CHAPTER THREE

Leif hated nicknames and although his teammates tended to call him Viking, he always wanted them to just call him by his name. Viking was Noah Anders in his mind. Leif was an American born of Finnish descent. He wasn't even sure that qualified as Viking.

The good thing was that while in Egypt, he fit in much better than many of his American teammates. His dark eyes, dark hair, and dark beard allowed him to blend in well with the locals. It was his size that gave him away as not local.

It was true Egypt, Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan all had some large men, but Leif really stood out. Right now, he wasn't really thinking about any of that. He was thinking about a beautiful, blue-eyed girl that he'd left behind long ago.

He wanted to kick his own ass. He should have reached out to her sooner. He should have gone home when she was there. He should have gone to D.C. Hell, he'd been in D.C. at least a half dozen times in the last five years and never worked up the courage to call her.

He wouldn't be thinking about any of it except his mother sent him a message about Chief and Rachel taking a little vacation getaway to Charleston and his parents were going to join them.

"Dude, let's hit the local watering hole and find a woman," said Alistair.

"You know we can't, brother. We could be called up at any moment. Just sit tight."

Alistair Thomas Fitch was one of his best friends and teammates. They'd known one another since childhood and were fortunate to have gone through basic and Ranger school together. It wasn't just the two of them. They were truly a Belle Fleur team. Rounding out their unit was Forrest Pierre Robicheaux, Walker Sten Norgensen, Sebastian Tadzee Vernon, Brixton Fox Slater, Major Raine Carson, and Patrick Garr Slater.

Of everyone on the team, Sebastian probably possessed the looks, complexion, and ability to pass as an Egyptian more than anyone. His mother was full-blooded indigenous Athabaskan. But Leif was passable with the language, therefore, designated as lead for the op.

"One of the SEALs said some agency team showed up with a super-hot chick," smirked Garr. With a first name like Patrick, he had to learn early on to go with his middle name or nickname if he didn't want to be confused with others at Belle Fleur. Middle name was his choice.

"Brother, you and I both know if it's a chick from the agency, she's nothing special," smirked Leif.

As kids, they'd done everything together. Fought, played, competed, protected. Everything. They knew one another better than any teammates possibly could. Because of their connection, they were the highest-performing team in the Rangers.

"Viking!" yelled the base commander.

"Sir?" he said, standing to greet him.

"Agency says they've found the asset, but we need to meet the contact in the city."

"Aren't they here on-base?" he frowned.

"They were. They went out to get the intel from the locals and their contacts, and now, their agent is sitting in a café in the middle of fuck knows where, and we have to go to them. Let's go."

Ellie waited for her contact to appear in the marketplace. For centuries, vendors had been crowding this very space, selling their wares. It felt old-world with a new-world twist.

Carpet vendors were haggling with customers on cell phones, while spice vendors were weighing items on digital scales and ringing customers up using electronic devices.

It was a strange scene, but one that Ellie enjoyed. She found the Egyptian people to be pleasant, kind, helpful, and, for the most part, respectful. But she never let her guard down. She knew that at any moment, she could be the target of some radical group and end up with a sack over her head.

She picked up the scarf, smiling at the woman behind the table. She gestured for her to try it on and look in the mirror, then gave her a ridiculously low price. But Ellie knew enough that you were supposed to haggle over pricing. It was part of the game, part of the culture. When they settled on a price, she wrapped it around her head and neck.

At the end of the marketplace was a café where the contact was supposed to meet her and give her the location of the asset. She'd worked with the man before and found him to be trustworthy and honest.

Ordering coffee ‘zaboot,' meaning sweet, the waiter brought the delicious concoction along with kahk, delightful butter cookies stuffed with dates and nuts. She drank and ate slowly, trying to buy herself time. When the contact still hadn't shown, she ordered the same thing again, smiling at the man. He laughed, telling her it was good that she ate so much sugar, she needed to gain weight.

"Great," she muttered to herself. "Now my ass is too thin."

A little while later, she spotted someone walking toward her and knew who it was. A man sat in the seat across from her and waved a finger in the air at the waiter. When his coffee was delivered, Ellie just stared at the man.

"Can we move this along, Abubakar? I have to be somewhere." He handed her a huge sunhat and told her to put it on.

"You're burning. That will make you stick out more." She nodded her thanks, placing the hat on her head.

"Well? Where is the asset?"

"Ellie, this is hard for me," he said. "I've known you a long time."

"Yep, and we're wasting time. I just need to get teams out to the asset, and I can't do that unless you tell me where they are. Where…"

"It's your sister, Ellie. They have a woman by the name of Magnolia Stanton in their custody. They said she was found spying at an unsanctioned military installation on the border. She's denying it, of course, but the radicals won't let her go. The government is aware, but she's in the worst possible conditions."

Ellie swallowed, staring at the man as if in some horror movie. This couldn't be. Mags didn't answer when she called, but this couldn't be true. It was someone else. There was another Magnolia Stanton out there somewhere.

He slid an envelope across the table with the information and quickly left her there.

Frozen in place, she looked around the café, everyone seemed to be going about their business. How could they be living their lives when her sister was being held captive? Trying to decide what to do next, she felt the eyes of every person in the café turn. When she turned in the direction of their stares, she nearly fell over.

"Hello, Ellie. Nice to see you."

It couldn't be her. It just couldn't be. He stared at the woman across the road seated in the café and shook his head. No way could it be her. She had a wide-brimmed sunhat on, hanging low over her face. Beneath it was a thick white scarf tied for modesty. But it was her.

"Do you have eyes on the contact?" asked his commander.

"I do, sir." It cannot be her.

"We're still not sure if she's truly on our side or theirs, but the agency says she's the best. Be careful with this one, Viking."

"I will be."

He would be because he knew her. He'd grown up with her. They'd played together, gone to school together, shared their first kiss together. Everything about her was familiar. But why in the ever-loving fucking hell was she here in the middle of a city on the brink of utter disaster?

Egypt was a powder keg waiting to explode. Again. Civil unrest and calls for a coup were seeping into the streets. Buildings were being burned, people kidnapped, and she was sitting in a café, allegedly to meet with her contacts. Her fucking contacts.

They hoped that with the shared information from the contacts, this woman, they would be able to squelch the dissidents and find the asset who'd been taken.

Leif stood to his full height, a towering six-feet-seven, and walked through the park and across the street to the café. He didn't want her to run, but if she saw him, she just might. As others saw him walking toward them, they turned, staring in awe at this giant among men.

When the woman felt the eyes of everyone in the café turning, she turned as well. Opening her mouth to speak, no sound came out. Nothing.

"Hello, Ellie. Nice to see you."