The Bad Ass Brigade (17 page)

Jake heard the mix of anger and embarrassment in her voice and saw the heat pinking her cheeks. He sought to smooth things over. Christ, she can’t be as young as she looks, not if she’s an 0-3 already.

“No, Captain, that’s not what I meant. I know the girls who were killed, and the ones missing were young. By the way, how old are you, Miss, I mean Captain?”

This time not only her chin went up, but her whole body seemed to grow several inches.

“I’m sorry you are disappointed in my appearance, Colonel. You have seen my resume. You know how old I am. You also know the kind of undercover work I do. I can assure you I am equipped for the job.”

Jake regarded her thoughtfully.

“Yes, I have read your resume. Frankly I’m surprised CID has had as many operations that required the services of a—shall we say—a call girl, as you seem to have participated in.”

Her rejoinder was crisp.

“I’m surprised that
you
are surprised, Colonel.” Her eyes swept from one to the other of them. “I would have thought you knew how many assholes hide out in the Army.”

Jake chuckled but didn’t hide the coolness in his voice.

“That’ll do, Captain Anderson. Pull it back. We’ve all read your CV and you’ve read ours. You know what’s expected of you. We are going to plant you in one of the clubs where the girls who’ve disappeared worked. Your job is to see if you can get the attention of that son-of-a-bitch we’re after. The one in a Lt. Colonel’s uniform, who seems to be the last person our vics were seen with. And yes, like you, all the women were Caucasian, most were blond—a couple were redheads… Which according to my colleague,” he added, winking at Brady, “is a sought-after feature in Korea.”

Brady grinned at her with a salacious wink. “Wonder if any of the girls looked like Little Orphan Annie.”

Jake threw Brady a warning frown, but too late. Their would-be vixen had had enough. Tiffany jumped to her feet, knocking her chair to the floor with a crash. She smashed her lips together in a thin line, her eyes flashing, then turned on her heels, heading to the exit.

Jake leaned back in his chair. His lazy drawl was laced with steel. “I didn’t dismiss you, Captain.”

She whirled on him, two angry red splotches marking her pale cheeks. Her bright green eyes burned dark. Fiery, gleaming. Glaring at him, she hesitated then whispered, “Fuck. You.”

Both Anthony and Brady audibly gasped, and jerked up straight in their chairs.

Jake’s voice was rapier sharp.

“What did you say to me?”

He pinned her with a hard stare. She paled and visibly swallowed. He thought he saw tears in her eyes.

She flushed then stammered, “I… I said… good night. Sir.”

Jake held her gaze for a long moment. “We’ll discuss this in the morning. Be in my office at 0900 hours. Don’t be late.”

He kept her frozen in place another moment, then said quietly, “Good night, Captain Anderson. Now, you’re dismissed.”

Brady whistled, wide-eyed, watching her walk away. Anthony frowned. His always-solemn voice was more so.

“Damn, Jake, I don’t see how you can let that insubordination stand.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, Anthony.”

He gave a brooding sigh. Then he added, “Guess that’s what’s good about serving in the Special Forces as long as we did. We write our own rules when we have to.”

He took a sip of his beer. “I think that insubordinate attitude of hers might serve her well in the work ahead.”

Glancing from one to the other, he met their surprised expressions head on.

“Let’s agree. The only thing we all heard her say was good night.” He added with a frown, “That’s an order, men.”

Chapter 2

Tiffany huddled at a corner table in the back of the bar as far away from the three men as possible. She was shaking too hard to even walk out to her Jeep. Her legs were like rubber. She needed to regain her composure. She didn’t remember when she’d been angrier, or more frightened. God, what had gotten into her? She’d been hassled before by men she worked with. Hell, it was standard fare. She’d learned to let it roll off her back like a cold shower. But not tonight. There was something about those arrogant gorgeous men that made her snap. She shuddered, gorge rising in her throat. How could she have said that? To a full bird? Her commander? It was certain he’d take her off the case. Would never let her work with them. And the write-up that he’d put in her file… God… then she reminded herself: a write-up would be letting her off easy.

She tossed back a full shot of whiskey, and motioned to one of the bar girls for another. As the girl took her time sauntering up to the bar, checking out every man on her path, Tiffany couldn’t help but compare the way all the girls had fought to serve Brady. She shook in her head in disgust, but couldn’t keep back a smile. That surfer dude was so outrageous, he was kind of cute.

The whiskey definitely helped, she decided after the third shot. She began to think she might survive after all. She saw the trio heading to the doorway and ducked her head, studiously examining the dried food stains on the table. Certain they hadn’t seen her, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Peering down at her glass, she pretended to nurse her drink. At least looking like a shipwreck kept the circling vultures high on testosterone from bothering her. She chided herself. I must really look bad. Typically, even a whiff of red hair made these Korean guys go apeshit.

The hairs on the back of Tiffany’s neck prickled ominously. A potent warning signal she’d learned to ignore only at her peril. Glancing up, she saw five ominous-looking Korean men heading toward the exit. Their eyes were as hard as their whipcord bodies. Oh, fuck. Even if her erstwhile buddies didn’t recognize the
Kkangpae Jopok
when they saw it, in her two years based at Garrison Yongsan, Tiffany had become intimately familiar with the notorious Korean mafia. The nerve endings in her neck practically screamed. She shoved back her chair and snapped on the protective strap to keep her glasses in place. She sure as hell couldn’t fight half blind. Naturally, her contacts lenses were nestled uselessly on her dressing table at the base.

Among a long list of fearsome traits that cemented their ruthless reputation, the
Kkangpae
were known for their infamous fighting skills. Tiffany had been so impressed watching a street battle when she first arrived in Korea, that she sought out a former
Kkangpae
fighter and paid him through the nose to teach her some of their notorious moves. Added to her already formidable skills, she never again feared walking by herself down the dark streets of Seoul.

The scene in the alley was worse than she’d feared. The three Americans were holding their own with the four goons who’d waited for them, but the addition of the five from the bar didn’t bode well for her team. Or, her
former
team, she reminded herself with a grimace. She allowed herself a moment of unabashed
admiration
at the skills of the Americans. Gardner and Beloit in particular were more than a match for the Koreans. Schaeffer had his own style. But when he drove his steel tipped boot into the face of the guy attacking him, smashing the goon’s jaw and likely crippling him for life, Tiffany put the cocky blond on the pedestal with the other two.

No question, Gardner and the others could have handled the ones waiting for them in the dark. They’d already taken out three of the four. But the shrieking advance of the five men from the bar collapsed their favorable odds in an instant. Tiffany decided it was time to even the fight. With a fearsome shriek of her own, she cleared the railing of the deck and landed on her hands and knees, five feet away from the biggest of the
Kkangpae
. Flipping up from the ground, she drove the steel plate on her heel into the soft spot under his ear. To her delight the guy went down with a whoosh. She had a fleeting moment of joy, knowing it was damned unlikely he’d ever get up.

Her Army Ranger father first sparred with Tiffany when she was four years old. Ten years later, at five feet six inches, her hopes to become as tall and as strong as her father came to a crashing halt. As though a mischievous devil put a concrete block on the top of her head, she stopped growing. And to make matters worse, she grew boobs. Her father was as bewildered as she was with her new attributes, but soon recovered. He taught her moves that compensated for her smallish stature. Her trademark was the one she aimed at the
Kkangpae
fighter who’d just kicked her to the ground and was advancing on her; the gleam in his eyes was as bright as the blade in his hand. As her father taught her, she waited until he got closer, to maximize the force of her kick. When her attacker was almost on her, she drove the steel tip of her boot at his kneecap. The sound of shattering bone and his animal wail confirmed she’d hit home. As the groaning fighter collapsed in an agonized heap, clutching his dangling leg, Tiffany rolled to the side, and leapt up to take on the next one. To her surprise, all nine
Kkangpai
fighters were now on the ground, some of them permanently.

The three men left standing were all staring at her as if they’d seen Black Widow burst from the pages of an Avenger comic.

The cocky blond gaped at her. All teasing gone, only appreciation marked his stunned expression.

But it was the sergeant with the gray black eyes who caught her attention and held it. His lips curled in a knowing smile. His deep voice sent shivers up her spine.

“You are like my sister, Lexie. Someone taught you to fight, the way I taught her.”

He extended his hand. She took it gratefully, shook it firmly, marveling at the way his huge hand swallowed up her small one.

Colonel Gardner stepped forward, studying her. She’d lost her cap in the melee, and could only imagine what her hair looked like. The protective strap on her glasses had broken and the lenses were perched haphazardly on the end of her nose. She shoved her glasses up on the bridge of her nose so she could see him clearly, trying not to duck from his penetrating gaze.

He shook his head then gave her an ironic nod.

“Welcome to the team, Captain.”

She felt the heat stain her cheeks. Determined not to stutter, she said in as strong a voice as she could muster, ‘Um, thank you, sir. Glad to be aboard, sir.”

The Colonel shook his head, a slight smile softening his stern expression.

“And, now, Captain, for the last time tonight, you are dismissed.”

She grinned at him and saluted, “Thank you, sir.”

Stopping a few feet from her jeep, she turned and gave them a jaunty wave. Not hiding her impudent smile, she said, “See you in the morning.
Guys
.”

Chapter 3

Pulling up to the massive iron gates guarding the opulent Villa on the outskirts of Seoul, Clint appraised the hard-eyed men in uniform swarming his limousine. Their hands on holstered weapons spoke to their serious intent. Clint’s liveried driver rolled down his window and wordlessly passed the engraved invitation to the closest guard. Two of the other guards stepped forward and silently scrutinized the invitation. They both leaned down and peered inside the limo, meeting Clint’s eyes. The older of the two jerked out his cell phone and appeared to be comparing the picture on the phone to Clint.

Without a word, the surly guard banged on the side door and barked out an order. The gates slowly swung inward. When he was sure they were out of earshot, Brady tipped up his chauffeur’s brimmed cap and grinned at Clint in the rearview mirror.

“Apparently they expect a redneck like you to have a driver with a pony tail,” he said with a chuckle. “And how many tags do you think they managed to place on this chariot while they were deciding if they would kill us or let us through?”

Clint smiled in return, casting a knowing glance around the interior of the heavily appointed limo. Even though they had been assured that the limousine was soundproof as well as bulletproof, neither he nor Brady took it for granted. Hell, they could have high intensity mikes in every bush, he thought, and no telling what kind of sensors they’d slapped on the limo while they were inspecting them. Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, Brady tapped out a prearranged signal to Jake and the others, confirming that they were inside the gate.

Rounding the circular driveway, Clint and Brady exchanged an appreciative whistle as they pulled up in front of the Asian-styled mansion. Hopping out of the limousine, Clint tipped his large white Stetson to Brady and headed up the impressive marble staircase. He stopped for a moment to fully appreciate the heavily carved twenty-foot double doors at the top of the stairs. Even though their reconnaissance team confirmed the extraordinary wealth of the man he was meeting, Clint was still unprepared for the magnificence of the Villa nestled within a virtual forest, high atop a hill overlooking the sparkling lights of Seoul. Raising the dragon-headed brass knocker with gleaming jade eyes, Clint lurched back when the door swung open. Apparently anticipating Clint’s arrival, the towering man in the doorway looked more like a Sumo wrestler than a butler. The giant threw him an appraising glare, and unless Clint misunderstood, that was laughter he saw for a splint second on the stern man’s visage.

Knowing that his starched Levis, leather belt with the jeweled bull’s head buckle, and fringed vest—topped by the Stetson—were unlikely garb for their usual visitors, Clint reinforced the image by sticking out his hand with a hearty, “Howdy!”

If a seven foot tall, four hundred pound man could sniff, this one would have. Ignoring Clint’s outstretched hand, he merely shuttered his narrow eyes and motioned Clint inside. Not giving him time to study his surroundings, the Sumo ushered him to the entrance of a large room. Quickly assessing the situation, Clint counted seven men inside. All but two were Asian. A couple were likely Japanese, three were Korean. One of the Caucasian men stood by the fireplace, eyeing him suspiciously. The man’s bearing screamed military. From his experience with Jake and the team, Clint read Russian in the scowling man’s features. Over by the sofa, conspicuous in his dress blues, stood a tall, good-looking, dark-haired American. The slight graying at his temples added to his distinguished appearance. The silver oak leaf insignia on his uniform signified his rank as Lieutenant Colonel.