror, the crowds around her surged forward, singing, ululating, chanting in such a strangely harmonious and resonant chorus it chased shivers over her skin.

Emily slowly stood, awestruck by the elemental effect of the primal sounds on her body.

The first set of Jeeps raced past in a cloud of fine dust. Then the haunting hush returned, silent anticipation thrumming in the humid air. Emily’s heart began to pound like a drum as she leaned forward, trying to see all the way down the road.

A large open-topped military vehicle flanked by smaller Jeeps rounded the corner and crept slowly up the street. The crowd was so deathly silent that the only sound above the growl of engines was of the government flags snapping on the hood. As the big Jeep drew closer, Emily saw what they’d been waiting for.

Their leader.

Adrenaline dumped into her blood. She was seeing Le Diable in the flesh for the first time.

Jean-Charles Laroque sat high in the back of the vehicle, regal, utterly confident. Everything about him telegraphed power.

The sleeves of his camouflage shirt had been rolled back to reveal gleaming biceps. His shoulder-length black hair was drawn back into a ponytail of dreadlocks that accentuated the aggressive angle of his exotic cheekbones. He wore pitch-black shades under an army beret cocked at a rakish angle over his brow.

At his side sat his faithful Alsatian, Shaka. The dog’s fur glistened in the sunlight, its teeth starkly white against a pink tongue as it panted in the heat.

A hot thrill slid sharp and fast through Emily’s stomach.

The Jeep drew close, coming right up alongside her, and a strange primal awareness prickled over her skin. Emily could not have looked away if she tried.

Laroque turned his head, slowly scanning the crowd, then his gaze collided with hers. His body tensed visibly. He raised his dark glasses slowly, looked right at her, into her, isolating her from the crowd, cutting her from the herd like prey. He was close enough for Emily to see that his eyes were ice-green against burnished mahogany skin, and just as cold, devoid of any humor or glimmer of kindness.

She could barely breathe. Her own eyes watered as she met his gaze, unable to blink. Not wanting to. The crowds around her faded into a distant blur, the silence becoming a deafening buzz as her world narrowed to focus solely on him.

Laroque shifted around in his seat, watching her as his convoy crawled up the road…then he was gone.

Emily stood rooted to the spot, dust settling around her as the crowd erupted in a riot of sound. She tried to catch her breath.

What in hell had just happened here?

This man clearly had the adulation of his people. She hadn’t expected that. Nor had she expected the effect he would have on her.

She swallowed, suddenly gravely uneasy with what she was about to do, with the very real impact her profile would have on this country, these people and that powerful man.

Because Emily wielded a power of her own.

Her professional judgment could kill him.

In less than one week.

Chapter 2

18:00 Zulu. Friday, November 8. Hotel Basaroutou, Ubasi

“They’re gone, Jacques. The entire science team had left by the time I arrived at the hotel about two hours ago.” Emily spoke in low tones on her encrypted satellite phone from her hotel room, hot wind whipping through the ragged banana leaves outside her window. “Le Diable’s militia has ordered all foreigners out of the country before curfew.” She glanced at her watch. “Which is now.”

It was already getting dark out, night descending like clockwork so close to the equator. There was also a thunderstorm brewing. “He seems to have shut down the borders in retaliation to the U.S. State Department advisory issued earlier.”

“The State Department is worried about hostility against U.S. citizens,” said the FDS boss. “No one has any idea those murdered Americans were operatives. They were deep cover.”

“You think he’s preparing for some kind of military strike?”

“Could be. I’ll keep you posted. Our men can extricate you within two hours from when you sound the alarm.”

“Apparently there were also five hostages taken from Nigeria by his rebels early this morning. That’s the word here at the hotel,” Emily said softly.

“We’re on to that,” Jacques said. “Looks like three of those hostages are U.S. nationals, and two Nigerian. They were taken from the security barracks of an oil outfit. Apparently Le Diable’s rebels are transporting them into the Purple Mountains and heading toward the Ubasi border. No ransom demands. Not yet.”

“Unrelated incident?”

“I never assume anything on this continent, but it could be. It’s a common enough occurrence. In the meantime, it’s fortuitous your papers were confiscated—it gives you a legitimate excuse to stay in Ubasi and defy the evacuation orders. See how long you can play it, and keep us updated.”

“Gotcha.”

“And, Carlin…stay safe.”

Emily signed off, and bolted the louvered shutters against the hot storm wind, anxiety tangling with emotional fatigue in her body. Perhaps she wasn’t ready for this after all.

01:27 Zulu. Saturday, November 9. Hotel Basaroutou, Ubasi

The night was intensely humid and close. Tattered leaves slapped at her shutters while Emily tossed and turned in fitful sleep. She’d swapped her T-shirt for a skimpy camisole, and still she was soaked with sweat.

Her dreams that night were of Le Diable—dark, sultry images full of smoke and heat and pulsing drums, his green eyes piercing the blackness, his hands touching her in ways she shouldn’t even begin to imagine. Her body was hot with desire—and panic. She was breathless. Running. Trying to escape. Someone was yelling at her, screaming that she must flee, that she was in danger. She awoke abruptly, confused, drenched.

She opened her eyes, trying to gather her senses, and realized with shock that the screaming was real. Emily jolted upright in bed, heart slamming against her breastbone.

Someone was banging on her door!