Chapter 1
Dax Franklin stepped into the bar in Zurich, Switzerland, and glanced around, searching for the familiar face of Ace Hammerson, former US Navy SEAL, more affectionately known as Hammer.
He’d worked with Hammer on a couple of joint missions between his Navy SEAL team and Dax’s Marine Force Recon crew on the coast of Somalia. The man was brilliant, methodical and as tough as they came. When he’d called Dax out of the blue to offer him a job with the Brotherhood Protectors, Dax hadn’t hesitated.
The brotherhood, established by former Navy SEAL Hank Patterson, had a reputation for hiring only the best of former military special operations types, and word had spread that they were getting jobs done, providing security, extracting hostages and uncovering human trafficking operations.
Dax had been honored that Hammer, head of the newest branch of the Brotherhood Protectors, had looked him up as a potential addition to his growing international team.
The timing couldn’t be better. Dax had left the Marine Corps after the US government had done a shitty job of pulling the military out of Afghanistan. Dax had been working with Afghan informants. Left behind, they’d suffered when the Taliban took over the country.
Since leaving the military, he’d bounced around different jobs, trying his best to fit into the civilian world and failing miserably. He wasn’t cut out to sell life insurance to out-of-shape couch potatoes or to be a substitute teacher to a bunch of entitled high school kids who were disrespectful and lazy.
Dax hadn’t trained hard and survived deadly combat situations to sit quietly behind a desk.
Hammer’s call had been a godsend, along with an all-expenses-paid trip to Switzerland. How could he say no? At the very least, he could hear the man out and decide whether he wanted the job. All while surrounded by the beauty of Switzerland.
After thoroughly scanning the room’s dark interior, Dax headed for the bar, slid onto one of the stools and ordered a local beer.
His first set of instructions had been to meet with Hammer at the Brotherhood Protectors International office in downtown Zurich.
Those instructions were superseded by a text message from Hammer’s cell phone, changing the meeting location to the bar. He’d just landed in Zurich and turned on his cell phone when the message had come through. Because he was getting in so late, he was to drop his luggage at the hotel and meet Hammer at the bar.
Dax had taken a taxi from the airport to the hotel where he’d checked in. He’d taken the time to shower, shave and dress in clean black slacks and a black button-down shirt. He’d wanted to make a good impression on Hammer, figuring their jobs as protectors could mean escorting dignitaries or wealthy clients. Hammer knew Dax could apply camouflage; he didn’t know Dax would wear decent civilian clothing to match whatever situation was required.
He'd known a lot of military guys who looked sharp in uniform but couldn’t pair the colors in their civilian clothing.
The bartender delivered the beer and turned to fill an order for a waitress.
A waft of perfume reached him seconds before a woman in a red dress slid onto the barstool beside him.
Dax lifted his mug and tipped beer into his mouth as he studied the lady beside him out of the corner of his eye.
Black hair fell around her shoulders in inky black waves. The dress was an eye-catcher with thin straps and a plunging front neckline that dipped almost to her belly button. A long slit ran from her ankle to the top of her thigh, exposing a beautiful, toned leg with a well-defined calf and thigh.
Dax’s sister would have called the dress go-to-hell red and would have asked the woman where she’d gotten it. He cringed at the thought of his little sister wearing something that revealing.
Not that Ginny couldn’t have pulled it off, and she wasn’t a little girl anymore, but he wanted to remember her as the tomboy with a single braid hanging down her back, wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt with her favorite band emblazoned across the front.
Ginny had driven him to the Washington Dulles International Airport the day before, kissed him on the cheek and wished him luck.
“Find a pretty girl, date and let yourself fall in love again. Lana would’ve wanted you to get on with your life.” She’d patted his cheek. “Besides, I want nieces and nephews before I turn forty.”
“I could say the same for you,” Dax said. “When are you going to settle down, marry and have half a dozen children?”
Her lips twisted. “You know how I feel about all that.”
“Right. It’s not for you.” He shook his head. “How do you know until you try it?”
“I’m too set in my ways. I like that I don’t have to answer to anyone, and I can fly anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat. I was hoping you would have all the kids so I could love on them when I wanted and hand them back at the end of the day.”
The familiar tug at his heart was a painful reminder that a wife and kids hadn’t been in his cards. Oh, he’d had a wife.
Lana.
Beautiful, sweet, and gentle Lana had wanted at least four children. After several heartbreaking miscarriages, the doctor discovered she had endometrial cancer. It had spread fast into other organs and parts of her body.
She’d gone from the disappointment and grief of losing a baby to full-on treatment for cancer. In a few short months, she’d been gone.
Dax had deployed during Lana’s first miscarriage. When she’d gotten pregnant a second time, he’d been with her from day one through her second miscarriage, the cancer diagnosis and to her last breath.
His unit had deployed to Afghanistan a few weeks before Lana’s passing. Once Lana was gone, Dax needed to escape everything that had reminded him of her. He’d joined his unit in Afghanistan a month later. Work and a change in location had helped—until the draw-down.
Sick at heart over how the draw-down had been handled, he lost his love for military life.
“I’ll have a dirty martini, shaken, not stirred,” the woman in red said to the bartender in English, bringing Dax back to the present and a bar in Zurich. Though she spoke English, she had the accent of someone from England, not the US.
The bartender added ingredients to a metal cup, capped it and shook it for a full minute. He poured the contents into a martini glass, added an olive and placed the glass in front of the woman.
She lifted the glass to her bright red lips and tasted the concoction. With a brief smile and nod at the bartender, she laid the glass on the counter. “Perfect.” She turned to Dax, her lips spreading in a warm, welcoming smile. “I love a good martini, don’t you?”
He half-turned toward her, meeting her gaze. “I prefer a good beer,” he said, tipping his head toward the half-empty mug.
She lifted her glass to him. “To good drinks, whatever they might be.”
Reluctantly, he lifted his mug and held it up to her glass without saying anything.
She touched the rim of the martini glass to his mug and took a sip.
Dax did the same. He looked over his shoulder toward the door, wondering when Hammer would show. He hadn’t slept on the flight over, so he was tired and wasn’t in the mood for polite conversation, even if the woman was stunningly beautiful.
“Waiting for someone?” the woman asked.
“I am,” he responded.
“Oh, my apologies,” she said. “I won’t bother you.” She lifted her drink and sipped.
Dax glanced at the entrance again. Still, no sign of Hammer. He took another sip of his beer, an awkward silence falling between him and the woman beside him.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured and touched his arm. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t bother you, but I’ve lost my contact. At least, I think I might have.” She blinked several times. “Sometimes, it slips out of position on my eye. Would you mind looking to see if you can see it?” She turned to face him fully, her hand still on his arm. She tipped her head back and opened her eyes wide.
“Right or left?” he asked, wondering if he’d see anything in the dim lighting. He leaned closer.
“Left,” she said, batting her eyelids before opening them wide again.
“Hard to see in this light,” he said, staring down into her left eye.
“Would it help if I was closer?” she asked, leaning forward until her breasts brushed against his chest.
“I don’t see anything,” he said.
“Keep looking,” she said, her voice a low, insistent whisper. “At least pretend like you are. A couple of gentlemen in the corner to your right have been watching you since you arrived. They’re both still wearing their jackets, though it’s reasonably warm here. I saw a bulge in one man’s pocket. I would lay odds he’s packing.”
Dax froze. The words coming from the woman’s mouth were so incongruous he had to think twice about them before they sank in. When he started to turn his head to look at the corner to the right of him, her hand tightened on his arm.
“For the love of—” She reached out with her other hand and pinched his thigh. “Look at me, not them. They’ll know you’re on to them.”
“Look, lady,” he said.
She blinked rapidly and laughed, the sound light and airy. “There it is. I knew you’d find it.” The woman leaned into him. “They’re getting up. Kiss me.”
“I don’t—” He didn’t get any further.
She flung her arms around his neck and laid those perfect red lips on his.
His hands rose automatically to grasp her waist, intending to shove her back.
“You will come with us,” a man said behind Dax.
The woman in red leaned back, her pretty dark brows forming a V over the bridge of her nose. “Do we know you?”
Dax spun on his barstool to face two men in baggy jackets.
“You do not need to know us,” the bigger guy said.
To Dax, the accent sounded Russian.
Each man had a hand in his right pocket, pointing something at them.
By the size and shape, Dax would venture to guess they were pistols. “What do you want?” he asked.
“You two will come with us,” Big Guy said.
Dax had no desire to be herded out the door at gunpoint. Neither did he want to start a fight in the confines of the bar.
“We should do as they say, darling,” the woman murmured. “I told you we shouldn’t have come without our bodyguards.”
He frowned at the woman. Was she working with the two armed men? It was too coincidental for her to show up and then have the two men move in and demand they go with them.
Either way, Dax couldn’t do anything sitting down. He eased off the barstool, setting the woman in red at arm’s length, freeing his hands and giving him room.
The bigger man stepped up behind him and poked him in the back with the hard barrel of a pistol in his pocket.
“Okay,” Dax raised his hands slightly. “No need to get trigger-happy. I’ll come. Just don’t hurt the lady.”
He moved slowly through the bar, searching for his best options and reviewing various scenarios. If the two gunmen got them outside, would more of their friends be waiting to assist? He’d be better off taking down these two and escaping through the rear exit than risking even greater odds should they have friends outside.
The woman in red stumbled.
Dax gripped her elbow to steady her.
She leaned close to him and murmured, “Follow my lead.”
The gunman behind her jabbed his jacket pocket into her back. “Let her go.”
The woman stepped away from Dax, backing into a chair behind her. She teetered, her hands flying into the air.
The man holding his gun on her reached out with his other hand.
In a flash of movement, the woman grabbed that hand and spun him around, shoving him into the other man.
As the two men staggered unsteadily, Dax kicked out, sweeping the big guy’s legs from under him.
The two men crashed to the ground.
The woman tipped a table over on top of them, grabbed Dax’s hand and yelled, “Run!”
While the two men struggled to untangle themselves, Dax and the woman ran out the rear exit into an alley behind the bar.
A long, black car stood to the right in the shadows of the building.
The woman opened the back door and dove into the vehicle.
Dax hesitated.
The red-dress woman called out, “Get in!”
Still, Dax hesitated. He didn’t know this woman. She could be equally as dangerous as the two armed men.
She leaned out, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you armed?”
“No,” he said.
“Well, they are.” She ducked back inside. “Suit yourself.” Her hand reached out to close the door.
Behind him, Dax could hear the muffled sound of footsteps pounding toward him.
He yanked open the car door and slid into the back seat, closing the door as the rear door of the bar burst open.
The car lurched forward, going from zero to really fast in a second. At the first corner, the driver whipped the vehicle to the right as bullets shattered the rear window.
Dax shoved the woman down on the seat and covered her with his body.
Once they were around the side of a building, the gunfire ceased.
He sat up and looked through the shattered back window. “That was close.”
The woman in the red dress sat up straight and raised a handgun from the folds of her dress, pointing it at his chest. “He’s entirely too gullible,” she said.
The driver grunted and kept driving.
Dax frowned down at the gun pointing at his chest.
In quick movement he’d perfected with some of his Marine Force Recon buddies when they’d been bored between missions, he yanked the gun from her hand and turned it on her.
“I’m hungry, tired and don’t have the patience to put up with bullshit.” To the driver, he gave the street address of the Brotherhood Protectors International Headquarters. “Take us there, or I’ll shoot the pretty lady.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” he dared.
For a long moment, she glared at him. Finally, she shrugged an elegant shoulder. “It would be a shame to destroy this dress. Where are you taking me?”
“The real question is, where were you taking me ?” he asked.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Would you believe for a joy ride?”
“Try again.” His lips pressed into a thin line.
She crossed her arms over her full breasts peeking out of the plunging neckline. “You’ll know soon enough.”
It was his turn to glare at her. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” To the driver, she said, “Take him to where he wants to go.”
The driver nodded once and turned at the following street corner.
They completed the remainder of the ride in silence, Dax trying to decide if he was doing the right thing by taking her to the Brotherhood Protectors International headquarters building. He’d debated letting her go and keeping her gun. But what would stop her from trying to take him again, or some other poor fool?
He hoped Hammer would know what to do with the woman. Dax would at least like to know what her game was.
He kept his eye on her throughout the short drive. Staring at her wasn’t a hardship. He thought it was too bad she’d turned out to be one of the bad guys. He might have enjoyed having a drink with her if she hadn’t been trying to kill him.
The driver slowed the vehicle to a stop next to a curb and looked over his shoulder. “We have arrived.”
One dark eyebrow winged upward on the woman’s face. “What are you going to do with me?”
Using her words, he said, “You’ll know soon enough.” He nodded toward her door. “Get out.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You just said you like the red dress,” he waved the gun at her. “Don’t make me blow a hole in it.”
“For the record, I really don’t think you’d pull the trigger on a woman.” She held up her hand. “But I’m not daring you to do it now.” She pushed open her door and swung her legs out, planting her feet on the ground.
He slid across the seat, wrapped his arm around her neck and pointed the gun at her head. “Don’t try anything stupid. My finger’s on the trigger.”
“I’m so scared,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
She slipped from under his arm, got out of the vehicle with him behind her and walked toward the structure like a model on a runway.
Dax didn’t trust her for a second and remained on his toes, gun at the ready. Still, he could admire her narrow waist, the swell of her hips and the sexy leg flashing him through the slit in the dress.
Who was this woman?
Never having been to the building before, Dax walked up to the front door. It was locked without a light shining over the entrance or a doorbell to ring. How was he supposed to get inside?
A voice sounded from somewhere overhead. “Dax Franklin, you old son of a bitch, glad you found your way to the office.” Dax recognized Ace Hammerson's voice. “What have you got? Or rather, who have you got?”
“I was hoping you could help me figure that out,” Dax said.
The metal click of a lock sounded on the door in front of Dax.
“Come on in,” Hammer said.
Dax nodded to the woman. “After you.”
She opened the door and stepped inside a small foyer.
Once Dax was through the door and had closed it behind him, she strode down a hallway as if she owned the place.
Dax followed, his gaze narrowing.
The hallway had doors on either side, but the woman didn’t stop until she reached the one at the end. With a flourish, she flung it open and stepped inside.
Ace Hammerson stood at the end of a long conference table with a beautiful black-haired, green-eyed woman at his side. Several other people were gathered around. Dax didn’t know any of them.
Hammerson stepped forward. “I’m sorry for the last-minute change in our meeting location, but I’m glad you two made it here.” He held out his hand. “You can put the gun away.”
A barrel-chested older man with a shock of white hair held out a chair for the woman in red. “You clean up well,” he said with a thick Russian accent.
“Thank you, Dmytro,” she sank into the chair and looked to Ace Hammerson.
“Well?” Ace said.
She shook her head. “He’s not the right man for the job.”
Hammer frowned. “He’s a dead ringer for Maas.”
The woman ran her gaze over Dax, her eyes narrowing. “Agreed, but he doesn’t have the swagger and is gullible.”
Hammer sighed. “We don’t have time to find a perfect match. Besides, from what I remember, Dax learns quickly. We can teach him what he needs to know.”
Dax felt like a spectator at a tennis match, his gaze going from the woman in the red dress to his new boss, Hammer. The more they talked, the more confused Dax became.
Dax raised a hand. “Hold on a minute.” He waved the hand between the two talking. “You know each other?”
They turned to him and spoke as one, “Yes.”
Hammer picked up from there. “Dax, this is Giva Haviv, former Israeli Sayeret Matkal. She’ll be your partner for your first assignment.”
Dax stared at his new boss. “The fuck you say.”