Dangerous Betrayal (Aegis Group Book 7) Read online

  The compound.

  Now to find a way inside.

  He was willing to bet the security would be tight. There were many goods that were hard to get inside Syria what with the restrictions placed on the country. He’d heard that the only way to get some medications was via smuggler. It was simply a necessity of the time.

  “Jules, can you walk?” He stepped into an alcove and eased the woman to her feet.

  “I can.” Jules gripped him with both hands, swaying a bit. She wore loose linen pants, a long caftan style top, and a scarf woven around her neck and hair. Her clothes were disgustingly dirty and showed their age. “Just don’t ask me to run, dear boy.”

  “We need to find a way into that building.” He nodded at the hulking structure with its walls bordering it like some sort of prison.

  “You lead, I follow.” Jules nodded. God damn she was brave.

  “Let’s go.”

  Alec wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her and help move her along then they were off. Her pace was slower than he’d have liked, but he hoped they seemed normal. Just a man and his grandmother walking home later than was wise.

  They cut across the street, Alec eyeing the walls with the occasionally positioned door. The entrances were bolted with reinforced doors if his guess was right. Nothing short of a bomb would get him inside that way.

  This wasn’t looking good.

  They crossed another street at the other end of the compound and a little ways down the wall opened up. Gates let out onto a parking lot. A tin roof had been erected over the space to protect the vehicles.

  A truck rumbled past. One of the military styles with a canvas top, high sides and a low tailgate. A piece of cloth hung across the back, shielding the cargo from view.

  The gates swung open.

  This might be their only chance.

  “Come on,” Alec whispered.

  He hustled them forward.

  The truck turned left and eased to a stop between the gates. A team of two men did a walk around the vehicle while a third approached the cab and spoke with the driver.

  Painted on the door was the spiky shell symbol.

  Vara’s logo.

  This was one of her trucks.

  Was it a sign?

  Alec’s gut said it was.

  “Get in.” He rushed Jules forward.

  He boosted her up and over the tailgate into the bed before she could make the move herself, then climbed in after her. He squinted into the darkness. A few crates were strapped to the wall. There wasn’t much of anything there, which was bad for them. If anyone glanced inside, they’d spot Jules and Alec.

  “Move all the way back,” he whispered.

  Jules scooted to the front corner, partially hidden by a crate. But it wouldn’t serve as a hiding spot for long.

  He’d told himself it was impossible for him and Vara to run into each other. Damascus was a big, bustling city. But here they were, on a collision course. Alec hoped the woman Vara was now wasn’t all that dissimilar from the woman he’d spent two glorious weeks with in Thailand doing nothing but sipping drinks and making love. But no one stayed the same. He was going to have to figure out how to connect with the woman Vara was now because both Jules and Alec’s lives were going to depend on her.

  WEDNESDAY. NOUR DELIVERY Service, Damascus, Syria.

  Vara Price stared over her cards at the three men studying their odds.

  “I’m out,” the one on her left said and slouched back in his seat.

  The man across from her took a long, slow drag on his cigarette, studying her. She smiled back, content to wait them out.

  She liked playing cards with her new hires. How a man handled the cards told her a lot about who they were. How they assessed danger and risk. Too much time spent making decisions, and she knew they weren’t long for her team. React too fast and she knew they’d walk into a dangerous situation with no idea they were about to lose their head.

  Her life and the success of her mission depended on these men, and they didn’t have any clue what they were really doing. The old pang of guilt stabbed at her, but she was beyond letting that emotion get the best of her. What they didn’t know might save their lives.

  A commotion in the hall outside the communal room drew the attention of the other two men. The third pulled his cigarette from his lips and narrowed his gaze.

  Good instincts, but he was hesitating.

  “Inspection. Now,” a man barked from the doorway in Arabic. His uniform labeled him military, not Rafat Nour’s personal guard.

  “What’s he saying?” The man at Vara’s right turned.

  “Some kind of military inspection. Happens from time to time. Nothing to be worried about.” Vara sighed and folded the cards.

  It was probably for the best. She had nothing of value in those cards.

  “What’s this about?” he asked.

  Vara peered at the man’s profile. Hadn’t his resume said he was fairly fluent in Arabic?

  “I’ll handle it.” She got up and nodded at Wyatt Boregard, her current right-hand man, who’d been engrossed in conversation with some of Rafat Nour’s men.

  Wyatt was reliable and motivated by cash. She liked to think she could trust him, but they were smugglers. His military background only meant that in a tough situation he was more likely to know how to come out of it alive. It didn’t mean shit about his allegiance.

  He fell into step behind her, a hulking shadow protecting her back.

  Vara tucked her scarf around her head a little tighter. She wasn’t the only woman in the compound, but she was the most conspicuous. The soldiers didn’t hassle her, probably because she offered up gifts from time to time at checkpoints. Not because she had to, but to keep the soldiers from looking at her trucks too closely. She paid her demanded bribes to the higher ups then sweetened the deal with the guys on the ground. Everyone won.

  She nodded at the soldiers and followed along behind them toward the belly of the warehouse. Her current cargo had been mostly delivered, so this inspection couldn’t be about them or anything they were transporting. Tomorrow she’d send Wyatt and the others out for the last delivery. Maybe for the final time.

  They didn’t know that and she hadn’t informed Wyatt that their second team was awaiting orders on what to pick up and where to go. She’d told them to cool their heels in Lebanon until she knew how this was going to go.

  This job, both the one she admitted she had and her secret one, were so much more complicated now. She didn’t think she could keep this up much longer.

  When she’d come to Syria, the country was in a much different place. Some areas of the city were so barricaded off that the only trade that happened was because of smugglers getting things in and out of areas. Necessities. Food. Water. Medicine. As the government secured its hold on the city, the services she provided were not as necessary. No one had cared about her nationality when she was delivering crucial supplies. Now that things were more comfortable she didn’t enjoy the same kind of freedom. Some customers had refused to buy from her because she was half American and that was the only part of her they saw.

  The walls were going to close in on her soon and she didn’t plan on getting trapped.

  “Nice night,” she muttered to no one in particular as they passed into the yard.

  It was that pleasant time of year when it was never too hot and the evening chill wasn’t bad. Soon that would change with the seasons as would everything else in her life. She wished time would hurry up. She wanted to be done with tomorrow.

  Vara gathered with the other smuggling captains and private enterprises who operated in Rafat’s good graces. This whole routine was predictable now.

  A soldier stood in the bed of a truck gazing down on them.

  “Security check,” he announced.

  A collective groan went up.

  Rafat was running a business. Terrorists and rebels were bad for conducting that business even if they had a hand in creating the
circumstances for it to flourish. Some of Vara’s peers had been caught smuggling true contraband, but for the most part they were moving simple goods around the area.

  She sighed and shoved her hands in her pockets, willing this to hurry up. She didn’t relish the idea of going back to the card game. She wasn’t sleepy enough to go to bed. She didn’t know what she’d do, but standing here wasn’t high on her list either.

  The soldiers and Rafat had an understanding. He conducted good business and didn’t help rebels. The soldiers didn’t touch their cargo. This whole inspection was an honor system. The soldiers would stand back while each team inspected their vehicles and the cargo in the warehouse, call it clear and be done.

  Rafat’s vehicles were cleared first. It took about twenty minutes to cover the fleet, leaving the dozen smaller operations like Vara to cool their heels. Even then the Syrian natives stepped forward to be seen to first.

  Little changes like this were what marked the end of her days here. When she’d begun this smuggling gig two—hell, almost three—years ago, no one had cared about her nationality or gender. People were desperate for supplies and medicine they could no longer get. As the conflict stabilized, and the city flourished, people could be picky about who they did business with. Vara knew an American female was not the top of that list. She had her normal routes, the people who depended on her, and for now they provided a profitable business front for her true purpose. And even that was coming to a head soon.

  “Price?” the soldier in charge called out.

  She lifted her hand and strolled toward her two trucks. The other two were across the border in Lebanon receiving a new shipment of goods.

  “Should be fast. I’ve got nothing,” she said. She still wouldn’t throw open the back to let them see in. That would set a poor precedent of expectation for the future, so even if she only had two crates left she wouldn’t show them.

  “We still need you to check,” the soldier said.

  “No problem. Whatever it takes to keep the peace.” She flashed the man a smile. “Wyatt check the other one?”

  The soldier nodded and with an order sent another man following Wyatt to her second truck.

  Vara grabbed the tailgate and stepped up on the bumper. She ducked her head under the curtain and clicked on her flashlight.

  Her gaze met with a pair of hazel eyes just over the business end of a Glock.

  The gun didn’t bother her. She’d been on this end of them plenty of times.

  It was the man holding the weapon that was the real surprise.

  She knew that face. The years were kind to him. Every damn time she saw him he looked better and better.

  Alec Esposito.

  His hair had never been that long. It was curly. How had she never known that? She kind of liked that messy, tousled look.

  She took in a breath and swept the light across the rest of the truck, humming to herself.

  What the hell was Alec and an elderly woman doing in one of her trucks? How had they gotten in there? Why hadn’t anyone found them already?

  This couldn’t be good.

  “Nope. Nothing out of place.” She clicked her light off and lowered herself to the floor. “Hope that’s what you wanted to hear.”

  “Thank you.” The soldier gave her a curt nod then moved on.

  Vara glanced at Wyatt. He was watching her, probably curious why she’d taken the extra couple of seconds to pronounce an empty truck clear. She shrugged and grinned.

  “You hanging with the new guys tonight?” She ambled toward Wyatt. Sweat broke out under her arms and down her spine. Her stomach clenched and her knees wobbled a bit.

  Hold it together girl.

  Before she dealt with her surprise, she needed to know where all her ducklings were going to be. Wyatt and the others could not find out about Alec.

  “Someone needs to keep them out of trouble,” Wyatt said.

  “Better you than me. I’m not sure these guys are going to work out.” She sighed.

  “Not many people want to work here. And it’s harder for us to get locals to work with us.”

  “I know. We’ve had a good run though. I think we’ve got a few more months in us. We should probably talk about this and our next move later.” Vara tugged at the scarf around her neck. “Night.”

  “Night.”

  Wyatt turned and headed back the way they’d come while Vara struck off toward the wing that had been made into bunk rooms and private quarters. Sometimes it was more convenient to stay here rather than the home she’d purchased. She rated a handful of rooms to use at her discretion, which was what she needed right now.

  It would be at least an hour before she could return to the yard without raising suspicion.

  She walked as if in a daze to her quarters then shut herself in and leaned her back on the wall.

  Alec.

  She hadn’t thought about the SEAL in a very long time. For very good reason.

  Vara crossed the room to her bed and sank down on the edge.

  The last time they’d spoken was at the embassy when he told her they were over just before he shipped off on something highly classified. If she hadn’t gone down to her mother’s car to retrieve her pumps Vara would have never known Alec was leaving her. He’d meant to slip off in the night, taking her heart with him, without saying goodbye.

  Vara had been young, stupid and in love for the first time. Looking back, she could see the signs leading to heartbreak at every turn. He was destined to destroy her.

  And now here he was again.

  Something must have gone terribly wrong for their paths to cross.

  What trouble was he bringing to her doorstep?

  2.

  Wednesday. Nour Delivery Service, Damascus, Syria.

  Rafat Nour didn’t believe in coincidences.

  He stroked his chin and stared out the window onto his domain.

  This had never been his goal in life. He’d taken over the family shop selling rugs in his teens, expanded their store, opened others and had built a nice business before the conflict began. His business had died then, but not his means to make money. Smuggling had become a way of life. He worked with the government and military to move goods they couldn’t get through normal channels, not with so many sanctions on their country. Rafat did good work.

  But this business had an expiration date on it. In the future, the very hand of the government that allowed him to work freely would crush him in the name of honest commerce. Which was why Rafat had plans in place.

  Plans that were now slipping through his fingers.

  “Sir?” A man hovered in the doorway leading to Rafat’s office.

  “The soldiers didn’t find anything?” Calling them in had been a calculated move on his part.

  “No, sir.”

  “Two white people can’t just disappear in this city. Find me that old woman.” Rafat didn’t bother turning around.

  He’d bought the old cow and intended to use her to his own gain. He paid attention to the news, to the coverage she was getting based on what was going on in the United States. He had their Kurdish friends across the newly drawn border lines to thank for that.

  It was the law of supply and demand.

  The Americans wanted the woman.

  If Rafat had the woman, he got to set the price.

  He wasn’t interested in money. What he wanted was an agreement, a promise in writing that would allow him to profit from the future commerce that would happen. Syria would not remain the black mark on the face of the earth forever.

  Rafat had a plan. A big one. Owning the smuggling paths around Damascus had provided him with a wide network of connections from suppliers to the government and intelligence communities to the secret vices of the wealthy. He knew it all. And when the time came Rafat would separate his businesses, operate them under two directives. One above board and one that still catered to the forbidden desires.

  But it all hinged on having power.

&nbs
p; He needed the old cow to secure a connection in America. Without that he knew some of his infrastructure would not hold up.

  Rafat turned from the window toward the man still waiting for instruction.

  “Price has new men, doesn’t she?” Rafat had long since accepted that Vara Price was not just a smuggler, but whatever her game was it didn’t bother him.

  “She does. Three new men.”

  “Make friends. I want to know where her weak link is.” Rafat figured if the rescue didn’t go off smoothly the Americans would turn to their other resources. In this case, Vara.

  “I’ll make sure it happens.”

  “Go and close the door behind you.” Rafat glanced at the clock.

  He waited for the man to leave and the door to snick shut. Then Rafat waited longer.

  When the conflict had hit Damascus, he’d moved his family out into a suburb, somewhere safe. Or so he’d thought.

  His wife and two children were dead. On a night much like tonight his wife had warned him she wouldn’t be making their evening call. She was attending a dinner party at a friend’s house. A bomb had struck, miles off its target, killing everyone.

  At the time Rafat couldn’t afford to show weakness, so he carried on this farce. Each night he shut himself in this office and waited for a phone call that never came.

  He circled around behind his desk and pulled out his cell, swiping his thumb across the screen.

  The longer his prisoner was out of his custody the less likely it was he could recapture her. If she was in Syrian borders Rafat was confident he could reclaim her. But if the Americans got her out of the country he was screwed.

  There was one person he could turn to for help.

  Kolya Sokolov

  The former KGB agent was now a feared boss in the Russian mob. Rafat had made himself familiar with Kolya’s history when the man reached out to broker a deal some years back. Since then Rafat couldn’t help feeling like Kolya had hooks in him. Business had intertwined their interests and now Rafat knew his best option for securing his prisoner was Kolya. But turning to that man only deepened the hold.