Uncaged love, p.1
Uncaged Love, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Dear Reader
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
About the Black Swan Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
If you’ve enjoyed Uncaged Love
Uncaged
Love
By
KaLyn Cooper
Dear Reader,
Uncaged Love is a deeply edited version of Explosive Combination, which is no longer available. If you read my debut book, please be aware changes have been made to bring it back into the Black Swan series.
Yes, this story was originally written as the first book in the Black Swan series, but was removed from that series when sold to a publisher as a single title. The basis of this story remains the same, but changes have been made to pull back in the Ladies of Black Swan. One small part of the ending has changed to coordinate better with Rescuing Melina, the Guardian Elite crossover with Susan Stoker’s Special Forces: Operation Alpha Kindle World.
For those of you who have read Unrelenting Love, you’ll remember the Ladies of Black Swan attempted to call Harper Tambini, their friend working for the ATF as an explosives expert. Uncaged Love explains why she was unavailable.
Look for more books in the Black Swan series coming soon. Be sure to check out the Guardian Elite novellas. All books are listed in the back of this book with links.
Thank you for reading and reviewing my books!
Always,
KaLyn Cooper
Published 2017
E-Book Published by KaLyn Cooper 2017
Copyright © 2017, KaLyn Cooper.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Dedication
To the women in our military who have taken on a man’s world and, through intelligence and determination, succeed every day.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my editor, Marci Clark, for all the wonderful things she does for me. And to all those other incredible romance writers who encouraged me, advised me, and hugged me when I needed it. Thank you, ATF Special Agent Rick McMahan for his inspiration. Last, a special thanks to Cindy Marini for helping me discover Harper Tambini.
About the Black Swan Series
Rara avis in terries
is Latin for
“a rare bird in the lands.”
In the ancient world, it was believed that the landing of a single black swan
created a change that would affect the entire world.
True fact: Scientists at the University of Michigan discovered that co-crystallization of two common explosives creates the most lethal, non-nuclear bomb on the planet, casually called Chaz.
True fact: In September 2012 Popular Mechanics magazine published the formula to make Chaz, which is similar to a process used in pharmaceuticals.
True fact: In 2003 the ATF was moved to the Department of Justice and became the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.
Chapter 1
Harper Tambini ignored the tingling that nipped and niggled at the back of her neck. She blamed the cool breeze sweeping down from the snow-topped Andes Mountains and automatically looked that direction even though she couldn’t see them in the dark of night.
“Who’d believe spring this close to the equator would be so chilly?” She rubbed her bare arms and considered digging a windbreaker out of the bag slung over her shoulder.
“We’ll be on the jet soon enough,” her teammate, Marcus Hernandez, reassured her. “The cold wind sure cuts right through.”
“What do you expect?” Robert Sanchez flipped up the collar on his nylon jacket and hunkered into what little warmth the lightweight material offered. “We’re at almost nine-thousand feet.”
“Yeah, I know.” She scoffed at herself. Tambini, you’re getting soft. After some of the most rigorous training in the world, including a month in Alaska for cold-weather drills, this night breeze shouldn’t bother her as much as it did. For a fleeting second, she considered the chill might not be the external temperature, but her internal sixth sense. She brushed the possibility aside, but glanced around the poorly-lit parking lot as they made their way to the hangar on the private aircraft side of Bogota’s international airport.
She didn’t see anything unexpected for two o’clock in the morning. Besides, she could handle whatever came up. Like an overprotective big sister, she scanned the five men she’d lived and traveled with for the past three weeks. They were all capable agents for the United States Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, but none had intensive special operative training like hers.
Three years ago, Harper had been selected for a top-secret program to prove women could be as effective as men in the clandestine world of SpecOps. Out of one hundred candidates, less than half had successfully completed the same testing of mind, body, and soul the military puts Army Special Forces, Navy SEALs, Air Force PJs, and the Marine Corps’ Raiders through. She’d been designated as an elite special operator for the United States government before additional training with the CIA. Even her boss on this task force had no idea of her extensive skills.
“I can’t wait to get home and hug my wife and kids,” Senior Special Agent Mike Estes told his team. “I feel like I’ve been gone for months rather than a few weeks.”
Harper moved the long strap on her duffel bag to her other shoulder. “I’m just glad we didn’t find anyone who could make Chaz.” While working on her master’s degree, she’d been instrumental in the development of the most lethal, nonnuclear explosive on the planet. The unique process was supposed to be classified, as was her involvement in the DOD research. “I’m still pissed that scientific magazine published an article, including major portions of the formula, then referenced our research in the damned footnotes.”
What scared her more than anything else, was her name was included as a member of the development team. For her protection, when she entered the special operative training program, her identity had been scrubbed from social media and flagged with any reference to her military service. No one had thought to redact her name from a research project she’d worked on during college, even though technically she was still on active duty.
Robert Finch chuckled as he walked beside her. “Like the bad guys don’t read English or smart people magazines.”
“Y’all can just thank the Freedom of Information Act for our vacation in Columbia,” her mission boss said from her other side, his Tennessee accent creeping in as it often did when he was tired. “I’ll be happy when we touch down on U.S. soil once again. This has been one hell of a trip. I despise Third World hotel rooms.”
Harper glanced over her shoulder to watch their local CIA contact pull his beat up brown van through a gate in the chain-link fence and disappear into the obscurity of the country’s largest city. Keeping up with the conversation, she noted, “I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed. I swear the hotels put rocks in the mattresses.”
It had been a brutal mission. For three intense weeks, from one end of Colombia to the other, Harper had constantly been on edge. More than once, she’d felt as though someone was watching her, which was to be expected. At five-feet ten inches, she was tall by American standards. She was gigantic compared to most South Americans. Then, there was the fact she traveled with five men. Her unease went far beyond the furtive glances she received almost everywhere. The whole trip, she’d felt as though she were in the crosshairs of an expert sniper. The hyperawareness had emotionally drained her. She was more than ready to go home.
“At least you get to go home to a nice place,” Marcus said. “I’m still bunking in with Robert in the bachelor pad that always seems to look like Thursday morning after a hump day party.”
Robert laughed. “Hump day is right. You’re still just jealous both those twins ended up in my bed, and you slept alone.”
“TMI, gentlemen.” Harper dramatically stuck her index fingers into her ears. With a grin of satisfaction she gazed at her complaining teammate. “I can’t believe I was able to find such an awesome apartment.”
“Do you think your friend, Katlin, can find one for me?” Marcus flashed her a lady-killer smile. “How about I move in with you? Didn’t you say your place has two bedrooms?”
“Not only no, but hell no.” Harper threw him a look that she hoped he interpreted correctly. There was no fucking way she was going to allow him to even visit her new place. She was well aware of his hound dog reputation. A thought crossed her mind, and she didn’t bother to hold back the evil grin. Her girlfriends would eat him up and spit him out. She might invite him to one of their clubbing nights just to watch that happen.
Harper was excited about her new beautiful apartment in Washington, D.C. Finding such an awesome place down the hall from the women she had covertly trained with for over a year, was a godsend. Sweat and blood created an unbreakable bond only those who had endured the journey together could understand. She couldn’t wait to get back home and tell her friends about this latest mission. Because they all held one of the highest security clearances in the United States, they never worried about comparing adventures.
She couldn’t wait to see the faces of Katlin, Grace, Nita, Tori, and Lei Lu when she told them about going undercover in a Cartagena bar on a Caribbean beach to seduce a drug lord wannabe. As their CIA training had predicted, within a few hours, and a few chemically laced cocktails, Harper had been able to get the man alone by making him believe he was God’s gift to American women. The corners of her mouth turned up as she remembered him, naked, tied spread eagle to the four-poster bed.
By the time she was finished with her interrogation, she was sure he’d legally purchased the CL-20, a key ingredient in Chaz. Fortunately, the inebriated idiot didn’t have the HMX which was needed to complete the formula. He also didn’t seem interested in purchasing the popular explosive. His plan was to sell the CL-20 in its solid state to the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, better known as FARC. Her team had quietly speculated the purchase was one of the CIA’s means of supporting the subversive guerrillas when after they reported their findings, they had been ordered to follow up several leads on HMX smuggling.
For nearly two weeks, the six members of the International Explosives Task Force chased a gunrunner who’d smuggled the HMX explosives into the country and was holed up in the far western regions. There was no way to ferret him out. It didn’t matter since no connection could be found between him and the hopeful drug lord. Harper had personally confirmed neither had the technology—or brains—to complete the complicated process.
Mission accomplished, they were headed home, and none too soon in her opinion. She was tired of beige hotel rooms that wouldn’t get a one-star rating in the United States and restaurant food that was either tasteless or so spicy her mouth burned for hours. Harper longed to slide between the soft yellow sheets of her own bed in her new condo. She’d fall asleep, the monuments around the National Mall in D.C. as her personal nightlights, and refuse to wake up for a week.
“Someone get the hangar doors,” Estes called to the team.
Jarred from thoughts of home, Harper yelled back, “I’ve got it.” She trotted to the exterior control panel and reached for the button to power open the gigantic hangar doors facing the tarmac.
Huge rough fingers gripped her wrist and squeezed. For a nanosecond, she stared in confusion at the sun-browned hand and an arm covered in night camouflage utilities as the man tried to pry her hand away from the red button. His acrid body odor nearly turned her stomach before training took over.
She whirled and brought the heel of her free hand to the tip of the man’s nose and jammed it upward with complete focus on her immediate duty to silently take out her aggressor so she could then stealthily assist other team members. The crunch of cartilage and the hiss of his breath through clenched teeth gave her temporary satisfaction.
She continued her spin to bring her knee up. He must’ve anticipated the move because she contacted his thigh instead of his groin.
He still had her wrist and pulled it behind her back, drawing her closer to his body to reduce the impact of any more of her moves. He caught her arm just before her arrowed knuckles connected to the windpipe-crushing spot above his prominent Adam’s apple. He stepped between her legs and pinned her against the cool metal sheeting of the hangar. His huge hand covered her mouth and pinched her nose.
She couldn’t breathe. Her rapid heartbeat was using up what little oxygen was left in her lungs.
Harper glared into the shadowed eyes of her enormous attacker as she twisted, seeking any advantage.
She instantly stilled when the cold steel barrel of a gun was pressed into her temple.
“Move and you’re dead, perra.” The gunman growled with a thick Spanish accent.
He was right to call her a bitch. She was one, especially when her life was threatened. But she wouldn’t acknowledge his intended insult with as much as a twitch of a muscle.
“I take my hand away. Scream if you want.” The glint in her attacker’s eyes said he’d like to hear her beg. “Do you no good. Your team is—”
“Shut up, fool,” the gunman snapped in Spanish and sneered.
As if in a dance move, she was yanked from the building and spun around so her back was to him. She sucked in a much-needed breath, replenishing her dazed brain. He had her wrists secured with flex-cuffs within a second. Before she could fight free, another set of large male hands had grabbed her at the hips and bound her kicking legs with strong arms and they’d placed plastic restraints on her ankles.
Once she was secured, the gun returned to her head. She furtively scanned the area. She hadn’t heard gunshots, but that didn’t mean her team was still alive.
The minimal light from the crescent moon revealed only shades of black, but Harper observed movement everywhere around her. Well-camouflaged men rushed about like ants before a rain, purposeful and under time constraints. Sicarios, if she had to guess. These were a drug cartel’s armed men who carried out assassinations, theft, extortion, and kidnappings.
Had they been targeted simply because they were Americans? Or had her ATF team angered a capo to the point he wanted retribution before they left the country?
Harper ignored her attackers as they patted her down, choosing to scan the area for her team. The sicarios brutalized her breasts and buttocks, then roughly rubbed between her bound legs. They wanted to humiliate her, but she’d been trained by the best in the world. Their hands on her body meant nothing, and neither did their crude suggestions and taunts. They removed all her communication devices and weapons—even the knife hidden in her ankle boot.
She found the rest of her team.
Relief washed over her. They were alive. Distinguished by their casual American traveling clothes of jeans and polo shirts, they stood bound, side by side, guns to their heads. In the diminished light, she still caught the glances they shot her way. Damn. She hated when they checked on her because she was female.
This was her fault. She’d let her guard down, eager to get home. They had been minutes away from boarding their jet that would whisk them away to freedom.
She twisted and turned the plastic ties on her wrists, but they only cut deeper into her tender flesh. She was flexible enough to slip her tied hands to the front, but the pistol at her temple kept her from trying more.
What do they possibly want with us? Good luck if it’s money they’re after. They obviously don’t understand government jobs don’t pay very well. As team leader, Mike Estes carried cash in both U.S. and Colombian currencies, but they’d gone through a lot of money between living expenses and bribes. Harper vaguely wondered how much he still had left.
Chapter 2
Once again Harper surveyed their captors. These men were unusually tall, not the run-of-the-mill gun toters. The average Colombian man was only five-feet seven inches. Obviously, they’d been imported mercenaries or selected for the intimidation value of their height.
But she’d put a serious hurt on one. She loved it when men underestimated her.
Drops of blood glinted in the moonlight before they were absorbed into the dark shirt of the man who’d attacked her. A few feet away, another sicario was on his knees, cupping his groin, and a third rolled on his back, holding his knee. They all swore profusely in guttural Spanish. She smiled inside, but kept her expression blank. She was proud her team had fought back.
