Absolving His Sins: Trident Security Book 7 Read online

  Absolving His Sins

  Trident Security Book 7

  by Samantha A. Cole

  Absolving His Sins

  Copyright ©2016 Samantha A. Cole

  All Rights Reserved.

  Absolving His Sins is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The characters from the Steel Corps series have been used with the permission of their creator, author J.B. Havens.

  Front Cover Designed by Samantha A. Cole

  Edited by Eve Arroyo http://www.evearroyo.com/

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  The story within these pages is completely fictional but the concepts of BDSM are real. If you do choose to participate in the BDSM lifestyle, please research it carefully and take all precautions to protect yourself. Fiction is based on real life but real life is not based on fiction. Remember-Safe, Sane and Consensual!

  Any information regarding persons or places has been used with creative literary license so there may be discrepancies between fiction and reality. The Navy SEALs missions and personal qualities within have been created to enhance the story and, again, may be exaggerated and not coincide with reality. The author has full respect for the members of the United States military and thanks them for their continuing service to making this country as safe and free as possible.

  Dedication

  To my readers—without you, my world would be a lot dimmer.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Other Books By Samantha A. Cole

  Connect With Me

  Acknowledgements

  Here we go again! (Thankfully!)

  To Jess, Jules, and Brandie—you ladies are there for me, day in and day out, and I am eternally grateful!

  To my beta readers, Jen, Joanne, Charla, Debbie, and Allena—thank you for taking the time to help make my books the best they can be!

  To my editor, Eve—I swear there are gremlins in my computer switching words around! Thanks for finding them and not laughing at me when I—I mean, they make stupid mistakes!

  To my PA, Maria—thanks for helping with all the things that are too much for me to deal with by myself!

  To Milynn—for answering my questions and righting any wrongs.

  To the Sexy Six-Pack Sirens group—your continued support and shout outs are appreciated more than you’ll ever know. Keep cracking the whips and I’ll do my best to keep the stories coming!

  To my readers—thank you for loving my characters as much as I do. I hope you think I’ve done Carter justice.

  Chapter 1

  “Deep breath and let it out slowly.”

  “Get out of my fucking head, Carter.”

  “Not until I have you back in my bed, Jordy.”

  “Bastard,” Jordyn Alvarez muttered to herself. You would think after all this time of hating the prick, she could rid him from her mind. But it was times like this, when she was about to dispatch a target, that Carter’s voice would always flow back to her. It was smooth and sexy, and that just pissed her off even more because her body would remember what it was like to be in his arms. One night. One fucking night that she would kick herself over for the rest of her life. If he hadn’t been the one to train her, and killing the US spy would probably be considered an act of treason, she would have slit his throat a long time ago.

  Trying to ignore his familiar, yet annoying, snark in her head, she concentrated on slowing her breathing and heart rate. Her job here was simple. Wait until her target came out of the restaurant, put a bullet in his brain, then hightail it out of there before his bodyguards knew what hit him.

  Jordyn lay flat on the roof of a building in Kano, Nigeria, three blocks from where Mavuto Themba was having lunch with his mistress. The dirty, local politician had signed his own death warrant when he’d become part of the pipeline supplying ISIS with funds and weapons. The US government had obtained proof that the Nigerian Minister of Defense was planning a coup of his own government. The fallout would have a devastating effect on the war-torn nation and could not be allowed to happen. Unfortunately, the United States could not reveal how they’d obtained the evidence against Themba, so Jordyn’s bosses at Deimos, and probably POTUS, had been the judges, and she was here as the assigned executioner. That’s what she and the others at Deimos did—the President and US government’s dirty work. Not that anyone in power would admit to that fact.

  Deimos was a black ops agency very few people knew about. The operatives took care of things, which the public could never know about, to keep the US safe from terrorists and other world powers who wanted to see the leader of the free world fall flat on its face. Named after the Greek god of terror, it was the perfect name for an agency which excelled in torture and assassinations, among other things.

  Assessing the wind speed and direction, she made the necessary adjustments on her Remington Defense CSR—a concealable sniper rifle. It was her baby. The design was lightweight and compact. With the NATO/.308 Winchester bolt-action, a carbon fiber-wrapped barrel, and a sound suppressor, the sniper carbine was one kick-ass piece of weaponry. She could break it down in less than thirty seconds, place the individual pieces in a case designed to look like it held a laptop, and be on the move a minute after confirming her shot.

  Having been in the city a full week planning the assassination, Jordyn knew her escape route and two backup routes by heart. Between here and her hotel on the other side of the city, she would make several pit stops and clothing changes along the way. Within an hour, she would be Esmerelda Cortez, Quality Assurance Inspector for the World Health Organization—her chosen cover for this mission. Tomorrow, she’d be boarding a commercial flight and on her way back to the United States—her adopted home.

  Heavy humidity hung in the air like a wet blanket, coating her face and hair with sweat. It didn’t help that she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and black cargo pants to help her blend in with the shadows of a taller building to her left. She pushed the heat and sweat from her mind, shutting them behind a mental door, along with Carter—let him deal with them.

  Through the scope, she saw the door to the restaurant open. Seconds ticked by before anyone appeared in the crosshairs. The first person was one of Themba’s goon bodyguards. Next was the politician’s mistress. A black SUV pulled up and blocked most of Jordyn’s view of the restaurant’s exit. Fuck! The goon opened the vehicle’s rear passenger door for the woman and left it ajar while waiting for his boss. Finally, Themba stepped out of the building with two more bodyguards flanking him. He said something that had all three of them laughing. Jordyn
was only able to see their heads and necks over the top of the SUV. Center mass shots to the chest were best, but this time she’d have to settle for a head shot and pray it was a direct hit.

  She inhaled and slowly let the breath back out. Her target’s face was large and ugly in the scope. She could make out the small mole just to the right of his nose, and placed it in the center of the crosshairs. In between heartbeats, she squeezed the trigger with her index finger, smooth and steady. With a barely audible pfft, the bullet was on its way, taking death with it.

  One Miss—

  Before the rest of Mississippi registered in her mind, the projectile found its bullseye. Themba’s head snapped back as his brains and skull were sprayed all over the bodyguard standing behind him. That man’s head also jolted, and both of them dropped like stones.

  Damn, two for the price of one. Not bad, Jordy, not bad at all.

  Fuck off, Carter.

  Jordyn was already disassembling her rifle by the time the other two bodyguards knew what happened and pulled out their own weapons. There were shouts and screams, but she ignored them all. Thirty-seven seconds after the bullet was fired, she had the rifle concealed in the case, which was in her hand, and was running to the other side of the building. Without hesitation, she let one foot land as close to the edge as possible, and then leapt across the narrow expanse between the two buildings. She didn’t even spare a glance down, instead, hitting the next wooden roof with a muffled thump.

  Pivoting, she headed for the northwest corner where a trap door would drop her inside the apartment building. As she ran down the dimly lit stairs, her ears strained to hear shouts or sirens—anything that would indicate they’d figured out where the shot had come from. So far, she was in the clear.

  When she reached the ground floor, she ducked into an unoccupied apartment. During her scouting adventures, she’d found out the old man who lived here alone worked in the food market every day, never wavering from his routine. It hadn’t taken her long to break in after he’d left this morning. Now, she shut the door behind her, retrieved a large duffel bag she’d stuffed into a crawl space in the closet earlier, and opened it. Pulling out the black burka, she threw it on over her clothes and adjusted the cloak’s veil to hide her head and face. The briefcase went into the duffel bag which she hid under the traditional Muslim clothing.

  Jordyn was back out of the apartment in under a minute, having practiced the whole routine in her hotel room until it had become automatic. As she stepped out of the building, she fell in step with the moderate, midday, pedestrian traffic. She was just another local woman out running errands. Sirens sounded in the distance but weren’t drawing nearer so she still had plenty of time to disappear. Three blocks down, she merged into the outdoor food market where she was able to blend in even more. The smells of breads, fish, meats, live animals, and Lord knew what else, were overwhelming in the stifling cloak, and nausea roiled through her.

  Striding into one of the overstuffed tents, she acted like she belonged there and cut through to the next row of vendors. Zigzagging her way through the huge market, she finally reached the other end as sweat soaked the fabric around her face and neck—how Muslim women wore these damn things without passing out in the heat was beyond Jordyn.

  Her next stop was a chicken shed behind a restaurant. There were so many people hurrying about, focused on doing their jobs, that no one questioned her when she snuck inside and shut the door. Grabbing a piece of wood she’d hidden in there a few days ago, she wedged it between the door and rickety floor so no one could get in while she changed again.

  Ignoring the clucking chickens, which were most likely on tonight’s menu, Jordyn ripped off the burka, taking gulps of rancid air—at least it was cooler than breathing through the veil. Not needing the heavy cloak anymore, she tossed it behind the crates of chickens. This time, she pulled out a pair of khaki pants and a crisp, white T-shirt from the duffel, and transformed into the visiting westerner she was supposed to be. A pair of glasses, which would give her a mousy look without hampering her vision went on her face, and she quickly put her hair up into a messy bun. The cargo pants and black shirt went into the duffel bag and then she adjusted the straps so it became a backpack.

  Ready to go out in public as Esmerelda Cortez, Jordyn kicked the wedge from the door and cracked it open. Through the back door of the restaurant’s kitchen she heard the cook shouting at the workers. No one saw her as she exited the shack and hurried along an alleyway leading back out to the street.

  Ten minutes later, she sat at a table of the outdoor café across from her hotel and tucked the duffel under her chair. A waiter, who had been flirting with her over the past several days whenever she stopped in, hurried over with a bottle of sparkling water, which she always ordered. The café and hotel were located in the nicer part of the city that catered to tourists, international businessmen, and diplomats. The WHO used this hotel for its inspectors and workers visiting the region so it was perfect for her cover.

  “Hello, Ms. Esmerelda. How was work today?”

  As the waiter grinned at her, his stark white teeth were a contrast to his dark skin. He was a handsome man in his twenties, but a white and pink, ragged scar from his temple to his lower jaw—the result of a knife attack, Jordyn guessed—was the first thing most people noticed about him. It didn’t bother her at all.

  Jordyn smiled back as she took the bottle from him. “Very good, Yabani. I was able to finish up earlier than expected today, so I have the rest of the day free.”

  “Wonderful. I hope that means you will sit for a while and let me admire your beauty.”

  Oh, he was a charmer. “With flattery like that, how can I refuse?”

  * * *

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Smirking, T. Carter stared down the barrel of the gun, not the least bit worried it would be fired. He was lounging on the queen-sized bed in Jordyn’s hotel room, with his back against a pillow, feet crossed, and arms resting behind his head, as his gaze trailed up and down her body. Damn, that woman is fine. Every muscle was toned to perfection, yet there was no mistaking her womanly curves. Curves he’d enjoyed only once before.

  He’d been anticipating and worrying about her return for close to an hour. Not knowing where she’d planned to take out her target, he’d been resigned to wait for her here in her hotel room, and it had nearly killed him. The relief he’d felt when Ian Sawyer had reported spotting her at the café across the street had been palpable. She’d stayed there for a half hour, eyeing the hotel and its surroundings for anything or anyone out of place. The fact that she hadn’t spotted Ian or any of his men didn’t mean Jordyn wasn’t alert, it just meant the covert team was that good. Now that Carter had his eyes on her, he was able to relax even more despite the threat that still loomed out there somewhere.

  When he’d gotten the phone call from his bosses at Deimos that all hell was breaking loose, he’d immediately contacted Ian and his brother Devon, the owners of Trident Security, who he trusted with his life—and Jordyn’s. Until a few hours ago, the men hadn’t known which alphabet agency Carter had worked for—all they knew was he was a black ops spy and assassin for the United States. But to get to Jordyn before she ended up dead, he’d called on the best team he knew for backup.

  He hadn’t been surprised when she entered with her weapon drawn. As he’d picked the lock to get in, he’d noticed a nearly invisible piece of tape she’d placed between the top of the door and the molding. It was one of numerous tricks he’d taught her. She would’ve checked to see if it had been moved before entering, unsure if it was an intruder or the maid service.

  “I asked you a question.” Glowering at him, Jordyn lowered the gun, but didn’t re-holster it. “What the hell are you doing here, Carter? And how the hell did you find me?”

  His grin grew at her attitude. She was a feisty little thing, and damn, he loved feisty. “Easy, love. I trained you, remember?” He sure as hell did. Eight years ago,
the lovely Ms. Jordyn had been recruited for Deimos after the international jewel thief had interrupted one of their missions on US soil. The powers that be saw the raw potential in her and gave her an option—go to prison or work for the government. Wisely, she’d taken Door #2.

  From the moment Carter had laid eyes on his new apprentice, he’d craved her. But professionalism, integrity, and patriotism outranked his desire and lust. For months he’d trained her—twelve to fourteen hour days, seven days a week, with only occasional downtime. It was those times he’d enjoyed the most, when she let down her hair and relaxed. More than once the electricity in the air had crackled between them, but neither had made a move. He’d lost count how many fucking cold showers he’d taken during that time.

  Once she’d excelled in weaponry, hand-to-hand combat, logistics, how to kill a man in numerous ways, and everything else she’d needed to learn, she’d been turned loose. After that, Carter had been teamed with her several times. It was during one of those missions he’d let his desire take over and—

  “Don’t remind me,” she spat, interrupting his thoughts. “And I’m not your fucking ‘love.’ Now answer my other fucking question, dammit.”

  He shook his head and frowned in feigned annoyance, when, in fact, he was utterly turned on. “Tsk, tsk. Such a dirty mouth.” He stared at that mouth, remembering what it felt like under his. His cock twitched at the thought. Down boy. “I’m here to extract you. Your cover’s been blown.”

  “Bullshit. How?”

  His gaze roamed her body, and his hands itched to follow. “I’ll explain later, but we need to get somewhere safer.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Still not relinquishing her weapon, or the duffel bag he knew held her sniper rifle, she cocked her hip as she glared at him. And, damn it, that just had his dick twitching again. If he didn’t get her moving soon, he’d be hard as a fucking rock with no relief in sight.