Enemy Combatant by Cara Dee
Series: The Renegades #2
Genre: MM Romantic Suspense
Release Day: Friday, August 4th, 2023
ABOUT THE BOOK:
“The best intelligence is the knowledge that your enemy doesn’t know you have.”
Crew Finlay’s ego had taken a hit or two. He couldn’t lie. As a Marine, he’d been one of the best. As a private military contractor, he’d…messed up a bit. Or failed spectacularly. Whatever. And now? A year into his new gig, working in private security for Elliott Jones, Crew had a lot to prove. He refused to screw this up too. They had people to bring home. So when he found himself holding a cartel freelancer hostage, he steeled himself and vowed not to fall for the bastard’s lies. As if Crew would believe this man was an undercover Fed. Come on.
Nah, this tall, older drink of water was full of it. Adrien Mercier, or whatever his real name might be, was going down. Until one day, when Adrien turned the tables, and then Crew was the one sitting with his hands cuffed behind his back.
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EXCERPT
I squeezed in one more dip in the lake before the sun went down. I’d only packed a small hand towel, so I had to use that to dry off before I stepped into my boxer briefs. Then I headed inside again and lit a few candles in the kitchen and the living room.
“Are we still in Monaco?” the scumbag asked.
I ignored him. I wasn’t going to make polite conversation with our hostage. Instead, I hummed a tune to myself and went into the kitchen. I should give him more water soon. He’d had a half-liter bottle today, roughly seventeen ounces, if I wasn’t mistaken. Far from enough, but this wasn’t a hotel, and the man restrained in the living room got off on human slavery.
After setting a pot of water to boil, I crammed more twigs into the fire compartment.
I was in Italy; I wanted to eat pasta for supper.
Then I put on a pair of sweats and figured I could prepare my bed for the night. To go with the mattresses, Ryan had bought foldable camping beds. I carried it into the living room and positioned it against the opposite wall of where cartel motherfucker sat.
Wasn’t it annoying when criminals were handsome as hell?
“How long are we gonna be here for?” he pressed.
I didn’t miss a beat. “At least a week, but my schedule is wide open all summer.”
He cursed.
I smiled to myself and finally figured out how to unfold the damn bed. There was a latch…
“We’re going to have to work out a deal,” he said stiffly. “I can’t stay here a whole fucking week. I just can’t.”
I turned around to get the mattress off the floor. “Why? Got someplace to be?”
At this rate, I wouldn’t have to do much in order to get somewhere. No violence, no good cop, no bad cop, no persuasion tactics. He was doing the work for me. I just had to wait him out.
“I’m sure a man like you has plenty of people under him who can keep the boat from sinking while you’re…otherwise occupied.” I dropped the mattress onto the bed and sat down to see how it— “Huh. Not bad.” I nodded at him, curious. “How many are in your crew?”
He looked at me as if I were defiling the English language. “My crew? I don’t have a crew. The more you speak, the more you show you don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
I grinned faintly and scratched my nose. “Nothing you say will make me believe you’re on your own. You handle too much money, associate with too many people, and hold too much power to manage your work solo.”
I was actually fascinated by his responsibility, because not many cartels would place that much trust in a freelancer. It wasn’t unheard of, though certainly rare. He traveled all over the world, sometimes to deliver a simple message to an associate, sometimes to strike deals, sometimes to break new ground. He could be the messenger that delivered the news of a peace treaty or a conflict.
He could create both too.
War in the world of drugs and cartels was always only an insult away.
He was evidently not going to answer, so I returned to the kitchen to prepare my last meal of the day. I poured pasta into the pot, then dug out a tomato sauce from the bag with items that didn’t need to be refrigerated.
It didn’t take long before the kitchen was smelling fucking incredible.
I kissed my fingertips and all.
When the pasta was ready, I poured the water out of the window opening and then the pasta into the skillet. Followed by tomato sauce, garlic, basil, and a squeeze of lemon. I saved the meatballs for last since they were already cooked. They only needed to be reheated.
Salt. Pepper. Done.
I was gonna make my hostage’s stomach snarl with envy.
He had a body that required upkeep. One hell of a body. Damn shame he was the scum of the earth. And in no way was I going to let him survive this operation. He deserved to be six feet under.
A couple minutes later, I sat down on the bed in the living room again, this time with a skillet full of delicious pasta and a cold soda.
I had no complaints.
The fuckbag watched me in silence. He was definitely in pain. He kept trying to rotate his shoulders and find a new position.
Just to err on the safe side, I walked over there to recheck his restraints. He stiffened and glared up at me.
The rope had cinched in some places and was digging into his chest. Using the flashlight on my phone, I could see that the handcuffs had done a number on him too. His wrists were red and irritated.
I walked back to the bed and folded my blanket on my lap so I could put the skillet on top. “This was my favorite pasta growing up,” I mentioned. “I’d come home from school and ask Mom to make me butterfly pasta with ketchup.”
He muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” I cupped my ear.
“It’s called farfalle,” he bit out.
I shrugged. “I don’t give a farfalle fuck to be honest.”
What I did care about was his pronunciation. He’d said it all Italian-like. Did he know the language? Did he have a reason to? The Blanco Family had roots in both Colombia and Sicily, so it was interesting to me.
We did have theories, after all, about how high up in the cartel this man had dealings.
“Fuck me, this is good.” I spoke with my mouth full. “If you teach me some more Italian pasta names—you know, with that arrogant tone in your voice—maybe I’ll show you what I can do with my farfalle knife later.”
I grinned. I was gonna tell that joke to everyone when this was over.
Ryan and Dad would get a laugh. Mav and Uncle Greer too.
The asshole across from me didn’t find it funny. He must not have a sense of humor.
“I’m a federal agent.”
Forget what I said. He was fucking hilarious.
Enemy Combatant by Cara Dee
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Crew has major insecurities and a learning disability, but that’s not to say he isn’t an integral and talented part of the team, and his stance on Olive Garden makes him a winner. Searching for lost teammates and family has everyone on edge, scrambling to find answers. Using whatever and whoever they can to bring them home. Hence going after Delgado/Adrien, bad guy…good guy… all around jerk…definitely. He was very mean to Crew.
This wasn’t a long book but there was a lot there just the same. Action, a bit of romance, violence, and good people doing bad things for good reasons. While it could conceivably be read as a standalone I think reading the first book and possibly adjacent series’ would be very helpful if for no other reason to understand the large cast of characters.
This author is a favorite of mine. I believe a good characters should elicit a strong response. Whether that response is good or bad, most times it doesn’t matter. Gut wrenching, carefree or some place in between, she creates visceral, memorable personalities. This book (and series) seems to have them all.
These darn cliffhangers are pushing me hard though.
Review Copy requested and reviewed on behalf of OMGReads.
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MEET THE AUTHOR: I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.
There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.
Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.
I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I’m a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.
Find Cara on social media here: https://www.caradeewrites.com/cdwlandingpage
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