Part 1 (1/2)

CAMPAIGN OF DESIRE.

CSA Case Files, Book Four.

Kennedy Layne.

Dedication.

To my newly formed street team, Kennedy's Special Operations Group, for spreading the word about the CSA series. Thank you for all that you do! A special shout-out to Lisa Simo-Kinzer, for keeping things running like a well-oiled machine...

As always, to my partner in crime-and my wonderful husband-Jeffrey. I'm thankful everyday that you are by my side on this journey.

Prologue.

Crest placed his palms on the cool tile and bent his head, allowing the continuous stream of hot water to knead the back of his neck. The pressure was dialed in exactly the manner he liked it, but it was nowhere near the deluge required to erase the tension that consumed him. The information that was about to come to light could alter the espirit de corps of his team. He didn't like discord.

Sorting through the various courses of actions that were available, Crest resolved his dilemma and pushed himself off of the wall. He'd chosen the members of Crest Security Agency and he had full faith in their abilities, even in what could be the most difficult months ahead. He turned the handle slightly to the right, enduring a few seconds of invigorating chill before rotating the k.n.o.b to the off position. The water tapered until all that remained was a drip. If only he could as easily contain what was about to occur.

Crest suppressed a frustrated sigh when he heard the ring tone of his phone. It wasn't even zero five hundred and the last thing he needed was another problem thrown into the mix of what was sure to be a lousy f.u.c.king day. He pushed open the ornately etched gla.s.s shower door. The scene of a water nymph striding across a lily-strewn pond had caught his eye due to the mischievous look on her ethereal yet beautiful face. Curious thing though-just for a second he thought he recognized Jessie in her smile. He quickly dismissed such fancy and retrained his mind. He grabbed a white terry cloth towel and then wrapped it around his waist before picking up his cell that he'd placed on the gray granite of his sink. The number that appeared on the display just proved that karma was a b.i.t.c.h.

”Crest.”

”This is Stan Louis Dunaway. I'll make this brief. I'm throwing my hat into the Presidential ring Thursday morning. I want security details for my daughters and myself until the Secret Service takes over. I'd like to meet this afternoon.”

Crest leaned his head back and stared at the bathroom ceiling, calling for patience. He took a deep breath as he relaxed his hold on the phone. This wasn't the most opportune time to take on this type of a.s.signment, but he also knew something this prestigious didn't make good business sense to pa.s.s over. Favors were vital when it came to specific cases and doing one now for someone whom was almost certainly going to be the future President would be beneficial in the long run.

”Congratulations, sir.” Crest stepped out of the shower and onto a plush looped rug that he'd discovered on a trip to D.C. last year. The color matched the darker gray flecks of the granite. The hotel manager had fallen all over himself to make sure the concierge had gotten Crest's people the manufacturer's information. As he felt the soft fabric underneath his feet, it had been well worth the wait. ”It's going to take me some time to put the logistics together, but I should have things in order by three o'clock. I'd like for your campaign manager to be at my office as well, with a list of names that contain paid personnel, volunteers, and anyone who will be a.s.sociated with your run.”

”I'll have Paul get right on that.” Crest could tell from the long pause that Dunaway had more to say. The request he was about to make didn't come as a surprise. ”Lach McKinnon has been a solid agent. I want him to be the one a.s.signed to Phoebe. She's being resistant to the idea of having someone around all of the time, and I'm hoping that since she knows McKinnon she'll be more receptive to the idea.”

”I'll see what I can do,” Crest replied, not making any promises. He first needed to speak with his team and then contact Gentry Protection, a firm that specialized in outsourcing professional armed guards. Before any of that could be done he had to deal with his initial problem. ”I'll see you at three.”

Disconnecting, Crest then carefully placed his phone back onto the stone countertop as he thought of his group of cherry-picked men and women. Connor, Jax, Kevin, and Ethan were all former Marines. Lach had also served four years before he later became a Bureau Hostage Rescue Team member and then eventually a Team Leader. He joined CSA after a highly publicized and politically sensitive hostage rescue went south on him. Crest refused to allow the man to fade away into nothing. His talents were too vast and character too n.o.ble not to be utilized in service to some just cause. Taryn was the only squid Crest had chosen. She was a secret squirrel from the Navy Intel Specialists and the only one that he'd run across in his career that he felt he could truly trust. She was d.a.m.n good, but he'd long feared that her past would eventually catch up to her. That left Jessie, Crest's personal a.s.sistant who had somehow turned into his proverbial Achilles' heel.

”Son of a b.i.t.c.h.”

Crest refused to believe that his decision to turn down female companions.h.i.+p last night had anything to do with Jessie and now he'd have to replace that d.a.m.n custom shower door he'd chosen personally. He'd been tired, had business on the brain, and was concerned about Taryn and what he'd discovered about her past. It would certainly affect her future, as well as her present state of mind. Him wanting peace and to be alone had no direct correlation with the fact that Jessie had started to attend Masters on a regular basis, a kink club owned by Connor and Jax. At least she wasn't dating that s.h.i.+t-heel Taggart anymore. It didn't take her long to figure out his bulls.h.i.+t. Crest had given her a choice between staying at the agency, knowing there would never be anything between them, or her handing in her resignation. Jessie had chosen to stay and keep him in h.e.l.l, although seeing her face every day had become a lone ray of suns.h.i.+ne in the darkness that consumed his existence.

Once things settled down, Crest would take part in his particular predilection, which merely took the edge off-at least long enough so that it kept him from engaging in anything beyond a professional relations.h.i.+p with Jessie, among other things. He was capable of hiding the blackness within, yet thankful that the lifestyle he led allowed him an outlet. He would never expose to someone as innocent as Jessie what kept him on the reservation, in the box he'd built for himself.

As for today, Crest had things to do and places to be. Intelligence was about to be handed out to his team that would change the way they viewed one of their own. He had faith that each and every one of his elite handpicked crew would choose the higher road and make the right suppositions. Every choice, action, and decision they made was a reflection of him. The days ahead proved to be long and trying, but he'd faced worse and came out on top. Today would be no exception.

Chapter One.

Ten months ago.

Northern Africa.

Lach McKinnon wiped away the sweat that was dripping down from his brow into his eyes, not that it would be a problem for much longer. Dusk had arrived and the sun had set on the North African skyline. Nightfall heralded an end to the suppressing heat. What many people whom had never been to these deserts didn't understand is that the sands refused to hold the warmth and the air cooled quickly without the blazing sun. Tiny particles of grit clung to his skin, giving his flesh that granular sensation he'd always hated and could never forget. It didn't matter that he was dressed in desert digital camouflage from head to toe in order to blend his body in with the bleak terrain. The sand still managed to make it inside the layers into every crack and crevice.

”Echo Lead, Eagle Overwatch. FLIR is up. Detecting three Tangos to the east and two to the west on picket,” the crisp digital voice whispered through the earpiece, but it was impossible for Lach to fail in distinguis.h.i.+ng who was speaking. He'd personally hired several local men who knew the area tribes well, in addition to bringing with him seven contractors from the States. One of those men was his sniper team lead Jansen, who was now providing them necessary real time information to make this operation quick and efficient. ”The four lead Tangos are racked out in the main tent, located directly in the center of camp. Your target is on the east side, third marquee from the south. She's accompanied by the three other volunteers.”

Lach lifted the large image intensifying binoculars to his face and scanned the area where he'd infiltrate with Casper and Dale to extract their target. Phoebe Dunaway. She was a do-gooder spoiled rich girl that managed to get her a.s.s taken hostage by a mercenary group of tribesmen who valued gold coin over human life and just about everything else. She might think that she was providing a service to the people of this land with medical supplies, food, and whatnot, but he would bet his f.u.c.king future retirement that she was rethinking her newly found altruism.

”They're reckless,” Casper replied in a low tone. He was situated right beside Lach as they used a nearby rock outcropping for its readily available concealment. The other men were deployed in two-man teams surrounding the encampment. Each pair was awaiting the go code to dispatch the roving sentries and close in on the compound now that darkness had fallen. ”Unorganized amateur hour. This should be as easy as dismantling a Sig.”

”Something's up.” Lach scanned the horizon trying to locate the source of his unease. From the intelligence that he'd gathered within the last twelve hours, Casper should have been correct in his a.s.sumption that this crew was careless and sloppy. Considering the layout of the camp that these ragtag tribesmen were using, it had Lach rethinking those suppositions. ”We'll wait another thirty minutes.”

Casper didn't reply, but none was needed. Lach was running this operation just as he had when he'd been team leader of the Bureau's Hostage Rescue Team. Remembering the outcome of the last task force's a.s.signment, he swiftly shoved the memories aside knowing they had nothing to do with the here and now. It was rare that he was given such a duty as this in regards to his employment for CSA. The cases were more mundane, although recently he'd been reconsidering that opinion. Getting shot had a way of doing that. Maybe not having usual his team members by his side was the problem. He'd gotten used to working with them-how they operated, performed, and achieved success on their missions.

”Jansen, how many threats total?”

The silence was palpable as Jansen was clearly confirming his answer before responding. Lach waited patiently, all the while scanning the area with the field gla.s.ses. To the south of them men were unloading medical supplies from the trucks that were used to confiscate the inventory that the activists had on hand. He knew the catalogue of provisions would be sold off to the highest bidder, but why exactly were the rebels keeping the Americans alive? He understood their reasoning in keeping Phoebe Dunaway alive and well, but why the others?

”Seventeen.” The ear peace went silent. ”Incoming.”

Lach s.h.i.+fted his sights to the vehicle that was approaching the camp. His team was far enough away that he wasn't concerned with being spotted, but the fact that they now had unexpected visitors didn't soothe his worries that this mission wouldn't go as planned. Unfortunately, the window of opportunity to rescue the hostages and retrieve his target had arrived.

”Hold position.”

Seconds ticked by into minutes. Lach used twenty-nine of them to watch closely as the two newcomers joined the fray. The last truck was being unloaded and that was when Lach realized what sparked his earlier agitation. There was no reason for them to unload those supplies into a tent when they should be about to be delivered to a buyer.

”They're going to try and rob another tribe.” Lach handed over his binoculars to Casper, who then took a look at the scene before them. ”See the vehicles in the back? Empty boxes are now being loaded. They're going to use the trucks and fake a delivery. They'll rip off the buyer they've lined up by taking the cash and running. We need to go in when these dirtbags initiate that transport. They won't be worrying about the hostages.”

It only took another ten minutes before the trucks started to pull out, leaving the camp a little less populated. He readied himself and then gave the go. Casper stayed exactly ten meters off Lach's right side and together they maneuvered toward their objective. He was ready for them when a pair of Tango sentries appeared over the top of the dune and belatedly stumbled around with the intention of firing their ancient bolt-action rifles. The suppressed HK MP5 recoiled in Lach's grip as he squeezed the trigger. The 9mm parabellum bullets st.i.tched his antic.i.p.ated target from stem to hairline.

Casper quickly dispatched the partner on the right with equal lethality. Suddenly a rifle shot in the distance demonstrated why no plan lasted more than thirty seconds into any engagement. It was as if the resonance sounded an alarm and instantly ignited anarchy. He could hear the slugs impacting the sand as he maintained his momentum forward, along with digesting Casper's digitized declaration that one of their men was down. He didn't take his eyes off of the intended destination.

Multiple questions ran through Lach's mind as he cautiously entered the slit in the fabric, Casper guarding his back. What would he find within? How easy would it be to extract Phoebe Dunaway? Would she need medical attention? Jansen stated there were four people within this specific location, yet Lach immediately accounted for only three, all of whom looked scared s.h.i.+tless. They had every reason to be.

”Where's Phoebe Dunaway?” Lach knelt and drew a knife from his boot, quickly sliding the blade through the rough horsehair ropes that restrained their wrists and ankles. He never stopped scanning the area. Casper s.h.i.+fted to the front entrance. Two men and one woman scrambled to their feet, each of them rubbing their sore wrists and looking for direction. Lach stood as well, frustrated that this operation wasn't going as planned. f.u.c.k. He should have told Crest to give this a.s.signment to Ethan. ”I'll ask again. Where's Phoebe Dunaway?”

”W-we were separated this morning,” the woman replied, edging closer to him and looking toward the exit, obviously eager to escape. Lach needed her attention on him, so he stepped directly in front of her line of sight. The intelligence he'd been given stated her name was Alice. ”There w-was a man here until we heard the gunshots.”

Lach cursed under his breath, knowing that the mercenary running this operation thought he was smart. Granted, this put a delay on the extraction, but it would still be executed. Having memorized the layout of the camp, yet knowing these hostages' welfare was in jeopardy, he quickly came to several decisions.

”Take them to the rally point.” Lach walked around Casper, not looking back to see if his order would be carried out. His men knew their jobs. ”Jansen, cover me. Alpha target to head shed! Designate head shed as alpha two.”

These mercenaries weren't as sloppy as they wanted others to believe. The four heat sources that Jansen had been picking up in the central area weren't the main leaders. There were only three Tangos and the other signature was that of Phoebe Dunaway. They were keeping her close and Lach had lost the edge when the guard that had been posted to these hostages fled. There was no time to waste.