Page 92 of Hidden Agendas (Tempting SEALs 4)

“You couldn’t have predicted this,” Kell snapped, referring to Fuentes’s attempts on Emily.

“No, I didn’t.” The senator breathed out wearily as he shook his head then. “But I didn’t have to. I knew it was just a matter of time before you stepped in anyway.”

Kell stared at the men around him, their efforts to hold back their amusement bringing a snarl to his lips.

“Sit down, Kell.” The admiral waved his hand toward the chair. “Richard’s right. Give the girl a chance to find her composure before you go to her. She’s a woman; better learn now when to comfort her tears and when not to.”

Was she crying? His gaze snapped to the closed door. God help him if she was in there crying alone.

“I can make that an order, Lieutenant,” the admiral reminded him. “Give us ten more minutes, then you can go to her. We still have a few things to discuss here.”

Clenching his fists, Kell sat back down slowly, determined that if he heard so much as a whimper from the bathroom then orders be damned, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would stay put.

As he breathed out a frustrated sigh, his gaze lifted, locking with Ian’s where he stood behind the senator, leaning casually against the wall. For a moment, just a moment, he could have sworn he saw grief reflected in the other man’s eyes. Not that it would have been the first time he caught that flash of emotion. Just as before it was gone as quickly as it had come, and the ever-present mocking amusement took its place.

“Securing the Andover mansion is going to be a bitch,” Reno said, interrupting Kell’s thoughts, drawing his gaze back to the group and a plan of the house and grounds that Reno was laying on the table. “It’s an old plantation mansion with several wings and additions. There’s no sign of hidden entrances or tunnels, so we’re lucky there.” A Southern plantation home with no hidden tunnels or entrances. Hell, someone had been confident when they built that house.

“What we do have”—Macey sat forward to point to the grounds—“are unfenced grounds, thick woods, and so many damned guests we’re going to want to start taking potshots. Look alive, boys, and I’ll show you what I’ve done.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully then as he glanced at Kell. “I’ve procured a handy little flesh-toned transmitter to attach to Emily. And getting those bad boys wasn’t easy, let me tell you. If—and I stress the if—she’s taken, then we’ll at least have a chance to get her coordinates. It’s called hedging our bets. I’ve also tapped into the Andovers’ security cameras and the Secret Service boys working with us will have monitor duty. We can go over the recordings after the party and see who we can see. We’re going to catch this son of a bitch, and when we do, he’s going to tell us where Nathan is. God help him then, because there won’t be nothin’ of Mr. White left once we get finished with him.”

Violence simmered in the air, flashed in the gazes of each man there. Mr. White, whoever the hell he was, had tortured Nathan to the point that there wasn’t a chance he would ever be the same again.

The laughing Irishman, they had once called him. His mother had come from Ireland with her parents, and Nathan’s grandfather’s accent had influenced Nathan’s speech as a child. With his bright blue eyes and broad, amused smile, he had charmed the women and talked his way out of more trouble than any man had a right to be able to.

His luck had run out when Fuentes captured him though. There was no amusement in the eyes of the man in the photos Macey had printed out. There was madness, rage—death. There was nothing of the man Kell had known and often called a brother.

There would be even less of Emily left if Sorrell managed to get his hands on her. The tales of his tortures, of the lives his women led, were the stuff of nightmares. Fuentes was playing sandbox games compared to Sorrell.

“Judas’s last contact promised backup if she is taken,” Macey stated. “Whether we can trust him or not, I’m not saying. I know in the last two years, he’s not screwed us over yet.”

“She won’t be taken,” Kell informed them all, the guttural tone of his voice almost shocking him. “We cover her and she won’t be taken. Then we’ll watch the security recordings Macey takes and we’ll find the bastard there. Emily is not to be left undefended.”

“We’ll protect Emily and we’ll find Nathan,” Ian said then. “No matter the cost.”

“No matter the cost,” they repeated.

But the edge in Ian’s voice had Kell’s gaze returning to him once again. Nathan had been Ian’s closest friend, even as a teenager, and Kell knew Ian had grieved harder than the rest of them when they lost the other man.

Ian would die for any of his brothers, but for

Nathan, he would have sold his own soul. A chill raced up Kell’s spine at the thought. If Ian got to Mr. White or Sorrell before the rest of the team managed to pull him off them, God only knew what would happen.

Twenty-three

NIGHTMARES TWISTED THROUGH EMILY’S DREAMS that night, making her sleep restless despite Kell’s best attempts to help her rest. When she awoke the next morning she was tired and cranky, and the nervous panic filling her stomach made her feel weaker than ever.

She hated this feeling. She had never known true fear until Fuentes kidnapped her, and since then, she had sworn she would never feel it again. Now, the closer the Andover party came, the more the nerves twisted in her stomach and the more upset her nightmares left her.

Because she couldn’t remember them. They were right there at the edge of her memory as she awoke, but they never slid from the shadows enough for her to grasp them.

And they had never left her fighting with the sick feeling of panic that rose within her this morning.

Tomorrow night, they would arrive at the Andover ball, and she had a feeling that whatever happened there, nothing would ever be the same again.

Shaking her head at the thought, Emily finished her shower before quickly drying her hair and dressing in a pair of soft cotton shorts and a matching camisole top. The light material was cool and comfortable, clothes she normally wore when she was arranging research notes on her computer and plotting her books.

She glanced at the laptop as she left her bedroom, and breathed out a sigh of regret. It would have to wait just a little bit longer. The book she had almost finished and that her agent was so excited about seemed part of another world right now, a world she couldn’t go back to until after tomorrow night. Everything hinged on tomorrow night.

The scent of coffee greeted her as she entered the living room, and the sight of Kell, shirtless and in bare feet, moving around the kitchen brought an ache to her chest.

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