“I’ve got a situation. It’s an extraction. Female and child.” He quickly gave them a rundown on Laine’s predicament.
“Who’s the fucker keeping her there?” Viper snapped.
Viper had known Twist, and had met Laine once.
“Her boyfriend, Cameron Azad. Kid’s father.”
“Christ, why Iraq?” Striker said with a groan. “There’s gonna be a helluva lot of red tape getting them out.”
And he was right. This was a mess.
“Striker, find out everything you can about Cameron. I’ve got his address, but we need to know who he is and the power he holds.”
“On it, boss. When are we moving in?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Instinct told him to sayRight fucking now, but that wasn’t possible. They couldn’t go in blind. Not when they wanted to get prisoners out safely. He had enough connections in Kuwait to probably get a fake passport done overnight. His team could handle that.
But then there was the kid. That complicated shit.
Best to get them out, lie low, and have the passports made once they were back in Kuwait. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he stormed into the living room to get out of the steamy, smothering bathroom. “Tomorrow night.”
“That’s, uh, pretty tight Rogue.” Viper’s skepticism was palpable.
“No shit,” he grumbled. “We’re on a tight schedule. If he moves up the date of the marriage, we’re gonna have bigger problems. The sooner the better.”
“Copy.”
“I’ll report back with details on Cameron,” Striker said.
“Thanks.” Roarke disconnected and dropped his phone on the table. Storming out onto the balcony, he let the sea breeze blow over his face.
He’d crossed the line by kissing Laine that Christmas Eve. He might have changed careers, left home, and lost contact with the woman, but she’d never been far from his thoughts. Laine had kept a piece of his heart, and the worst thing was that he didn’tknow what he regretted more: kissing her or not staying to finish and see where things went.
To keep her safe.
On top of that, he fucking hated that he hadn’t known something was up when she blew him off in London. But who could blame her?
That Christmas six years ago, he’d fucked everything up. He’d let the soft spot get too much air.
And now, he couldn’t take that kiss back. Couldn’t get Laine’s soft, supple body out of his head. The taste of her lips was still at the front of his memory.
Until today, he’d regretted that Christmas spent at her house. Now, he regretted letting it all turn to shit.
Because if he hadn’t been such a douchebag, hadn’t fucking run, well, maybe Laine wouldn’t have rushed off to England and had a baby.
So that shit might be on him.
Christmas six years ago
Laine hungher dad’s favorite ornament near the top of the tree—the glittering snowflake he’d bought her mom one Christmas. Laine wouldn’t think about the woman who’d left her husband for another man.
Instead, she’d think about her father, who’d been too devastated by losing the love of his life to ever remarry.
She took a sip of her eggnog. The store-bought beverage was too sweet, and not even half as good as the kind Ollie made, but she didn’t have it in her to try to replicate it.
Putting down her glass, she picked up the star. It filled her palm. She ran her fingertips over the studded edges, hating that things were so different this year.
A warm hand rested on her shoulder. She leaned back ever so gently, grateful she didn’t have to spend the first holiday season after her brother’s death alone. It was Christmas Eve. If Roarke hadn’t shown up two days ago and insisted they buy a tree, she’d have sat on the sofa and cried until New Years.
