Red Diamond: Extended Edition

By Scott Saiauski

The mercenary team Red Diamond operates best in the shadows, away from prying eyes. When their co-founder, Nick Walker, lets compassion get in the way of business, he not only threatens their anonymity but also their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483588438

Book preview

STORY)

CHAPTER 1

Dressed head to toe in black, a figure darted across several fenced in yards in the middle of the night. Each fence was defeated with a simple somersault, the figure landing silently into a roll that went right back into a sprint. It was repeated a half dozen more times, each one in a perfect fluid motion before the figure came to rest quietly behind a tree.

In Japan, the figure was known by a few as Silencer. Years ago, a particular Yakuza crime family feared the very mention of his name before he had eliminated all of them. Those in America had never heard of him and unless he wanted them to, they never would.

Silencer peered around the tree to see a man of Middle Eastern descent smoking a cigarette on the back porch of a dark brown house. Less than six yards away Silencer waited for his opportunity. It came a minute later when the man on the porch flicked his cigarette to the ground and turned to head into the house.

Silencer removed his garrote, a thin but sharp strangling cord, from inside his sleeve and sprinted across the yard and up the three steps onto the porch. The wire tightened around the man’s neck and sliced open his throat as more pressure was applied to the garrote. The man reached up to his neck only to touch his own blood. He waved his arms to his sides hoping to catch hold of his attacker. He never did. His lifeless body was dragged off the porch and over to the bushes that cluttered the side of the house where Silencer hid it from view.

He slid the garrote back inside his sleeve and withdrew two razor sharp blades as its replacement. He went up to the door and knocked. He waited thirty seconds then knocked again. He knew from his surveillance of this group from the night before that they had a simple knock code and that the man he had just killed was the only smoker in the group. The report provided to him before this mission had contained all that data already but Silencer always confirmed such facts for himself.

The door opened and a second Middle Eastern man stepped out. The first blade sliced opened his throat, preventing any cry out for help. The second was driven with precision through the maroon silk shirt he wore and into his heart. Silencer caught him from hitting the porch and laid him down under the window. The blades were wiped clean and put away. He reached into a pouch and pulled out a third weapon, this one being known as a kusari-fundo in Japanese. Quite simply it was a three-foot long chain that contained a steel weight on both ends. He hid it in his right palm while his left withdrew a sharp piece of metal in the shape of a four-pointed star, called a shuriken.

Silencer entered the house, stepping into the kitchen. It was small and filled with garbage bags. Dirty dishes filled the sink and several pizza boxes from a local Boston pizzeria covered a small round table pushed up against the wall. He could hear two more voices in the other room which would account for all his marks.

What are you two doing? called a voice from the other room.

It was in English but carried a thick Arabic accent.

Silencer stepped out of the kitchen and right into what appeared to have been a nice living room at one point. Now it was stained and smelled of explosives and chemicals. Both marks were there. One was sitting at a fold-out table covered in blueprints and papers. The other was several feet away from the table sitting in a recliner drinking water. They both looked over and yelled when they saw him.

With a quick flick of his wrist, the shuriken was sent directly into the face of the man drinking his water. It wasn’t meant to kill him as the true purpose of the shuriken was but to distract and, or wound a target. The man fell over in the recliner, momentarily out of the fight, which was all the time Silencer needed as he shot the kusari-fundo at the man just rising from his seat. The chain unfolded and the heavy weight hit him square in the forehead knocking him to the floor. He yanked the chain back just as the other man rose from the recliner, blood covering his cheek.

He charged at Silencer only to miss and find the chain wrapped around his neck. Another quick twist of his wrists and Silencer stepped forward snapping the man’s neck. He let the weapon fall with the man to the floor, then went for the one weapon he had yet to touch, the sword strapped to his back.

The remaining man was crawling, trying to see through the blood that poured from his wound. The man would have died before he ever received help with the wound but Silencer was here to make sure they were dead. He withdrew his sword from its scabbard and without missing a beat, drove it down into the man’s back three times. Silencer paused, listening.

He heard nothing but silence.

Silencer sliced off the pointer finger of both men. He retrieved his kusari-fundo and shuriken, wiped the blood off both, and checked his feet to make sure he hadn’t stepped in any blood or tracked any dirt into the house. He hadn’t. Once sure he had left no other evidence of his presence there, save for the two dead bodies in the living room, he went back outside, closing the door behind him as he did. The padded black gloves he wore leaving no trace of any prints. He removed the pointer fingers of the other two men with his sword then cleaned that off as well before placing it back into its scabbard. The fingers went into a black pouch by his waist. He closed it and again waited a few moments, looking around for any witnesses or clues he might have left, but saw none.

Confident of a job well done he headed back to the fence and repeated his somersault and rolling technique back to where he had parked his vehicle, two blocks away. He started it up and drove off undetected, just as a light snow fell.

CHAPTER 2

Thirty-nine-year-old Ryan Frost stared at the clock on the wall before leaning back in his leather chair. His eyes went from the clock, to the cell phone and the open folder on top of his simple metal desk. The metal chair that came with the desk was folded up over in the corner. Frost wasn’t one to get visitors and the few he got, were the kind who preferred to stand. His office wasn’t exactly one would want to spend too much time in any way. It was barely bigger than a supply closet and had no windows. Given the size of the Pentagon, it was often over looked as anything but a storage room, just the way Frost liked it.

Officially he worked for the Defense Intelligence Agency or DIA, and was a mid-level analyst. Unofficially he was a high level black ops commander. He began his career twenty years ago in the CIA and was one of their best covert agents in the field. Back then he had gone by the name Lynch.

The cell phone began to ring breaking the silence in the room. It rang once before Frost answered it.

Yes.

It’s done.

Were there any problems?

No.

You’re sure?

Yes.

Good. See you soon.

Frost turned off the cell phone and let out a deep breath as he closed the folder. He took a lighter out of his pocket and held it up next to it. He waited several seconds as the flames crawled up the folder before he dropped it into his trash can and watched it burn.

CHAPTER 3

Twenty-six-year-old Lucy Dash stepped out of her limo carefully. It had taken one of her minions a whole day to track down the Marc Jacobs dress she wore and she wasn’t about to have it ruined this early in the morning. She took off her sunglasses and rolled her eyes as she looked at the town house in front of her. She could barely hide her disgust as she thought about the owner, who was also the man she currently worked for, US Senator Jerry Greenwell of New Hampshire.

Shall I keep the car running miss?

Lucy looked at her driver slash bodyguard, Mako whose nickname was ‘The Beast’. He was a hulk of a man even in his pink Polo shirt, khaki pants, and Oakley sunglasses. His head was nearly shaved with a dark stubble growing back. He always seemed to have a five o’clock shadow and one of his tattooed biceps was as big as her head. Before coming to work for her, Mako was an ex-con and cage fighter in WFL but was kicked out for being too violent. The WFL was also where he got his nickname from. While she didn’t always like the tone he took with her, he was good at his job. The fact that he was dependent on her to help get his brother out of prison insured his loyalty to her.

Yes. I doubt this will take long.

He nodded back to her and even with the sunglasses on Lucy could tell he was checking her ass out. Not that she could fault him since that was the point of the dress she wore. She tucked a strand of her blonde hair back behind her ear. It wasn’t her natural color, nor did she even like it, but it looked real. She walked up the steps, her matching Marc Jacobs Mary Jane Pump shoes adding an extra 2 plus inches to her 5’6 frame. She pressed the doorbell with a gloved hand. Behind her back, people called her a rich bitch, the thing was, they were right. Her father had been wealthy and most of it had gone to her. What should have gone to his several ex-wives, she got after she threatened, coerced, or blackmailed. One of her father’s stupid trophy wives, her stepmother at the time, had the gall to try to stand up to Lucy. It was so tragic when she found out that her stepmother had drowned while staying in Hawaii. Her scuba gear was faulty and Lucy had even threatened to sue the shop with a wrongful death suit. She later dropped it in a rare moment of kindness.

The door finally opened and a maid of Mexican decent answered the door.

Took you long enough, Lucy said, walking past the maid while pulling off her gloves.

Sorry. I thought door unlocked, the maid replied, her accent thick.

Lucy stood staring at her before saying, It was. What’s your point?

The maid looked down at her feet and said, No point ma’am. The Senator is upstairs in his room getting ready.

Fine, you’re dismissed, Lucy said with a wave of her hand.

The maid nodded as Lucy headed upstairs. With the amount of money Lucy knew Greenwell had, he could afford to spruce up the place but no. The railings, the stairs, the lights, carpets, everything was just so unremarkable save the one room she just entered. It was supposed to be Greenwell’s bedroom but it was so much more. She remembered when she started working for Greenwell not believing the maid when she told her the Senator himself had come up with the idea of the room. Then she saw some of his collection of ‘masterpiece’ paintings on the walls and went back to being disgusted.

Lucy rolled her eyes again as she walked further into the large room. A small brown package sitting on Greenwell’s queen size bed quickly caught her attention though. She started for it but stopped immediately when she heard,

Lucy!

CHAPTER 4

Senator Jerry Greenwell of New Hampshire stared absently at himself in the bathroom mirror. He didn’t like the tie he had on. It was red but it was too red for him. It was a lot brighter than he had thought it was. He turned sideways to look at himself and just as quickly turned back. He hated the sight of his stomach. He needed to rehire a personnel trainer to help fight back the ever-increasing bulge that was becoming his waistline.

Lucy! He called after staring at himself for another minute.

Yes, Senator?

Greenwell turned to face Lucy, his personnel assistant. A fellow Senator had recommended her this past December and she had been a godsend to him.

I don’t like this tie.

It’s the one you picked out.

I know but I think it’s too bright.

I don’t, Lucy replied.

Her tone was neutral, neither annoyed nor all that enthusiastic.

It’ll make me stand out in the room.

No, it won’t.

Greenwell took the tie off.

I don’t want everyone looking at me.

You still plan on buying the Faggini painting at the auction?

Yes.

Then people will stare at you no matter what.

Greenwell frowned and looked in the mirror.

The tie is fine.

I don’t like it.

Put the tie back on Senator.

Okay.

Lucy walked away rolling her eyes as she did. The man couldn’t even commit to getting his fat ass dressed.

How do I look? He asked from behind.

Lucy collected herself before facing him.

Very nice Senator, she replied giving him a fake smile. The moron smiled back.

So what’s on the bed? She asked.

Greenwell let out a small gasp and said, Oh how could I have forgotten. It’s evidence in our case. That Baines guy sent me a sneak peek of what he has to offer.

I hope it’s worth what you’re paying him. Are you still meeting him tomorrow?

Yes. I don’t suppose you’ve taken care of that other demand he gave us?

Lucy held up her cell phone and said, Not to worry. It’s already done. And as per your request it was handled discreetly.

Greenwell nodded, a smile on his face as Lucy picked up the package.

Do you want me to open it and check it out?

Greenwell shook his head and replied, No, you go and enjoy your weekend. It’s not every day you get an invitation to go to the Super Bowl. This can wait.

Greenwell took the package from her and walked over to his safe that was behind one of his ugly paintings. He entered his code and put the package inside. Lucy could see his briefcase was already inside it. He closed the door and put the painting back.

Excuse me Senator?

Greenwell and Lucy both turned to see Carter, the head of the Senator’s private security detail.

Yes Carter?

Your car is ready.

Thank you. I’ll be down in a minute.

Yes sir.

Carter turned to leave and looked at Lucy. Their eyes locked and she glanced at the painting that the safe was hidden behind. It took less than three seconds and Carter continued on his way. Greenwell hadn’t even noticed as he was too busy getting his shoes on.

Once he was all set he said, Are you ready to go?

Lucy nodded and they went downstairs and outside.

Well I hope you have a good time this weekend. I’ll see you back here Monday morning okay?

She nodded and he gave her a peck on the cheek. Lucy resisted the urge to shudder. Greenwell got into his armored SUV and she stood in front of her limo door watching him drive off.

Mako finally got out and opened the door for her.

About time, she snapped.

Mako sneered as he watched Lucy get in carefully, what with her dress and all, thoughts of what he could do to her skinny, barely one hundred twenty-five pound body flashing through his mind. Some good, some bad, all were arousing. He slammed the door shut and got back behind the wheel.

Head to the hotel, she told him as she dialed a number on her cell phone. She knew for a fact that the Senator was about to have a very bad night.

CHAPTER 5

Twenty-nine-year-old Miranda Gomez fixed her sunglasses. They were those big-rimmed annoying kind that took up half a person’s face. She focused her gaze across the other side of the pool at the ‘pool boy’. He had a dark tan complexion suggesting he was Hispanic, or since Miranda was currently relaxing at a hotel in Miami on a late Friday morning, he was more likely Cuban. He had this rugged good look to him, which made him appear older than he probably was. There was also this small goatee of sorts on his chin, which added a couple points to his score, that combined with his short black spiked hair had risen his score high enough on Miranda’s radar to give the guy a longer look.

He glanced up from the pool to see her. She continued to stare at him. Thanks to her sunglasses and the sun hat she wore, he wouldn’t be able to know for sure if she was staring at him or just lying there with her eyes closed behind the sunglasses. He shifted his eyes and went back to his work.

Miranda frowned. She fixed the top to her orange bikini and rolled her eyes.

Clearly the pool boy hadn’t grown a pair yet. She glanced down at herself and fixed her top again. It wasn’t so much the top being too small as it was her chest being too big. She looked over at the pool boy. He finished his work and walked away. He apparently couldn’t handle an attractive woman staring at him. Then again, most men couldn’t.

Certainly the man she killed last night couldn’t. Miranda was what most would consider plus size and while diets and clothing could hide or enhance certain features of her body, there came a point when one had to stop hiding. She had a beautiful body and was more than comfortable with it. The notion that someone had to be a size four or smaller to pick up guys use to annoy her but now she found it amusing. Miranda had been with plenty of so called ‘hot’ guys who thought they were doing her favor by sleeping with her. The day one of them could last longer than two minutes she might bother to return their call.

Still, she’d never tire of that look in a man’s eyes when she started taking off clothing, by the time she got to her bra, most men were but putty before her. The guy from last night had given her the same look back in his hotel room yesterday, right before Miranda pulled her knife out of her tall black leather spiked boot and cut open his throat. He may have been able to stop the bleeding had his hands not been tied to the bedposts. Her size notwithstanding, Miranda liked to be in control and if that meant using various kinds of restraints, so be it.

Miranda let out a yawn, stretched out on the patio chair, and took a sip of her iced tea. Normally after doing such a job she would have left the city already but she wanted to take a few days for herself and just relax. A loud ringing sound came from within the oversized purse by her side. She had her ring tone set to sound like the ringing of those old rotary phones. Miranda dug through her purse clumsily and answered on the eighth ring.

Hello? she said with a Southern accent.

Hi. Who is this? a woman’s voice asked. She sounded highly annoyed.

You don’t know honey? It’s Anna Marie, Miranda said trying not to smirk. She’d be surprised if the skinny bitch on the other end could actually remember the code. She never liked working with this one.

Anna Marie huh? How was your family visit?

Not as good as I was hoping for. My cousin didn’t have nothing for me.

Sorry to hear that. Would you like some good news?

What’s that honey?

It turns out that your uncle does.

You don’t say. That’s such ah shame since I won’t be seeing him anytime soon.

Oh but you are. You need to come pick it up, tonight. And you need to meet your second cousin for a beer.

Miranda sat up in her recliner and said, Why that’s short notice don’t cha think?

So? Things have changed slightly. I sent you an e-mail with directions.

Gee thanks a lot honey.

The woman on the other end hung up. Miranda turned off her cell phone and got up. She suddenly had a lot to do and a short time to get it done.

CHAPTER 6

Thirty-year-old Nick Walker was a lot of things. He was a mercenary by trade and under his current alias, Nick Summers, he was a bodyguard and trainer for models by day and a club hopping ladies’ man on the weekends.

But tonight he was stood up. He wasn’t upset but he was a little surprised. More so at himself for not seeing it coming. That was usually something he was good at.

Problems Nick?

Nick looked up from the text message on his phone at the bartender. His name was Charlie and he was a few years older than him. A long time ago in what seemed like a different life, Nick’s father had saved his life. Charlie didn’t know who Nick really was or that he was the son of the famous Tony Walker but the two of them were friends and Charlie was a well-informed contact for Nick, especially since he worked the bar in an underground cage-fighting arena under one of Boston’s top clubs.

No, Michelle canceled for this evening. Her father wants to have dinner with her tonight.

Dinner with daddy? Ouch.

Nick shrugged. He really liked Michelle but they weren’t exclusive. Still, he didn’t feel like someone else’s company tonight. Loud music suddenly filled the room. It signaled the start of the evenings fights.

Any thoughts on Bobbi’s fight? He asked.

The girl she’s fighting has a mean right hook. If she hits with it, I think Bobbi goes out, Charlie replied.

Nick started to respond but stopped when he saw three guys walk into the place followed by at least a dozen girls behind them and another half a dozen guys. They were all of Chinese decent save one familiar skinny white guy wearing thick glasses that was bringing up the rear. Charlie saw them too.

What are the Chenghu brothers doing here? Nick asked referring to the first three guys who had walked in.

I’m not sure. I’ve heard rumors that Max was talking with them about a truce but for them to show up here in a big group like this is odd.

Nick remained silent. Max was the owner of the club, not to mention one of Boston’s top arms dealers.

We’re not going to have any problems right Nick?

He looked at Charlie who had a concerned look on his face. Even though he didn’t know the truth about Nick or his past, he had seen him fight and knew that despite the laid-back ladies’ man attitude Nick put on, he could deal some serious damage if he wanted to.

Not from me. The Chenghu brothers don’t like me. I have nothing against them.

And why is it they don’t like you?

I may have slept with their older sister at one point.

Charlie shook his head then saw he was getting a line at the bar. See you later Nick.

Nick nodded and turned completely in his seat to face the cage. It wasn’t a real octagon like in the UFC or the WFL, rather it was a boxing ring that had a homemade steel cage welded around it. A crude door had been cut out for fighters to enter through. It wasn’t the prettiest ring to fight in especially when parts of the cage looked as though one might get tetanus from staring at it too much.

Nick watched Bobbi’s opponent get into the ring, paying more attention to the two black guys that came into the ring with her. They couldn’t have been more obvious at being Max’s men unless they wore T-shirts that read henchmen. Or maybe goons would be a better way to describe the two of them. Yes, they were goons. He didn’t expect them to cause any problems though. Max knew who Bobbi was, specifically he knew that she worked for Nick and that should something happen to her then something would certainly happen to him and there was nothing that all of his goons together could do to stop that.

The loud rap music stopped momentarily only to be replaced by even louder music. This music being the song FMLYHM by the group Seether. Julie, Bobbi’s corner girl came out first. She had dirty blonde hair like Bobbi but Julie bleached it to make it blonder and her hair ended a bit past her slim shoulders. Tonight Julie had the ends of her hair dyed a bright pink. Bobbi usually had purple highlights in her hair when she went out to the clubs, but not on fight nights. She was all business when she went into the cage, usually.

Bobbi appeared a few seconds after Julie and several cheers went up in the place. Twice as many as her opponent had gotten. She took a detour around the tables and bumped into an Arab man in need of a haircut and a beard trimming, she smiled at him but he meandered off to the corner so Bobbi continued on her way to Nick. He never missed one of her fights if he could help it and she always came to get a good luck kiss from him.

Hey there good looking, she said before planting a sloppy wet kiss on his lips.

You been drinking? Nick asked. He could taste the tequila on her.

Only a little, she replied.

Good luck, Nick said.

She winked at him before heading into the cage. Nick shifted in his chair to get a better view. It was show time.

CHAPTER 7

Thirty-two-year-old Bobbi Jordan knew that extra shot of tequila had been a mistake the moment she heard the cage door slam shut. It wasn’t a loud slam by any means but she could still hear it ringing in her ears right up until the referee had asked if she was ready. Bobbi nodded at him, her dirty blonde ponytail swaying as she did.

She stared across the cage at her opponent, some black chick that people called Mo. Compared to herself, this Mo chick was nothing to look at. Nobody ever believed Bobbi when she told them what she did for a living. She was a cage fighter or rather a Mixed Martial Artist, MMA for short. She also worked as a trainer at Nick’s dojo part time. Why this was always a surprise to people was because she looked like the kind of girl one would find in Playboy magazine, not in a cage on a Friday night in a club suspected of illegal activities.

Of course this was all part of her cover story. Before joining up with Nick, Bobbi’s father, Frank Jordan, had been a hitman, one of the best on the East Coast, and she had followed in his footsteps. After a job went bad for her, Nick showed up to save her butt. Now she was part of his secret mercenary team called Red Diamond.

Bobbi heard the bell ding and she came up to the center of the cage. She touched gloves with Mo and stepped back. The only thing that concerned Bobbi with Mo was her arms. They were solid for a chick especially a short chick with short spiked hair that was bleached completely white. Bobbi made a face as she squared off with Mo. This chick’s hair was atrocious.

Mo wound up and sent a right hook right to the side of Bobbi’s head. Or at least that was the idea. Mo’s delivery was so slow Bobbi saw it coming before Mo was doing it and that was with the taste of tequila still on her lips. Bobbi simply stepped back and avoided it. She countered by sending a straight left punch over Mo’s still swinging arm and hit her square in the nose. One punch and Mo was stumbling backwards trying not to go down.

Bobbi was left-handed and so she fought in what was called the South Paw style. She jabbed with her right hand to set opponents up with her powerful left-handed punch. In this case Mo had set herself up to get hit with it. Bobbi’s real strength in fighting though was with her kicks, as she had learned to fight from a kickboxer.

Mo was still trying to keep her balance from that punch when Bobbi brought her right leg up and connected cleanly with a kick to the side of Mo’s head. She fell to her knees and Bobbi pounced. She sent a series of quick punches to the side of Mo’s face and a solid knee to her ribs made Mo roll over and fall onto her back. Bobbi got one hammer fist in before she felt the referee’s arm around her waist to pull her off. She had won. She stood up and looked at Mo who had a dazed look in her eyes. Blood spilled from her nose where Bobbi’s last shot had connected.

Mo’s two corner men came running into the cage to help their girl up while the referee raised Bobbi’s hand. She could hear a chorus of cheers from all sides of the cage and she smiled and waved before stepping out of the cage and headed out back to change into her party clothes. The night was still young after all.

CHAPTER 8

The woman who went by the name Emma Grey let out a laugh once the bartender finished his joke. It wasn’t a funny joke so Emma made sure not to overdo it. The bartender smiled at her breasts before excusing himself to wait on the sudden influx of patrons.

Miranda took a sip of her wine as she looked at herself in the giant mirror behind the bar. Tonight she was ‘Emma Grey’, a hot blonde in a red dress that showed off just the right amount of leg. The dress was from Lane Bryant’s 2014 fall collection not that any of the male patrons in the place cared about that. The blonde wig did its job but she doubted many would believe she was a natural blonde plus her skin was a little too tan but it was nothing she hadn’t factored before getting into Washington, D.C. a few hours ago.

Miranda checked ‘Emma’s’ cell phone for the time. Her target should be here any minute now. She let out a small smile as she took another sip of her wine. Her alias was a good one. ‘Emma’ was a model with a decent website that promoted her various photo shoots. No nudity though, she wanted to be taken seriously in her work. She had a different set of fingerprints over hers, which were on file thanks to a friend in a police department in upstate New York. That same police friend also took the photos of her for the website and helped her get a New York driver license. All of that and it had only required twenty minutes of her time in his one-bedroom apartment. Her friend had one good move but that was all. She remembered being disappointed since he was so tall, but alas he had no imagination.

Miranda looked over at the entrance and saw her target walk in. He started for his usual spot only to stop when he caught sight of her. She smiled at him. He smiled back and seemed to hesitate, he looked over at his usual spot then back at her. She took a long drink of her wine while locking eyes with him. That did it. He started in her direction.

Evening, he said to her.

Hello, she replied before setting her empty glass down on the bar.

May I buy you another drink?

That depends.

On what?

You have to join me.

I can do that.

He sat down on the empty chair next to her and got the bartender’s attention. He quickly came over and got their drinks right to them, much to the annoyance of the other patrons who had been waiting.

I’m Emma Grey, she said to him as he took a drink.

He set his drink down and said, Jerry Greenwell. It’s very nice to meet you.

Same to you, Miranda replied and smiled.

This was going to be easier than she thought.

CHAPTER 9

Twenty-six-year-old Lana Deck couldn’t help but to grin as she read the text message from her sister. She deleted it and slid her phone back into the pocket of her tan pantsuit. She raised her arms above her head and stretched her 5’6 frame as she waited for the elevator to get to her floor. She couldn’t wait for this job to be over. According to her scale this morning she had gained almost seven pounds, she hated wearing pantsuits, and if one more person called her Ms. Deck, she might snap.

Lana Deck wasn’t her real name, she hadn’t even picked it, which annoyed her more than anything. Like that was the best they could do. Her sister always had a say in her alias while Lana just nodded and said, Yes sir.

Then again, that might be a reason why so many thought she was the nice one and her sister was a bitch. Lana smiled at that. At least she only had to wear glasses and keep her long black hair in a French Twist. Course making sure she always did it right every morning was such fun, especially given the Admiral’s attitude about his employees needing to look professional.

The elevator door opened and an attractive man in his mid-twenties stood several feet to her left, a gun in his hands. He wore a black suit with a black undershirt but no tie. He gave her a quick look up and down then relaxed and put his gun away.

Ma’am, he said and moved out of her way.

Lana had seen him a few times here and there but had never learned his name. She smiled at him and took a right off the elevator and down the hall.

What’s ah matta suga? Forget your kneepads inside?

I just need to see the Admiral real quick Rachel, Lana said to the woman who stood blocking the door, her large arms crossed.

Her name was Rachel Cook, a high-ranking member of Trident Protection Agency, a private security company started by the Admiral. She was also one tough ass Southern woman who didn’t take crap from anyone not to mention a very mean person, especially to Lana.

Looks like ya got lucky. He was just about to leave with his daughter. Go ahead in, Ms. Deck.

Lana started to say something but thought better of it since one of Rachel’s arms was as thick as both of hers put together and she was known to be able to bench press over two hundred and twenty pounds. Instead she faked a smile and went into the room. She was greeted with a wave of yelling.

Do you think I give a damn if you already had plans?

All I said was it would have been nice to have a little heads up Daddy. Not get your ass on the Gulfstream and fly to DC.

God forbid I try to make time to spend with my daughter!

I’m here aren’t I?

Lana stood still by the door for a minute, holding a folder in both hands. His daughter was not supposed to be here. She needed the Admiral hurried not angry. She took a deep breath and stepped into the main room of the suite. The Admiral was standing in front of the couch watching MSNBC on mute while drinking a scotch. She caught a glimpse of his daughter’s dark hair before she disappeared into the bathroom.

Excuse me Admiral, she said.

He looked up and when he realized it was her, he gave the closest thing to a smile she’d ever seen.

Yes Lana. I thought you were done for the weekend?

"Just about sir. I needed to get your signature for approval of a training exercise. And to tell you Senator Greenwell called and said he couldn’t