Page 2 of Rebel Protector
Ghost turned his attention back to the arms dealer. “It’s a beautiful place you have here. I’ll bet the sunsets are something else.”
Markov smiled and acknowledged the truth of that statement with a small bow of his head. “It’s not California, but it’ll do.”
Ghost didn’t respond. He’d been told Markov had been based in San Francisco, near Silicon Valley, where he’d funded some sort of crypto startup. Apparently, it had been a way to launder his blood money and allowed him to operate undercover on the dark web. Ghost didn’t know much about those things, but he got the picture. Markov was a HVT and top of the FBI’s Most Wanted list.
“Where do you hail from?” asked Markov. Ramirez poured himself a drink from a liquor cabinet, then took a seat at a modern glass-and-chrome table a few feet away. Markov’s partner was an observer in this meeting, not an active participant. It was clear who called the shots.
“Florida, originally,” Ghost replied, sitting down opposite the arms dealer. “Although I move around a lot.”
Markov nodded. It was expected in his line of work.
“Tell me about that.” Markov’s gaze fixed on Ghost’s face.
“About what?” Ghost knew what he meant, but he played along.
“How did you end up here, in Central America?”
It might seem like a harmless question, but it was an integral part of the interview. Markov had checked him out, but this was the part where he had to live up to his reputation—where he had to sell himself to Markov as someone the arms dealer needed.
“After I left the Army, I was assigned to the U.S. Training Support Unit in Belize as an instructor in close combat and jungle warfare. That was my specialty back in the military.”
“Special Ops, wasn’t it?”
Ghost was impressed. Markov had done his homework. The arms dealer must have contacts in the DoD to get that kind of information. Usually, Special Forces operator’ names were redacted for their own safety, even after they’d left the service. But that’s why he’d used his own name, it could only help his cause.
“Yes, sir. I served ten years in the U.S. Marine Corps and four in MARSOC.” MARSOC, or Marine Forces Special Operations Command, was the Marine Corps’ special operations unit. They specialized in direct action, special reconnaissance, and counter-terrorism. Its members trained and operated closely with the more famous Navy SEALs.
Markov narrowed his eyes. “So, after fourteen years risking your life for your country, you end up an instructor in a rainforest in the ass end of nowhere? Is that right?”
Ghost gritted his teeth. That about summed it up. “Yes, sir.”
“What did you do to piss them off?”
Ghost remained silent, his entire body tense. This was one step farther than he wanted to go, but he saw the value in it. He’d be a fool not to work this angle. Showing how angry he was about what had happened would sell his cover even more. The best part was, he didn’t even need to lie about it.
The stunner returned with the tea and put the tray down in front of them. “Shall I pour, Mr. Markov?”
“Please, Becca.”
She bent over, and Ghost caught a whiff of her perfume. It was light and sensual, like meadow flowers on a summer day. He watched as she poured tea into two china cups, admiring the way she moved. It was like sexy poetry in motion.
Her hair fell forward, but she made no move to tuck it back behind her ears. Suddenly, he wanted to touch it, to slide his hand around the back of her neck and draw her towards him.
Fuck, his fantasy was running away with him.
Sure, it had been a while since he’d had a woman, but still… Now? In the middle of an undercover op? He must need his head examined.
She handed him the tea with the barest hint of a smile. Her eyes were a rich brown flecked with gold, and where Markov’s were empty, hers were filled with hidden secrets.
Then she did the same for her boss, this time adding milk and one sugar cube before stirring it thoroughly. How had she known Ghost took his black?
“She makes an excellent cup for a Yank,” Markov remarked once she had left the room. Ghost noticed she hadn’t offered Ramirez any. “That’s one of the reasons I stole her.”
“Stole her?” Ghost thought he’d misheard.
Markov laughed. “Nothing sinister, I assure you. I poached her from the U.S. Embassy in Panama City. I was there for a meeting, and she served us tea. It was perfect—very rare in this part of the world—so I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Now she works for me, and to be honest, I couldn’t do without her. Becca literally runs my life. Anyway, I digress. You were saying?” He turned his dead eyes back to Ghost.
Ghost didn’t want to know exactly what Becca did for Markov, so he forged ahead with his cover story.