Free Seal of Surrender by Traci Douglass Page B

in the hallway. “Who are you?”
    The man extended his hand. “Innocent Balewa. You call me Innocent.”
    â€œChago.” Despite Balewa’s scrawny appearance, his grip was strong. “What’s your job here?”
    â€œI run a local bar. Among other things.”
    â€œWhere’s my fiancée?” He didn’t like the idea of Irena traipsing about without his protection.
    Innocent grinned, his teeth bright white against his midnight dark skin. “She quite a talker, your Ms. Irena.”
    â€œYou don’t have to tell me.”
    â€œShe in the restaurant, with Ms. Adrienne.”
    â€œWho the hell’s Ms. Adrienne?”
    â€œWorks for them Omega people here in Kinshasa. She more a helper, I think. And not a willing one, either, by the looks of her.” Innocent boarded the elevator and waited for him to follow. “She one lady gonna have her panties in a bunch if she don’t get her wants, you git?”
    Magnificent. He didn’t need another difficult woman to contend with. He appraised Innocent’s batik cotton shirt and loose shorts — definitely not the Grand’s standard uniform. “What’s your part in this?”
    â€œThese Omega people, they think they can help with me problems.”
    â€œProblems?” He studied Innocent’s sunbaked face and guessed him at about fifty.
    â€œThere’s trouble brewing in these parts. Some don’t want the freedom others died to achieve. Me, I think the freedom worth the dying. So I fight.”
    Chago took serious stock of the man beside him. He’d heard this speech before. Many times. Hell, he gave the speech himself, right before his own death. A worthless demise spent to protect the woman he loved — except Yana had also been killed during the attack. Killed because of him. Chalk up another point for twisted irony. He dropped a firm gauntlet on the failures of his past and returned his focus to the present. “So you’re with the rebel forces then?”
    â€œHell no. I’m with the militia.”
    They arrived in the lobby and Innocent led him into a bright atrium full of tables draped with white linen. He spotted Irena deep in conversation with another woman, a redhead. At their approach, the ladies glanced up.
    â€œHello, dear. Glad you finally joined us.”
    He caught the distinct smack of sarcasm in Irena’s tone and boomeranged it right back in her direction. “Jet lag.”
    â€œChago, let me introduce you to Adrienne Pierce.”
    He grasped the woman’s hand in a firm grip and assessed her cool, rich-bitch expression. “Pleasure to meet you, Adrienne.”
    â€œLikewise, Mr. Govnaru.” Adrienne turned to summon a passing waiter and missed his glower. He’d brushed up on his Croatian before coming on this trip. Govnaru meant shithead. Chago darted a narrowed gaze toward Irena and found her with a fist pressed tight to her mouth in an attempt to stifle a giggle. Fine. Two could play this game.
    â€œI’m also surprised you’re up and about this early, my love. I figured our activities last night would have worn you out.” He sipped his freshly poured coffee and winked at Irena.
    A delectable flush crept stained her cheeks fiery red. He couldn’t help wondering what other activities might entice her skin to color so beautifully. Women who blushed were a weakness of his.
    Irena’s eyes sparked with suppressed irritation, and her tart reply gave him an overdue reminder of her hellcat origins. “Darling, you know it takes a lot more than a mere dalliance to exhaust me. Fumbled moves and sub-standard equipment can be such a bore.”
    Adrienne’s eyes rounded to saucer-like proportions, but Innocent was the first to flee. “I hate to break up this nice meal, but I needs to git back to the bar. Miss Irena, you require anything more from me?”
    â€œNot right now. Thank you.” Irena