Defenseless (Salvation, #5)(6)
He pauses. “We need your help.”
That had to take a lot for him to admit. “How so?”
“Another shipment of ammo was sent to Africa this time. It’s . . . well, missing. I personally set up that transport. I double-checked it. And some of my guys aren’t checking in on another op. Someone is still f*cking with us, and I can’t seem to uncover it. Aaron made mention of something, and I thought of you.”
“I’m sure you think of me more than I think of you.”
He laughs. “Doubtful. I’m always on your mind.”
“Anyway,” I draw the word out. “What are you thinking?”
On the flight back with Aaron, I had overheard them speculating. There were too many variables that all seemed to lead back to the head of the company. Jackson Cole was a good man from what I observed, but red flags were everywhere.
First, they had issues in Afghanistan, which led to Aaron going there in the first place. Everyone but him was killed when his convoy was attacked. Then, when Jackson and Mark went to assess the incident, they were shot at. Jackson sustained life-threatening injuries and was flown out immediately. However, after following a few leads, nothing ended anywhere solid. Everyone checked out, so we let it go.
“Aaron mentioned a name,” he says cryptically. “Jackson wants this shit to stop. And to be honest, I do too. It doesn’t make sense, though. I’ve used all my contacts in the FBI and they say everyone within the company is clear. Nothing has surfaced or been suspicious. So, that leads me to think it’s someone outside my inner circle.”
It’s definitely a possibility, but what name would Aaron know? “Maybe, but why Cole Security Forces?”
“Why not? We’re all former SEALs, we’ve all killed, and we’ve all been involved at one time or another with taking out terrorists. Plus, we still do. We protect bases and take missions that others are too scared to accept. I mean, you can tell me where you’re confused on why they wouldn’t want to stop us.” His deep voice only grows deeper in his anger.
Before I can say anything, Tom walks by. “I gotta go. I’ll call soon.” I disconnect the call and run to save my career.
My phone has been ringing non-stop. My brother and mother won’t leave me alone. We all knew what my father did. He recruited me when he noticed I had a knack for the business. Now, it seems to be the excuse used for every mishap in our lives. Dominic didn’t get into the college he wanted because Dad was a spy and refused to move. Mom didn’t get the head of the last charity she was involved in because Dad was a spy and it wouldn’t look right. I’m not married because Dad was a spy and scared men away, which is totally untrue. It’s because the men I’ve dated are idiots.
Dad was a good man and a good father, despite his absences. At a young age, I had the feeling he was doing something great when he was away. To most girls, I’m sure that’s an impossible idea. I knew, though. I always felt as if he was protecting us. By the time I was old enough to realize what he actually did, he was recruiting me.
I love my job. I love my life. I sure as hell don’t need a man to try to bring me down a notch. Being a female in this industry isn’t easy. I’m always looked at as lesser than the men, so I make sure to work twice as hard.
“What, Mother?” I groan into the receiver.
“If you answered the damn phone when I called the first ten times, I wouldn’t need to keep calling,” my mother practically whispers. Her voice never raises an octave. She would’ve been a kick ass spy.
“I didn’t want to talk.”
“Clearly.”
“Yet, you keep calling.” I tap my foot. There are very few people in the world who can scare me. She’s one of them. However, I still instigate fights with her. My mother is somehow able to twist me into believing everyone else is wrong, even if there is photographic evidence that proves otherwise. It’s the most amazing thing to watch, but never fun to be on the receiving end of.
She sighs and I picture her running her hand through her onyx hair. “Don’t test me.” She pauses. “I’m hosting a gala in memory of your father. You’re to be there this time. I don’t care if the president orders you to Timbuktu, you’re coming. It’s important our place in the community doesn’t falter.”
“When?”
My father’s cover still has to be kept for appearance’s sake. My mother’s really the strongest woman I know. Having to carry on the fa?ade for our entire lives wasn’t easy, but she did it with a smile. I’m sure my father paid heavily for it privately, yet her place by his side never waivered. My brother and I grew up with more love than two kids could ask for. We were happy, considering our father did a lot of things we may never know about.
“In two weeks. And Charisma?” She and my brother are the only people alive that are allowed to call me by my name.
“Yes, Mother?”
“Bring a date. No one likes to see you walking around and drinking alone. It makes you look like it’s by choice. Don’t make me second-guess not setting up that arranged marriage,” she says and then disconnects the call.
I swear there are times I contemplate making an anonymous tip to Homeland Security that she’s a terrorist. However, I’m sure she’d find a way to swear I defected against my country.