Hot Protector(26)

“Better put those in the dryer,” she blurted to stop the words from forming on her lips.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Your call,” he said, backing away from her slowly, giving her the chance to stop him.

She didn’t.





COLONEL JOHN MENDEZ was not a happy man at the moment. He stared at the wall opposite his desk and gripped the receiver in his hand a little more tightly.

“Say that again, Hawk.”

Jack “Hawk” Hunter was one of the best damn snipers he’d ever had in HOT. But then the man had married a frigging pop star—a beautiful, smart woman to be sure, but still a detriment for Mendez and HOT—and ended up leaving the military after finishing out his enlistment.

“Fiddler’s in the wild, sir.” Hawk proceeded to fill him in on the circumstances, and Mendez felt his gut twisting with every word.

Fucking Grigori Androv. The asshole was a criminal. He’d bought Zoprava a year ago in an attempt to look legitimate, but he hadn’t given up his other businesses.

He also had powerful friends, which meant he remained largely untouched by the law. Whenever he felt the heat of an investigation or unwanted attention on his activities, he donated a large sum of money to some charity or other and moved the focus there.

Mendez pressed a button to bring his aide into his office. The aide, a crisp first lieutenant from West Point—God, he hated West Pointers sometimes, even though he was one—popped in immediately.

Mendez put his hand over the phone. “There was a fire last night on Ridge Road. Get me the report. And get me the report on Grigori Androv.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said before executing a perfect about-face and retreating through the door.

“So this girl stole a flash drive from Androv and mailed it to Paris. And Fiddler wants to go get it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Mendez said. He ran a hand through his hair, absently noting that it was time to see the barber, before bringing his mind back to the problem at hand. If Androv wanted this girl dead, then he wasn’t going to stop until she was. Putting her in protective custody wouldn’t be enough to keep her safe forever.

Fuck, his boys certainly knew how to get into trouble on their own. Give them a few days R & R to get drunk and fuck their brains out, and what did they do?

Some of them ended up as fugitives from Russian megalomaniacs. He should reel Fiddler in hard and put a stop to this—but he wasn’t going to. Aside from the fact he wasn’t letting an innocent girl’s life be put in danger, he also wasn’t turning down an opportunity to get something he could use against Androv in the future.

“You’re providing mission support?” he asked Hawk.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s good. HOT can’t officially do anything….”

“I hear a but, sir.”

Mendez blew out a breath and stared at the wall again. Dammit all to hell. He couldn’t send assets in, couldn’t officially involve HOT. He had a lot of freedom from typical military bullshit in this organization, something he’d fought long and hard to get. But he still answered to the Pentagon and the president—and he wasn’t abusing HOT’s autonomy. If he did, he could lose everything he’d gained for HOT over the years.

But he could ask Sam for help.

Samantha Spencer was CIA and she had access to things he didn’t—just like he had access to things she did not. Thinking of Sam made his balls ache. Over the past few weeks, he and Sam had renewed their friendship in a way he was definitely enjoying.

Sex with Sam was good—and there were no strings attached, which he liked. She liked it too, and that meant it worked for them both.

“Give me some time to work a connection. Can you continue providing support?”

“Yes, sir—I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Mendez couldn’t suppress the grin that spread over his face. Special Ops soldiers stuck together in a way civilians could never understand. He loved that about this community, loved being a part of it. Loved taking care of the men and women under his command.

Even though he would chew their asses for getting involved in shit situations every single time.

“You’re calling the Alpha Squad members when we hang up, aren’t you?” Because no way would Hawk or Fiddler not let their team know what was happening.

Hawk cleared his throat. “Do you really need to know that, sir?”

“No, probably not.” It gave him plausible deniability, though that was just a sham since he knew the truth. He shook his head. God, he loved these guys. And this job. But he was still kicking ass and taking names when he got the opportunity. Damn hotheaded fuckers. “Keep me informed. I’ll be in touch soon.”