Page 52 of Capturing Victory

“I wish that was true, my daughter,” he murmured. “I wish you were loyal to me once more.”

Pain blossomed in her chest and threatened to choke her. A part of her wanted to dive into his arms and beg him to accept her again, accept her as the daughter she should be. She closed her eyes and took a breath, shoving the pain away. “And I wish you cared more about me than you do about murdering Ivan Vogel.”

This man wasn’t her father. Jaya’s father would never use her against her lover, no matter what. Jaya’s father had loved her unconditionally and he had died horrifically in a bomb attack. Just like she wasn’t Father’s daughter; his daughter had died in her bed. Jaya had never been able to replace her. Father had always held Jaya at a distance, never hugging her close, never giving her the tender words a teenager needed to hear as she grew. She’d been a useful tool and now she was about to bring him his greatest gift, the thing he’d been waiting for.

“I assume he’s tracking you,” Father said.

There was no point in denying the obvious. Father had already guessed how much she meant to Ivan and denying an attachment would be pointless. Besides, she might be able to use her unique position to negotiate a truce between the two men. She had to try; both men had feelings for her, she had the best chance of getting them to stand down. “There’s a chip in my shoulder,” she admitted.

He nodded his head absently, his eyes calculating. “He’ll be here soon then. Probably started tracing your whereabouts the moment we parachuted off that roof. His tech capabilities will be sophisticated, so he likely tracked us while we were flying. Bastard might be here within the hour.”

Jaya tilted her head back and glared. “Count on it. If there’s one thing Ivan’s good at, it’s finding me.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

From the outside Ivan knew he looked his usual icy collected self. He wore the same clothes as his men; combat fatigues meant to blend into a jungle environment since Jaya’s captor had led them to Thailand during rainy season. He sat in the back of the military aircraft he’d purchased for bigger operations, leaning forward, arms bent loose across his knees. Though he appeared calm, even speaking to Keane about logistics, on the inside he was a boiling cauldron of fear, fury and smouldering rage. He intended to bury Father’s operation until it was nothing but a pile of rocks.

“We can land the plane in Bangkok and drive in, it’ll take maybe three to four hours to get to her location,” Keane said pointing at a location on the map. “The region is dense. I suspect the going’ll be slow once we’re on the ground and in the mud.”

Ivan shook his head and stabbed the map with his middle finger. “Here. She’ll be half hour out, max.”

Keane growled his displeasure. “We can’t land this fuckin’ thing in the middle of a jungle, boss. Bad idea.”

Ivan turned icy eyes on his second. “Didn’t say anything about landing. And I’m not asking your opinion.”

Keane frowned and then, when he realized what the boss was saying, turned an interesting shade of green. “Awe, fuck off. Fucking hate jungle jumps.”

Ivan grunted. “Assholes got onto my roof that way. Figure we can return the favour.”

“Sure,” Keane snarled, swallowing audibly and reaching for the parachute over his head. “Hey,” he shouted down the plane toward the pilot, “when was the last time these things were safety inspected?” No one answered, but everyone around them began putting on their parachutes and checking each other’s harnesses. Keane pulled his on and latched the harness around his chest and stomach. He glared at Ivan. “Fuck you.”

Ivan followed suit, ignoring his irate second-in-command. Once he was strapped in, he twisted around to glance out the window. He pointed. “See that, we’ll meet on the west edge of that town. Organize the men.”

Keane nodded and stood, reaching for a strap over his head to steady himself. “Oi, listen up!” he shouted down the length of the plane. Two dozen heads swivelled toward him. He explained their plan in short, succinct sentences. Moments later, the co-pilot was opening the door and they were preparing for the jump. One at a time his men jumped from the plane without hesitation. He wasn’t surprised, most of them were ex-paramilitary or guerilla. They were all trained for this. Keane turned to glare at Ivan before tucking his arms across his chest and stepping out the door. Ivan nodded at the co-pilot and took his turn, following his man through the door.

He’d jumped many times in his life, both while training with his men and when the need to parachute into certain countries to make a deal arose. He always enjoyed the rush of a good freefall. The feeling of air and space flying past him, caressing his hair and face, cooling his skin. It was like the wide-open solitude of the sky matched the permanent iciness of his heart. But today he felt none of that, just a desperate need to put boots on the ground, get to his woman and ensure her safety. Then beat some damn sense into her for putting them both in this goddamned situation. A situation she could have prevented if she’d been honest with him.

He looked to his right and then his left. Parachutes were opening all around him and men were drifting gently toward the trees below. He could tell his guys were aiming for the small clearings in between and hoped they were accurate, he needed them largely unhurt for the operation. He knew he should open his own chute, prepare for landing. But the overwhelming desire to land fast, get to the village and plan the assault was replacing his need for safety. He waited, glancing at his watch and counting down until he knew he was reaching critical velocity. He felt, rather than saw, Keane’s anxiety. The Irishman was shouting, but he was too far away for Ivan to hear.

Ivan deployed his chute and braced for landing, bending his knees for the impact. He hit the ground seconds later, much harder than he would have if he’d stayed in the sky longer. He allowed his body to collapse and rolled, tangling in the parachute as he went. “Motherfucker!” he snarled as his shoulder jarred against a rock. As soon as he stopped moving he was back on his feet. A quick inventory proved that he was fine except for a few bruises.

Rather than waste time pulling his parachute in, he pulled his blade from its sheath and severed the lines, detaching himself from the billowing fabric. He dropped it and walked away, heading swiftly for the village. He got to the meeting point within minutes, the first to arrive. Men began jogging up to him moments later, hunkering down, waiting for their next order. They’d been working for Ivan for long enough that, even without job specifics, they knew exactly what to expect from him.

Keane strode toward Ivan, a look of savage disgust on his face. Ivan understood when he caught a whiff of the guy’s breath. Apparently the Irishmanreallyhadn’t enjoyed his jump or his landing; maybe both.

“Report,” Ivan demanded. “Is everyone here?”

“Quinn broke his right arm landing in a tree,” Keane said right away and then did a quick head count. “Everyone’s here.”

“Can he shoot left-handed?” Ivan asked.

“Yes, sir.” A man stood up.

Ivan glanced at him. He was holding his arm stiffly at his side, but he looked tough enough. He should be, Ivan only hired the best of the worst. Quinn appeared ready and able to join the strike team. “Stay on the periphery, lay down cover fire. Don’t engage directly unless you’re ordered to. If you’re lying to me about your ability to shoot left, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“Yes, sir,” Quinn acknowledged quickly.

Ivan laid out the plan for his men, allowing Keane to interrupt occasionally with logistical suggestions. Though Ivan had decades of field experience and was a deadly opponent, Keane was a true man of war. His ability to wage all out battle was what made him the only man worthy to stand at Ivan’s side and why Ivan tolerated him, despite his toe-over-the-line approach to his boss. Finally, Ivan looked up from the map he’d been tracing with his finger.

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