Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(13)

While there was nothing she could do about her height, she could improve her body and overall physical fitness, which was exactly what she did.

She lengthened her runs, added in sprints and cross-training, began lifting heavier weights, and completely changed her diet.

When she applied a fourth time and they tried to reject her, she was pissed. And she gave it to the panel with both barrels—telling them to start thinking up new excuses now because she was going to apply again and again. She wasn’t a quitter. It was precisely what they wanted to hear. She was given a slot to try out for what would be known as Jeger Troop—the Norwegian word for huntress.

The ten-month program was grueling, but she relished it. The more they threw at her, the better she did. No matter how hard they tried to break her, they couldn’t.

From the eighty-eight female soldiers initially invited, only twenty were able to complete the training, and from there just thirteen went on to form the first unit.

S?lvi was proud of herself. And just as important, so was her father. She had been made for Jeger Troop. Or so it had seemed.

Despite being deployed multiple times, she had never fired her weapon. None of their operations had gone kinetic. It seemed that Jeger Troop spent the majority of its time either conducting surveillance or interacting with Muslim women in Afghanistan—hoping to develop actionable intelligence.

Shit assignments came with the territory—even for Special Operations forces. S?lvi, though, had been led to believe that they’d be undertaking the kinds of missions similar to the male commandos’. The fact that Jeger had been regulated to “safer,” second-tier operations didn’t sit well with her. That wasn’t what she had signed up for. And so, she had started looking around for other opportunities.

It didn’t take long for her to come to Carl Pedersen’s attention. The moment he met her he knew she’d be perfect for NIS. There was something about her—a street smarts, a savvy that couldn’t be taught. She was intelligent and quick-witted; perfect for the espionage business. She was also a very striking woman, which would discount her as a threat. Lots of men were going to drop their guard the moment they saw her. In Pedersen’s opinion, she was being wasted in the military.

Nevertheless, poaching her from Jeger was going to ruffle a lot of feathers. They had spent a boatload of time and money training her. It took some serious string-pulling to get her transferred, but string-pulling was something Pedersen was quite skilled at.

She was an exceptional student. Privately, he liked to joke that she had the “Three Bs.” Beauty, brains, and huge brass balls.

From the moment she had shown up at NIS, she had been eager to prove herself. She was a risk-taker, but not a foolish risk-taker. Pedersen was confident that as long as he could help her channel her passion, she’d be one of the best intelligence operatives Norway had ever seen—maybe even better than him. And, he had been right.

No matter what kinds of assignments he sent her on—no matter how complicated, or how dangerous—she always found a way to succeed. Yes, she got knocked on her ass. She also got battered, bloodied, and bruised. On a handful of occasions, she had even come close to losing her life. But that was what the job required and she had thrown herself into it with everything she had until a devastating, personal loss had sent her tumbling back into the realm of drugs.

Of the many mistakes she had made while living abroad, the biggest involved a night of heavy partying where she ended up in a rough part of Milan with a horrible man who had slipped something into her drink. By the time she realized what was going on, it was too late. Though she tried to push him off of her, she was unable.

Although that night would fade into the background of her life, it would never disappear—not completely. Years later, it would come roaring back.

Happy and challenged with her job at NIS, there was only one area where she felt unfulfilled, empty. Most men, if not intimidated by her looks, were intimidated by the demands of her career—of which she could discuss very little.

That had all changed, though, when friends had introduced her to Gunnar, a good-looking Norwegian tech exec. Everything about him had been perfect, especially how she had felt when they were together. He had laughed at her jokes, had never been jealous or insecure about her frequent trips abroad, and had always complimented her. They had made a remarkable couple and it had only made sense that they would get married. Both of them had been certain that they were ready.

They’d had a beautiful ceremony at Oslo Cathedral, followed by an extravagant reception on the roof of the Norwegian National Opera and Ballet, and then had honeymooned in Portugal.

After a year, Gunnar had begun talking about having children. S?lvi had known that it would impact her career. But he had wanted children more than anything and she had wanted to make him happy. So, she had given in.

But no matter how hard they tried, she couldn’t get pregnant. Eventually, they had gone to see a specialist.

The news hadn’t been good. Because of a prior medical procedure, S?lvi was incapable of conceiving. They had both been devastated, but for Gunnar, it had been the absolute end of the world.

Things had only gotten worse when, in a moment of candor after a bottle of wine, S?lvi had confided in him about the night she was raped and confessed to the abortion she had sought once she had learned she was pregnant. The operation had brought about a terrible infection, which, only now, did she realize had rendered her infertile.