Page 2 of Forgiving His Past (Eagle’s Nest Securities #5)

Van remained as still as a statue to avoid having his throat sliced open from the woman’s deadly blade. Later—and in private—he’d berate himself for having made such a dumbass rookie mistake as to let his target get the upper hand.

For now, however…

Moving with lightning speed, Van kept his arms close to his chest as he brought them up toward her arm and wrist. Using both of his hands, he gave a hard yank, forcing the knife-wielding hand down and to the left.

As designed, the move forced the weapon away from his throat, rather than doing the job for her and moving in a way its sharp blade would slice across his skin. On a normal day, Van would have immediately turned and driven the blade deep into his attacker’s side.

But this day was anything but normal, and this particular attacker had answers to questions he and his team had been asking for years.

Giving a careful, yet forceful, twisting of her wrist, the Dawari woman cried out as her grip involuntarily loosened. The weapon fell from her hand, clattering to the ground below, and with one of his booted feet, Van kicked the knife far out of reach.

It skidded across the ground before stopping several feet from where they stood. At the same time, he easily regained control of the situation by forcing her body around so that he was the one behind her.

Keeping his tone low and controlled, he placed the woman in an offensive hold he’d used a hundred times before.

Forcing himself to refrain from breaking the murdering bitch’s neck, he growled out a low, “Nice try, Miss Dawari. But it will be a cold day in hell before I let you take another American life.”

Even mine.

“I’m not…the killer.” Her fingers went to the part of his arm pressing against the front of her throat. “That…w-would be…y-you.”

Part of what she’d said was true. He was a killer. It was a fact he’d never denied. But hearing the woman’s false claim about herself made him wish like hell they didn’t need to bring her in alive.

Not a killer my ass.

According to the intel they’d been given, Kaamisha Dawari was the one responsible for the attack on his former SEAL unit three years earlier.

During the ambush, their teammate and friend, Hunter Garrison, took a bullet to the neck. The wound proved fatal, and despite their team leader’s valiant efforts, Hunt died on the side of that Godforsaken mountain.

He isn’t the only man whose blood Dawari spilled.

An image entered Van’s thoughts. Farzad Akimi’s bloodied and beaten body slumped over in a chair.

Thanks to the intel Akimi had gathered prior to his death, along with other information they’d been able to dig up along the way, all signs had led them to the woman still struggling against Van’s strong hold.

Can’t kill her, but I can damn sure shut her up.

With one arm wrapped tightly around the front of her neck, he held the crook of his elbow directly beneath her chin. At the same time, his other hand was placed strategically behind her head, and when he squeezed with just the right amount of pressure to avoid breaking any bones…

Kaamisha Dawari’s hands fell limply at her sides half-a-beat before her entire body grew limp under the weight of unconsciousness.

A choke hold would only keep a person down for ten, maybe twenty seconds, so Van knew he had to move fast. With one arm keeping the unmoving woman from falling, he pulled the syringe he’d carried with him from the back pocket of his black jeans.

He brought the end to his mouth, using his teeth to pull the safety cap free. Spitting it out, he paid no attention to where the small plastic piece landed as he inserted the needle into the side of the woman’s neck.

The drug he injected into her bloodstream was safe and held no long-lasting effects. But it would keep her ass out like a light for a couple of hours, which bought him and his team some much needed time.

“Van!”

He heard his name being called as he pulled the tip of the needle free. A quick toss sent it arching through the air and into a nearby dumpster.

“I’m here,” he hollered back, letting his former team leader and friend know he was okay.

Bending at the waist, he effortlessly hauled the woman up into his arms. Her head lolled toward his chest and her eyes remained closed.

“You good?” Logan Hayes jogged toward him from the SUV that had skidded to a stop at the alley’s northern end. The former SEAL’s hazel eyes landed on the beautiful brunette. “Shit. Is she?—”

“Drugged,” Van growled. “Just like we planned.”

Relief filled the other man’s gaze. It was easy to know what Logan was thinking, because it was the same thought that had run through Van’s mind.

If Kaamisha Dawari died, everything she knew about the ambush that nearly took out their entire team died with her. And that was the one thing they couldn’t let happen.

For one, they still needed the intel locked inside her brain. And two, as far as Van was concerned, death would be too easy of an out for someone like her.

He and the other four SEALS on his team may have survived that day in the mountains, but one of their brothers never made it back home.

We’re getting close, Hunt. We’ll get her to confess what she did, and then you can finally get the justice you deserve.

Hunter Garrison had been the best kind of man. A husband. Brother. And one hell of a SEAL.

But thanks to a barrage of enemy gunfire during an op that should have been a quick in and out, Hunt was dead, their Naval careers were over, and their enemy was walking around free as a fucking bird.

Before his death, Farzad Akimi had been a CIA asset working off-books for Michael Webb, the current Secretary of the Navy. Back in the day, Webb was often the man who gave Van’s SEAL unit their orders.

After the ambush that killed Hunter, Webb had fought for the team so they could keep their Tridents. In the end, the remaining members of DEVGRU’s Tier 1 team known as Black Squadron One were each given an Honorable Discharge and sent on their merry way.

But neither Van nor his teammates—or Webb, for that matter—had ever stopped fighting for the justice they all deserved. For the past three years, they’d done everything they could to uncover the truth.

Van’s angered gaze lowered to the woman cradled within his arms. Her freedom ended today.

“Come on.” Logan turned as both men used hurried steps on their way to the SUV. “The others are waiting in the car. We’ll take her to the hotel and secure her there. Hopefully when she wakes up, we’ll finally get some damn answers.”

There was no “maybe” to it. One way or another, Van intended to find out everything he and his teammates needed to know.

“We’ll need to go through the back,” he reminded Logan of the next step in their plan. “The others can use the front door and keep the attendant and anyone else there distracted.”

“Copy that.”

A few seconds later, the two men reached the SUV.

With Archer Nash behind the wheel, Logan made his way around the front to ride shotgun.

Van kept his hold on the woman they’d traveled across the world to find, as Jason “Lucky” Lucas and Chase Boyer both slid across the middle bench seat to make room.

Van reached out with his left hand and pulled the door shut. “Let’s move!” he ordered gruffly as he and the two men beside him sat squished together.

The bottom half of the Dawari woman’s body lay limply across his thighs while her torso and arms spilled over onto Lucky. Her eyes were still closed, and Van noticed the way her green hijab had slid back a few inches from her forehead as Chase held her head steady in his lap.

Dark hair. Olive skin. Sharp features most models would give anything to possess. The woman was an exotic creature, so naturally beautiful it almost hurt to look at her.

He glanced away, his focus shifting to the blurred scenery passing by the tinted window on his left. This woman was the cause of insurmountable loss. Of course, looking at her would cause him pain.

As for her beauty, Van new better than most that sometimes the deadliest threats came in the most unsuspecting packages. Even ones with long, black hair and skin his fingers inexplicably itched to reach out and touch.

“In case you need a refresher”—Logan looked over his shoulder to address the group as a whole—“Nash will drop Braddock and I off at the back, then take the rest of you around to the front. Go in, make enough noise to draw attention to yourselves, and we’ll use the distraction to get her inside the building and up to our room. ”

“What if someone sees Van carrying an unconscious woman?” Lucky asked.

Van answered before Logan had the chance. “Same story as we discussed. She’s my wife, and she got overheated.”

Few in this region—if any—would question the claim. Especially when made by a male who spoke their language.

“You spend any time brushing up on your Pashto?” Chase asked as if he’d been reading Van’s thoughts. “’Cause I’m pretty sure Lucky’s the only other one of us who knows enough to sound believable. And his accent isn’t exactly good.”

“Hey, now.” Lucky turned his blue gaze in Boyer’s direction. “My accent is just fine, thank you, very much.”

But Van slid his dark stare past Lucky as he used his best Pashto to call Chase a spineless dickhead. It wasn’t an exact translation, but anyone who spoke the language would get the idea.

Their security team’s lead sniper frowned. “Not sure what the hell you just said, but I have a feeling it wasn’t all that flattering.”

“Always best to stick with your gut, Boyer.” Lucky chuckled beside him. “Pretty sure Van just called you a dick with no spine. ”

Close enough.

But rather than smile, Van did a quick check to make sure the woman in his arms was still out cold before returning his focus to the direction they were headed.

A few short minutes later, Archer was pulling the SUV around the back of the hotel, hitting the brakes as they approached the building’s rear entrance.

“We need to move quickly,” the man behind the wheel announced unnecessarily.

Van opened his door and slid himself from beneath the woman’s still form. His boots hit the pavement, and he immediately began working with Lucky to get her back into his arms.

“See you inside.” He used his hip to shut his door before turning and heading for the hotel.

From behind him he heard Logan tell the others as he exited the front seat, “Make sure you’re seen, but don’t overdo it.”

This was followed by Archer’s sardonic, “Hear that, Lucky? The man said don’t overdo it.”

The SUV took off before they could hear their resident computer genius’s smartassed response.

Logan waited long enough for the guys to have time to get around to the front and get inside. Glancing around, he opened the hotel’s back door, keeping it propped wide so Van could pass through.

Despite his desire to kill the woman in his arms, Van found himself being careful not to let her head smack against the door’s metal frame as he slid past his teammate on his way into the building.

Both men took an immediate left, making quick work of the staircase leading them to the upper floors. The Dawari woman’s body jostled slightly with his hastened steps, but she showed no signs of waking up anytime soon.

With the dose he’d given her, she should be out for at least another couple of hours. Plenty of time to prepare for what would come next.

Logan rushed past Van to open the door to the structure’s third floor. After a quick glance in each direction, he motioned that the coast was clear.

Van’s boots made quick work over the worn carpet lining the narrow hall. He and Logan stopped when they reached the fifth door on their left.

He waited for his teammate to open the door with the key, and a few seconds later, the three of them were safely inside without having been seen by anyone else along the way.

“Back room?” Logan’s hazel gaze met his with a questioning stare.

Giving his former team leader a curt dip of his chin, Van carried their target into one of the suite’s three bedrooms. Before tonight, it had been the room where he’d slept. Now it would be where they’d conduct their interrogation.

He waited while Logan went to the small wooden table positioned near the suite’s impressive kitchenette.

His former teammate grabbed one of the two matching chairs and brought it to the center of the room where Van still stood.

The two men worked together to restrain their captive’s wrists and ankles with tightly wound rope.

And just in case she wakes up screaming…

Van went to the beat-up dresser and snagged the roll of duct tape he’d left waiting with the rope. As he walked back toward the slumped woman tied to the chair, he ripped off a strip of the tape, put a hand under her chin to tilt her head back, and secured it across her kissable lips.

Kissable?

The thought took him aback as he gently let her head fall back into its previous position. The woman was responsible for killing their friend and damn near taking out their entire team. He shouldn’t be thinking of her lips as kissable or anything else .

Beautiful or not, she was a terrorist and a killer. Something he’d do well to keep in the forefront of his mind.

Van looked away from the unconscious woman to meet his teammate’s gaze. “I’ll check her for any more possible weapons.”

After that, they had no choice but to wait.