“One of the bedrooms has two twin beds in it. Which means Odette can stay in the main house in the room Aine was slated for.”
“See? That wasn’t so bad.?
??
Gunner walked away, muttering, but Razor didn’t care. His mission was accomplished, at least the first part of it.
Chapter 12
Aine and Striker
As happy as she was to see Pen and Tara, the horrible feeling of missing Griffin stayed firmly planted in the middle of Aine’s chest. What was supposed to be the beginning of their relationship, had ended on Thanksgiving when he suddenly had to leave and couldn’t tell her where he was going.
That was the last time she’d seen him or heard his voice—outside of her dreams.
Every time Aine closed her eyes, she could see him. His blond hair was darker, and his eyes were a lighter shade of blue than hers were. Until he’d brought up their age difference, she hadn’t given it a second thought. His features were timeless, almost prince-like. It wasn’t just that his name sounded regal, like Ava had said; he looked it.
While he wasn’t as big muscle-wise as Gunner, Aine could attest that he was rock solid. With eight-pack abs, buff arms, and carved legs, he looked more like the special forces guy he was than a Prince Charming.
It was his vulnerability that had attracted her to him in the first place. When he’d walked down to the beach where her sister was marrying his teammate, he looked uncomfortable, unsure of himself. After spending time with Razor, Aine found the lack of arrogance refreshing.
She’d been more surprised than startled when he boldly approached her and started a conversation. She’d put her hand on her heart because it felt as though it would beat out of her chest from being so close to him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he’d said and introduced himself as Striker. Eventually he’d told her his name was actually Griffin Ellis, and the other thing he’d said was that she was beautiful.
When he mentioned being hungry, she led him up to the kitchen, where they’d made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and spent enough time talking that her mother had come looking for her.
Aine put her arms around her waist and closed her eyes. “Where are you?” she whispered. “When will you come back to me?”
—:—
“Fuck,” Striker spat when he counted the number of Somali pirates holding whom they believed were journalists. They weren’t. Not even close. They were two of the best operatives who’d ever worked for the CIA. Both had been part of his team, and he’d die before he’d leave them there to meet the same fate.
He and Mantis were more than one hundred miles outside of Mogadishu, in Dinlave, a village on the Wabi Shebelle River.
The pirates hadn’t brought their captives out here where there wouldn’t be any means to communicate with the rest of the world; it was just where they’d run out of money.
Unfortunately, they weren’t strangers to the region, which meant their numbers had doubled.
He rolled to his back on the hillside and looked up at the star-filled night sky. He closed his eyes and thought of Aine, like he did most every time he began to wonder what the hell he was doing.
With no way to summon reinforcements, and lack of a trail for anyone to find them, he and Mantis had two options. They could leave, and likely never be able to locate the men again, or they could stay and craft a plan to rescue them.
“What day is it?” he asked Mantis.
“The twenty-first of December.”
Which meant tomorrow would be thirty days since he’d last seen the woman who graced his dreams as much as haunted them.
“I have an idea,” said Mantis.
“Yeah? Is it a good one?”
“I think it is.”
Striker sat up. “Let’s hear it.”
—:—