Ready for Danger
Authors: CV Silk
Author's note: You have no business
reading this book if you are not legally an adult in your jurisdiction. All
characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older
.
Synopsis
Palmer Fash is paid for one thing and one thing only: to protect
billionaire heiress Kathleen Rhinebolt.
And that's the last thing she wants.
Kathleen is perfectly happy being an aid worker in Southeast Asia,
helping villagers and teaching kids. She doesn't need a bodyguard, even one as
rugged and handsome as Palmer.
He has to put up with her crap even though he's getting fed up.
Every day she's throwing herself in more and more danger, always further apart
from her cushy New York lifestyle.
But as rebels close in, there's something else Kathleen and Palmer
have to fight: the growing attraction between them.
This standalone novella is raunchier than you can imagine. It's not
your typical romance. There are steamy DIRTY scenes throughout this book.
Really dirty
.
Previously published as
A Mercenary
Heart
.
Ready for Danger
By CV Silk
Copyright © 2014-2016 CV Silk
Previously published as
A Mercenary Heart
by
Cheri Verset
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only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would
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own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Even though Palmer was only wearing a
T-shirt under his bulky tactical vest and that the sun had gone down over six
hours ago, he was still covered in sweat. It didn’t help that he was carrying
30 pounds of gear while traipsing through the Burmese jungle. His rough skin
and considerable biceps were shrouded with dirt and camouflage paint. He was
the essence of a warrior.
“Skyscraper, this is Hiker 1,” he
whispered into his headset. “Give me a sitrep.”
“Hiker 1, this is Skyscraper. In position
now. I have vantage point on the target and the place is quiet.”
“Roger, Skyscraper. Hiker 2, Hiker 3, Hiker
4 report in.”
Palmer took a knee next to a palm tree to
minimize noise. He wiped the sweat off his hands and tightened his grip on the
HK G36C Commando assault rifle.
“Hiker 1, this is Hiker 2. I’m one klick
from the entry point. ETA 20 minutes.”
“Roger.”
“Hiker 3 here,” came a man with a British
accent. “I’m just southwest of Hiker 2. Currently in position and awaiting the
go code.”
“Roger that, Hiker 3.
“Hiker 1, Hiker 4. I’m in position, no
tango in sight.”
“Roger. Check in again in ten.”
The four other members of his team
acknowledged the order and Palmer resumed his walk. He normally wasn’t nervous
when on an operation. Combat had a way of soothing him because he was in his
element. He didn’t know how to bake a cake or rebuild an engine or paint a
sunset in watercolors, but he was an expert in the art of war.
However, everything was different on this
mission. For the first time in his life, he had a personal stake in the
outcome. He wasn’t assaulting some terrorists he knew to be bad on paper. He
wasn’t protecting some nameless dignitary or corporate shill.
No, he was rescuing Kathleen Rhinebolt
who had been kidnapped by bandits and taken deep into the dead zone of the
Myanmar backcountry.
He tried to push her out of his head but
it was impossible. For months she had been his number one priority, always
nearby, always moments away from doing something dumb or careless. And now she
was in trouble by no-fault of her own. It was his own stupidity that had gotten
her kidnapped.
He snarled at the blackness of the night
and picked up speed. The jungle was still, even the animals were asleep this
late at night. It was great to listen for enemy movements but the opposite was
also true. The rebels would be able to see him coming, though that was
unlikely.
He couldn’t hear the helicopter, which
was a good sign. It was his first time working with the pilot, a young Indian
guy who had recently discovered the private sector paid more than the armed
forces of India. So far, he was proving to be a good asset.
He had seen action with the other members
of this team. Skyscraper, the sniper currently lying face first in the dirt up
in the mountain, was former Marine Force Recon. Hiker 2 used to be Canadian
Special Forces while Hiker 3 was one of his best friends, a decorated ex-SAS
operative. Hiker 4 had been a Navy SEAL until a fistfight with an officer had gotten
him discharged. Palmer had hand-picked them because tonight he needed the best.
Kathleen needed the best.
Ever since the junta had been thrown out
of power, the country was in disarray and people who had been in command,
viscous killers who had been given free reign, had taken to the jungle to
regroup. They smuggled precious stones, ran weapons and drugs, and kidnapped
the few foreigners who dared venturing so far in country.
In hindsight, what had happened was
inevitable. What had been less predictable was how Palmer felt at the moment.
It was troubling him that he was taking it so personally.
It was troubling him that he felt so
strongly about Kathleen.
He chased his feelings away and picked up
speed. There was no telling what they would do to her before they made their
ransom demands. He was so focused that he barely noticed when it started
raining.
THREE MONTHS BEFORE
Kathleen had been the architect of this
school. It was basically a glorified carport – four pillars and a slanted roof
with one full wall to hold the blackboard – but she was proud of it
nonetheless. And today she was a schoolteacher as well.
“
Tac, hnac, sum, le, nga
,” she
said, counting numbers while she pointed to the corresponding Burmese numeral
on the board.
The 16 kids, sitting cross-legged on the
braided bamboo mats, quickly repeated in a singsong manner Kathleen always
found charming. Then she went on.
“
Hkrauk, hku hnac, hrac, kui, hcay
.”
They repeated again and it made her
smile. Until recently, she had never been especially enamored by children. In
her mid-20s and with no man in her life, she certainly wasn’t in a hurry to
have any kids of her own. But being in this village and taking care of these
little guys was making her mushy.
“That’s great!”
She tried mixing in some English even though
her own Burmese skills were getting along pretty well. Children were usually terrific
at picking up a second language before they reached puberty. They giggled every
time she spoke English as if it was a made-up language meant to make them
laugh.
“Okay, stop making fun of the white lady!”
They laughed again before she launched
into a lesson on additions and subtractions. As an aid worker for an NGO, she
filled many hats in this town. She coordinated with other organizations of
course, but also she helped implement new infrastructures and she acted as a
nurse. However, what she enjoyed the most was teaching.
She was about to leave math for geography
when she heard a commotion coming from farther into this village. There was the
distinctive sound of a truck and the townspeople congregating toward it. It was
funny how the simple appearance of a vehicle was treated like Christmas around
here.
And she was just as intrigued as everyone
else. Coming from New York City, she had grown up around a constant stream of
cars but here it was different. In this far-flung village, a vehicle meant new
supplies, new people.
New problems.
She remembered a month ago when a young
man had come in from Yangon. He was a distant relative of one of the town
elders. He had brought with him some cocaine which had led to three muggings,
two fistfights, and one overdose. Following this incident, she was just as distrustful
of newcomers as anyone else.
“Get your geography books and a look at
chapter three,” she instructed in Burmese. “I’ll be right back.”
She left the school and joined the others
surrounding the truck. A Caucasian man in his early 30s jumped out the back. He
was dressed in a T-shirt and cargo pants, all very nondescript. There was a
purpose about him, a confidence usually not found in aid workers arriving
someplace new. This put her on her guard but what she saw next terrified her.
A pistol was strapped to his right leg.
Some locals shouted questions at him but
the man was unfazed. He reached into the truck and produced two suitcases in
addition to a rectangular aluminum Zero Halliburton case which could only
contain some type of weapon.
The others weren’t as troubled by this as
she was so she made her way forward to get some answers.
“
Ka mya
!” she exclaimed, pushing
people out away. “
Ka mya
!”
She found herself standing in front of
the stranger. He was about six feet tall and well-built though not freakishly
so.
“Excuse me,” she said again, this time in
English. “We don’t have any hotels here. I think you have the wrong village. I
suggest you get back in the truck before it drives away.”
He looked at her and waited a few seconds
before speaking. “You’re full of opinions, aren’t you?”
His accent was American, vaguely
Southern.
“The people of this town are not too big
on outsiders. And we’re not too fond of guns around here either. It would be
best if you didn’t stay long.”
“I’m looking for a woman, her name is Kathleen
Rhinebolt.”
“What?”
“Kathleen Rhinebolt, do you know her? Is
she here?”
She nodded. “It’s me, I’m Kathleen.”
“Palmer Fash. Your father sent me to
protect you.”
* * *
Grabbing his luggage, Palmer followed her
away from the truck. She stopped by the school and dismissed her class in rapid
fire Burmese that actually impressed him.
“This way,” she barked.
The village essentially had two roads
laid out in a cross. Each was lined with houses built on stilts, no doubt to
protect against floods common during the monsoon season, which was still a
couple of months away. The houses were made of planks and had no doors or glass
windows.
He followed her all the way to road
number two. Professionalism dictated that he shouldn’t stare at her body as she
walked ahead but it was a challenging task.
The woman was small but in no way
delicate. In her T-shirt and shorts, her curves were spectacular, and even
though she had a bitchy attitude he considered her quite attractive. He loved
the way her ponytail bounced as she walked.
He hated himself for thinking this about
his principal and focused on following her up the steps and into her house.
“Nice digs,” he said when they were
inside, shielded from the scorching sun.
The place was perhaps 15 foot square and
completely devoid of furniture. The walls and floor were covered with weaved
bamboo strands and when he spotted a pile of blankets he figured it served as
the master bedroom.
She spun on her heels and her expression
had hardened even more. “What are you really doing here?”
“I told you, ma’am. Your father hired my
security firm to keep you safe. I’ve been searching for you for two weeks. You’re
a hard lady to find.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t want to be found.”
“It’s not my problem, ma’am. I’m being
paid handsomely to do two things. One, I’m supposed to convince you to come
back to New York. Your father says all is forgiven if you come back with me.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” Kathleen said,
crossing her arms which only highlighted her generous chest.
“Your father said you would say that. So
two, I’m to stay here with you to offer protection until you decide to leave.”
“That’s not gonna happen either. So you’re
just gonna stay here in this village, for years if I want to?”
“I don’t have a family back home and the
money is good. So yes, you’re stuck with me.”
“You have no right! My father has no
right to keep tabs on me! I’m a grown woman and if I wanna spend my life doing
humanitarian work that’s my business. Just because he runs that financial
empire, that he’s the king of Wall Street, that doesn’t give him the right to
control me like one of his damn portfolios.”
“There is a third option,” Palmer said
calmly.
“What?”
He set his luggage down on the floor and
ignored her inquiring look. He rummaged through his suitcase and pulled out a
satellite phone. It was the middle of the night in Manhattan but his
instructions were clear. He dialed a number he had memorized and waited.
“Mr. Rhinebolt? This is Palmer Fash from
Greenbrier Global Security. Yes sir, she’s with me.”
He handed the phone to the woman and he
took a step back to let them talk. It went as he expected, her protesting
having a babysitter, arguing that she was old enough to make her own decisions.
But Palmer also knew that a billionaire like her father was used to getting his
way.
The phone call lasted $27 – it was a
habit of Palmer’s to measure the length of satellite calls in money rather than
in minutes. She gave him the phone back.
“So that was your precious third option?”
He shook his head. “No. The third option
is if you refuse my protection, I’m to bring you back by force.”
She started laughing. “That’s funny. You’re
kidding, right?”
“No, ma’am. My company has a rapid
deployment team on standby. By the time I carry you back to Yangon, we’ll have
a jet ready to fly you back to America. I have sedatives in my case if you
resist.”
That shut her up.
* * *
Kathleen resented her father but her work
was more important than anything, so she eventually agreed to the terms. The Neanderthal’s
company had deep pockets and he managed to relocate an entire family so he
could rent their house, located across the street from hers.
It surprised her that over the next
several weeks he managed to blend in with the scenery. He didn’t dress like a
soldier and for the most part his pistol was inconspicuous, hidden under his
shirt. He didn’t hover like a Secret Service agent and although he was always
within talking distance, he wasn’t always within sight.
She did her best to ignore him and went
back to her duties. She taught the kids every day, she supervised the building
of a well on the outskirts of town, and about once every ten days she made the
long journey to Yangon to coordinate efforts with the Red Cross and agencies
working with the UN.
She also often met with Bryce who did
similar work in a nearby village. He was her only friend ever since he’d shown
up a month before. He was a good diversion from her bodyguard. Life returned to
normal but she still wasn’t comfortable having someone to watch over her
constantly.
