Page 6 of The Forgotten Wife

Thesemen wouldn’t hesitate to cut a man in half. They were the best of the best and exactly what he wanted. He would gladly pay ten, hell, twenty, times their going rate, if they guaranteed him success on this mission.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes to fight off the tension headache pounding his temples.

“I know you think you’re superhuman, but going without sleep before a mission like this is just asking for trouble.”

Nick didn’t open his eyes. He knew Alexandros, the cousin who was more like a brother to him, would be glaring at him with the same pained expression he’d used on Nick since they were kids.

“Yes, and I’m guessing all the sleepyougot is the reason why you’re looking fresh-faced and perky right now?” he snarked.

Fact was, neither of them had slept in two days, not since Nick had made his phone call and Alex had cancelled his plans and hopped on his jet from Athens to London.

Nick glanced over at Alex. Like him, Alex had Greek American parentage, and they’d both served in the U.S. Marine Corps. For as long as he could remember, Alex had been there for him. Not that he wasn’t a pain in the ass when he chose to be.

Like now…

“You forget I’m not vested in this gig. I’m merely coming along for the exercise. Sitting behind a desk day in and day out plays havoc with my six-pack,” Alex said.

Despite his lazy ribbing, Alex’s foot tapped impatiently on the bare metal floor. In fact, the only time either of them had sat down for longer than five minutes on this mission had been on the flight from London to Morocco, where they’d rendezvoused with the hired men. Sitting down made Nick feel like he was wasting precious time.

So he stood.

And he paced.

And he cursed Belle Winkworth-Jones Andreakos.

What on earth had possessed her to fling herself into the middle of a war zone thousands of miles from home? Granted, the unrest in Nawaka had only been minor when she’d firstarrived there six weeks ago. But she could easily have returned home once the conflict escalated. Why the hell hadn’t she?

“Oh and stop with all that pacing before you wear a hole in the plane. You’ll get your chance to interrogate her about all the things she’s done wrong when we bring her home,” Alex offered.

“I’m beginning to regret calling you. All you’ve done since you got to London is attempt to piss me off. Guess what? You’re succeeding.” The fact that Alex had guessed the reason for his angst rubbed him the wrong way.

Alex stood, too, his restless energy echoing Nick’s. “What did Wallace say when you called him?”

During the telephone conversation two days ago, his former commanding officer had brought him up to speed on clashes in the country neighbouring where Belle had gone missing.

“Apparently, the skirmishes spilled into Nawaka only in the past three weeks.” Not surprisingly, Nawaka’s rich mineral deposits had finally proved too much temptation for the greedy few who wanted to exploit the country’s resources, and with the continued war and raging famine in that region, the porous borders had been very easy for the rebels to breach. “But the guy we’re dealing with, Mwana, has been in control of the area for the last five years. In the past year, he’s made inroads toward securing more and more of the country. Word is he also has a solid following.”

Alex cursed. “Theos,I hate that word—following. It’s a short step down from the wordcult.And it almost always means you’re bound to do a crazy dance with one or twofollowerswho’re bordering on fanaticism. Wallace say anything else?”

Nick shook his head. “His area of expertise is now Southeast Asia. He told me if Belle had gotten herself captured in Manila, he’d have been our man.”

Alex smirked and shook his head.

Still friends with General Timothy Wallace ten years after retiring his U.S. Marine uniform, Nick had thought of no one better to turn to, and the older man had come through for him. Within six hours, he’d assembled the men now aboard the plane and found a spare seat on a military jet to transport Nick to the American airbase in Morocco.

Frustration had gnawed at him when he’d been forced to hang around while the mercenaries strategized, counter-strategized, and waited for intelligence to come in from Nawaka. Knowing they were right had not made the wait any easier. And knowing he had to rely on others because his own military skills were hopelessly rusty after ten years’ disuse angered him even more.

He scanned the plane again, thinking how different this was from the way he normally travelled. The Andreakos private jets he and Alex owned, with their state-of-the-art systems and luxurious interiors, were a far cry from this shelled-out cargo plane with jump seats and guardrails lined up on the sides. But since they needed to call as little attention to themselves as possible, he had to settle for this mode of transport.

Wrenching himself from his thoughts, he glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time and willed the lazy hand sweeping its face to move faster. With a start, he noted the date—Friday the thirteenth.

No, he didn’t believe in stupid clichés and silly superstitions.

Still, he could do nothing to stop the chill creeping down his spine. He tore his gaze away and focused on John Allen, the leader of the group, as he approached.

“We’ll be landing in thirty minutes, sir. Transportation is already in place.” Allen was built like a Sherman tank, with bulging muscles testifying to an addiction to weightlifting.

“Fine. Have you gone over the details again with your men?” “No need, Mr. Andreakos. They know what they’re doing.”

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