The Hunter by Gennita Low

you won’t let other things interfere with the main mission. We can’t afford any misstep here,” Jed said, his voice calm and assessing over the phone. “You must gain Dilaver’s trust, and that means getting your hands dirty. The admiral told me you could do this.”
    Hawk had to give Jed credit. Bringing up his commander was good. As a SEAL, it was ingrained in him to handle anything to get the job done. Physically, he had barely any challenge—guiding the injured Dilaver and his men out of a particularly hostile Asian mountainous terrain was child’s play. Mentally, he had been taught to block pain and emotion when he was in the war theater, but watching women and young girls victimized had been—he hated to admit it, even to himself—very, very tough.
    “McMillan.”
    He realized Jed had been waiting for some kind of reply, and it had better be convincing or he’d be pulled off the job. “I have been doing it,” he said crisply. “Dilaver’s now going to different cities and I’m mapping out the routes. I’ll find out more very soon.”
    “Good. I’ll wait for your communication. And Hawk…” Jed waited a beat to get his attention. “Don’t underestimate Amber. This business of ours isn’t black and white. You either learn to function within a gray area or be killed.”
    Hawk looked thoughtfully at the cell phone after Jed rang off. As usual, he had more questions after talking to Jed. Why had Amber Hutchens been placed here for four years in the first place? And exactly what information did she sell to Dilaver? What did she get in return?
    The more he learned about the lady, the more intrigued he was. Underestimate her? He hadn’t been given the chance. But she had shown her disdain for him by initiating this pissing contest, introducing herself with a…memorable and naughty handshake.
    He pocketed the phone. Gray ethics, huh? He could only misbehave in return.
     
    Brad frowned. She was here. Amber hadn’t mentioned it—would she be joining them for dinner? It had been almost six weeks since she had gone off on one of her “trips.”
    He stepped out of his car and locked it, his eyes trained on the little European car parked two cars down. He wasn’t going to let her leave this time without first talking with him. The problem was, Llallana Noretski wasn’t an easy person to corner.
    The Last Resort was a small café, decorated like an American diner, with out-of-the-way things like a scarecrow sitting on a rocking chair in one corner and pictures of American movie stars and NASCAR drivers on the walls. Things from home for homesick young American peacekeepers. Even the tablecloths looked homey, with their cheerful prints of Americana.
    As usual, it was bustling with activity, filled with hungry men looking for home cooking. They all recognized him, of course, and he nodded to those who made eye contact. Unlike the previous department head, he hadn’t gone out partying and thus was getting to know some of these men casually. He didn’t like some of the entertainment the men had gone for, and one of these days he would address that problem, too.
    “Those are beautiful flowers, Brad,” Amber said as she walked toward him.
    And as usual, all male eyes followed the owner of the café. Amber Hutchens wasn’t just attractive; she was strikingly beautiful, of the All-American blond and blue-eyed variety. She had pulled her shoulder-length hair into a chignon, showing off the gold loops in her ears. The smile she gave him lit up her eyes.
    “I spent a fortune,” he told her, as she kissed the corner of his mouth.
    “Then I’d better make sure dessert’s richer than usual,” she said.
    He smiled back and followed her to his table in the back. It was screened off from the rest of the dining area, sometimes used for private parties. It also reinforced the assumption that Bradford Sun was more than just a client to Amber Hutchens, especially when he would disappear through the door marked