Chapter Seven

Jona collapsed onto the sand and watched the sun rise. This early hour was perfect for a three-mile run. Aside from a few fishermen, the beach lay quiet—a solitary start to the day. Wiping a sweaty brow, Jona acknowledged failure by waiting too long to take out the mother and daughter. It had been twelve years, and Jona had completed fifty-two kills and never failed. Except once… while Papa watched.

Standing frozen on the sideline like a procrastinating fucker, waiting to complete this first mission. Why the delay? Because emotions fogged up this unfinished assignment, and Jona couldn’t fail a second time. Between contracts, Jona had stalked the ambassador’s daughter, aware that an assassin should never get too close to their target. Years had passed without action.

Chantal Durant had everything in life, and Jona actually liked the spoilt bitch. Chantal had her choice of men—falling over themselves to be with her. Yet, the prissy princess ignored the assholes and acted like Mother Teresa.

Jona would love to take the mother and daughter together in one glorious shooting spree—but that wouldn’t happen. They rarely traveled together—living separate lives. And the ambassador was well protected.

Who to kill first? That was the conundrum. After all these years, Jona didn’t expect payment. This personal vendetta was a promise made to a dying father. Perhaps that contributed to Jona’s hesitation.

Regardless, the time had come. Aside from killing with a rifle, there were many fun ways to commit murder, and Jona spent over a decade honing those skills with no footprint. That was the mark of a true assassin—never leaving a trace. But Jona wanted that strikethrough—to see the ambassador’s brains exploding in a glorious scarlet celebration.

Timing was everything, and now that Chantal was a political target, it made Jona’s job challenging but also a whole lot easier.

A local family ran past to the shoreline and before they got to the water, the concerned mother grabbed a toddler’s hand before swinging the kid up in an embrace. That must be nice—to grow up with a mother who cares. Shaking off bitterness, Jona glanced down the beach at the distant hotel which housed the embassy MSD teams. Soon it was time for breakfast and Jona craved grilled tomatoes with sweet chili eggs. Not quite done with the strict morning exercise routine, Jona stood. A swim was a refreshing way to start the day on a beautiful island.

***

Gage surveyed the parking lot as his men exited the suburban. Obviously feeling hedged in by her generous security detail, Chantal pulled out her keys as they approached the front doors.

“It’s already eight-thirty,” Chantal huffed.

They’d arrived later than expected this morning thanks to a last-minute meeting with Martin and Wyatt, her new Agent in Charge.  

“You don’t have to all come in with me.” Chantal glanced over her shoulder as she unlocked the door to the Confianca Recovery Center.

“Get used to it—and we’re searching the premises first.” Lucius took point, and her local detail, along with Team Five spread out while Gage remained by Chantal’s side.

“Are you going to follow me into the changing rooms? Because I’m swapping into my scrubs.”

“Let me check them out,” Gage replied.

“The rooms or the scrubs? For the love of God.”

“Rooms.” He grinned. “Wait out here.” He made her bristle—Gage didn’t give a damn. He cleared the men’s and the women’s space and waved her in before stepping out.

There wasn’t much luxury to the center. Customer-facing areas had received the most attention—painted in cheerful colors, and humble cotton curtains decorated the box-like windows. Aside from those few warm touches, it seemed adequately adapted to perform function. In contrast, the back rooms reserved for staff looked gray and economical.

He opened a closet and peeked inside at the neatly stacked supplies.

“Gage, would you like a tour? I’ll explain what we do.” Chantal stepped back into the hall, looking cute in scrubs. At least one of them felt comfortable—Gage was now geared up in battle rattle which included a combat helmet, body armor, and weaponry.  

He watched as she re-fastened a hairpin. She’d also used his first name, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about hearing it on her lips. Her softening of the second “g” felt inviting. No-one pronounced his name that way—if anything, they emphasized the “J” sound in “GAYJ.”

“Well? I have five minutes before my first appointment.”

“Um. Sure, ma’am.”

She took off down the passage, and he easily kept up.

“Chantal—if you’re going to shadow my every move, call me Chantal. I’m not technically a diplomat and hate anyone standing on ceremony. Tell the rest of your team.”

“Is that an order?” Gage chuckled at her bossy bustle.

“It cuts down on the crap, and I suspect you’re all about effortless exchanges.”

He frowned but realized she was correct. Communication in the field needed to be to the point. Gage would accept her reasoning.

“We’ll need to exchange numbers—in case we get separated in an emergency. Same goes with the rest of the team.”

“Sure. This is my office. I share it with a Sri Lankan chiropractor who is currently up north. He’ll meet us at the symposium next week. We have a waiting room and two examination—”

“Up north as in?” He glanced around the neat space which housed two desks. One held typical work clutter, and the other sat bare, with only a vase and a picture frame decorating the polished surface.

“As in Jaffna. He’s treating old war injuries in the Tamal region.”

“Will you be traveling there at all?” Gage instinctively knew which desk was hers and walked over to the neat desk with a framed photo. Her parents stood with her on a beach. Chantal looked so vibrant as a teenager, and her eyes held light and innocence.

“No, but I have in the past. It’s one of the reasons why we opened this facility. Sri Lanka’s civil war ended years ago, but many victims suffered permanent injuries from the conflict. We treat soldiers from both sides… victims of extremist attacks… civilians with extensive damage. Government soldiers receive assistant packages, but there aren’t existing programs to help civilians or former Tamil Tigers. We’re looking at around twenty thousand injuries in Tamil regions and forty thousand in total who are left maimed by fighting or bombings.”

“Tamil Tigers?” Gage frowned. “They were a guerilla organization, notorious for carrying out suicide bombings and recruiting child soldiers.”

“True. But nothing in this world is black and white. Tamil Tigers strong-armed villagers into joining the cause through terror campaigns. Many soldiers unwillingly fought with fear of repercussions. Families lives were threatened. Brainwashing was used on the young and by the end of the war, the organization was a corrupt extremist mess. In the beginning, the Tigers fought for Tamil independence, but in the end, the Tamil Tigers became desperate and thousands of soldiers deserted the cause. They escaped and tried to save their families from being massacred by both the government and the Tigers.”

She headed back up the passage, and Gage followed. “This is our massage facility, where we work with injured muscles and nerve damage. We have three volunteer therapists.”

“They don’t get paid?”

“Not by patients. None of us want our patient’s money. The Confianca Charity pays the staff a small salary—enough for living expenses.” Chantal straightened a folded blanket. “Most patients are desperately poor, and the Confianca Recovery Center offers free care. Some have traveled long distances, and in those cases, we provide lodging and food while treating their injuries. The building next door is ours.”

“That’s impressive.”

“It’s hard work. Somedays, we have a line of patients that extend around the block. Especially in the wet season when their prosthetics rub blisters and the damp conditions aggravate arthritis.”

“You work with amputees?”

“They make up the majority of our patients. Let me show you our prosthetics room and rehabilitation space.” Chantal led him to the next room filled with exercise equipment and shelves packed with prosthetics of all shapes and sizes. “Sadly, many victims purchase their prosthetics, which means that they are wearing cheaply made limbs which cause endless complications—both from a chiropractic and dermatological perspective.”

Gage’s admiration grew for the conscientious woman who now picked up an artificial limb. The morning light reflecting through the hazy window softened her pretty features and highlighted a delicate collar bone. Despite her slight build, she looked fit—Gage guessed it had everything to do with the physical challenges of being a chiropractor.

“This is a decent transtibial prosthesis which replaces a leg below the knee—we’re trying to build up a supply as this is the most common amputation due to landmines. Sorry—I could talk about this for hours.”

“No—it’s interesting—tremendously educational. Your passion is inspiring.”

She looked down, with a sudden blush to her cheeks. Gage couldn’t look away and waited till she met his stare. The static moment stunned his soul—crackling in the air. Her eyes flared with the same heat that warmed his blood.

“Your nine o’clock is here.”

A tall blonde woman poked her head in the door, pulling Gage from the heady trance.

“And where do all these gladiators come from?” The girl grinned.

Chantal waved in her work colleague. “This is Gage. Alexis is my right-hand ‘Wonder Woman.’ She’s been here for four months and turned this place on its head, covering while some local comrades have been away in the field.”

“It wasn’t just me—we had a great team—the three musketeers. I miss Pearl.”

“Me too.”

“You’re another American?” Gage smiled. The rest of the staff at the center were Sri Lankans—aside from these two women. “Where are you from?”

“Cali. But I like to see myself as a global pilgrim. I’m thinking of joining the Peace Corps.”

“A noble choice.”

“Alexis is acting modestly. She literally climbs mountains.” Chantal smiled and for the first time, her dimples appeared—which should come with a warning. Sweeter than sugar and a strike to the heart.

“In my spare time.” Alexis shrugged and leaned against the door.

“She climbed Everest! And Kilimanjaro.”

Gage wasn’t paying much attention—his focus was all on that pretty mouth. Fucking dimples.

“I didn’t climb Everest.” Alexis rolled her eyes at Chantal. “I reached Camp Three, and we had to descend due to bad weather.”

“Still a huge accomplishment,” Gage affirmed, mentally shaking off his stupor.

“Enough chit-chat.” Chantal tried to herd them out the door. “I have work to do. Gage, don’t sit on my head. In the examination rooms, it’s just my patients and me, and their privacy is essential. My local protection detail understands that rule.”

“I’m not comfortable with the arrangement.” He followed her to the reception area, where she knelt and pulled a pen and planner from her laptop bag. Gage could apply pressure—a trained technique where he pushed the client into performing in a certain way. With regards to her safety, of course. “And I’m not your local detail.”

“I’m allowing you free rein, but my patient’s comfort and privacy come first.”

“You’re ‘allowing’ me free rein?” Gage quirked a brow.

“Have you seen my patients? Most of them are elderly or frail. You can vet them in the waiting room. Please don’t be obvious. Some of them have traveled for days to get here.”

“Fine.” Gage conceded. “If anyone looks suspect, one of us will be in attendance.”

Still unhappy with their compromise, Gage stepped back and allowed her to go about her business. Instead, his team got to work on assessing security in the sizable facility. By mid-morning, the place was pumping. The line of patients spilled onto the street, and Gage decided to step in. Almost every patient was missing a limb, and all looked starved and exhausted.

He pulled Alexis aside. “What can I do?”

“You could hand out water and sandwiches. They’re in the kitchen.”

“Done.”

“I can help.” Gannon sauntered over, and Gage recognized his friend’s stupid grin. Oh, boy.

Leaning on the desk, Alexis played with her hair. “You could help me stock the fridge.”

“I want you on the street.” Gage threw out the order, ignoring Alexis’s frown.

Heading for the kitchen, he inwardly groaned as Gannon caught up.

“I just patrolled the block.”

“And you’ll do it again.”

“Why are you so pissed.”

“Because we’re here to do a job. Play Romeo on your own time. Not on MSD time.”

“I wasn’t bootie-chasing.”

“Good, cos Martin just fired Kirk—the asshole—for not focusing on the job.”

“Copy that, sir.” Gannon turned and strode for the exit, and Gage forced himself to relax. His teammate looked pissed, and Gage didn’t blame him. Gannon was a damn good agent, and drawing a comparison to Kirk’s behavior may have been a harsh move.

Truthfully, Gage was the one feeling attraction in the field—for his goddamn principal. Wasn’t going to happen.

After a couple of hours, the line began to lessen. The only air con units were in the waiting room and the examination rooms—the rest of the facility baked in the mid-day sun. Chantal worked under these conditions? No wonder she’d nearly passed out that previous evening. Between the cloying heat, lack of sleep and food, he was surprised she hadn’t hit the deck like a felled tree.