Free Delta: Revenge by Cristin Harber Page B

to the US.
    The health program was the perfect cover for Hana Ferrera. But when the hired mercenaries showed up, Sophia couldn’t do anything that an aid worker wouldn’t do. She was stuck inside until it was safe.
    The newest round of super-alpha soldier-protector men clattered through the stately front door with their dust and noise. They carried a harshness that tinged the air with a violent breeze as Sophia peeked over the edge of the second-floor railing. Guns were strapped to their bodies and in their hands. Their faces were covered in dirt despite the urban location. Wonder where they’ve been? They looked as though their day had been jam-packed with saving the world, or whatever they did on their always-classified projects.
    At least there were new faces to chat with over a couple of meals before they swooped out as loudly and brashly as they’d come in.
    Booming laugher and the baritone voices of men at the peak of an adrenaline high echoed through the embassy’s expansive foyer. It was a grand fortress of US territory in a dangerous, deadly part of the world. Honduras was a land of living pain, her home away from home until this assignment had run its course.
    Operation Whispering Willow had been Hana’s brainchild. She fought for women’s rights in Honduras, for women to exist as more than second-class citizens. Hana knew her husband was a dirty politician who likely did more than turn a blind eye to the Primeiro Comando’s activity in Tegucigalpa. She was in secret conversations with the Americans. All Sophia had to do was publicly play the role of an aid worker and privately act as a conduit of information.
    “Sophia?”
    She jumped, caught staring by Janella, the embassy’s housekeeper-cook-laundress. Or house mom. Janny made sure everything ran smoothly for those who lived there. She was also the only other woman on the premises and, therefore, Sophia’s closest friend at the moment and a giver of opinion cloaked as advice whether it was asked for or not.
    “Hey, Janny.” Sophia pushed away from the railing. “The cavalry has arrived.”
    She tossed her hand. “More mouths to feed. Maybe this bunch brings a couple funny stories to liven up the dinner conversation.” The start of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes crinkled. “I wish this place was back to the bustling building it used to be. Not this empty cavern it is now.”
    “I know, I know.” Not for the first time, Janny made it clear she was bored with the skeleton staff currently residing at the embassy. The post had been shut down previously, the risks making it not worth maintaining a full staff. Earlier that year, they’d reopened with two on-site political advisors, Ambassador Jensen and Mr. Brackster, who couldn’t survive without Janny. She came back.
    Both advisors were interesting in a reserved way—the complete and total opposite of Janny. Where they were skinny, old white men, she was a heavyset black woman who didn’t give a fuck and supplied no BS-enhanced answers. But Sophia had to give both men credit. They were tough in their own ways, and they had to be in order to work in Honduras.
    Ambassador Jensen had known Sophia since she first went overseas with her parents. He understood her, maybe because he knew both of her parents. She was tough as her father and as assertive as her mom. Jensen respected Sophia, as well as her assignment, when there were many people who wouldn’t give two thoughts to what she was risking her life for. The PC didn’t affect most Americans directly.
    But that was all relative. At any given point in time, different terrorist groups, dictators, and cartels could shift power, and the worst of the worst would be a different list of bad guys. The truth was they were all awful, but there was only so much evil and doom a person could focus on at a time.
    “Let’s meet our guests.” Janny put a heavy hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “Maybe there’s eye candy in addition to dinner