Faith & Killian
Cairo, Four Years Ago
Two hours before the second phase of our op gets under way.
The last time I met our targets, I was sick to the point of throwing up. Only it turns out my nausea is more than just acute disgust with the three men who head the sex trafficking rings.
Last night, while going through final preparations, it finally dawned on me that it may be something more. Something life changing. Hell, as if my life hasn’t changed enough already.
Since then, I’ve done the calculations thirty ways to Christmas, and I can’t find another explanation for my nausea or my no-show period except for the fact that I’m knocked up. A clandestine search on the Internet for dates shows I may be about seven weeks gone.
Sweet Mother of Mercy.
If I believed God listened to me anymore, I would say a prayer. For what, specifically, I don’t know. But I would say a blanket one anyway. Except God and I haven’t been on the best of terms since he abandoned my baby sister to the vile hands of one of his supposedly trusted flock.
I haven’t forgiven him for that, and I don’t think I ever will.
So I swallow the familiar Sunday school prayer verses that attempt to rush past my guard, and double-check my Ruger for the seventeenth time. It’s a comfortable weight, and the three-inch barrel makes it compact enough to sit in my purse without attracting too much attention.
“Are you ready?”
I turn from the bathroom mirror to face Killian.
My op partner. My lover. The father of my child. It’s a transition I haven’t had time to make room for. Not with the insane roller coaster my life has been twisting on for the last six months. Not when we were so new. I search his beautiful face, analyze his sexy grin. I think of his serious alpha side, and his protective side. His razor-sharp intellect, and his killer body.
Everything about him checks the box for lover, and someone I can trust to have my back in the field.
But father?
From what Matt said about him before we met, I expected a selfish billionaire asshole with a heavier dose of the sexist traits his brother displayed so carelessly toward me. Or worse.
But I learned very early on to take what my now-deceased husband said with a bucket of salt. And that was before I found out his true intentions in marrying me. I was the poster woman for his campaign. The photogenic, law-abiding, churchgoing citizen from a respectable middle-class family, who just happened to have a dead sister.
Matt’s good looks and trustworthy vibe brought in the needy suburban housewives and easily charmed grandmothers. My deep love for my dead sister and my campaign for stringent laws for sex offenders opened the floodgates for the sympathy votes.
I stood by his side and watched him win his congressional seat by a landslide.
And then the lies, the contempt, and the long absences in DC started. Rumors of his affairs with his female staff hurt at first. But then, weirdly, the pain went away. By the time Killian turned up, I was over the initial shock of being blindsided, yet again, by a situation I never saw coming.
Where anger and grief had fueled my path on Julia’s behalf, cold calculation and the solid reality of divorce papers reassured me when it came to Matt. I intended to serve the papers at a time when it would cause him the most damage. He’d used my sister’s precious memory as a stepping-stone for his career. And just like I’d done to Heather Jane Fitzgerald when I was sixteen, I was going to pay Matt back for his betrayal.
Only he got it worse. My intention was to punish him. I never wanted him dead. He would still be alive if Killian hadn’t shown up and turned everything on its head.
“Faith? Are you okay?”
I focus on Killian. We’ve fucked more times in the last six months than I’ve had sex with anyone since I lost my virginity at eighteen. And yet, there are so many things I don’t know about this man. He never talked about his parents save to say they never loved him and he grew not to give a shit. Which, loosely translated, meant he thought they deserved everything they got in the end. Would he be a great father? Or even an okay one like my father was before my actions drove a wedge between us?
And what about me? A newly trained operative with a child? And, hell, do I even want this child?
Yes. My certainty on that front is unshakable.
“Baby, what’s going on?” Killian’s sharp voice slices through my thoughts.
I push everything to the back of my mind, especially that last bracing, definitive answer that produces even more questions, to deal with later.
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I spaced out for a bit, imagining you wearing nothing but that tunic for me later.”
His eyes gleam with predatory hunger. “Oh yeah?”
“Hmm, I have visions of ripping it off you the way you’ve been ripping my clothes off lately. I’m going to need a new wardrobe soon if you keep that up, by the way.”
He closes the gap between us and places his hands on my hips. I toyed with wearing either traditional attire like the one Killian is wearing or going with my favorite designer. My black Alexander Wang dress with the slightly flared skirt won out.
“I’ll buy you a dozen new wardrobes for the privilege and pleasure of getting you naked at the quickest opportunity.”
“Wouldn’t it be more cost effective for us to move to a nudist colony?” I joke as he pushes his face into my neck.
He stiffens against me for a moment and then slowly relaxes. “I’m not going to start the evening by thinking homicidal thoughts about even the possibility of anyone else but me seeing you naked.”
I’m still getting used to the blunt instruments that are Killian’s jealousy and unbridled possessiveness. I’m also getting used to the fact that it gets me shamefully wet when he goes all primitive alpha on me.
Would he be the kind of father to prowl his front lawn with a loaded shotgun to deter boys once his daughter turns sixteen?
God, what the hell am I thinking? I don’t even have official confirmation yet, I have zero idea how he feels about fatherhood, and we’re in Cairo on a dangerous assignment, currently en route to what we both suspect is a sex party involving underage kids.
Thoughts of the evening ahead sober me up enough to drag my head from the clouds. Killian’s eyes meet mine, and his features turn serious too.
He takes my hand, and I shamelessly cling to him as we leave the bedroom, and the villa.
We travel in a convoy of two SUVs because his cover of obnoxious, ostentatious billionaire is perfect for the extra security we have with us at all times. Our trip takes us deeper into the desert. The farther we go into the barren landscape, the tenser we both get.
Fifty minutes later, we arrive at the property that looks suspiciously like a hotel. The armed guards at the towering gates trigger another layer of apprehension. I clutch my purse a little tighter and thank God for Killian’s reassurance of GPS trackers on both our clothing and vehicle. Our drivers are part of the team and can provide additional backup if needed. But despite all of that, I’ve been trained to accept that whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, and to adapt quickly.
Although I don’t know how to adapt to the fact that, as we drive under a series of elegant arches into the heart of the hotel, all I can think of is the new life inside me and the risk I’m already exposing him or her to.
More grim-faced armed guards greet us when our vehicle eventually stops. Several more SUVs and rough-terrain Jeeps are lined up on the drive.
We walk through a series of corridors, and I force myself to focus and create a mental image of the landscape. Maybe I need to get Killian to create an app for that for our next assignment.
Another mosaic-tiled corridor brings us out into an open courtyard filled with sharply dressed guests. Mostly men, I note, with another shiver of discomfort. Besides the handful of women sipping cocktails, the only females are the entertainment, mainly scantily clad belly dancers.
I’m clocking exit points when I spot Paul and Raj coming toward us.
“Killian, Faith. You made it.”
Handshakes are exchanged. I try not to stiffen when Paul leans over to brush kisses on my cheeks.
“We said we would,” Killian responds coolly, his arrogant billionaire persona fully in place.
“And we’re honored by your presence,” Raj adds with a wide smile. He’s already halfway to getting drunk, and possibly high as well, if the slight slur in his speech and the rabid glint in his eyes are any indication.
Like before, Paul’s eschewed his motherland’s attire for a sharp gray suit with a white open-necked shirt. Raj is dressed casually in a white shirt and white palazzo pants. And Moses, who joins us a few minutes later, is a cross between the two.
Champagne is offered along with caviar and truffle-topped blinis. For the first time, I get to try the technique of pretending to drink without actually taking a mouthful. I catch Killian doing the same.
“Is this a hotel?” he asks, looking around.
Paul nods as he walks us around the lamplit courtyard. “As yet unopened. It belongs to an associate of mine. He ran into a couple of financial snags that pushed back his schedule. I’m helping him out by paying him to throw a few parties here. It’s perfect for entertaining, don’t you think? I like the…exclusivity.”
“Absolutely,” I concur, but his interest remains on Killian.
“Come, I’ll give you the tour. Show you where you’ll be staying tonight.”
Killian and I exchange glances. “We weren’t expecting to stay the night.” His tone suggests he’s not on board with the surprise move.
“Nonsense. It’s an hour’s drive back to your villa. That sort of journey isn’t recommended once you’ve partied like we intend for you to party.”
“That’s why we have chauffeurs,” Killian replies with a tight smile.
“I’m sure they will appreciate being given the night off too. Or are you one of those billionaire assholes who craps on everyone who’s not as wealthy as him?” Paul says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
I stiffen.
“Whoa, let’s hold the insults until we’ve gotten past the canapés, okay?” Killian’s voice is coated with chilled steel, and the arm around my waist tightens fractionally.
Paul makes an offhanded gesture of contrition. “Come on, I was just kidding. Besides, who the fuck is going to call you out on who you crap on? Being a billionaire should automatically give you that right, if you ask me.”
I take a slow breath and talk myself down from the urge to throw my champagne in his face.
“But, hey, you came here to have fun, am I right? The true fun doesn’t start until half of these assholes here go home to their vanilla beds. So”—he slaps Killian on the arm—“you two are staying. End of discussion.”
He struts off, and I see the tide of fury wash over Killian’s face. Luckily we’re a little distance from the other guests, so no one witnesses his silent rage or how quickly he gets himself under control.
“I want to rip that fucker’s throat out.”
“I want to cheer you on while you do it,” I say under my breath.
Killian pulls me closer. “We can leave right now if you want.”
I really want to. But isn’t this what I’ve been fighting for since Julia died? For some sort of justice for innocent children?
“No, we can’t. If what he’s planned is happening when most of the guests are gone, we have to stay.”
“There’s no need for both of us to stay. I can get the team to take you back to the villa. I’ll stay and see this through.”
Again the temptation to say yes is so strong that I have to swallow to suppress it. “I signed up for this. I can’t just leave because the bastard sickens me. I’m staying.”
His gaze probes mine for a long moment. “You’re sure?” he asks me.
“I have to be.” I came here to do a job. I have to see it through. For Julia’s sake.
He nods. Then, in a move we practiced countless times during my training in Virginia, I shield his body so he dumps half his drink in a potted plant, and he does the same for me.
Halfway through the evening, Moses and a man dressed in an embroidered tunic, fez, and toga pants join us. “This is Mahmoud. He’ll be your butler for the duration of your stay.” His dark gaze swings between the two of us. “Now, Paul promised you a tour, but he’s otherwise engaged so you got me. Shall we?”
We’ve no choice but to go with him. I block him out as he goes through his spiel about the property. I do wonder why they’re even bothering until he nudges Killian’s arm. “We were thinking, if you wanted to branch out into real estate, this could be a gold mine once the airstrip and helipads are put in place. It’s far enough away to offer the sort of exclusivity certain types cream themselves for, know what I mean?”
Killian shrugs. “It certainly has…something.”
Moses nods enthusiastically. “Paul is working on a deal with the guy who owns it to take it off his hands. We’ll let you know how it goes.”
“You do that.” Killian pauses a beat. “I thought you were in shipping though?”
Moses makes a face. “The company basically runs itself. I’m in the market for more exciting adventures.” He nudges Killian again.
Luckily we arrive at a private courtyard, directly in front of a small swimming pool. Four square pillars denote the sides of the self-contained apartment, which is an equivalent of a Moroccan riad. “This is your residence for the night. Great, isn’t it?”
Killian nods at the two guards standing on the flat roof balcony. “What’s with the armed guards?”
Moses grimaces. “We’ve had a few gatecrashers in the past. Motherfuckers from the government who have sticks up their asses about everything. The guards are an early warning system.”
We make the right noises all through the remaining tour. Moses delivers us back to the party and goes off to chat with Paul. Galveston looks over and gives a two-fingered salute. And we carry on like that throughout the evening until the so-called vanilla guests take their leave just after midnight. Then we’re led to giant wooden double doors.
Just like last time, Raj can barely contain himself. “No flashy underground bunkers here, Knight. We just deal in quality raw materials.”
Paul throws it open with an arrogant flourish. My heart hammers in dread and futile rage as I step forward.
The place is set out in an Arabian Nights theme. Had this place been anywhere else on earth, I would’ve been impressed by the art and beauty etched on the walls and scattered around the room. But the human displays on the tables stop my breath and threaten to bring up my lunch.
The live bodies laid out are completely naked, the food displayed on their various parts making no attempt to hide their genders. My stomach roils violently. Killian’s hand touches my back.
“Easy, baby. They’re not kids,” he mutters in my ear.
My breath rushes out of me, and I force myself to look closer. Sure enough, they’re young, but very early twenties young as opposed to kids.
Before my relief can sink in, Moses finds us, another bottle of champagne dangling from his fingers. “So what do you think of our starter platters?” he says with a lewd grin.
“Impressive, but nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Fuck, you’re a tough guy to please. Well, wait till you see the main course.”
Killian makes a show of looking around. “Don’t see anything that floats my boat yet.”
“You had your inner inner sanctum. We have ours.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re escorted into another room and introduced to the sickest depravity of them all. “So, what’s your poison?” Raj asks.
Killian drapes his arm around my shoulder and lets loose a conceited smile. “A good host carefully investigates their guests’ likes and dislikes before inviting them to a thing. You got close, my friend. Really close, but you fell at the final hurdle. I’m worth nine billion dollars. That’s a heck of a chunk of change to jeopardize for the sake of getting caught on camera indulging my…interests. And yes, I know there are cameras in this room.”
Moses’s face drops, and he shakes his head. “You’re paranoid—”
“No, I’m not. On this occasion, I’m going to choose not to be offended. You go ahead and enjoy yourself. We’re leaving.”
He steers me toward the door but not before I catch a glimpse of a middle-aged man dragging a half-naked girl into his lap. I clench my stomach against the need to vomit and fight a greater urge to stalk over and rip her out of his arms. Killian eyeballs the guard blocking the doors, and I close my eyes when I hear Paul Galveston shout Killian’s name.
“No,” I mutter fiercely under my breath.
“It’s fine, baby. Trust me.” His supporting arm stays around my shoulders, and he turns us around.
For the first time since we met him, Galveston looks less than the cocky bastard he projects. “Look, Knight, believe it or not, this wasn’t about you. Some of the guests here like to take back digital souvenirs.” He shrugs. “We didn’t want to disappoint them.”
“Fine. So don’t disappoint them,” Killian replies evenly.
Paul rubs his middle finger across his brow. “Stay the night anyway. Mo mentioned some other business ventures we want to discuss, right? We’re really interested in bringing you on board the real estate project.”
Killian offers him a bored look without answering.
Galveston’s lips twitches in a mean little sneer before he catches himself. “Let’s offer you a sweetener to make you stay.”
Killian looks around the room. “Sorry, I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Fuck, you’re a tough customer, aren’t you?”
A shrug.
“Will you give me…us until tomorrow to make it up to you?”
Killian takes a few moments to think about it. Then he looks down at me. Nothing in his face gives away his true emotions, but I feel turbulence whipping through him.
“Fine.”
Paul cracks a triumphant smile. “Good man.” He whistles for one of the guards. “He’ll walk you back to the residence. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I can barely hold it together long enough to walk back to our rooms.
The moment we shut the doors, I whirl on Killian. “How did you know?”
He raises his finger to his mouth like he’s caressing his lower lip, but I get the hold on signal. He quickly searches the room, peeking behind paintings and underneath lamps, before he walks over to me, his jaw clenched in fury. “Because shit bags like Galveston thrive on that sort of crap. He’d like nothing more than to have me in his pocket for life,” he growls.
I can’t stop shaking. “Why don’t we just call the local authorities? God, Killian, those kids.”
He cups my shoulders. “It’s too late. If we act now, we’ll blow our cover. I promise, the moment we leave here in the morning, I’ll make the call. There are ten kids in that room, but there are hundreds more out there. We can’t just scrub the op because we still don’t know where the shipment’s coming in. And we can’t monitor all the ports at once even with a date in mind. The port of Alexandria alone will take a huge amount of manpower to stake out. Tomorrow may be our only window to try and get a further advantage.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Hang in there, okay?”
I give a wretched nod. I excuse myself to go the bathroom, where I throw up the contents of my stomach. I suspect Killian thinks I’m vomiting because I’m disgusted by what we witnessed. While that’s partly true, I let him believe that’s all of it.
And during the night, when I get up for the third time to throw up, I accept that maybe I’m not cut out for this spy shit. At all.
Maybe turns into a definite yes a handful of hours later when I get up to vomit for the fourth time, and the smallest sound ends up blowing my life apart.
* * *