Chapter 3

This had to be the most romantic setting on earth. Charlie sat on a Mediterranean beach, being thoroughly kissed by a man who looked like a swarthy pirate. This was what she’d hoped for—adventure and romance in a foreign land—except all she could think of was Donnie. His stubbled, sarcastic mouth haunted her dreams. Sitting on a beach next to a strange man suddenly felt all wrong and Charlie placed a hand on Ruzar’s chest.

“I can’t do this.”

“I know… you’ll be leaving soon. I don’t expect anything, one night together. Let me spoil you and give you everything you deserve. Let me touch you, baby.”

His hand ran down her side and Charlie leaned away. She opened her mouth to say something as his phone rang.

“One second…”

He answered in another language. Maltese, she presumed. The conversation started casually, then he turned angry—words rapid-firing from his lips. He stood and paced before hanging up and staring out at sea.

“Everything okay?”

He offered her a forced smile. “Fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“My father can be challenging. I wish I had the same relationship you’ve had with yours, but he pushes all my buttons.”

“What does he want you to do?”

“Play a larger role in the family business. He wants me to mentor my cousin, who’s an idiot—to work on a contract with him. I told them all to fuck off. I’m taking a break. I’m always fucking working to line his pockets. I don’t like where the business is going.”

“In what way?”

“My family is wealthy, and they used to care about the Maltese people. They’d invest in the economy. It’s a great place to stay. You could easily come and live here. Low taxes, free healthcare, good job opportunities, genuine and hardworking people. Malta deserves loyalty but my father only cares about extending his business empire. He’ll work his staff, including me, to the bone. I deserve happiness.”

“Looks like we’re in the same boat. Happiness isn’t that lofty a goal.” She winked as he pulled her up, then spoke again. “Ruzar. I like you, but I’m not ready for more than friendship.”

He considered her words. “Okay, little Firefly, how about we take it slow. I will be your friend for the moment. Tomorrow we can drive to Golden Bay; I’ll show you the north part of the island.”

“That sounds wonderful, but the following morning, we’re heading out to the cliffs of Gozo for a video shoot. Then we’ll be heading to Morocco to meet up with the rest of our dance group.”

“I have one day left to win you over?”

Charlie picked up her sandals as Elana moved towards them. “No, you have one day left to have fun with your new friends.”

“Party pooper.” He winked.

Charlie laughed and shoved him sideways before running for the bikes.

***

Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

Donnie sidestepped, narrowly avoiding his opponent’s jab. He followed through by pushing the man’s elbow across his body and punching the target in the ribs. At the last second, he softened the blow before twisting back around to face the enemy.

The target’s face reddened, and Donnie braced himself for retribution. Instead of taking the standard Krav Maga stance that most covert operatives used, he switched over into a Kung-Fu tiger stance. Unlike most special ops soldiers on base, Donnie had grown up on martial arts and defense techniques. He’d studied Shaolin Kung Fu from a young age and he was now a Sifu. The second highest tier in the Chinese martial art. Donnie was introduced to Pekita-Tirsia Kali as a teenager when he’d traveled to the Philippines with his mother. He'd mastered the art that had an emphasis on tactical application. In short, if an opponent carried a weapon, Donnie could easily disarm and kill them in a matter of seconds.

Unofficially, Donnie’s hands were known as the deadliest in the covert community. He’d like to think it was because of his work as an analyst, but he knew better. He knew hundreds of ways to kill someone, and he didn’t even need a weapon.

He didn’t look like a killer, and that’s the way he liked it. Donnie wasn’t tall or built like a truck like Johnny. Or a lanky, pretty boy like his ex-teammate, Derek “Slater” Banez. Donnie was the shortest man on the team—give or take an inch—slightly shorter than Max.

He liked to blend into the background. He wanted to be underestimated and lived the saying still waters run deep. Donnie was the mother-fucking Mariana Trench at the bottom of the deepest ocean.

The enemy charged, and Donnie kicked out low, sweeping him off his feet. The man stumbled for balance as Donnie caught him around the waist and slammed him to the floor. Donnie locked the target’s hand behind his back and straddled him.

“Jesus. Enough,” the man said before moaning and tapping out.

“How long?” Donnie asked.

Another soldier stepped up to the ring. “One minute, fifty seconds.”

Donnie smiled, getting up. “That’s a new Delta takedown record.”

“Screw you, Wilson!” The large Delta Force soldier rolled into a seated position, rubbing his wrist and Donnie extended a hand to help him up.

“Train harder, Mike. Maybe next time you’ll make it past the two-minute mark.”

“One of these days, I’m going to own your tech-ass in that ring,” Mike said, as he shook out his wrist.

“Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before.” Donnie ducked under the ropes as he unraveled his wrapped hands. “Are you going to sulk or come and hug your friend?” Donnie said, walking over to the dark corner near the back.

The chair scraped, and Derek “Slater” Banez stepped out of the shadows, pointing at Donnie’s chin. “You’re slipping, old man, that Delta fucker hit you on the button.”

“I was feeling generous.” Donnie grinned. “Shit, I’ve missed you. What are you doing at Fort Bragg?”

“I could ask you the same thing?”

“Some new fancy drone I’m training on. The thing is the size of a damn bee.”

“Nice. I’m swinging by HQ to sign the last of the paperwork.”

After being injured in the field in an explosion, Slater had decided to retire from their unit. Donnie felt the loss. Not only had they lost an experienced teammate, but a good friend in the field.

Donnie examined Slater’s arm—still trussed up in a sling. Slater Banez fought through four months of healing and therapy. Sadly, the sniper’s right arm may never fully recover after being shattered in numerous places.

“How’s life been with your sister?”

“We’re about to kill each other. After Fort Bragg, I may be heading to Salt Lake City. I’ve decided to take a job with the FBI.”

“Holy crap, buddy!” Donnie slapped Slater on the back. “Well, in that case, give me fifteen to take a shower, and then lunch is on you.”

They chose a Mexican place off base, chatting easily about past assignments and plans to hook up. Donnie finished the last of his burrito when Slater mentioned her name.

“How’s Charlie doing? I believe her father passed away—like a month ago.”

The spicy mouthful of chicken suddenly tasted dry, and Donnie twisted off the cap, taking a large gulp of water. “She’s… um… fine.”

“Did you go to the funeral?”

Donnie shook his head. “We were called away—on deployment. Since getting back, I’ve been at Fort Bragg.”

“Is she doing okay?” Slater asked as he grabbed a tortilla. “Her father was her everything.”

“I don’t know. I heard she’s in Turkey or Cyprus… or maybe Malta.” Donnie pushed his plate away.

“I know you guys don’t like each other much—”

“Jesus, Slater. It’s not that I don’t like her…”

“Chill, bro. Wait. I’m confused. You do like her?”

Donnie felt his ears flame, ignoring his friend’s grin.

Slater leaned back and stretched out his legs. “Holy crap, buddy, you really like her!”

“No. I really don’t. Charlotte Quinn is the opposite of what I want in a woman. She’s loud and annoying and ignorant of those around her.”

“Are we talking about the same Charlie?”

“She’s loud!” The death glare he sent Slater’s way had little effect.

“All right, calm down. Is this because of your disastrous date. That high-strung chick you brought to Johnny’s party?”

Jesus. The famous Wyoming get-together from three months ago. Slater must’ve heard about that disastrous evening from one of the boys. Donnie would never live that down. He gathered their leftovers to toss in the garbage, ignoring the smirk on his best friend’s handsome face.