A Love For Always Read online

  Sylvie’s mother glared briefly at Porter, but continued pacing. After a beat, Nate heard her voice drift across the length of the pool. Looked like the admiral got his way after all and Pru seemed to be unloading her shit on him.

  Suddenly feeling like a voyeur intruding on an intimate moment, Nate walked back inside the guesthouse.

  *****

  Harold Tisdale stared at the glaring screen filled with equations and graphs. The numbers on the liver panel showed no improvement. Tisdale was the lead biochemist at Pasteur Science Lab, a pharmaceutical company popular for their cholesterol drug, Lipiven. In the last two years though, recent studies indicated that long-term use of the drug caused serious liver damage. Sales of the drug and stock price of the company plummeted. Worst, the FDA was considering withdrawing its approval and the new safety labels on the drug warning of the side-effects was just a temporary fix. The Japanese dietary supplement known as GDE had shown reversal of those effects, but the makers of the supplement refused to share its formula, and it was the concentrated form that Lipiven needed. Even though Tisdale was able to break down its components, he was not able to duplicate the supplement’s therapeutic benefits in his lab. Unless he could find a solution soon, the company could go under.

  He was a primary shareholder at the company and it was his life’s work. Tisdale was sure if he could unlock the secret of the GDE pills and incorporate it into Lipiven, the drug would make a comeback and translate to millions of dollars in revenue for the company. Except the Asian Crime Syndicate wanted a percentage of the profit. That was the only condition Daichi Yoshida would agree to lend his biochemist who invented GDE. The board would never agree to this. This was America. Pharmaceutical companies did not make deals with the Asian mafia.

  But there were other ways, and Tisdale was not above playing dirty to get what he wanted.

  His phone flashed. The Jackal was calling.

  “Tisdale.”

  “Package was delivered. I believe Daichi Yoshida got our message.”

  “Has Yoshida contacted you?” Harold asked. All correspondence was handled through The Jackal. The ACS had no idea which pharmaceutical company was bidding for the services of their biochemist. Actually, rumor had it that the biochemist was a freaking genius, and Pasteur Science Lab would do well to keep the man on staff permanently.

  “Yes. He’s pissed, but is still unwilling to negotiate. His terms are still a percentage of the profits. He warned that if we attacked his daughter again, he will no longer entertain business with us.”

  “If he was a devoted father, he would have abandoned business with us already.”

  “Agreed.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “We have three options. One, we could move to supplant him with another leader. I know there is discontent within the organization right now. Two, we could make things difficult for his daughter to rebuild—screw with her insurance claims and all that, or three, we could take his daughter and make Daddy watch her suffer as we hack off her fingers one by one. Being ex-Yakuza, this practice shouldn’t be new to Yoshida.”

  Tisdale cringed at the last option. Though he wasn’t opposed to killing Yoshida’s daughter to send a message, a graphic description of torture was too much for him. But he had hired a ruthless man to deal with a ruthless organization. The Jackal had mingled in the dredges of the criminal underworld before, and there was no man more capable of doing business with the Asian mafia.

  “Start with option two,” Tisdale said. “But time is of the essence. If all else fails, you have my permission to implement option three.”

  “It’ll cost more money. Sylvie Yoshida has found herself a protector.”

  “Get rid of him. I don’t see how this will cost more. Your initial $5 million contract covered this.”

  “Not when the man in question is former CIA and owns a well-known security company.”

  “Goddammit, how did this happen?” Tisdale suddenly felt a wave of anxiety. This was not good. CIA meant the man had connections. If Tisdale were exposed, that would mean the end of his company. If Tisdale aborted the plan to acquire the GDE biochemist, the company would be doomed as well.

  “Don’t worry. He’s emotionally involved with Yoshida’s daughter. We could use this to our advantage. She is his vulnerability.”

  “Can you handle him?”

  There was a snort at the other end of the line. “It’ll be tough, but yeah, I can handle him, especially since I can get to him without him suspecting.”

  “Good. Good,” Tisdale muttered, still unnerved. “Just send me your new contract. I’ll wire the money to your offshore account.”

  Tisdale ended the call and collapsed against his chair. Sweat beaded his forehead. The situation had become extremely complicated.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “What was that you were saying about a healthy lifestyle?”

  Nate’s cheeky question made Sylvie laugh. There was nothing exactly healthy about fried chicken cooked in Crisco.

  “You need your comfort eats,” Sylvie declared.

  They were all sitting around the dining table at the main house. Not much unpacking had happened after her shocking revelations to Nana. It was fortuitous that dinner preparation took precedence, because her grandma needed cooking therapy to calm her nerves. Conversation around the table had been stilted and polite, and Sylvie was thankful for Nate’s attempt to break the ice.

  “Whatever you say, chef,” Nate replied as he took a bite off a chicken thigh. His face turned red as he held his mouth open. “Hooot!”

  The women laughed, the admiral chuckled.

  “All the steam is trapped inside, dummy,” Sylvie chided. “Don’t be fooled by the calm looking exterior. That’s why proper temperature of the oil is important. You create a crust around the chicken, preventing the oil from seeping inside the flesh, keeping the moisture of the chicken trapped so it creates steam to cook it from inside. You get non-oily, juicy fried chicken.”

  “Well, I know that now. I found out the hard way,” Nate grumbled as he blew on the still steaming chicken and took another bite. “You’re right. Tasty and not greasy. Excellent fried chicken, Nana.” He shot her grandma his charming smile.

  Her grandma nodded, pleased at the compliment.

  “Ben,” Nana called the admiral’s attention. “Any family around here?”

  “A daughter,” Porter responded as he forked a piece of chicken onto his plate. “She’s a security consultant, works with Reece, actually.”

  “Married?”

  “Engaged.”

  “Ah . . . I’m assuming you’re divorced since there’s no mention of a wife,” Nana stated shrewdly. Sylvie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Nana was fishing for information since it was evident the admiral was interested in her mother. Sylvie’s gaze fell on Mom who did roll her eyes.

  “That is correct,” the admiral answered without missing a beat.

  “Did you divorce because of your job?” Nana smiled sweetly at Porter. “Nate, be a dear and hand Ben these cheesy grits.”

  “Ma, that’s too personal,” Mom chided.

  Nate snorted in an attempt to subdue his chuckle as he handed Porter the platter. The admiral scowled at him momentarily before schooling his features in a bland mask and faced her grandma.

  “I guess it was my job,” Porter shrugged. “My deployments took its toll. My ex-wife deserved better. She divorced me when Beatrice—that’s my daughter—was about to start college.”

  “So are you saying you pursued your career while you left your wife to take care of your child,” Nana concluded.

  “Ma!” This time her mom was mortified. “I’m really sorry, Ben.”

  Porter’s smile was undecipherable. It wasn’t one of sadness, embarrassment, or candor. It was a smile with no emotion.

  “Career is hardly the word,” Porter said stoically. “Sacrifices had to be made in service to our great nation. Your freedoms,” the admiral said pointedly, “come
at a price. Unfortunately, my family paid it.”

  There was a lengthy silence that followed the admiral’s words. Silverware stopped tinkling against plates and movements ceased. It wasn’t an awkward silence, more like a contemplative one.

  “I believe, Admiral, I have an understanding of the man you are,” Nana said sincerely. “I am sorry for the intrusiveness of my questions.”

  “No apology needed,” Porter said. “People you care about are in danger. It’s natural to be interested in the background of personnel tasked to protect you.”

  Sylvie had to commend the admiral for his diplomatic response, which was not what she had expected given Nate’s stories about the admiral’s cutting personality.

  The door chime alerted them to a new arrival. Nate didn’t seem alarmed as though he was expecting the person. It was Sam. He had come back from Richmond. Poor guy should look exhausted, but he looked like the same alert bodyguard she had met this afternoon. In the short time Sylvie had been around him, she concluded he wasn’t much of a talker or one for bullshit, but spoke up only when needed.

  “Sam!” Nana’s cheerful voice told Sylvie the man had already wormed his way into her grandma’s good graces. “Come sit. I cooked a lot of chicken. Plenty for everyone.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Buchanan.”

  “I told you to call me Agnes, young man,” Nana clucked. She got up to refill a plate with chicken she had on the cooling rack.

  “How was the trip?” Nate asked.

  “Uneventful. Boyd and I got there around 5:30 p.m. I did another walk through the property just to make sure it’s secure and locked tight.”

  “We need to think about putting an alarm on that house, Sylvie,” Nate addressed her, but glanced at her mother.

  “Alarm at my house?” Nana asked, coming back with a plate and silverware for Sam, expertly dishing fried chicken pieces directly on his plate. “Think I need one?”

  “I think it’s a good idea, Nana,” Sylvie said. “Times have changed. You don’t know your new neighbors well.”

  “Nonsense. They’re as redneck as they come and look nothing like the Yakuza.”

  “We’re not dealing with the Yakuza, Nana,” Sylvie said. “The ACS is . . . well . . . we think another entity is involved—an enemy of Dad’s. We’re not really sure what we’re dealing with, are we, Nate?”

  “We’ll soon find out,” Nate said. “Ed is chasing down some leads. I might give Cat a call tomorrow. They’re out of town for the weekend, and Travis, I heard, confiscated Cat’s laptop for the duration. I think he wants her to unplug for a while.”

  “That’s the only way he could be sure she’d stay out of trouble.” Porter chuckled; Nate joined in.

  “You would love Cat,” Nate said. “You never met her as Sarah, did you?”

  Sylvie shook her head. “Nope. Several times I was going to go on vacation with you to Virginia Beach, but something always came up either for me or you.”

  The chatter around the table shifted back to Nana and her stories about the farm. Sylvie didn’t know how to broach the subject of the GDE injector Hiroshi had given her. Her grandma would treat it as tainted goods even if it was going to save her life.

  *****

  “The admiral’s coming back later tonight?”

  “Yes. He wasn’t planning to stay on as security,” Nate said, closing the door as Porter’s SUV left his driveway. The other two women and Sam had retired to the guesthouse. “He was supposed to leave for a two-week vacation to Montana. He has a cabin up there.” Probably another safe house.

  “Does he hunt?”

  “Fish,” Nate said. Porter hunted other shit, specifically terrorists bent on wreaking death and destruction based on twisted ideals or greed.

  “Surely you and Sam are good to keep us safe, right?” Sylvie asked. “I would hate for him to miss his vacation.”

  “A one to one ratio is good,” Nate said, then he sighed. “You and I know the reason why the admiral decided to cancel his vacation plans.” He put his arms around her and marched her to their bedroom. She looked ready to fall on her feet. Nate led her to the bed and sat her down. Then he crouched in front of her and started taking off her shoes.

  “I can do that,” Sylvie protested.

  “I know,” Nate replied, but continued yanking off her sneakers and socks. He stood, went to his closet, and pulled one of his shirts out.

  “My pajamas are in the other room—”

  “And your shit should already be in here—”

  “You know, you should stop calling things ‘shit’ when you’re pissed.”

  “I’m not pissed; I’m irritated, annoyed—”

  Sylvie raised a brow.

  “Ah … fuck, yeah, I’m pissed,” he finally admitted.

  “Because my things are not in your room?”

  “Don’t you remember our almost discussion before Nana came in with the cookies?”

  Her answer was muffled when he pulled her shirt over her head.

  “. . . capable of dressing myself.” She gave up speaking when he immediately put his own shirt over her head. It was either that or knock her on her back and fuck her. When her head reappeared, she was glaring at him. “Seriously, Nate . . . what—?”

  He made quick work of her jeans, tempted to pull her panties with it, but with the extremely possessive way he was feeling at the moment, it probably wasn’t the right mood to match her weary one. He’d want to pound into her hard. Fuck. She didn’t need him piling on his own bullshit.

  “Look.” Nate crouched in front of her once more. “I need one thing from you right now. I want you to give me a fair chance of proving I’m capable of commitment. I know my track record doesn’t help my case. It also didn’t help that you had front row seats to my . . . er . . . relationships—”

  “Pseudo relationships,” Sylvie corrected him.

  “Yeah, okay, whatever you call it,” Nate said, tamping down another surge of irritation. “But I had to show you damn hard that I could be your friend so I could stay in your life.”

  “Nana said you were waiting for the right time,” Sylvie said quietly.

  “I was,” Nate replied. “Although it wasn’t until I quit the job that I could truly believe in a future with you, Sylvs. You have to understand I couldn’t begin to hope for a life with you as long as I did what I did.” Five years he had spent in Afghanistan and Pakistan, tracking terrorist camps, wiping them out and denying them alternative haven by cultivating the trust of the locals. That was how he’d met Cade Bowen. The DEA (FAST) was tasked to curtail opium production in the country because its sales were used to fund terrorism. That was a whole other story. “A distraction could prove fatal.” He exhaled heavily. “I had to remind myself you were better off with me as your friend.” He’d been conflicted every time he’d seen her, knowing he’d be leaving again and not knowing if he’d come back alive. Those times when he’d let his guard down, it killed him to think he’d never see her again, but lives depended on him being focused on the mission. Before he’d met Sylvie, he’d been prepared to live and die as a CIA operative. However, after the first six months he didn’t see her, a plan began to form in his head. He remained committed to the agency’s objective, but he began laying the foundation for his exit strategy from the CIA.

  “I worried every time you’d leave,” Sylvie murmured.

  “I hated leaving you.”

  She nodded, a ghost of a smile played on her lips. “I know we agreed not to talk about your job or the ‘other you,’ but the beard and tan you kept the entire time led me to believe you were undercover somewhere in the Middle East.”

  “Can’t confirm or deny.” Nate rubbed his fingers over his day-old stubble. “Miss the beard?”

  “Nah,” Sylvie said. “I prefer this scruff on your jaw. I don’t want to see your beautiful face covered up by facial hair.”

  Sylvie really needed lessons in stroking the male ego. “Firecracker, don’t call a man beautiful; it’s insultin
g.”

  She leaned in and playfully nipped the side of his jaw. “What do you want me to call you? Sexy? Ruggedly handsome? Hot stuff?”

  Nate did a mental eye roll. “None of the above.” He reached out, spun her around and gave her ass a smack before gently pushing her toward the bathroom. “Get ready for bed.”

  Sylvie scowled at him. “You know, that’s becoming a habit. I’m not into the whole ‘Master/Slave, behave or I’ll spank you over my knee kind of kink.’ So if that’s what you want, you can forget it.”

  There was a sparkle in her eyes. That was how he knew she was teasing. Sort of.

  “No. I’m not into any kinky shit,” Nate shot back. At Sylvie’s arched brow, he added, “I’m into hard fucking. You up for that?”

  Her lips parted. “Now?”

  Nate yanked his shirt over his head. Tossing it on the floor, he undid his buckle and started unbuttoning his jeans, gratified to see her eyes track down his abs when he exposed the “vee” leading to his dick. He smirked as he remembered Sylvie calling it the happy trail that made smart girls stupid.

  He closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. “No, Sylvie. You’re in no shape for the fucking I have in mind.”

  She stared up at him, a blush suffusing her cheeks. “What kind of fucking do you have in mind?”

  “Woman, you test my self-control,” he growled. One hand dragged through her hair while the other snaked under the hem of the shirt she was wearing and palmed her between her thighs. “I want to sink my tongue into this pussy and feel you come on my mouth. Then I want to wrap your legs around me and pound the shit out of you up against that very wall.” Nate nodded to a spot behind her. He shifted his hands to cup her face. “But that’s not what you need right now.”

  Sylvie inhaled raggedly. “What do I need, Nate?”

  “You need to feel safe,” he said. “I’m going to wrap myself around you, so you’ll feel secure, and, hopefully, won’t have any nightmares. Tomorrow is a going to be another rough day for you, firecracker. Decisions need to be made.” She would have to face the destruction in her restaurant.