I frown. Though it’s sort of idiotic to be thinking this way, I make a note to discuss with whoever’s in charge about that. She’s distressed. Why the hell would they let us in without verifying she’s all right?
Natalie has receded into a kind of shocked state. The tears have ebbed, at least, so she walks woodenly for the elevators. The apartment is nothing fancy, but it’s certainly nice—one of the nicer places I’ve ever seen in this city. The embassy must have made sure to put her up in their best location to ease her father’s mind.
Now she’s worried about him.
A bolt of guilt lances through me. I glance over at her as we ride up to the sixth floor where she lives. She needs a stiff drink and maybe something to eat.
Or is that me? Hell, there’s something else I’d rather have…
Now is so not the time to be thinking about sex, but I haven’t been in a confined space with a beautiful, curvy woman in a very, very long time. And it’s just my luck the woman I’ve been sent to guard and bring back to her father is both of those things.
We reach her floor, and fortunately, she’s not so out of it that she can’t locate or operate her key. Her hand shakes, but she gets the door open. After ensuring the hallway and stairwells are clear and that we weren’t followed, I slip inside after her and lock the doors. She has two. I hoped for three, but two’s better than one.
Immediately, I turn and press her gently into the nearest chair, which happens to be at the small, round table in the cramped kitchen area. Withdrawing my gun, I thoroughly clear the apartment, leaving no nook or cranny unchecked. Her windows are closed and locked, and there’s only one entrance into or out of the unit, except for the tiny fire escape out the back. But that thing looks like it’d fall off if the wind changed direction, so I doubt anyone’s climbing up or down it.
I rejoin Natalie in the kitchen, and now she’s opening a bottle of fine whiskey. I lift my brows at her.
“Brought it with me,” she says. “I didn’t know how readily available it would be to find here.” She pours a mouthful into a short tumbler, less than a finger, and swallows it down. Then she pours herself another before offering me the bottle.
I kind of want to laugh. I’m only working to keep her safe and alive, here. “Probably not a good idea for the guy with the skills and training to get buzzed.”
“I have skills and training too,” she mumbles, then leans back against the refrigerator door. “What happened to my dad?”
“He’s alive,” I tell her immediately. That’s the most crucial part to her, so I don’t want to keep it from her. “He’s alive and is being taken to a safe location outside Baghdad. I need to get you to him so you can be extracted to Kuwait.”
“Camp Arifjan?”
“Yes,” I reply, surprised. Not many civilians just happen to know that, unless they have a reason to, I guess. Having a family member overseas here probably qualifies as such.
She takes a deep breath. “I’m glad he’s okay. What the hell happened?”
“Enemy combatants fired rockets at the building.”
“And who are you? You don’t look like Army or Marines.”
“I’m special forces,” I explain. “Alpha Force Elite.”
“Ah.” She nods. “The new SEALs.”
“We’re not the new—Wait, what do you mean?”
Natalie shakes her head, finally reaching up to pull off her hijab. Shoulder-length, wavy brown hair frames her face. She’s even more beautiful than I realized. “Because all the feds are talking about you guys. You’re like POTUS’s own private militia.”
“That’s not…totally accurate,” I say. “Your dad embellished a little. A lot.”
“My dad didn’t say that about you. He’s never said anything about you, actually.”
“Then how would you know?”
Natalie pours herself another mouthful, downs it, then looks up at me. “Because I’m NSA.”
It’s not often I get thrown for a loop. It’s happened maybe one time.
Including this time.
I study her for a long moment, then tick my head at the other empty glass. “Just a taste.”
4
Natalie
It’s not often I catch anyone off guard—not the least of which being an older, built-like-hell, sexy-as-all-get-out, badass motherfucker like this guy—but when I do, it fills me with glee, even in a moment like this.
“What’s your name, by the way?” I ask, sliding the glass toward him. “You never said. But you seem to know me.”
“I’d be pretty shitty at my job if I didn’t. Murphy.”
“Is that your first name or your last?”
He picks up the glass, swirls the liquid. “Brian Murphy is my name.”
“Okay. I’ll call you Murphy.”
“Something wrong with Brian?” He looks amused.
I snort. “Of course not! But you introduced yourself as Murphy, so I’m guessing that’s your preferred way of being referred to.”
He shrugs but leaves it be. “Your dad never mentioned you were NSA. None of our records indicated you’re NSA. As far as we’re concerned, you’re not even supposed to be in Baghdad, let alone out of the country.”
“That’s because he doesn’t know.” I pour out another mouthful. It’s only relaxing me. I rarely get drunk. Not that I haven’t tried, but it’s like I’m physically incapable. Usually, that’s a great thing. But sometimes I wish I could get drunk and forget everything happening.
Like right now.
“His only child works for the NSA, and he didn’t know?” Murphy says, voice dripping with skepticism.
“It was a recent hire,” I insist. “And he’s always had a thing about me going into federal work.”
Murphy holds his glass out in the general direction of the embassy. “Can you blame him?”
“What happened, anyway?”
“You’re NSA. You don’t know?”
“I just started,” I remind him. “Besides, I’m a linguist. Basically, right now, I’m a glorified translator.”
“We picked up chatter on the dark web that an extremist group was targeting your father,” Murphy says. “That they wanted to kidnap him and ransom him.”
I gulp.
“I guess that’s what they had in mind for you too,” Murphy adds. “Before I interrupted the party.”
“Thank you for that,” I say vehemently. “Seriously. I—” The idea of what could have happened makes my balmy flat feel like it plummets about twenty-five degrees. I shiver.
“I’m sorry,” Murphy says quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that. Sometimes I forget not everyone I talk to is some battle-scarred asshole like me.”
I shake my head. “No, I…I need to know things like that. It’s a reality. I’m not invincible.” I lift my gaze to him. “And I don’t think you’re an asshole, battle-scarred or otherwise.”
He smiles a little. “Thanks.”