did something to displease him.
Definitely not the kind of man Deacon normally wanted to work for, but the payment for the job held great enough appeal that he’d finally accepted. But he’d been trying to stay under the man’s radar since this gig started. When he’d told Le Clair that the target had made contact with him in the Louvre, he’d feared the man’s reaction, prepared for anything, including violence, but Le Clair had simply shrugged and sent Charlie to take over the recon.
Which made Deacon think that this assignment was exceptionally important to the boss. None of the men had been provided with any details, but they all knew who Lana Kelley was. Her daddy was a U.S. senator, her mother was an heiress. The Kelleys even hobnobbed with the president, for Chrissake. Lots of money to be had in kidnapping a Kelley.
But Lana was a high-profile target, which meant they needed to handle this situation with the utmost delicacy. No doubt Le Clair wanted a smooth exchange, and internal grievances with his team wouldn’t help his cause. So Deacon had been spared, but he’d been walking on eggshells around the boss ever since.
“You’re late,” Le Clair barked as they got out of the car.
Charlie was visibly apologetic, a deep blush rising on his dark skin. “The train came in ten minutes later than scheduled.”
Le Clair ignored the excuse. His shrewd silver eyes narrowed as Deacon yanked Lana out of the SUV. “She’s shorter than I imagined,” the boss remarked. He swept his gaze up and down Lana’s slender body, frowning when he got to the open-toed sandals covering her delicate feet. “Did you bring her suitcase?”
Deacon nodded, then pulled Lana’s black suitcase from the car and dropped it on the ground.
“Good.” Le Clair’s frown deepened. “She needs better shoes. Warmer clothing. If she didn’t pack any, we’ll need to stop somewhere and buy some gear for her.”
Deacon’s interest piqued. This was the first time Le Clair had dropped any hints about their destination. Warm clothing, better shoes. Obviously somewhere cooler. The mountains perhaps? Northern Canada?
He shoved aside the thoughts and followed the group toward the jet. Le Clair had a hand on Lana’s arm, pulling her along beside him, and Deacon saw her lush pink lips tighten.
“Who are you people?” Lana demanded, her blindfolded head moving from side to side.
Le Clair chuckled. “You don’t need to worry yourself with that, Miss Kelley. But if you’d like, think of us as your new caretakers.”
“Not likely,” she muttered.
Le Clair yanked on her arm. Hard enough that she yelped with pain.
Deacon kept his arms glued to his sides so he couldn’t act on the sudden impulse to charge his boss and beat him to a bloody pulp for manhandling Lana.
“So we’ve got a sassy one on our hands,” Le Clair muttered, sounding both amused and infuriated. “Maybe we should lay down some ground rules, Miss Kelley. Just so you know where you stand. And what might get you killed.”
She released a shaky breath.
“You do exactly as we say,” Le Clair continued pleasantly. “You eat when we tell you, sleep when we tell you. You don’t talk back, you don’t argue. You follow orders like the good girl you are, and in return, we don’t shoot you. Sound reasonable?”
Lana didn’t answer.
Le Clair curled his fingers over her arm and squeezed hard. “I asked you a question.”
“It sounds reasonable,” she wheezed out, trying to shrug out of his grasp.
Every muscle in Deacon’s body coiled tight. Lana looked so small, so helpless, being dragged by Le Clair’s six-foot frame. Her shoulders were hunched over, shaking ferociously, and it took all of his willpower not to pull her into his arms. Which only brought back the image of the last time he’d held her in his arms. The way he’d run his hands over the gentle curves of her body. The weight of her small, firm breasts in his palms. The relentless way she’d moved her hips beneath him.…
He smothered a groan. This was bad. Really, really bad. He couldn’t seem to look at the woman without remembering her in his bed. She was supposed to be a target. A job.
The money. He had to focus on the money. He made a good deal of cash working as a merc, but this job could be his retirement. He’d spent the past twenty years fighting to survive, barely scraping by in the beginning, but he’d made a name for himself as a soldier, a man capable of handling any mission that came his way, no matter how challenging. Eventually, once he started making cash hand over fist, the challenge was what kept him going. Taking on an impossible job and executing it brought him satisfaction. Pleasure, even.
But he couldn’t go on this way forever. He was thirty-eight years old. Eventually he’d have to quit risking his neck, and the money this assignment would bring in was enough to live on for the rest of his life, if he chose to get out. What would he do anyway, if he gave this all up? He’d lived fast and dangerous for so many years now, taken on jobs that most men wouldn’t dream of taking, usually legal, though sometimes the lines were blurred. He’d walked the dark side for so long, he wasn’t sure light belonged in his life. Maybe the darkness was all he’d ever have.
As they reached the jet, Kilo descended the metal ladder and stepped onto the tarmac. Of all the men on the team, Kilo was by the far the biggest. At six-five and two hundred and fifty pounds, the man was enormous. He also doubled as a pilot, though how he managed to wedge that huge body into the cockpit was anyone’s guess.
“We’re all fueled up and ready to go,” Kilo announced in his Tennessee drawl. The gentle accent seemed completely wrong coming out of the guy’s mouth.
“Watch your step,” Le Clair said to Lana, then gave her bottom a firm slap and pushed her onto the first step.
With the blindfold on, she was unprepared for climbing stairs, and ended up stumbling forward, her hands shooting out in search of something to steady her.
Le Clair chuckled again, the harsh sound bringing a jolt of rage to Deacon’s gut.
“Easy,” he found himself hissing out.
Le Clair’s head swiveled in his direction. Those silvery eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
Deacon quickly backpedaled. “Her daddy won’t be so generous if he finds out we’re roughing up his daughter.”
The boss raised one thick brow. “How about you leave the cash negotiating to me and get on the damn plane, Delta.”
Deacon made a show of apology, bowing his head slightly and climbing up the ladder with hunched shoulders. Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut? So what if Le Clair was being a little too rough with Lana? It was just part of the job. Shake up the target, get her nice and scared.
Except, scaring Lana was the last thing he wanted to do.
The interior of the jet was pristine, featuring two plush white leather sofas and mahogany tables. There was even a small bar in the corner. Discomfort crept up Deacon’s spine. Last time he’d been on a plane like this was more than two decades ago. His father had owned a sweet little Gulfstream, which the family made good use of,
