《Free Fall (Elite Force #4)》


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    Prologue


    Horn of AfricaAdvertisement


    When Stella Carson was eight years old, her mother rented the movie Out of Africa so Stella could envision where her mom lived when she left Tallahassee for Peace Corps trips. Those images had helped through the first night alone saying her prayers. And through a summer with her brothers as babysitters while their father drove his UPS route.


    In the fall, a photo of her mother went in her backpack, helping Stella hold strong during a rocky start of third grade when she landed in the principal¡¯s office for a playground fight. Nobody would make fun of her daddy¡¯s efforts to send his baby girl off to school, even if her braids were lopsided with mismatched bows. Stella knew how to punch like a boy, thanks to her three older brothers.


    Her siblings had failed to mention the importance of saving the infamous Carson left hook for the walk home, off school grounds.


    But she¡¯d survived the principal¡¯s punishment, as well as her father¡¯s disappointment, by envisioning her mom dispensing medicine and mosquito nets to needy kids. The school wouldn¡¯t suspend her anyway because they needed Stella¡¯s perfect scores on standardized tests. Tuning out the principal¡¯s lecture, she¡¯d stroked one of the mismatched ribbons between her fingers, tabulated the number of pinholes in the ceiling tiles, and pretended she didn¡¯t need her mother.


    When Stella was fifteen her mom died on one of those annual aide trips. She had a tough time understanding why Melanie Carson chose to leave her family to help other families in a foreign country. It didn¡¯t make sense to a grieving teenager, and Stella craved answers. Understanding. Order.


    By college, she¡¯d realized if she didn¡¯t decipher what really happened the day her mother died and find peace for the restlessness inside her, there would be no building a family of her own. Something she desperately wanted. So she¡¯d changed her major to criminal justice, landed a job in Interpol¡¯s American office as a code breaker, and poured all her energies into wrangling an assignment in Africa.


    Here. Now. In a country every bit as magnificent as in the movie Out of Africa and as tumultuous as her feelings about the place that stole her mother.


    Finally, she could piece together her mom¡¯s last days. Find answers about her mother¡¯s mysterious death. And if not answers, at least gain closure.


    Although her whole quest would be moot if she didn¡¯t squeeze more life out of the sleek boat she was steering at breakneck speed along the Arabian Sea into the Gulf of Aden.


    Stella thumped the already maxed throttle, the metal so hot to the touch it damn near blistered her palm. Logic told her the engine didn¡¯t have anything more to give. Still, she calculated angles to take the choppy sea faster. She stayed well clear of the other vessels just as they stayed away from her. Everyone kept their distance in these lawless waters.


    The hull¡¯s nose popped over a wave and slammed back onto the churning surface. She bit her tongue. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The motor revved and muffled, catching hold of the water and shooting forward again. Seconds counted. Timing was everything.


    A team of Navy SEALs and a pair of Air Force pararescuemen were counting on her to be in place for the pickup if things went wrong with their helicopter rendezvous. Sure, those special operations dudes could swim for miles, but even the most elite of the elite warriors didn¡¯t relish hanging out in shark-infested, pirate-riddled waters.


    Sea spray stung her overheated face as the sun melted downward in the sky. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her eyes on the sonar and radar screens feeding images of the SEALs and pararescuemen¡ªalso known as parajumpers or PJs. Six SEALs and two PJs were diving, about to ¡°count coup¡± on a suspected pirate frigate, a stealthy tap-and-go.


    The mother vessel was towing four faster skiffs for overtaking their targets once they reached the open sea. Except today the U.S. forces were under water disabling the smaller crafts, something the Somali pirates wouldn¡¯t discover until they were out in the middle of the sea ready to prey on others. Those four malfunctioning boats, clearly dismantled right under their very noses, would screw with their heads.


    Never underestimate the power of psychological warfare.


    As a field operative for Interpol, she¡¯d been sent to assist with the investigation into stolen artifacts by pirates off the Horn of Africa, to decipher the codes and patterns to their movements. Local government officials in the region had requested international help. Those stolen treasures brought major bucks on the black market, money then used to fund separatist groups and local warlords that increased criminal chaos. Groups responsible for instigating ruthless uprisings. Rampant looting where women were brutalized. Young males, barely teenagers, were being pressed into service. At least one of those child soldiers was on that main vessel today.


    Another reason the PJs had been tapped to participate was for the safety of the kid as well as the SEALs if things went to hell. PJs received the same SEAL training needed to carry out the mission, but with additional medic skills to make a house call behind enemy lines. PJs were like Supermen with EMT bonus powers.


    There hadn¡¯t been any PJs around for her mom. Melanie Carson died here and her family had been given sketchy details along with her body to bury. Authorities had written off the injuries as results of a car accident. Stella hadn¡¯t believed them then any more than she believed them now. She¡¯d worked her entire career with Interpol with one goal: to find the truth about her mother¡¯s death. Finally, she had her chance and she wouldn¡¯t allow anything to derail her plans.


    Today¡¯s launch of her mission was everything.


    A helicopter had dropped the SEALs and PJs in the water five miles out from the pirates. Afterward they were supposed to swim five back where the chopper should be able to pick them up. But as a fail-safe, she and four heavily armed CIA operatives stayed nearby in the speedboat.


    She¡¯d plotted contingencies, and more contingencies for the contingencies, because logic was her strength, her secret weapon even. It was all about backup plans.


    Pop, pop, pop.


    The unmistakable sound of gunfire carried across the water. Stella braced, sweat chilling under her bulletproof vest. She looked over her shoulders at her four CIA teammates aiming MP5 submachine guns.


    ¡°Is it pirates?¡± she shouted over her shoulder, wind tearing strands of hair loose from her braid.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think so,¡± an operative known only as Mr. Smith barked back, scanning the distant horizon where two fishing boats bobbed. Of course, CIA agents were always Smith or Brown. Or if working in a pack like today, Jones and Johnson joined in. ¡°They seem to be shooting in the air, partying maybe.¡±


    His buddy Mr. Brown squinted into the scope on his gun. ¡°The place is littered with these bastards. I¡¯m not trusting that party spirit.¡±


    Mr. Jones hitched his weapon higher. ¡°We can outgun them.¡±


    Stella eyed the horizon. A whale arched just ahead, then slapped its tale in a majestic display so at odds with the turmoil playing out on the water¡¯s surface above them. ¡°Or we can stay cool and keep moving closer in case the chopper needs to bail out.¡±


    An explosion in the sky sent shock waves across the water. The CIA dudes dropped to their knees. So much for keeping cool.


    Stella steadied the boat and studied the radar. Her heart punched into her throat. Had the pirate ship blown up? Had the PJs and SEALs been injured in the raining debris and flames?


    No.


    The radar offered plenty of details.


    But the news?


    Bad.


    As bad as it got.


    ¡°The chopper exploded,¡± she announced, forcing her voice to stay flat, calm. Professional.


    Now that she knew where to look, debris rained in the distant sky, a splash spewing on the horizon. The crew she¡¯d briefed this morning was almost certainly dead, and if not, a different contingency was in place to search for them¡ªa second PJ pair. Just the thought delivered a sock in the gut as she thought about another child hearing the news that her mom or dad wasn¡¯t coming home.


    But she had to push through the feelings threatening to suck her under. Her role now? Crystal clear.


    ¡°We have to get our guys out now rather than waiting for them to swim closer. Those look like dolphin fins out there, but if I¡¯m wrong¡­ We need to move.¡±


    Nailing the throttle again, she compartmentalized. Later, she would climb up onto the embassy roof alone and mourn the aircrew. At this moment, her focus had to be on extracting the men in the water.


    How far had the special ops men swum from the vessel? How close would she have to sweep by the known pirate frigate? And the unknown bad guys in these waters? Who had launched that rocket at the chopper?


    She took a read off the sonar beside the radar, homing in on the blips. Beacons sent signals from her pickup targets. Men. Swimming. Closer. She eased back on the horsepower. Searching the surface for the slightest¡­ ripple.


    ¡°Got ¡¯em,¡± Mr. Smith announced with conviction an instant before she saw what snagged his eagle eyes.


    The barest perceptible cuts through the water. The pirate vessel was a surprisingly distant shadow in the sunset. Good God, how had the men made it so far so fast? Even if the other boat was speeding away.


    She cut the engine back to idle. Her four CIA field agents went into action while she kept the boat as steady as possible. They didn¡¯t talk much¡ªbut dudes from the agency rarely spoke. One at a time they hauled sleek bodies in wet suits onto the deck. Her muscles burned as she gripped the wheel straining to spin free.


    Man after man rolled onto the deck. Six, seven¡­ eight.


    The final guy whipped off his face mask and pinned her with piercing brown eyes and an intense focus that kept people alive beyond the odds. The air snapped in an indefinable way that defied the logic she embraced.


    Adrenaline.


    Had to be.


    Right?


    He nodded once, giving her a thumbs-up. ¡°Go, go, go!¡±


    Done.


    Shaking off the momentary distraction, she revved the engine to life again. Her brain cycled to contingency twenty-freaking-two, a cave cut into the mountainous shoreline. Minutes passed in a blur as she drove and watched the screen, monitoring traffic. Pathetically few officials policed the area. A boat racing across at a reckless speed wouldn¡¯t appear at all out of the ordinary around this place.


    Even as the yawning entrance to the cave came into sight, she refused to relax her guard. She pulled back on the throttle. Entering slowly, she scanned while her quiet companions held their MP5s at the ready. Would an Interpol operative, four CIA agents, six SEALs, and two PJs be enough to face anything that waited inside? The low hum of the motor echoed like a growling beast in the cavern, one light strobing forward into the darkness.


    Illuminating a waiting U.S. fishing boat.


    Her final contingency.


    Her plan had to work; otherwise, she would screw up her hard-earned chance of working in Africa before the mission barely got off the ground. She flung open the door to the small forward cabin of her speedboat. The clang of metal hitting metal echoed in her mind like the closing of her mother¡¯s coffin. Melanie Carson¡¯s daughter would not give up on day one.


    Digging around in the hull, Stella pulled out small duffel bags, one after the other, tossing them to each of the men in wet suits.


    ¡°Change, gentlemen. We¡¯re about to become American tourists on a sightseeing excursion. Mr. Jones,¡± who could blend in best with the locals and even spoke a regional dialect thanks to his mother, ¡°will be our guide. We¡¯re swapping boats, then splitting up at the dock. Blend into the crowds. Report at the embassy. You¡¯ve got a duress code if you need to call in. Any questions?¡±


    Only the sound of oxygen tanks and gear hitting the deck answered her.


    ¡°Good.¡± Her heart rate started to return to something close to normal again.


    The sound of zippers sent her spinning on her heels to take care of her own transformation. She unrolled a colorful rectangular cloth, an East African kanga, complete with the standard intricate border and message woven into the red and orange pattern.

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    It would be hot as hell over her black pants, top, and bulletproof vest. But a little dehydration was a small price to pay for an extra layer of anonymity.Advertisement


    ¡°Need help?¡±


    She turned and there were those coffee dark eyes again. Static-like awareness snapped when she looked back at the intense gaze that had held hers earlier as he¡¯d lifted his face mask. Except now he was more than eyes and a wet suit. He was a lean, honed man in a pair of fitted swim trunks he must have worn under the diving gear. He was glistening bronze with a body trained for survival anyplace, anytime.


    The boat rocked under her feet from a rogue wave. At least she thought it was a wave.


    ¡°Uh, no, I¡¯m good. Thanks. You should get dressed. We need to haul butt out of here.¡± And his current state of undress definitely didn¡¯t qualify as ¡°low profile.¡±


    ¡°I meant, do you need help with the cut on your temple?¡± He gestured to the left side of her face, almost touching. ¡°You brought along two PJs for a reason, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Her skin hummed with a sting that her brain must have pushed aside earlier for survival¡¯s sake. She tapped the side of her forehead gingerly.


    ¡°Ouch!¡± Her fingertips were stained with blood as murky red as her hair.


    ¡°A bullet must have grazed you,¡± he said with a flat Midwestern accent. A no-accent really, just pure masculine rumble. ¡°Could have been much worse. This was your lucky day, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Stella.¡± For right now she could be more than Miss Lucky Smith.


    ¡°They call me Cuervo.¡±


    Call him.


    Call signs.


    No real name from him for now. Understandable and a reality check to get her professional groove back on. ¡°Do I need stitches?¡±


    He tugged a small kit from his gear, a waterproof pack of some sort. ¡°Antiseptic and butterfly bandages should hold you until we can get someplace where I¡¯ll have time to treat you more fully.¡±


    We.


    Her brain hitched on the word, the answer to who she would be partnering with as they escaped into the crowd. She wasn¡¯t saying good-bye to him¡ªto Cuervo¡ªat the dock. Irrational relief flooded her, followed by a bolt of excitement.


    ¡°Thanks, Cuervo. Blood dripping down my face would definitely draw undue attention at an inopportune time.¡± She forced a smile.


    Still, his face, those eyes, they held her, and while she wasn¡¯t a mystical person, she couldn¡¯t miss the connection. Attraction? Sure, but she understood how to compartmentalize on the job. This was something that felt elemental. Before she could stop the thought, the words soul mate flashed through her head.


    And God, that was crazy and irrational when she was always, always logical. Her brothers called her a female version of Spock from Star Trek.


    Still, as those fingers cleaned her wound, smoothed ointment over her temple, and stretched butterfly bandages along her skin, she couldn¡¯t stop thinking about spending the rest of the day with him as they melded into the port city and made their way back to the embassy.


    Damn it, she could not waste the time or emotional energy on romance or even a fling. Right now, she could only focus on working with the Mr. Smiths and Mr. Browns of her profession. She needed to make peace with her past, then move on with her life. Then, and only then, she would find Mr. Right and shift from the field to a desk job so she could settle down into that real family dream she¡¯d missed out on.


    Yet those brown eyes drew her into a molten heat and she had the inescapable sense that Mr. Right had arrived ahead of schedule.


    Chapter 1


    East Africa: Six Months Later


    Five years, eight months, and twenty-nine days sober.


    Staff Sergeant Jose ¡°Cuervo¡± James flipped his sobriety coin over and over between his fingers as he reviewed the satellite feed on the six screens in front of him. If he and the multi-force rescue team around him didn¡¯t save Stella Carson in the next twenty-four hours, odds were his coin would end up in the trash.


    The cavernous airplane hangar echoed with the buzz of personnel calling directives into headsets and the low hum from each image on the dozen screens. Techies gathered information for the eight-man rescue team¡ªtwo Air Force pararescuemen, eight Navy SEALs, and five CIA operatives. The volume on the speakers increased whenever something of specific interest captured their attention about Stella and the eleven college students who¡¯d been kidnapped with her during a foreign exchange trip.


    Only one screen interested him. The one showing Stella being held hostage by separatists in some concrete hellhole south of the Horn of Africa. His eyes ate up the image of her¡ªalive¡ªfor now.


    She wore jeans and a black tank top with gym shoes, looking five years younger than her twenty-nine years and just like the exchange student she was pretending to be. Her titan red hair was half in, half out of a ponytail. A long strand stuck to blood on her cheek from an oozing gash in her eyebrow that made him think of the scratch on her head from the bullet that grazed her the day they¡¯d met. The day she¡¯d saved his ass.


    Right now, she was dusty, strained, and bruised. But still keen-eyed, pacing around her cell, nothing more than concrete walls with a pallet and bucket in the corner. A table filled another corner with a scattering of artifacts and relics. Frustration knotted his fists as he held back the urge to reach through the screen and haul her out. To hell with the objectivity and the logic she worshiped.


    Usually his job as a pararescueman gave his life focus and stability. But today¡¯s assignment was more than just a mission. Stella Carson was more than an Interpol agent to pluck out of a sticky situation. She was the only woman he¡¯d ever loved.


    She was also the woman who¡¯d dumped him four weeks ago.


    He prayed to every saint he¡¯d memorized in parochial school that the captors bought her cover story of being an over-privileged student studying overseas on Mommy and Daddy¡¯s nickel. He couldn¡¯t even let himself think about all the atrocities committed against women in this region. He could only focus on willing her to stay alive. God help her if they figured out she was a top-notch intelligence operative with an uncanny aptitude for code breaking.


    God help them both if he failed to get her out.


    He¡¯d been told little when he¡¯d boarded the plane at his home base in Georgia, only knowing they were being tasked to rescue a kidnapped group of students. Not unusual to keep him in the dark until deeper into the mission. He¡¯d understood the op was covert and their slide into the country would be off the books. Their aircraft looked more like a large civilian charter jet than a military transport.


    He damn well hadn¡¯t guessed Stella was one of the captives until he was airborne. He¡¯d almost lost his shit right then and there. Only the burning need to be damn sure they didn¡¯t have any excuse to kick him off this operation kept him from going postal.


    At least he¡¯d gotten his rage under control by the time they¡¯d flown into Camp Lemmonier, a U.S. base in Africa, and pulled into the waiting empty airplane hangar. They¡¯d slipped in by pretending to be part of the advance security team for the U.S. vice president¡¯s wife¡¯s upcoming visit. Once inside the hangar, they¡¯d off-loaded their gear¡ªshipping containers emptied and flipped over to be used as tables. The other four CIA agents¡ªtechies¡ªmonitored two fifteen-inch computer screens each with a massive flat screen above all to feed images from the smaller units.


    A Predator unmanned surveillance drone sent pictures from outside the compound and relayed thermal imaging of individuals inside. The craft, flown by remote control, had also released a smaller reconnaissance craft¡ªthe ultimate ¡°bug.¡±


    Nanotechnology made it possible to fly in a miniscule spy vehicle that looked like a fly or spider, a nano air vehicle or NAV. The miniature drone didn¡¯t have the distance capability of the Predator, but the maneuverability was unbeatable. The minute size provided the ultimate disguise, sending back visual and audio feed via satellite. Even though other countries knew of the existence of the technology, it wasn¡¯t like they could swat every fly and stomp every spider.


    The lead CIA agent on their extraction team¡ªa craggy-faced dude calling himself ¡°Mr. Smith,¡± surprise, surprise¡ªclicked the controller in his hands and shifted one of the smaller screen images to feed into the larger wide-screen above the rest.


    ¡°This footage was made yesterday at zero-eight-hundred when the Predator spy drone successfully deployed NAVs for an inside peek.¡± Smith hitched the dusty leather belt, his dark shirt and pants well-worn and generic looking as his four identical workmates. ¡°We were lucky enough to make contact with Agent Carson.¡±


    The screen captured her eyes narrowing briefly as she stepped closer to the minute surveillance device. She nodded, just a tiny dip of her head that she knew she was being watched and somehow she¡¯d decided the eyes were friendly. Yet, she didn¡¯t give anything away to the pair of scared students huddled in the corner with an unconscious third on the floor in front of them.


    Mr. Smith zoomed in so close Stella¡¯s freckles came into focus. ¡°Once she knew we had eyes in the room, she fed us information like a pro.¡±


    Jose leaned forward, elbows on his knees as his eyes zeroed in on his favorite freckle, the one just below her ear where he¡¯d discovered she liked to be kissed the day they¡¯d flown to Queen Elizabeth National Park. He could almost taste her skin even now, watching her on screen.


    She walked to a corner and stared up at what appeared to be a regular surveillance camera to keep watch over prisoners. ¡°We need medical supplies in here,¡± she shouted, her husky voice reaching through the airwaves to grip him right around his heart. ¡°Do you hear me, people?¡±


    The operative fast forwarded through her pointing out two injured students and three more devices in her dank concrete room; each step took her past piles of ancient pottery and stacks of other stolen pieces of art. ¡°She alerted us to the location of the cameras in the room and the students throughout the building¡ªas best she could.¡±


    Her pacing slowed beside a stack of ancient tribal masks. ¡°You can¡¯t just lock all of us away.¡± Her fingers skimmed along a gold gilded antiquity. Drawing their attention to the room¡¯s storehouse of stolen historic treasures? ¡°I¡¯m no good to you if I die before you even get to torture me for answers.¡±


    Torture.


    Rape was rampant here.


    Mutilation of women was commonplace.


    Bile burned the back of his throat as a hole threatened to crack open his chest. What had she been through during her three days of captivity? Jamming the fear to the back of his brain, he focused on using his training to help her. He wouldn¡¯t be any good to her if he didn¡¯t hold it together.


    His eyes flicked to other screens, images of the rest of the rooms, one in particular. Chains hung from the ceiling. Knives glinted in a line on a nearby table. A battery with cables lay too damn close on the floor. The semiconscious man being carried between two guards appeared alive.


    Jose forced himself to assess the young man medically. Pararescue training included extensive schooling as a medic and no doubt those skills were needed for this mission. The wide screen filled again with Stella¡¯s image, the time stamp at the bottom showing the footage had come in late yesterday afternoon.


    ¡°Hello?¡± She waved her hand in front of one of the bad guy surveillance cameras. ¡°Your guards are due back in a half hour anyway to bring that watery soup you call supper¡­ Oh yeah, and you call it breakfast, but no actual lunch because we shouldn¡¯t eat enough to have any energy. Instead of your sunrise/sunset buffet, I¡¯d rather have a bucket of water and antibiotics.¡±


    Mr. Smith froze that frame, leaving the smaller images running in both past and real time now, offering two Stellas to watch in addition to the full screen close-up of her pale face with keen green eyes. ¡°Notice, she told us the guard¡¯s schedule¡ªor at least the part we can expect. Sunrise and sunset. We can infiltrate at that moment, when we know where the guards will be. It¡¯s better to face the certainty. You¡¯ll be going in just before dusk as they take her supper tonight.¡±

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    Screens flickered and shifted with feeds of everything from jungle perimeter to the rusted chain-link fence. Jose imprinted every detail in his brain. Nothing could be tossed aside as inconsequential.Advertisement


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± Mr. Smith continued, scratching his jaw along the beard they all grew when undercover in-country for any length of time, ¡°I trust I don¡¯t need to stress how important it is that this rescue goes off without major incident. With the vice president¡¯s wife coming for a goodwill visit at the end of the week, security is crucial.¡±


    If there weren¡¯t civilian students involved in the kidnapping would they have left Stella there to die in the interest of preserving ¡°security¡±? His fist clenched around his sobriety coin in his pocket. He was the first person in a long line of family alcoholics to make it this far in AA.


    ¡°Sergeant James.¡± Mr. Smith turned his attention to Jose. The frozen image of Stella fast forwarded. ¡°Here¡¯s the part that brought you here today.¡±


    Stella hitched her hands on her hips, her face directed right at the nano bug. ¡°I really could use some Jose Cuervo.¡±


    The CIA agent clicked the remote again and again, skipping to different frames where she repeated over time¡­ ¡°Jose Cuervo¡­ Jose Cuervo¡­ Jose Cuervo¡­¡±


    Cuervo. An ironic reminder of a bad encounter with a bottle of the tequila, and due to his name Jose, the call sign stuck. Jose ¡°Cuervo¡± James. He forced himself to concentrate on the deceptively bland CIA operative in charge of the whole operation.


    ¡°We looked into her file and your name¡ªor rather your call sign¡ªcaught our attention. We realized the two of you worked a mission together six months ago. Our files indicate you became more than friends.¡±


    So much for their attempts to keep the relationship secret. Apparently big brother really was watching.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± he answered simply, catching a look from his fellow teammate out of the corner of his eye.


    He¡¯d been paired with Tech Sergeant Gavin ¡°Bubbles¡± Novak, the least chatty PJ in their squadron, but the best medic. Bubbles had also been there the day Stella had pulled them out of the Gulf of Aden.


    A wave from one of the techies drew their attention back. The main screen filled with Stella in ¡°real time.¡± His mouth dried at the thought of seeing her now, so vibrant he ached to step into the image with her. The screen showed a door opening in Stella¡¯s cell.


    Shit. Why did they have to sit around here with their thumbs up their asses reviewing footage? They needed to get to her. Now.


    A guard tossed another limp body on the floor, the resulting groan from the guy the only sign that their latest inquisition had left the student alive. The guard¡¯s shaved bald head gleamed from the bare lightbulb swinging from the ceiling. He wore camouflage pants and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut, no military rank visible. Ammo straps crisscrossed his chest. A rifle hung over his shoulder.


    A blade was sheathed at his waist in a belt holding more bullets.


    Stella¡¯s eyes went wide with perfectly played innocence and horror. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you want from me. I¡¯ll tell you everything I know. Can I just have some water first, please?¡±


    The guard hooked his hand on the strap of his automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. ¡°We want to know who you are.¡± His accent was clearly local, Somali most likely. ¡°Why were you and your fellow spies on our property?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you already. My name is Stella. I¡¯m a foreign exchange student. These are my friends in the same program, but we¡¯re all from different schools. We were on a day trip when you found us, a study on ways to improve distribution of food during a famine. We only wanted to help.¡± She backed step by step until she bumped a table of ancient pottery. ¡°I¡¯m begging you, can I just go home?¡±


    ¡°You must think we are very stupid.¡± The bald guard blocked the doorway out. ¡°I do not like to be insulted.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like being taken captive.¡± Her hand slid to the table, her fingers closing over a broken handle off a cup. She tucked the remnant into the back of her waistband. ¡°I want to call my embassy.¡±


    She tugged her T-shirt as if for emphasis, effectively hiding her makeshift weapon. Pride filled him. Damn, she was amazing.


    His mind raced back to the first time he¡¯d seen her when he¡¯d hauled himself out of the sea and into the rescue boat. She¡¯d been at the wheel, holding the boat steady against the hammering waves, unbending with the wind tearing at her fiery red braid. There¡¯d been bullets, a blown up chopper, and blood streaking down her face.


    Not a romantic meeting by any stretch.


    Their sprint through the marketplace to the embassy had left them both weary as hell, wrung dry by the job. Afterward, he¡¯d found her on the embassy roof, grieving for the aircrew of the downed chopper. That explosion had shaken him more than a little too.


    He¡¯d been planning to have his one cigar a month to decompress. He¡¯d taken up smoking when he kicked the booze, then had to kick nicotine as best he could. One cigar a month when stress got to be too much wasn¡¯t the best option, but it didn¡¯t drag him back under the way one drink would. So he carried a Cuban smoke in his pocket at all times. He¡¯d had it half out when he stepped onto the roof¡­ and then he¡¯d found Stella.


    He hadn¡¯t smoked a cigar since.


    Their attraction had been immediate. Explosive. Their five-month affair had been frenetic as they ¡°dated¡± wherever their paths crossed on missions and assignments throughout the Horn of Africa and farther along the Eastern region, even over as far as Uganda. They¡¯d lived on the edge, drunk on an edgy attraction that provided a greater high than could be found in any bottle.


    Until they¡¯d crashed. Broken up. Ripped each other¡¯s heart out.


    A quick elbow jab to his side brought him back to the present. He looked sharply at his team bud¡ªTech Sergeant Gavin ¡°Bubbles¡± Novak¡ªnodding toward the images again. Screen three filled with a male stretched out on the floor, a student beaten to a pulp for information who appeared to be hanging on by a thread.


    Stella knelt beside the pummeled student, her hands going to each wound as if to make sure to document every injury for the rescue team watching. Her gaze was so intense.


    Something tugged at him, but he couldn¡¯t pinpoint what. From her position, her back to the enemy¡¯s camera, she clearly meant to hide something from her captors watching. She stared up into the bug, her blinking strange, erratic. Was she drugged? He watched closer, searching, slowly realizing¡­


    Holy crap, there was a pattern.


    Jose held up a hand, snapping his fingers for attention. ¡°Agent Smith, get a close-up on her face there. Do you see? She¡¯s blinking.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and your point, Sergeant?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s blinking Morse code.¡± The longer he looked, the more certain he became. ¡°Like the Navy pilot captured during the Vietnam War. He blinked ¡®torture¡¯ in a televised interview.¡±


    ¡°And you think she¡¯s doing that now.¡±


    ¡°Stella¡¯s a code breaker. You know that from her file. But you wouldn¡¯t know she talked about stuff like that all the time.¡±


    They had talked about it. And that had to be why she¡¯d hedged her bets in trying to get him here to watch the footage. A long shot? Maybe. But her situation called for extreme measures.


    Jose sat up straighter. ¡°And there. She¡¯s tapping her fingers, but always away from the bad guy cameras.¡±


    ¡°Tap code? Like the language the Vietnam prisoners used to talk to each other from cell to cell?¡±


    ¡°Right. She¡¯s trying to communicate, to give us as much information as possible.¡± Damn it. If they¡¯d seen this earlier, the information would already be decoded. Now¡­ ¡°Who knows what else she may have uncovered?¡±


    Mr. Smith scratched his bristly chin. ¡°Weighing the risk of waiting against missing some info she may be sharing, we can¡¯t afford to delay. You¡¯ll go in and we¡¯ll feed her messages to you as we unlock them,¡± he said with surety, but his forehead creased with concern. ¡°Is your personal baggage with Agent Carson going to present a problem?¡±


    How much did Smith know? The breakup last month had been bad. It had hurt like hell¡ªstill did. But it had been quiet as well as permanent. He¡¯d come to grips with the fact he would spend his life without her.


    But he could not, would not, accept a world without Stella Carson in it. ¡°I¡¯m as focused as I¡¯ve ever been. I know my job and I¡¯ve been tasked to get all the hostages out alive.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I needed to hear.¡± Smith turned from the image of Stella on the main screen. ¡°Gentlemen, time to roll.¡±


    Jose stole one last look at the only woman he¡¯d ever loved, soaking in what could be his final glimpse of her alive. The door behind her opened again. She pressed her back to the wall. Fast. Her eyes alert.


    A captor with hard muscles and harder eyes walked inside, tossing another unconscious student in a heap in the corner. He paused in front of Stella, one lip lifting in a sneer.


    ¡°Once we finish with the last of your friends, you are next.¡±


    Jose¡¯s fist closed around the coin. Bloody hell.


    She was next.


    Next to be tortured.


    Next to be killed?


    Time was running out for a Hail Mary rescue. That didn¡¯t mean she intended to go down without kicking in some teeth on her way out of this world. Sure, the local government had asked for international help in dealing with the warlords, but that wouldn¡¯t guarantee her presence would be actively acknowledged. Field operatives disappeared sometimes. It was a hazard of the job. Would these stone walls become her funeral crypt, entombing her here with other dead bodies and priceless artifacts?


    The door closed, giving her a temporary reprieve to search the room, to prepare herself and hopefully launch more warnings. When she¡¯d identified the nanotechnology surveillance equipment, she¡¯d allowed herself to hope her messages would get through in time. And if not? She¡¯d relayed as much information as possible. Some might not have noticed her blinking and tap codes, but she¡¯d bargained on Jose remembering their conversations. She¡¯d scrambled for every idea possible to leave clues that she needed him brought in to watch the surveillance feed.


    Had he seen her?


    Regret chewed her gut over the way she¡¯d ended things, and she couldn¡¯t help but wonder if he felt the same. Even if they weren¡¯t meant to be together, she¡¯d hurled horrible words at him and those could be the last she spoke to him. Was there a chance to tell him if he was on the other end of that video feed? Would he recall the good times between them, their exotic dates over to Queen Elizabeth National Park and up into Egypt? Heaven knew she would never forget the sound of his laugh. His easygoing approach to life, the way he cared for the people around him had drawn her to him from the start.


    She pressed her hands to her eyes, dizzy from lack of sleep and minimal food. What if she was hallucinating about the whole mini spy drone? Charlotte¡¯s Web up there could be wondering what the hell was going on. And damn, she really was crazy if she focused on anything other than doing everything possible to get out of here. It wasn¡¯t just her life on the line.


    She blinked a final Morse code in the direction of ¡°Charlotte.¡± Details about the guards and discussions she¡¯d overheard, everything possible to protect the rescue team coming in. Would it be enough to help an extraction team before her turn at the inquisition?


    She¡¯d taken her fair share of knocks from her three big brothers while playing basketball, football, and pretty much any other sport, because if she didn¡¯t join them, she got left behind. She¡¯d always punched right back. She¡¯d held her own with her fists, fingernails, and whatever else she could lay her hands on. She would do the same here.

 Page 4

    Searching for any other possible tools among the stolen artifacts, she continued her rambling litany in hopes good guys were on the other side of that nano spy bug. ¡°If somebody doesn¡¯t send some antibiotics back here we won¡¯t last long enough for you to ransom us off to our country in exchange for whatever the going rate is for students.¡±Advertisement


    Rambling on for whoever might be listening, she pocketed the preserved jaw of some small animal to use like spiked brass knuckles. The tip of a tusk went in her sock.


    Too bad they hadn¡¯t stashed her in the ancient war tools room. Just as she¡¯d expected from the beginning, they were gathering artifacts to sell on the black market to fund their separatist group, headed by a radical warlord. The same group that had recently blown up the American ambassador¡¯s private residence, hell-bent on stirring unrest.


    But they were planning something more here, something big. Maybe for when the vice president¡¯s wife came to visit to bring national attention to the plight of women in the region? Stella had made progress with one of the guards by pretending to be a student sympathetic to their cause. But somehow, they¡¯d grown suspicious or been tipped off.


    Years ago her mother had tried to help the same people who now held her hostage. Talk about irony. And she was still no closer to figuring out missing details from the day her mother died.


    The door opened again. Her stomach plunged. She tucked her ankle behind her other leg, just in case they caught sight of the bulge in her sock. The scariest of her captors¡ªnot the sneering bastard, but the man who showed no expression at all, a short lean man who should have appeared harmless but reminded her of a cheetah rather than a lion. Just as fast, strong, and lethal.


    Wordlessly, he grabbed her arm in a vise grip and hauled her from the room. Would the surveillance bug follow her? Was she on her own now? How close was help? She had to operate on the assumption she was being watched and that help was on the way.


    If she could just stay alive long enough.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± Down a dank hallway, past the two dead Americans tossed in the corner like sacks of garbage, not even a hint of dignity given to the lifeless hulls that once housed a human soul. She vowed to do everything in her power to make sure their families got their bodies back. ¡°You really don¡¯t have to do this. I¡¯ll tell you whatever you want to know.¡±


    She looked up at the camera in the hall. The enemy¡¯s camera. She¡¯d been left alone so far. The captors had gone for the older ones first, assuming she was a junior agent, low-level status, which meant less intel. They¡¯d gone for the big fish first.


    Or maybe they hoped the sounds of torture would soften her up, make her break faster.


    She couldn¡¯t weaken. Too many people in the field depended on her silence. Names. Lives.


    Guilt weighed her down. She¡¯d been selfish to come to this region of the world with her own agenda. She¡¯d accepted the assignment in hopes of uncovering more about her mother¡¯s death in the region fourteen years ago¡ªdistracting enough. Then she¡¯d met Jose and her focus drifted even further.


    Her eyes shot back to the dead bodies¡ªan innocent student and a CIA operative. Had a lapse on her part cost them their lives? She¡¯d been so damn sure their cover was rock solid. Even when the separatists had taken the group of students hostage, she¡¯d prayed that was their only agenda. That they didn¡¯t know they¡¯d also landed four undercover operatives as well.


    And there was still hope they didn¡¯t know about her. How ironic that she¡¯d come here to retrace her mother¡¯s last days and now she was walking in her footsteps in a more literal way. Her mother¡¯s battered body sent home in a box, the cause of death labeled a car accident. And Stella never had the chance to say good-bye, to apologize for sending her mother off that last time by screaming how much she hated her for leaving them again.


    So many regrets.


    And her most current regret? One of her biggest? The way she¡¯d broken things off with Jose, the man she¡¯d been so certain was her soul mate.


    If she thought about him, she would cry, but then maybe that would seem more natural. She¡¯d tried it at first¡ªno luck. But if it bought her time now, then hell, she would try anything.


    She envisioned Jose¡¯s shoulders sagging when he realized she was serious about ending their relationship.


    Tears filled her eyes in a flash. Using the emotion to her advantage, she looked up at the cold, detached guard. She let the tears roll down her cheeks, allowed all her anguish to show for once.


    ¡°Please, call my mom and dad. They¡¯ll pay you anything you want to get me back.¡±


    Her cover story would hold under scrutiny. Her passport traced back to a concocted profile of her life as a pampered rich kid from Florida who lived off of a hefty trust fund, continuing to enroll in college to avoid getting a job. She¡¯d slid right into the group of students. For them, she¡¯d risked bringing Jose into harm¡¯s way, something she never would have done had she been the only one taken. But for the students and for whatever plan these ruthless bastards were cooking up, she had to think like an agent.


    Not like a woman whose heart still ached for a man she couldn¡¯t have.


    Her captor jerked her to a stop at the end of the hall. The doorway loomed in front of her. And landing on the corner of the frame, a buzzing little fly.


    She stared up into what she prayed was help and one last time she blinked¡­


    Warning: Land mines at the camp gates.


    Stella¡¯s voice echoed in the earpiece of Jose¡¯s comm set as he stood in the open hatch of a C-130 cargo plane. Wind roared through the open portal. Parched earth and thirsty frankincense trees sprawled far, far below. The rebel camp waited.


    With Stella inside.


    All he needed was the signal to go and he would jump with Bubbles and the SEALs, parachuting into the compound in the twilight, HALO style¡ªhigh altitude, low opening. The best way to slip in unnoticed. No tipping anyone off by bringing a helicopter too close. The cargo plane would drop them off at thirty thousand feet with an oxygen mask into a free fall. He would wait until the very last possible second to pop the parachute.


    Then they would charge the camp on foot.


    ¡°Go, go, go!¡± the loadmaster shouted the command into the mic.


    His boots pounded along the metal ramp as he ran to the edge and¡­


    Jumped.


    Arms and legs extended, his body split the air, speeding downward. He hurtled through the dusky sky, into utter silence other than the sounds from his headset¡­ more feed from Stella¡¯s surveillance and a low hum of radio chatter from the aircrew. But he only heard the echoes of Stella from the satellite feed.


    The command center still ran the feed in the background in a way he could hear her faintly. Listening to her sob tore him apart, even knowing she was acting her role as a terrified student. But the slaps by her interrogator weren¡¯t fake. The punch was followed by a stifled groan.


    Then more questions. They didn¡¯t believe her or her friends. Someone was here spying.


    And God help her, they were right.


    How long could she hold out? He wanted to send her a sign to hang on, to let her know he was on his way at top speed. Wind whipped over him.


    Hearing her tortured was a hellish abyss that could suck him in faster than any free fall. Damn it all to hell. He had to think of something, anything else, or he would lose his shit. His mind latched onto an image of her at a squadron party. People hadn¡¯t known they were dating. They¡¯d both been hepped up on accidental brushes and hot glances.


    But those times he¡¯d watched her when she thought no one was looking¡­ those times hit him hardest. Such as at that picnic when her eagle eye picked up his teammate Bubbles¡¯s one vulnerability. Hulking big, badass Gavin Novak didn¡¯t like fuzzy things¡­ like the inside of a jacket or texture of certain foods. She¡¯d grabbed a peach and chased Bubbles around the bonfire, threatening to rub it on his arm. Her laughter, her playfulness, all bundled up with her insightfulness made for a compelling, irresistible woman.


    Stella was also a complex woman he couldn¡¯t begin to understand. He¡¯d just watched her, her every move turning him on and inside out as he¡¯d fallen for her. Falling as hard as he was going to land if he didn¡¯t pay attention. He needed to count down the seconds to deploy his parachute.


    Another slap echoed through the sound waves along with her cry. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything except you¡¯re going to kill us for nothing. Why not ransom us for money? Anything other than this¡­¡±


    ¡°Shut. Up,¡± her inquisitor shouted. ¡°I am going to ask you again, what were you and your friends doing on our property? Which government agency are you spying for?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t torture information out of people if they don¡¯t know it,¡± she answered with just the right amount of quiver in her voice.


    ¡°You play the innocent act well, but I do not believe you.¡±


    Jose eyed the perimeter of the compound, growing closer and closer. He clutched the ripcord to his parachute. Counting down. Waiting as long as possible to deploy the chute, to minimize the chance of being seen in the sky. Three. Two. One.


    Yank.


    The silky nylon filled with air. Lines went taut. Straps jerked, jacking his nuts up somewhere around his ears. He pulled the guide ropes toward the ground. Very little reaction time for a HALO. The landing would come hard and fast. He kept his eyes up. Staring straight down at the ground for landing was actually counterproductive and would send him on his ass. Instead, he monitored the compound, noting positions of guards. Lights began to flicker on in the isolated compound.


    He scanned the horizon, picking out the specks of the others slipping through the night sky. Through the trees. To the gritty earth. Wham. He felt the shock clean through. He tucked into a controlled landing¡­


    Heels. Knees. Roll to his side. Shake off the stunned-stupid feel and get to work.


    He cut free his chute lines and launched into a crouch, ready. His headset crackled to life again with Mr. Smith¡¯s gravelly voice, not Stella¡¯s smooth tones.


    ¡°One of our techies is working through Agent Carson¡¯s messages. Tap code indicates at least twenty rebels in the compound. Two guards in the front, three in back. Even the cook carries a gun.¡±


    Each piece of information that filtered through brought images of Stella, keeping her cool as she blinked or tapped out the information. Darting, he zigzagged toward the compound, staying low, submachine gun aimed, 9 mm holstered for backup. He made eye contact with Bubbles about ten feet away. The SEALs faded from sight as they surrounded all sides of the secured building.


    A spotlight popped on, sweeping toward him. Jose dropped to his belly, flat into prickly dhirindhir brush. Beads of sweat tracked through the camo paint on his face.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Mr. Jones¡¯s voice hissed through the earpiece, obviously deciphering bad news. ¡°She said there are land mines at the gates. True entrances are hidden within the fence. Avoid the gates. I repeat, do not use the gates. Locate the camouflaged entrances, or as a last resort, climb over.¡±


    ¡°Roger,¡± he whispered, blinking his eyes clear of sweat.


    The SEALs around back would deactivate the electric fence. Then they would have to move faster than fast. Flat to the ground, he waited, waited¡­ And go.


    He shot to his feet and tossed pebbles at the fence. No sparks. He risked a touch, found it cool, but didn¡¯t see any secret entrances on this side. Launching up, he scaled the fence, chain-link rattling in his hands. Bubbles kept pace beside him until they both vaulted over. He landed with a puff of dirt spurting from under his boots. His headset echoed with sounds of engagement on the other side.


    As Stella had warned, he found the first of the east side guards. Bubbles raised his MP5. Aimed. Two barely perceptible pop, pops hissed, muffled by a silencer.


    Bubbles lowered his submachine gun and tapped his headset. ¡°Guards in front cleared.¡±


    Affirmatives echoed over the headsets. Finally, Smith¡¯s. Thank God. ¡°Roger. Update on captives. Of the twelve taken captive, two dead, four wounded. Images show at least one is critical.¡±

 Page 5

    Not Stella, damn it.Advertisement


    Even as his instincts screamed at him to go after her now, his brain went on autopilot, training imprinted so deeply in his muscle memory his body reacted without thought. He flattened himself to walls, whipped around corners. The steady slug, slug, slug of his heart stayed even, in control. Reports echoed low in his headset, students secured. Both bodies retrieved. Four wounded, located, and loaded.


    Only Stella remained, deep inside, in the interrogation room. Guarded. He reached for his weapon.


    Bubbles was the first to shoot again.


    Jose didn¡¯t have time to worry his reaction time might be off. He had to move, step over the downed guard, and pray when he and Bubbles opened the door and stormed the room that muscle memory training would be spot-on.


    He plowed through and found¡­ Stella. She sat tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Her wiry interrogator stood behind her with his fist in her hair, a knife at her throat.


    Chapter 2


    Stella fought back the urge to launch toward Jose.


    The knife at her throat pressed an icy reminder of the need to hold very still. Her senses went on hyper-alert to the stench of her captor¡¯s garlic breath, the stickiness of his sweat, the steely press of ammo strapped to his chest.


    Focus, damn it. She was a trained professional. That should be what carried her through. Instead she drew strength from the conviction in Jose¡¯s eyes. Somehow he¡¯d found a detached professionalism that was deserting her. She ached to call out to him, even knowing she couldn¡¯t afford the least movement, not even the tremble of her lips as her mouth watered.


    But she could soak up the sight of him.


    Jose. Here, decked out in camo, survival gear, and pointing an MP5 directly at her captor. She¡¯d expected him to be brought in to break her code, not participate in the actual rescue operation.


    But he¡¯d more than heard her. He¡¯d come for her. For a split second the adrenaline poured from her toes. Every ache in her body throbbed to the surface. Every bruise. Scratch. Fear. And yes, even an aching vulnerability when it came to this man. All of it bundled together, firing inside her, then doused, pushed aside as she focused on survival. If he¡¯d infiltrated the compound without setting off land mines, without a sound of alert, someone must have picked up on her codes.


    Her codes.


    She needed them now. She could blink without moving her throat, without alerting her captor behind her.


    Simple Morse code. Something easy to understand.


    She held Jose¡¯s deep chocolate eyes but found none of her former lover in those depths. He was still one hundred percent focused on the mission. As he should be. As she should be.


    She blinked. On three. One. Two. Three.


    Stella inched left, the slice of the blade cutting into her throat, but God, if Jose could just take the¡ª


    Shot.


    Bullets whistled past her ear.


    The hold around her eased, thank God. She pushed back into her guard¡¯s stomach and his arm fell away altogether. She toppled her chair in case Jose needed her clear to continue shooting. Her shoulder slammed the ground and she bit back a scream.


    Still, a groan slipped between her gritted teeth. Jose charged over to her, yanked some kind of cloth from his pocket, and knotted it gently around her throat. It was okay. She was okay. He was alive and so was she. She gulped in air, breathing deeply for the first time since her captor had pressed that blade to her throat.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she gasped while he untied her, the familiar scent of him settling her nerves with each shaky inhale.


    ¡°You will be.¡±


    ¡°And the others?¡±


    ¡°Taken care of.¡± He grabbed her elbow and eased her to her feet. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    His touch seared her skin, his strength so welcome after the past three days¡ªan eternity. She tucked closer to Jose¡¯s side for balance as spots danced in front of her eyes.


    His burly pal Bubbles filled the doorway. He pivoted hard and took the lead. Jose looped an arm around her waist and hauled her with him.


    So much for a heartfelt reunion. But then she had often accused Jose of being illogical. Now she couldn¡¯t complain when he did everything right to save her life. They didn¡¯t have time for a huggy, feel-good moment. She needed to think, to be sure everyone had been accounted for.


    ¡°Did you get everybody?¡± Stella pressed for details. ¡°Even the two that are dead?¡±


    The failure of their lost lives threatened to send her to her knees again.


    ¡°Two dead. Four injured,¡± Bubbles clipped out. ¡°The SEALs got ¡¯em all.¡±


    ¡°No, five injured. Thirteen hostages total. It was twelve plus me.¡± She forced her mind to cycle through the events of the past three days, praying she wasn¡¯t confusing things in her exhaustion. ¡°Did you clear the room where I was held? It¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°We know where it is. We saw your message.¡±


    She¡¯d guessed right about the robotic fly. She hadn¡¯t been hallucinating. ¡°Then let¡¯s go. Maybe the room beside it? But there were definitely at least five injured.¡±


    Bubbles raced from room to room, cell to cell, and appeared again so fast and silent they could have renamed him Ghost. Just when she¡¯d given up hope, Bubbles came out with his arm hitched around the injured fella¡ªSutton Harper¡ªsteadying him. The tortured student dragged his leg behind, clutching his arm to his stomach. His blond curly hair was plastered to his head with grime, his hiking clothes damp with perspiration. But he was alive.


    Jose pressed his finger to his headset, listening, then nodded. ¡°All accounted for. No more waiting. We¡¯ve got to roll if we¡¯re going to make the chopper pickup.¡±


    Sutton limped slower, groaning. ¡°Go without me. Seriously, dude. I¡¯m holding you back and that¡¯s a risk to Stella. You can send someone for me later.¡±


    ¡°No can do.¡± Bubbles powered on, hauling his patient.


    Sutton nodded to Jose and Stella. ¡°Then you two go. Take her and leave.¡±


    Stella shook her head. ¡°We stay together.¡±


    Of course Sutton, an honest to God twenty-two-year-old student, an innocent in all of this, didn¡¯t know her role here and she sure as hell didn¡¯t intend to tell him. Knowing would only put him further at risk if they were unable to escape now. She was able to protect herself. In fact, her job included protecting him.


    She turned to Jose. ¡°Help him so we can move faster. I¡¯ll keep up.¡± She willed herself to stand steely strong in spite of her aching ribs and throbbing shoulder. Exhaustion and hunger gnawed at her. ¡°We don¡¯t have time to argue.¡±


    Hesitating for only a second, a second where his eyes flashed with frustration and urgency, Jose moved forward and hitched his shoulder under Sutton¡¯s other arm. ¡°Let¡¯s roll out.¡±


    Stella ignored her own aches and focused on one foot in front of the other as Jose and his PJ teammate hauled Sutton through the narrow cinder block corridors, stepping over dead guards, ducking out into the courtyard.


    Even the weak, last rays of the sun stung her eyes after three days inside in captivity. She blinked away spots. Her foot caught on a root protruding from the cracked earth. She flung out her arms to brace her fall. Her palms slapped the rough bark of a gnarled galool tree.


    ¡°Stella?¡± Jose called back over his shoulder, shooting an arm out.


    ¡°I¡¯m good. The light blinded me for a second. Keep going.¡±


    Steady on her feet again, she dashed forward, catching up and keeping pace, running toward the oh-so-distant sound of helicopter blades slicing the air. How far to the helicopter pickup? Asking would only waste precious breath, and even if the chopper was miles away, she wouldn¡¯t slow down. This was an all-out race for their lives. Sure, the guards had been taken down, but reinforcements would be on their way soon. This particular separatist group was large, organized with the support of a powerful warlord.


    And damn it, Jose was in the line of fire because of her. Fighting for professionalism was tougher than ever for her now, leaving her edgy, angry.


    Scared.


    The most dangerous emotion of all as it made them all vulnerable.


    She¡¯d selfishly begun this journey seeking information about her mother. Now she knew it was about lots of mothers and children, just as the VP¡¯s wife hoped to highlight in her visit. And while Stella wouldn¡¯t look away from facts about her mother if they came her way, she had a mission to complete.


    Was the frenzy and the separatists¡¯ big ¡°plan¡± all tied into the upcoming visit of the VP¡¯s wife? Her visit here, the causes she stood for, didn¡¯t sit well with many in the region.


    And Jose had been drawn into the middle of this hell.


    He stopped shy of the gate, adjusting his hold on Sutton. ¡°Bubbles, you crawl over and I¡¯ll hoist him up to you.¡±


    The land mines. Of course. God, how horrifically ironic if she¡¯d lost focus now when she was so close to escape.


    Jose looked back at her. ¡°We¡¯re almost home free. Once we¡¯re past the fence, it¡¯s only a couple of minutes to the helicopter pickup.¡± He cupped her shoulder and squeezed. ¡°Hold tight, Stel, okay?¡±


    For that moment, he was her Jose again, the feel of his hand so familiar her body reacted by instinct, swaying toward him. God, she¡¯d missed him. Even if they weren¡¯t a couple anymore, at least she would have the chance to take back some of the horrible things she¡¯d said to him. And the faster they got away from this place, the sooner she could start on that.


    ¡°I¡¯m not even close to giving out. Lead. I¡¯ll follow.¡± As if to bolster her, the wind carried the sound of the approaching helicopter. No doubt searching for a barren spot of sandy earth to land. This place was such a mix of rain forests and desert with dying trees. Contradictions of lush history and cruel corruption. She¡¯d hoped to help tip the scales in favor of the good. Now she just wanted to stay alive.


    The echo of helicopter blades cutting the air whomp, whomp, whomped closer.


    Sutton went wild-eyed for a second. From delirium or hope? He broke away from Jose and charged toward the gate.


    Right toward the section she¡¯d overheard a guard say was booby-trapped.


    Panicking, Stella screamed, ¡°No! Land mines!¡±


    Jose catapulted toward Sutton, whose frenzy had somehow overcome his pain. Jose held the guy¡¯s legs, pinning him as Bubbles climbed back over the fence to help.


    Sutton thrashed with a frenetic energy. ¡°Get off me. Get off me now!¡±


    Was he suffering from combat trauma because of their time here in the compound? The student cycled with his feet, hiking boots sending pebbles and rocks spewing across the path.


    Onto the land mines.


    Ah hell.


    She covered her head a second before¡­


    The explosion shook the ground. Ripples concussed the air, slamming her back to the rocky earth. Bubbles flew through the air and landed on his back with an ¡°oof.¡±


    And Jose? Oh God, where was he? She squinted, peering through the dust poofing upward. A shape took form a hand¡¯s reach away, familiar, rangy, and masculine. Alive and already rolling to his feet again. The downed fenced lay just at their feet, only inches shy of crushing them.


    Relief sang through her as loud as the ringing in her ears. She cradled her head in her hands and fought vertigo. She swallowed hard, trying to clear the pressure crackling, popping.


    Damn it. She sat up straighter, pushing through the pain to listen.


    Gunfire echoed in the distance¡ªbackup for them or the separatists?


    Jose pressed his hand to his headset. Listening? ¡°No more time. The chopper has to bail¡ªand so do we.¡± His face went dark as he tapped the earpiece. ¡°I¡¯m losing contact. Damn it.¡±


    Sutton sat holding his head. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Chopper¡¯s gone. They¡¯re taking fire. They can¡¯t wait any longer and risk everyone else on board. That¡¯s all I got before the headset shorted out.¡± Jose hauled Sutton to his feet. ¡°We run and evade until they can come back.¡±

 Page 6

    The chopper was gone? Her stomach lurched, her heart rat-tat-tatting like the gunfire.Advertisement


    Sutton swayed, his knees buckling as his eyes rolled back in his head. Jose tucked his shoulder into the injured student¡¯s gut and hefted him into a fireman¡¯s carry. Sutton¡¯s arms hung limp, his whole body slack with unconsciousness.


    Jose turned to his teammate. ¡°Bubbles, lead the way.¡±


    ¡°Roger that, Cuervo.¡±


    Not even wincing at the extra hundred and sixty pounds of unconscious student, Jose picked his way around the rubble toward the gaping hole in the fence¡ªthe only blessing from the explosion.


    Gunfire grew louder, closer. The outer realm of security was engaging. Jose was right. They needed to bail. How ironic that she¡¯d always been the one pointing out the logic, the reasons they were perfect together, and how their future fit. He was the wildly impulsive one. The romantic.


    Yet here and now, he was keeping his cool, completely in the moment. She wanted to lose it, to scream over the danger she¡¯d put him in.


    And yet she¡¯d done what she had to in order to get the innocent students out. She would do the same again.


    If only she¡¯d had time to learn more about the group¡¯s agenda.


    Local government officials had pleaded with the UN for help. Intel on the warlord indicated he wanted control of an already unstable region. They had pirates on their side operating as rogue mercenaries, funding their operations and splitting the profits. If they gained control, the area would be at the mercy of a brutal totalitarian regime where the rights of children and women would become nonexistent¡­ There were so many horrific scenarios for what they could have in mind and she¡¯d only begun to scratch the surface.


    But if she¡¯d been there longer, she would be dead. She had to focus on one thing only now: keeping her head on straight and staying alive.


    Jose resisted the urge to rub his five-year sobriety coin again.


    Hyenas seemed to mock him in the distance as he trekked farther and farther from the compound, deeper into the night to keep Stella safe. Everything he¡¯d bottled up steamrolled him. This day had been¡ªhell. And it wasn¡¯t over.


    The weight of the student didn¡¯t drag him down. He¡¯d trained with heavier, once carrying hulking Bubbles for ten miles. But the burden of how close he¡¯d come to losing Stella back there? That threatened to send him to his knees.


    Damn it all, he should be celebrating getting her out. If things had gone according to plan, she would be in a doctor¡¯s care being checked over and eating real food rather than a prepackaged protein bar. She should be in a safe compound, rather than in the wilds of Africa with the guttural growl of lions echoing in the distance. She should be heading off to sleep in a bed with fresh sheets¡ª


    He stopped those thoughts short. He would be better off not thinking about Stella and sheets.


    She was alive. He needed to concentrate on keeping her that way until he could load her onto a rescue chopper. She had to be maxed out after her time in captivity. Shifting the student more securely over his shoulder, Jose shot a quick glance left to check on Stella. She marched alongside him, pale but steady as she swacked a stick ahead of her to check for warthogs and other African jungle beasties. To clear for scorpions and snakes. Vermin as lethal as her captors.


    What exactly had she been through? What had she endured in the days before the surveillance cameras had been flown into her cell?


    Bile rose in his throat again, and he pushed down the lurking question that threatened to drown him. Stella was a survivor. She had pocketed a small arsenal of weapons out of the artifacts. He had to focus on the survivor part of her, the professional part, because allowing himself to dwell on the personal¡­ on the essence of Stella¡­


    Hell. Back to the work side of her, the part that had carried her through this nightmare and whatever shook down. He¡¯d always admired her dedication to her job. When they¡¯d been dating he¡¯d thought he found the perfect woman. One as tied to work as he was. She would understand his call to serve and he understood hers. But it turned out she wanted the one thing from him he couldn¡¯t give.


    So many regrets slammed over him, yet he couldn¡¯t ignore the fact that today he could have lost even the comfort of knowing she was alive. Sure, it tore him up thinking about her building a future with someone else, but that pain was nothing compared to the hell of envisioning her dead. The crushing hell he would have lived with if he¡¯d arrived too late.


    Shit.


    Bubbles slowed as they neared a muddy stream and stopped under the umbrella of a leafy higlo tree. ¡°Time for a breather.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± Jose insisted and he was¡ªphysically. It was his brain that was about to explode. ¡°Stella?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m all right,¡± she insisted, then swayed on her feet.


    ¡°Damn it.¡± Jose shifted the student over to Bubbles in a flash.


    His teammate assumed the burden without hesitation and settled the dude against the tree trunk. ¡°We¡¯re safe here for now. I¡¯ll check over the student. You take care of Stella.¡±


    ¡°Jose?¡± Her whisper carried on the night air with the distant chirrup of a cheetah. Stella jolted. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t stop. I can do this. I don¡¯t want to hold you back or make us a target.¡±


    Dark circles stained under her eyes, but sharp attention sparked as she scanned past the tree to the wild dogs lapping from the shallow stream.


    Even now, she was worried about him. Regardless of what she¡¯d been through, the lack of food and sleep, she was ready to kick ass again with the help of a protein bar. She was every bit as incredible as he remembered, indomitable. And alive.


    To hell with objectivity.


    He gripped her shoulders, and without another thought, he hauled her to his chest. He held her vibrant and whole body against his. He buried his face in her hair that still held the barest hint of her eucalyptus shampoo in spite of the hellish few days.


    ¡°God, Stella, I didn¡¯t think you were going to make it out of there.¡± His voice rasped in his throat, each word, every emotion grating through him like broken glass. Each word sliced him so tangibly he could have sworn he saw the starlight glinting off the shards.


    ¡°You made it in time.¡± She pressed her forehead to his chest, her fists gripping his survival vest.


    ¡°You called.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re here.¡± She trembled in his arms.


    His body zeroed into just the feel of her against him and for a few seconds he allowed himself to forget she needed him to be a different kind of man. To forget they were in the middle of nowhere. To forget he still had tough questions to ask her.


    A cleared throat had him pulling back. Even keeping a steadying palm on her waist, his arms already felt empty without her.


    The injured student¡ªnow clearly awake¡ªwhistled lowly in the dark. His back against the trunk, Sutton Harper half grinned, despite his injuries. ¡°I take it you two already know each other? Because if not, I¡¯m feeling shortchanged on the post-rescue TLC.¡±


    Jose shot a scowl at Bubbles for failing to alert him that their extra passenger was back in the land of consciousness. Bubbles shrugged. The trumpet of elephants blasted in the distance. The wild dogs twitched their satellite large ears before sprinting off in a streak of mottled fur.


    Stella pressed a hand to her chest. ¡°You¡¯re awake. Thank God you¡¯re all right, Sutton.¡±


    ¡°Anybody got food?¡±


    Bubbles leaned over him, checking the cut above his eyebrow. ¡°This isn¡¯t a 7-Eleven, dude.¡±


    Jose gathered his scrambled thoughts and elaborated for his not-too-chatty friend. ¡°What he means to say is that he needs to check you over first. You were unconscious for a long time. We can take a few more minutes, but then we need to find somewhere to hunker down for the night.¡±


    Stella handed Sutton a canteen. ¡°Maybe some water would help?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that would be good.¡± Sutton took a swallow and passed it back. ¡°Tell your boyfriend thanks.¡±


    Her hand shook as she swept stray hairs back from her face. ¡°Old friend.¡±


    The guy held out his uninjured hand. ¡°Well color me lucky. I¡¯m Sutton Harper, and to whom do I owe my life and my firstborn child? She called you Jose, right?¡±


    He simply grunted, easing back from Stella, keeping an arm around her waist. Names weren¡¯t passed around in his or Stella¡¯s professions and he would prefer the less known about her life, the better.


    Harper lifted an eyebrow at his curt response. ¡°How cool to have an on-call military boyfriend if you happen to be kidnapped by warlords in a foreign country. Kinda coincidental for a simple student, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Unease iced up his spine.


    Stella stepped aside. ¡°I guess I¡¯m just a really lucky lady. Your good fortune too, to be kidnapped with me, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Bubbles passed the student a protein bar. Damn good distraction and a reminder they had practical concerns.


    Jose studied Harper, noting his pale face and twisted ankle. A few superficial bruises and some scratches, but no stitches needed after all. Butterfly bandages would take care of what he could see. Granted, not all torture left visible marks and there could be more injuries under his clothes. But right now he was wondering if the student had flipped, giving over information¡­ Except what did he know?


    He damn well didn¡¯t need to learn anything more. ¡°I think we need to stop chitchatting and find somewhere to park ourselves until our next ride rolls around.¡±


    ¡°Next ride?¡± Harper sat up straighter and scrubbed his sleeve over his sweaty brow. ¡°So you dudes really do have a plan B. That¡¯s a relief. Preferably something that doesn¡¯t bail on us when it gets a little hot.¡±


    What the hell? Saving this fella¡¯s ass had cost them those precious seconds. If the student hadn¡¯t panicked and set off the land mine, they could have made it to the rendezvous point, and they wouldn¡¯t have brought a slew of forces charging right at them.


    Jose forced a smile. ¡°You sure are picky for someone who just got rescued.¡±


    ¡°Chalk it up to nerves. Makes me mouthy. Sorry to be an ingrate. Thanks for the Rambo moment.¡± The student¡¯s voice rang with sincerity, easing some of the tension. ¡°What can I do to help now since I¡¯ve been a total slug so far?¡±


    ¡°Can you walk on your own or do you still need to be carried?¡± Jose turned to Stella. ¡°And you? Are you sure there aren¡¯t any medical issues I need to know about?¡±


    She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaky hand. He sensed a brittleness in her from her efforts to hang on to professionalism to the end. And pride, he saw that too in her eyes, a defensive wall she¡¯d erected between them because of how they¡¯d ended things. He scratched the ache lodged in his chest¡ªnot that he expected any relief from the pain of losing her, from the teeth-grinding frustration of knowing he wasn¡¯t the right man to give her what she needed.


    Sutton cricked his neck from side to side. ¡°Isn¡¯t there a boyfriend/girlfriend conflict of interest in you treating her?¡± He held up his hands. ¡°What? I¡¯m standing, ready to walk.¡±


    Bubbles coughed once, flicking a fuzzy caterpillar off his arm in disgust. ¡°Quiet¡¯s a beautiful thing.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± Sutton raised his hands again. ¡°I¡¯m embracing the chi of quiet.¡±


    Jose slid an arm around Stella¡¯s waist for support, nothing more. She¡¯d made that clear enough when she broke things off with him. There could never be anything more.


    Stella wasn¡¯t sure she could take much more.


    She understood they needed to get far away from the compound. The place would undoubtedly be crawling with bad guys. She prayed they assumed everyone had flown out in the chopper, but they couldn¡¯t count on that.


    Still, Jose was making damn sure their tracks were covered. Now Bubbles had Sutton over his shoulder, the student¡¯s ankle having given out after five minutes of hobbling.

 Page 7

    They were all business¡ªand her brain was still locked on that impulsive hug from Jose. For that moment, she¡¯d forgotten all about their fight and the fact that he didn¡¯t want to build a real life with her. She could only lose herself in the undeniable connection they shared, a chemistry that could too easily make her lose her objectivity when she needed it most.Advertisement


    Stella stepped alongside him as they trekked through the scrub brush, around acacia trees, the thorny branches reaching out like gnarled witch¡¯s fingers. ¡°Is it safe to talk?¡±


    ¡°For now,¡± Jose said, jabbing a stick at the high grasses for snakes, keeping his eyes on the horizon. ¡°Just keep it low. Stay on the lookout. If we¡¯re lucky, they don¡¯t even know we¡¯re out here. They¡¯ll think we all got away in the helicopter.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m hoping.¡± She leaped over another protruding root. ¡°I can hardly believe you¡¯re really here.¡±


    ¡°You sent for me,¡± Jose answered, eyes ahead, searching through the night.


    That she had. Guilt scuttled around inside her again, like the lizard scrabbling up a tree trunk, but she knew she would do the same again.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure the message would be picked up.¡± She was careful to keep her voice low so Sutton wouldn¡¯t hear the details. ¡°I wasn¡¯t even sure they would understand the message if it did go through.¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°But you did.¡± She¡¯d suspected and now she knew for sure. ¡°Because of that time we slipped away to a hotel along the Nile River, and in the restaurant I blinked Morse code to get you to¡­¡±


    ¡°Proposition me. Yeah. Pretty much.¡±


    She stumbled and he caught her elbow. She forced a smile. ¡°Keep going. I¡¯m okay.¡±


    Not really. Three days of limited food and sleep deprivation was taking its toll, but she couldn¡¯t give in. She couldn¡¯t let her guard down for a second when even a racing ostrich could be dangerous.


    ¡°You can do it.¡± He slid his arm around her waist with the familiar ease of a lover. ¡°One foot in front of the other, like the snowman in that kiddy movie.¡±


    ¡°With legs like melting snow.¡± She laughed on a gasp.


    His arm went tighter, pulling her more firmly against his side, muscles moving against her in perfect synch. So familiar. So sensuous. ¡°Do you need me to carry you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The pain of remembering how good it was with Jose was almost more than her exhaustion-stretched body could withstand. If he took her in his arms, she could well say something she would regret. ¡°No need. I. Can. Hold. On.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re amazing, woman. Now let¡¯s get the hell out of here.¡±


    Had he brushed a kiss over the top of her head or was that just the heat of his breath, of his words? She was likely starting to hallucinate as her body gave out after all she¡¯d been through.


    Her side hurt from the pace. How far had they gone? A mile at least and she wasn¡¯t carrying another human as Jose had done earlier and like Bubbles was doing now. Even as Jose helped her, he wasn¡¯t even breathing heavy as perspiration sealed their clothes to their skin. His buddy Bubbles¡ªthe PJ with a fuzzy phobia¡ªcleared the path ahead, Sutton bobbing unconscious again over his shoulder.


    They pushed through more scrub brush, past a fat buffalo thorn tree that jutted at awkward angles as if desperately searching for a drop of rain. Deeper and farther they trekked. No sound of the helicopter. No sound of gunfire, just the faraway snort of animals¡ªa rhino or buffalo maybe. And the sound of her labored breathing, the crunch of their footsteps.


    Okay, her footsteps.


    The two superhumans barely made a noise even as they charged ahead full steam. Their hard-muscled bodies moved in sleek stealth mode into nigh wrapping around them all like a humid blanket. Or was she losing consciousness? She gripped Jose¡¯s vest tighter to anchor herself to his side, use him like a crutch.


    One more step, she told herself time and time again.


    Finally, they stopped.


    She almost missed the fact she wasn¡¯t walking anymore since the world seemed to be spinning. They were standing in a small clump of Acacia trees with twisted trunks. Branches spoked like an umbrella, creating a shadowy cave of sorts.


    Bubbles slid his burden to the ground, then sagged back against a gnarled trunk, gasping for a second before he dropped to his knees beside Sutton. He shrugged out of his pack and pulled out medic gear.


    The student was in good hands.


    Stella pried her numb fingers from Jose¡¯s vest and slid to the dusty ground. Sitting cross-legged, too tired to move, she allowed herself to look her fill at the man she¡¯d thought she would never see again. With smooth efficiency, Jose gathered broken branches, snapping off longer ones to make shelter. He showed no signs of slowing, only his bloodied uniform and the streaks of sweat through his camo paint, testified to all they¡¯d been through this evening.


    Lean, with a whipcord strength, he had a runner¡¯s body¡ªa by-product of marathons he ran in addition to his special operations military training. He¡¯d told her once he used intense running regimes to help him fight a drinking problem. While he¡¯d been sober for five years, he still attended AA meetings and ran. And ran.


    His body shouted health and vitality and pure sensuality. She¡¯d wanted him the second she¡¯d seen his angular good looks. She wanted to stroke her hands over his sleek black hair and test the texture between her fingertips.


    Her eyelids grew heavy, and so easily she could envision just falling asleep, knowing he would keep her safe. But damn it, she had to pull her weight for as long as she could. She had a job to do and she¡¯d already asked too much of Jose today.


    She struggled to stay conscious a few minutes longer. ¡°We¡¯re camping here? What can I do?¡±


    ¡°Nothing for now. We¡¯ll only be here for tonight. The beacon on my tracker will bring help as soon as it¡¯s safe¡ªhopefully by morning. Meanwhile, we evade.¡± He dug into his survival vest, plucked out another protein bar, and pitched it to her. ¡°The best way you can help is get your strength back up.¡±


    Her mouth watered. She didn¡¯t have to think twice about the wisdom of this. She tore open the wrapper with her teeth and bit into the nutty chocolate bar. Forcing herself to chew slowly, she swallowed down the first bite and resisted the urge to gobble the thing whole.


    Even with the protein bar earlier, she had a long way to go before she felt full again. ¡°What about your headset? Is it working at all?¡±


    ¡°It cut out completely just after the explosion.¡± He used fishing twine from his vest to tie three limbs together into a tripod tall enough for a small lean-to.


    ¡°But you touched your ear and said we needed to run. I thought you got instructions¡­¡± She shook her head, trying to piece together those crazy few minutes after the land mine blew, how he¡¯d said something about the headset shorting out. ¡°Bubbles? Is yours working?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    Stella gripped her head in frustration. ¡°Would you care to elaborate?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Bubbles answered.


    Sutton propped up on one elbow, scrubbing a hand over his groggy face. ¡°I would hate to be stranded on a deserted island with him.¡±


    Still, it was beyond incredible they¡¯d gotten out of there at all. She looked into Jose¡¯s deep brown eyes, the shade even darker chocolate in the night. He reached to clean the nick on her neck from the guard¡¯s knife earlier. She¡¯d forgotten in the harried drive to escape.


    The glide of Jose¡¯s fingers along her skin was bittersweet pleasure. Even the antiseptic sting couldn¡¯t dull the pleasure. Her mind was too weary to put up boundaries, and her thoughts raced back to another time she¡¯d seen him fresh from the field¡ªa mission rescuing two fishermen captured by pirates and held hostage. Sweat plastered his coal black hair to his head. He¡¯d hauled on camo, but it was clear he hadn¡¯t showered since the swim. His rangy body had been taut with residual tension from the mission. He was intense and mesmerizing and hot as hell. They¡¯d had great sex¡­


    Still, in the end they¡¯d broken up in a heartrending argument that left her shattered. So much so, she feared she¡¯d let her emotions cloud her professional judgment. That somehow she¡¯d been off her game because of the breakup. That she was responsible for the kidnapping and loss of life.


    Even now, they¡¯d missed the chopper. Sure, Sutton¡¯s freak-out had slowed them down, but had her exhaustion been a factor as well? Damn it, she had to keep her emotional distance.


    And that included keeping her hands to herself.


    She clenched her fingers together as Jose repacked his medic gear. She scanned their little makeshift camp. Bubbles cleaned up a scrape on Sutton¡¯s head. Jose draped a whisper thin camouflage tarp over the stick tripod he¡¯d built earlier, his movements and the shelter barely perceptible in the shifting night shadows.


    He looked up sharply. She bit her lip, a flush burning her face at being caught staring at him so openly. ¡°Uhm, I was thinking¡­¡±


    ¡°Stella?¡± he interrupted, whispering, stalking toward her with a leopard-like grace. ¡°Don¡¯t. Move. Truck¡¯s approaching.¡±


    Before she processed the words, he¡¯d stretched over her, melding their bodies together as he pushed her to the ground.


    Chapter 3


    Jose¡¯s hard muscled body pressed her into the dust.


    Stella froze while a Land Rover jostled along a rugged path nearby, shocks squeaking. A jagged rock dug into her cheek, but she barely dared breathe much less inch away. Jose had sent up the alert about the vehicle mere seconds before the headlights peeked through the brush. If he¡¯d heard the truck any later, they could have been discovered.


    Adrenaline seared her veins again, different from earlier when they¡¯d hugged. Edgier. That was about tender relief. This was about survival. Raw feelings. Instincts. Her body responded to his on a primal level.


    And neither of them had so much as moved a muscle.


    The 4x4 drove closer, the sound of grinding gears overpowering all other night sounds. Each slow, shallow breath mingled with the scent of baked earth and musky man. Her heart pulsed so hard, Jose had to feel it just as she felt the steady beat of his pounding against her shoulder. Was it her imagination, or had their hearts synced up in this elemental moment? Or was it only that they were both so in tune because of their training?


    Except right now, her feelings for him were nowhere near detached and professional.


    The light swept over them¡­ and past. Still, she didn¡¯t dare move. Not yet. Seconds blended into minutes and even longer. Relief tingled over her like a sunburn, sending every nerve hyper aware. The urge to flip over and wrap her arms around Jose was damn near impossible to resist. But if she held him, she knew it would lead to a kiss this time, a line neither of them could afford to cross.


    And if she wasn¡¯t mistaken, he was every bit as aware, every bit as aroused, as she was.


    Then the heavy night air swept over her as he rolled aside and into a crouch. The taillights faded along with the sound of the misfiring engine. The danger had passed. For now. The truck could have been a threat or it could have been anyone. Regardless, it served as a reminder she couldn¡¯t let her guard down for even a second. It wasn¡¯t fair to rely on the guys. They had enough on their plates keeping everyone alive. Bubbles had already gone back to treating Sutton, leaving Stella and Jose paired off.


    She searched for something benign to say, anything other than the too personal and vulnerable thoughts plaguing her. ¡°How were you able to talk and run so easily all that time? Even for a marathon racer, this was intense.¡±


    ¡°Bubbles and I have been pulling overtime on Wii Fit.¡±


    He delivered his answer with such a deadpan face, she almost missed his attempt to lighten the mood of a hellish day. A laugh burst free, then another until her laughter verged on hysteria. But she couldn¡¯t stop. It was as if someone had pulled the plug holding in all her emotions, and now they flowed out, the fear, the pain, the relief, all mingling together and pouring free. She sat back on her butt and held her aching ribs.

 Page 8

    And God bless him, Jose seemed to understand. He didn¡¯t say a word to stop her. He didn¡¯t even look at her like she was nuts¡ªthe way Sutton was eyeing her as Bubbles disinfected cuts and assessed bruises. But then Jose knew her, he understood her, even if he didn¡¯t want a future with her.Advertisement


    A month into her relationship with Jose, she¡¯d confessed she loved him, that she¡¯d fallen for him the first time she saw him and wanted to spend forever together. He¡¯d said he felt the same¡ªbut she fast realized their ideas of settling down were vastly different. At first, she¡¯d deluded herself into believing he simply wasn¡¯t ready for the white picket fence and a couple of kids because he was two years younger than she was. She wanted to believe with time he would come around to her way of thinking. Building a family someday was everything to her.


    Apparently he didn¡¯t really feel the same, not in the ways that counted. Could he really expect to stay in this high-octane sort of rescue environment until the day he died? She couldn¡¯t and she¡¯d told him so.


    Her daddy had always said not to make ultimatums unless you could live with either answer.


    She scrubbed her wrist over her cheeks, swiping away grimy tears. ¡°Sorry about that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± Jose said simply, keeping that wall between them.


    ¡°Thanks to you I¡¯m okay.¡± She wished there could be some kind of middle ground between them, a way to¡ªwhat? Stay friends? That wasn¡¯t possible and she knew it. Being around him reminded her of those lost dreams, and that simply hurt too much.


    ¡°Not just me.¡± He brushed aside her thanks. ¡°We all worked together.¡±


    Sutton snapped his fingers, leaning back against a fat tree trunk. ¡°Uhm, hello? I don¡¯t mean to sound ungrateful. Where I¡¯m sitting we¡¯re stuck out in the middle of nowhere so the rescue thing still feels iffy.¡±


    Bubbles looked up from spreading out medical supplies to stitch a gash in Sutton¡¯s arm. ¡°Wanna go back?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a comedian.¡± Sutton winced at the press of an antiseptic wipe.


    ¡°Not really,¡± Bubbles said.


    ¡°Then why the hell do they call you Bubbles?¡±


    Jose tossed smaller branches and leaves along the tarp to add to the camo effect. ¡°Ever heard of irony?¡±


    Needing to put space between herself and Jose, Stella pushed to her feet and gathered Sutton¡¯s gear Bubbles had haphazardly tossed aside during treatment. She folded his shirt sleeve that had been cut away to expose the torn flesh¡ªa by-product of flying debris from the land mine explosion. Sure, the fabric was nothing more than a rag now, but nothing could be wasted, not as long as they were on the run. She hefted up Sutton¡¯s backpack.


    ¡°Uhm, hello again?¡± Sutton started to lean forward only to stop short when Jose held him in place for stitching. ¡°That¡¯s mine.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, buddy, but we need to pool supplies.¡± She unzipped the bag¡ªand found a pile of artifacts inside.


    Had he been gathering tools as she had? She eyed a pottery shard, a hammered steel amulet. And a folded cotton kanga cloth, with the traditional script along the border. She smoothed her hand along the finely woven fabric, rubbing it like a talisman, as if she could somehow absorb whatever inspirational message had been traditionally included.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Sutton called out. ¡°Can I have my bag?¡±


    Jose looked up sharply. ¡°Keep your voice down. Evading isn¡¯t evading if you forget to whisper.¡±


    Suspicions nipped at Stella as she thought of the student¡¯s stash and his quick assessment of her earlier as a possible spy. Her fingers gripped the fabric for a final second before she set aside the backpack. She needed to help Jose set up camp so she could eat and sleep. Store strength in case their time waiting out in the wilds lasted longer than a few hours.


    And as she stared at Jose, she couldn¡¯t escape the notion they were both running away from the massive emotional fallout simmering just beneath the surface. That could be deadly for both of them, especially when they couldn¡¯t be certain how long they would be stuck out here together. She would have to find time to talk to him tonight, later when the others were asleep, and clear the air once and for all.


    Back pressed to the tree trunk, Jose sat watch while the others slept. He monitored his charges for the millionth time.


    The student was curled up under the lean-to clutching his backpack. Bubbles dozed sitting up against the other side of the tree. No doubt, he could be fully awake, weapon drawn in a millisecond.


    And Stella.


    She curled at the front of the shelter, unofficially adding a layer of protection for the student. Once Sutton had drifted off, she¡¯d slipped the rectangular kanga cloth out from under her shirt¡ªthe same embroidered cloth she¡¯d found in the student¡¯s pack earlier. She shook it out over herself, adding another layer of camo to her creamy skin. Her red ponytail splashed over her face, hairs lifting with each exhale.


    Yeah, he¡¯d volunteered to take the first shift.


    He couldn¡¯t have even catnapped anyway. His body was too hepped up from touching Stella again. The unplanned hug was one thing. But that moment when he¡¯d stretched over her, protecting her even though it was clear she could protect herself¡­ The texture of her hair over his hands and her familiar curves stirred him all over again.


    Shit.


    He rested his submachine gun on his knee, eyes scanning the landscape of trees and shadows. Night sounds echoed around them, birds and insects. An occasional growl of something wilder.


    His gaze slid back to Stella¡ªand he found her staring at him. Her green eyes glinted in the dark like a magnificent cat. He¡¯d protected her as best he could today. Now he had one last role to fill, being certain, absolutely certain, she wasn¡¯t hiding anything from him about her capture, hiding an injury, toughing things out rather than asking for help.


    He set his MP5 aside and touched the ground next to him.


    She didn¡¯t even hesitate. The cotton kanga cloth slithered from her body and she scooped it up, before sliding over to sit by him. She shook out the woven fabric in her hands, the rusty red and gold coloring blending into the landscape as they settled over her legs. Smart woman, always thinking.


    Jose angled his head to hers. ¡°Don¡¯t let Harper Sutton see you with his¡­¡±


    ¡°Sutton Harper,¡± she corrected, nodding toward the snoring twenty-two-year-old.


    ¡°Right. Don¡¯t let him see you playing with his stuff.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not his. It was part of the stash at the compound.¡± She toyed with the fringe along the edges of the kanga that reminded him too much of their last weekend together when he¡¯d bought a similar cloth for her. ¡°But it would be a shame to waste its camouflaging potential.¡±


    ¡°True that.¡± He couldn¡¯t avoid the question any longer. He had to ask, ¡°You would tell me, right?¡±


    She looked up sharply. ¡°Tell you what?¡±


    ¡°If they hurt you back there. If you¡¯re injured in ways that aren¡¯t readily visible¡­ Or if you were assaulted.¡± The last word brought more shards of glass up his throat.


    She clasped his hand. ¡°Jose, I would tell you. But I wasn¡¯t assaulted. They had a very specific purpose in their questioning. I don¡¯t know what they would have done to try and intimidate me, and I don¡¯t know specifics on what they did to the others. But they believed me to be a low threat, so I was left for last. You got there in time.¡±


    Thank God.


    His head fell and his eyes squeezed shut tight with relief. She squeezed his hand hard again as more of that relief racked his body.


    Once he trusted himself to speak again, he asked, ¡°And what about other injuries? Noticing anything new now that the adrenaline¡¯s gone?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sore, and I¡¯m exhausted. We weren¡¯t fed well. But I¡¯m telling the truth. None of the injuries are life threatening. Lying about that could only hold you back later.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not out of the woods¡ªso to speak.¡±


    ¡°As far as I¡¯m concerned this is a serious improvement.¡± She laughed softly.


    He touched her cheek. Just her cheek, nothing anywhere near as intimate as that impulsive hug earlier or the thousands of other caresses they¡¯d exchanged. She eased away self-consciously and tugged at her hair band. Shaking her hair free, she threaded her fingers through and swept it back again.


    His hands ached with the need to do that for her. His body throbbed with an even greater need to settle her in his lap and hold her through the night.


    A crackle in the distance had him on his feet in a low crouch before he¡¯d even fully registered the sound. His hand went to his gun. More of that muscle memory from training taking over, sending his body on autopilot.


    Do whatever it took to keep Stella alive. Never had his pararescue motto been so blazingly in the forefront of his mind. These things we do, that others may live.


    The fat moon sent light streaming through the branches. The tall grasses and scrub brush rustled¡­ A cheetah darted past. Stella went steely still, the best reaction. A shot could bring worse than a jungle cat already disappearing from sight.


    Exhaling hard, she shrugged. ¡°My nerves are a little ragged.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re incredibly composed considering all you¡¯ve been through.¡± He offered her the opening to share more if she needed, to speak at her own pace rather than him asking.


    She leaned back against the tree, shoulder to shoulder with him. ¡°I¡¯d damn well better be able to keep myself together.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not a machine.¡± And neither was he. It took all his self-control not to pull her onto his lap and rub her back until she slept in his arms. ¡°You¡¯ve held your own the past few days and tonight. Remind me never to piss you off.¡±


    ¡°You already did,¡± she said wryly, before looking away. ¡°I wondered if I would ever see you again. I wanted the chance to tell you¡­ Well, doesn¡¯t matter now.¡±


    ¡°What doesn¡¯t matter?¡± he pressed. ¡°We have all night.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s best we don¡¯t go there, not now.¡± Her face closed up fast. ¡°I had thought we could use this time to talk some things through, but I¡¯m realizing this isn¡¯t the time or the place to go into that after all. I just can¡¯t afford to risk losing it. Not now. I have to focus everything on keeping myself together until we¡¯re out of here.¡±


    He pulled back, raising his hands. ¡°Okay, okay.¡±


    ¡°I apologize,¡± she deflated. ¡°I¡¯m just on edge. I was really starting to lose hope back at the compound.¡±


    He could see she was about to crumble now. She needed an outlet of some sort, comfort, but she wouldn¡¯t want his comfort. So he opted for something she would accept. Humor.


    ¡°Sorry if we didn¡¯t mobilize a major rescue operation quickly enough for you.¡±


    A smile tugged the sides of her cracked lips. ¡°I¡¯m an ingrate, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    He passed her lip balm from his survival vest. ¡°Olive branch?¡±


    She touched her lips. ¡°Are you saying I look like hell?¡±


    ¡°You look¡­ alive.¡± That one word was everything.


    Slowly, she took the lip balm from his hand and slicked it over her mouth. She put the cap back on with careful precision. ¡°Alive is definitely a bonus today, one I wasn¡¯t sure I would get.¡±


    His eyes held on her mouth, the night and frenzy of what they¡¯d been through gathering in his gut, making him thirsty for a taste of her.


    He wanted to hold onto his sobriety coin right now so damn bad. ¡°How did they capture you?¡±


    Shadows chased through her green eyes, like clouds over the midnight moon. ¡°I got careless.¡±


    ¡°I know you. You¡¯re never careless. I¡¯m the impulsive one.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s my fault two people died. I should have done something.¡±

 Page 9

    ¡°It¡¯s not all about you, babe, and trust me, you don¡¯t have a corner on the market when it comes to second-guessing yourself.¡± He toyed with the end of her ponytail, tugging lightly. ¡°Hey, where¡¯s the Stella I know? The tough cookie who chewed me out a few minutes ago because I didn¡¯t show up earlier?¡±Advertisement


    ¡°That was just the hypoglycemia talking. I missed breakfast. Low blood sugar and all.¡± She rolled the lip balm between her palms, back and forth. ¡°Give me a glass of OJ and I¡¯ll be my normal chipper self again.¡±


    ¡°Chipper?¡± He snorted softly. ¡°Not a word I would think could be found on any of your agency psych profiles.¡±


    ¡°Psych shmike.¡± Her slicked lips went tight. ¡°It¡¯s my job to pretend to be the person of the day. Maybe chipper wasn¡¯t on the menu¡­ And speaking of menus, I could really use something more to eat. I wasn¡¯t joking about the low blood sugar.¡±


    ¡°Another protein bar?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so hungry I¡¯ll even eat that.¡± She extended her palm, her fingernails cracked and torn.


    He passed over a peanut butter crunch bar and not for the first time wished he had more to offer her. ¡°You still haven¡¯t told me how you got captured.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll talk in debrief.¡± She tore open the wrapper. ¡°You don¡¯t have a need to know.¡±


    She bit off a quarter of the bar and chewed, making it quite clear she wasn¡¯t saying a word more than she wanted. And that fast he saw her find that strength he¡¯d been nudging her for, except she used it to put space between them. Shutters went up in her green eyes and she crab walked toward the lean-to with the rest of her protein bar.


    What wasn¡¯t she telling him?


    His mind churned with horrors and he had no one to blame but himself that he¡¯d given up the right to press her for answers.


    Ajaya curled up under the floor of the compound where they¡¯d held those American students captive.


    His muscles were cramping, but he didn¡¯t dare get up even though he¡¯d stopped hearing American soldiers stomp around hours ago. Now the revolutionaries had come crawling in afterward, searching. If they found him, they would make him join up again. Shoot people. Get shot at. The punishment for disobeying¡­?


    His throat burned with puke.


    Sweat trickled down his head and into the mud, sticky from the perspiration pouring off his body from more than heat. A scorpion scrabbled past him fast and he didn¡¯t so much as flinch. He was scared to death. Not of the lethal sting. He was scared to hope he could escape today.


    No more beatings. No more blood.


    He¡¯d been taken from the orphan school eight months ago, forced to join their ¡°army.¡± His first kill had been with a knife. Then they¡¯d rewarded him with a gun. Every time they made him shoot, made him kill, he vowed to be the best so he could turn the weapon on them one day. He imagined what it would have been like to have this gun earlier to protect his mother, his sister, and little brother before they died, along with his father. He would have used that gun to take his family somewhere safe.


    Ajaya came from a Sanskrit word, jaya, victorious. Unconquered.


    What a joke.


    He was cowering in this stinky cubby like a scared rabbit. The past eight months hadn¡¯t made him stronger. They had only made him desperate to escape this kind of life. He would do anything to make that happen. Even if that meant letting them go through with their plan to murder hundreds of people at the embassy? Right now he thought yes, he could even do that.


    The American soldiers that stormed the compound speaking English and shooting guards, they didn¡¯t know what they¡¯d taken with them. He¡¯d watched through a crack. They¡¯d stuffed stolen artifacts in their clothes and packs, maybe to protect themselves, maybe to sell. The Americans had no idea what the bastards would do once they realized what the Americans had really taken. It wouldn¡¯t be long either since it would be the first thing they looked for. They were already tearing apart the compound now, searching for it, the key to their plans to set off something horrible at the American embassy.


    Except it wasn¡¯t here. If he could find it, he finally would have something of value, something he could sell, a ticket out.


    He was scared, but he had skills now and he had an advantage. He knew which way those four Americans had gone. If he could find them first, he could get what he needed and barter it for enough money to get away. He would leave Africa and go to India and study Sanskrit. He would be a student, not a soldier.


    Although first, he had to be a soldier just a little while longer. Ajaya clutched his rifle to his chest and focused on images of his mother, his sister, and little brother. He envisioned them alive, leaving with him.


    A lot more comforting than remembering their dead, bloody bodies as he¡¯d hidden in the scrub brush, stuffing a fist in his mouth to stifle his screams.


    And he realized he wasn¡¯t a scared rabbit now after all. He was a cornered lion, ready to kill.


    Chapter 4


    Stella curled up with the woven cloth around her, determined to sleep, knowing she needed to store strength in case they had to evade for any length of time.


    Her head resting on the crook of her arm, she hugged the cottony fabric tighter around her again. It seemed wrong to use something so beautiful, so carefully woven, for protection against night crawlies, but she was practical. She needed to rest, so she cocooned herself in the rectangular kanga.


    Not that sleep came easy. She could have blamed it on her micronap earlier, or the fact that violent forces could stumble on them at any minute. Except she knew the real cause of her restlessness sat a few feet away. Jose. The feel of his arms around her lingered. His unexpected hug had rocked her to her toes, making her question all of her so-called resolutions to stay away from him forever. Even trying to clear the air had her heart in her throat and she¡¯d balked.


    She¡¯d held strong against the urge to contact him for the past month because she¡¯d known seeing him would hurt. A lot. There¡¯d been no way to foresee how much. She needed to accept there would be no easy break-off, no way to clear regrets. She needed to move on. She wasn¡¯t fool enough to think she could change him. He said he didn¡¯t want to settle down. He absolutely did not want children because of his own messed up childhood with an alcoholic mother. Because of his fears about staying sober himself. Even though he¡¯d been dry for five years, he was convinced he couldn¡¯t risk having kids.


    Nothing she said had changed his mind, and she couldn¡¯t keep lying to herself. Whether he¡¯d been telling the truth or concocting an excuse he knew would make her run, he¡¯d pushed her away and he¡¯d meant it.


    She wrapped her heart up again, as tightly as she wrapped her body in the patterned fabric, tracing her fingers along the scripted border. She would keep up her guard when she was with Jose. But here, in her dreams, she could think back to those early days after they¡¯d met, the days when she¡¯d dared to hope there could be a future for them¡­


    Stella had been on her fair share of dates in her life, but this first date with Jose definitely ranked as the most unique.


    He¡¯d invited her to go with him on a long distance trip to the ¡°zoo¡± as casually as if they¡¯d been home in the United States rather than in Africa. As she sat beside Jose on a rocky ledge overlooking a jungle waterfall, she had to admit Queen Elizabeth National Park was a little more than a zoo.


    In the week since she¡¯d rescued Jose from the Gulf of Aden, they¡¯d both been tied up with work. He¡¯d been instrumental in the final takedown of a local pirate ship. She¡¯d worked debriefs with the CIA.


    She¡¯d been damn proud of how well she¡¯d focused on her job even with the distraction of heated glances exchanged with the sexiest man she¡¯d ever met. Then she¡¯d gone to her quarters on the local base six days after they¡¯d met and found him sitting on the floor outside her room. But rather than hit on her, he¡¯d asked her out on a date.


    An old-fashioned, so damn sweet request that she¡¯d melted.


    The next day, they¡¯d slipped away on a helicopter to Uganda, to Queen Elizabeth National Park for the weekend. She wasn¡¯t even sure how he¡¯d arranged for the chopper transport, and she decided she didn¡¯t need to know. For the moment, she could simply go with the flow. She was glad for the date to escape the sense of failure that she hadn¡¯t learned anything new yet about what happened to her mom.


    And most of all? Finally, she could spend time with Jose ¡°Cuervo¡± James, take time to discover if there was more to the attraction than just lust. Although with the hiking pace he was setting, neither of them would have energy for much of anything at the end of the day.


    Four miles into their trek at the park, she¡¯d learned the man had endless energy away from work as well. And patience. He sat with her on a rocky ledge near a waterfall, watching the wildlife. She scoured the trees with buttress roots protruding, somewhat wary of the snakes and other beasties hiding in the verdant rain forest, but the glittering view was well worth any tugging wariness. The shady spot provided relief from the heat while she went mellow, soaking in the view.


    How could one man pour so much energy into sitting still? Without moving a muscle, he positively hummed with more vitality than most radiated while running a marathon. Minutes ticked by while she watched him watching the monkeys and chimpanzees swing from branch to branch.


    His eyes slid over to her. ¡°What?¡±


    She smiled back, seeing the attraction she felt echoed in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m just intrigued by how intently you¡¯re studying the monkeys.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re cool dudes.¡± He pointed toward the trees growing together with linked limbs. ¡°For me it¡¯s like how others ¡®people watch¡¯ at the mall. I enjoy figuring out their different personalities, their quirks, their cliques. It¡¯s always different.¡±


    A monkey stole another¡¯s banana and took off swinging from limb to limb. Stella laughed, the sound floating out, echoed by a baboon hanging from one arm.


    ¡°So, do you come to Queen Elizabeth National Park often?¡± she asked, loving the thrill of discovery, of learning even seemingly insignificant details about his life.


    ¡°Actually, this is my first time here.¡± His smile reached his eyes, glinting like the sunlight refracting off the waterfall. ¡°But I do a lot of nature hikes through national parks wherever I travel.¡±


    ¡°Clearly you¡¯re active, given your job.¡±


    His eyes slid over her, lingering just long enough to be complimentary without turning smarmy. ¡°You¡¯re no slouch yourself¡ªgiven your job.¡±


    ¡°We could compare PT scores.¡± She tapped his chest just over the Boston Marathon logo on his T-shirt. The well-worn cotton carried the heat of him, and she ached to flatten her palm against his heartbeat. ¡°But I would wager yours beat mine. I¡¯m a code breaker, not a superhero.¡±


    He closed his hand over hers, holding and lowering. Not letting go. ¡°Can we stop with the superhero stuff? I¡¯m just a guy out with a girl on a date.¡±


    ¡°A date in Africa, complete with a helicopter ride.¡± And hand holding. ¡°But hey, okay, if this is normal for you, I can¡¯t wait to see your follow-up.¡±


    He winked. ¡°Prepare to be dazzled.¡±


    She already was¡ªand it had nothing to do with the grand gesture of a helicopter. It had more to do with his instinctive thoughtfulness, from noticing which flavored water she preferred to remembering how her nose burned in the sun. She didn¡¯t need a keeper, but after taking care of herself since elementary school, she had to confess it felt nice to have someone who¡­ cared.


    Leaning back on her hands, she watched the way the sun dappled along the lean lines of his face. ¡°What if I¡¯d given out halfway to the waterfall?¡±


    ¡°Then we would have watched the water buffaloes instead.¡±

 Page 10

    ¡°Water buffaloes are cool. Elephants and lions too.¡±


    ¡°True, true.¡± He nodded toward the cluster of trees. ¡°But these little dudes? Cooler. Way cooler.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Why is that?¡± she asked, realizing he had a point in bringing her here. This wasn¡¯t a random choice.


    For a moment, she didn¡¯t think he would answer. He just stared out over the glistening waterfall surrounded by trees. The wind rippled his T-shirt and khakis as his booted feet hung over the edge. ¡°Every year, my dad gave my sister and me money to buy summer passes to the zoo while he worked. My sister¡ªBianca¡ªand I would pack a sack lunch and a jug of Kool-Aid. We would spend all day at the zoo hanging out.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like fun.¡± An idyllic image took shape in her mind. ¡°How old were you?¡±


    ¡°We started when my sister turned eleven and could babysit me.¡±


    ¡°Your mom worked?¡±


    He shook his head, scooping up a handful of pebbles and tossing them from hand to hand. ¡°She was¡­ sick.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, waiting, but he didn¡¯t elaborate. ¡°How many days a week did you go to the zoo?¡±


    ¡°Monday through Friday. We slept in late, then my sister and I headed over. It was walking distance.¡± He tossed a small rock over the edge into the swirling waters below. ¡°I know. Sounds bad, two kids walking alone.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not judging.¡± Okay, that was a lie, but she wanted him to keep talking. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°There were lots of things to do at the zoo that came along with that pass¡ªmovies and learning centers. Plenty of places to duck inside if it got hot.¡± He flicked stone after stone over the edge, never still even when he was sitting. ¡°After a while, the staff knew us, so we got lots of perks.¡±


    ¡°Such as?¡± She didn¡¯t want him to stop. She wanted to know everything about him.


    ¡°Like free train rides around the zoo. I always rode up front and rang the bell. After a while, the tour guide would let me narrate parts of the ride.¡±


    ¡°And you liked the monkeys best. Because?¡±


    ¡°Look at their families.¡± He pointed. ¡°Look at the mom. Cool, huh?¡±


    The picture came together of a little boy spending all day at the zoo with his sister, all the time wishing his mom was there too. And what about his father? She felt small for thinking no one cared for her as a kid. Her dad had tried, and while her brothers had been obnoxious as hell, they loved her.


    Who looked out for Jose? Who¡¯d taken care of him and his sister? Her heart squeezed tight for the boy he¡¯d been and the strong man she was just beginning to know.


    Before she could think, she cupped his face in her hand and leaned in to kiss him, just a light brush of her lips to his, but wow, the total rightness of the moment melted over her like warm caramel, pure sugar and indulgence. Then he thrust his hands in her hair and brought her closer to him, his mouth sealing to hers.


    She wanted to memorize the moment, but he scrambled her thoughts until she just immersed herself in the moment. The warm sweep of his tongue against hers. The peppermint taste of his toothpaste. The rasp of his afternoon stubble along her fingertips. It was a first kiss beyond anything she¡¯d experienced, special and intense.


    And she wanted more firsts with him.


    His hand slid from her hair, grazing along her neck in a way that stirred a soft purr of pleasure in the back of her throat. Yes, this was physical attraction at its most elemental, but stoked by so much more.


    God, no half measures here. She was all out falling for a man she¡¯d known for only a week¡­


    Chattering monkeys called to Jose in the night as he watched over Stella sleeping under the lean-to. It was almost morning, almost time to make their move. He and Bubbles had swapped off watches a couple of times through the night. Now his buddy catnapped against a tree and the student was taking a leak a few feet away. A baboon shouted down from a few branches up.


    Jose pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing back memories of another time in the wilds with Stella on their first date. He¡¯d wanted her to understand where he stood, where he came from. While he hadn¡¯t rolled it all out there from the start, he¡¯d laid the groundwork for telling her. He had baggage that dogged him every day. He could never afford to be complacent. Alcoholics lived one day at a time, never taking sobriety for granted.


    Honest to God, he¡¯d thought he and Stella could have something.


    Sutton zipped up his pants and pivoted back to the camp. He limped over. ¡°Hey, dude, I¡¯m sorry for griping earlier about the rescue operation. I realize we were only there a short time.¡±


    ¡°Over seventy-two hours,¡± Jose answered, understanding full well those three days would have seemed endless to a hostage.


    ¡°Right. But I get that hostages sometimes sit in captivity for months or even years. It was hell thinking of my mama seeing my picture broadcast week after week, wondering if I was still alive¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m damn grateful to know I¡¯ll be Skyping with her by¡­ When? Tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the plan.¡± If the chopper made it here. Soon, he hoped. He pulled his eyes from Stella and back to Sutton.


    ¡°Nice to hear.¡± The student held an elephant tusk, his thumb tracing carvings along the length.


    Jose glanced at the backpack, then at the tusk again. ¡°What did you expect to do with that?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t take this. Stella did.¡± He set it aside and scratched through his dirty curls. ¡°I think she was planning to use it as a knife. She was a lot smarter in her choices than I was, wasn¡¯t she? Fossil teeth and tusks. If I¡¯d thought like her, I might have been out of there sooner.¡±


    Jose just listened, trying to get a bead on this kid. ¡°She¡¯s a sharp girl. Her big brothers taught her to take care of herself.¡±


    A benign enough answer.


    Sutton pulled a small shield out of his backpack and tapped his head lightly. ¡°I was thinking protection, like a bulletproof vest or whacking someone on the head. Not as clever or effective as a tusk or something sharp. Hell, I don¡¯t know what I was thinking. When you¡¯re a kid, you wanna be a cop or firefighter, the hero in a crisis. Real life is a lot more complicated.¡±


    ¡°It always is.¡± He scooped up a handful of pebbles.


    Sutton looked sideways. ¡°I was such a f**king basket case I was pretty much useless. Not Stella though.¡±


    Of course she¡¯d held it together. She was a highly trained Interpol operative who¡¯d managed to send out a coded message that got everyone saved. She¡¯d kept her head in a nightmare situation. And she¡¯d done it all without once revealing her real identity to her captors or to the students she accompanied.


    She was so damn amazing she took his breath away.


    Jose funneled the pebbles through his fist into his other palm. ¡°Sutton, you can¡¯t beat yourself up over what¡¯s in the past. You¡¯re alive.¡±


    ¡°Not everybody made it out that way. Thing is, I don¡¯t know if I could do any better now. I¡¯m still so scared I could piss myself.¡±


    ¡°No shame in that.¡± He poured the pebbles back into his other hand.


    ¡°Easy for you to say. You¡¯re a superhero.¡±


    Superhero? Crap. Stella had called him that once. Too bad nothing could be further from the truth. ¡°We all have our kryptonite.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s yours?¡±


    Alcohol. Stella. Yeah, he had two great big weaknesses. He dumped the small stones onto the ground. ¡°Enough sharing. Get some sleep. Your chatter¡¯s distracting me from my job.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Stella, isn¡¯t it? She¡¯s yours¡­ but she¡¯s living her dream to be a student abroad?¡±


    He stayed silent. Was the kid digging? More than once he¡¯d hinted that he knew she had a deeper reason for being here. Had her cover been blown?


    ¡°She¡¯s smart. Pretty.¡±


    His jaw clamped tight, possessive instincts roaring. Whoa. Wait. Was this kid going somewhere else with his questions? ¡°Do you have a point?¡±


    Sutton shook his head. ¡°Not really. Just wondering what kind of guy lets a woman like her get away.¡±


    Great. Now even the kid was calling him out on his idiocy. As if he didn¡¯t already know. ¡°Prop your ankle on the log. It¡¯ll keep the swelling down.¡±


    Sutton set aside the shield. ¡°Are you dudes SEALs or what?¡±


    ¡°Special Operations involves a number of different branches¡ªSEALs, Rangers, Green Berets, pararescuemen.¡±


    ¡°Which are you?¡±


    ¡°Pararescuemen¡ªsometimes known as pararescue jumpers, PJs.¡±


    ¡°Were you all PJs?¡±


    Nosy little dude. ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to tell me, are you?¡±


    ¡°Do you really need to know?¡± Was the kid more than a student too? Government agencies kept secrets from each other all the time.


    ¡°Point made. Thanks to all those movies and documentaries and books, I¡¯ve heard all about SEALs. Tell me more about these PJs.¡±


    Jose scanned the perimeter, monitoring every shifting branch and shadow, assessing every scratch or crackle. For now, all could be chalked up to nature. ¡°We rescue. Let¡¯s just say we PJs thank God the SEALs are on our side and the SEALs thank God for us when they need someone to haul their asses out.¡±


    ¡°Kinda like ¡®you f**k up, we pick up¡¯?¡±


    Sounded like the kid knew a little about the PJs after all. Kid? Sutton was around twenty-two. Jose had had four years of active duty military service under his belt by then.


    Jose just stared back, silently, until a rustling from the lean-to pulled his attention off the kid. Rolling to his feet, he landed in a crouch by instinct. Weapon drawn, he scanned the dark.


    Stella raised a hand. ¡°Hold on. Just me.¡±


    Jose lowered his gun. ¡°Sorry to have woken you.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t. I¡¯m too wired to sleep long. Once we get out of here, though, I¡¯ll be comatose for days.¡± Sitting up, she pulled the wrap around her shoulders like a shawl. ¡°PJs don¡¯t like to talk about themselves.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s not,¡± Jose said, night sounds humming in agreement.


    She shoved her thick red braid over her shoulder, sweeping the escaping wisps away. ¡°Most folks have never heard of the pararescuemen. There are only about three hundred and fifty in the world.¡±


    Sutton hooked his arm on his knees, leaning in. ¡°That¡¯s crazy cool. Dude, you should be bragging in bars left and right. Think of the babes you could score.¡±


    Stella scrunched her nose in disdain. ¡°So you¡¯re the kind who pretends to be an astronaut to pick up women?¡±


    Sutton clapped a hand to his chest. ¡°That would be very dishonorable.¡±


    Damn straight.


    Stella scooted closer. ¡°Their training takes nearly two years. They do the SEAL survival stuff, assault, protection courses, as well as becoming medics¡ªexcept for the officer on the team. Anyhow, their focus is on rescue, but they need the insertion and force protection skills to make that happen.¡±


    Jose couldn¡¯t figure out why the hell she was telling all this stuff about PJs, and then it hit him. If she put the focus on his job¡ªmore of a known entity¡ªthen it took the focus off her real job. She was good. Really good.


    So he let her keep talking; no hardship. He could just sit and take in the sight of her, so sexy with her hair mussed from sleep. After a month away from her, he soaked up the sound of her.


    He was a sap.


    Sutton held up the shield, grinning. ¡°So I shouldn¡¯t piss off these two badasses. What else should I know about your boyfriend?¡±


    ¡°Former boyfriend,¡± she said quickly, too quickly. ¡°He and his buds rescue downed pilots in war zones¡ªeven jump into the ocean to assist during astronauts¡¯ landings. But their work isn¡¯t restricted to military settings; they help SWAT teams, the FBI.¡±

 Page 11

    Sutton whistled. ¡°Hairy stuff.¡±Advertisement


    As much as he preferred not to talk about his work, Jose reminded himself this kept the focus off Stella¡¯s job.


    He clapped the kid on the shoulder. ¡°If you call jumping into a minefield hairy, then sure, it¡¯s hairy stuff. Another of my buddies, Franco, was dropped onto a mountain in Afghanistan to rescue a Green Beret with his legs blown off in a minefield. We couldn¡¯t risk the rotor wash of a landing helicopter setting off another mine that would take out the whole aircraft and everyone in it. So Franco parachuted in alone. He used his medic training to secure the patient, then the helicopter hoisted them both up.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± Stella said, ¡°that¡¯s the same buddy of yours who rescued the lawyer and her nephew from earthquake rubble last year. Right, Jose? You do civilian rescue work too.¡±


    ¡°They were buried underneath layers of concrete slabs.¡± Jose kept on talking, since sure enough, the kid wasn¡¯t focusing on Stella anymore and that was good for a lot of reasons. ¡°Franco not only crawled through with stabilizing medical help, but also stayed with them through aftershocks until rescue teams could free them.¡±


    Sutton leaned back against the tree trunk. ¡°That¡¯s one helluva bedtime story.¡±


    Although, the sun was rising, which meant they would either be leaving or evading. ¡°You only have about a half hour left to catch some shut-eye.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯d better make the most of it.¡± Sutton¡¯s eyes slid closed.


    And as the student began snoring lightly, Jose realized he had no buffer between him and Stella. Nothing left but the two of them and a boatload of messy history.


    In spite of all her intention to button up her heart tight, Stella couldn¡¯t bring herself to sleep away these last minutes with Jose, not with the dream of their first date still curling through her mind and into her heart. The sun was rising and the chopper would certainly be arriving soon. They would go their separate ways again.


    So even as exhaustion tugged on her every cell, she forced her eyes to stay open. She tugged the ponytail holder free and began braiding her hair loosely.


    Jose¡¯s eyes glowed coal hot in the night. ¡°Are you seeing him?¡±


    Surprise jolted her. ¡°Sutton? Really? God, no. He¡¯s just a kid.¡±


    ¡°Twenty-two, according to the briefing info we got on the hostages before rolling out. He¡¯s not that much younger than either of us. Hell, I¡¯m a couple of years younger than you and that never seemed to matter to either of us.¡±


    She saw jealousy¡ªand hurt. The first would have made her defensive, but the latter made her lean forward and stroke his jaw lightly.


    ¡°Well, I am not seeing him. Why would you think that?¡±


    She was still so raw from their relationship, she didn¡¯t know when¡ªif¡ªshe could think about commitment again. And how scary was that? She was nowhere closer to finding out anything about her mother and she¡¯d screwed up any possibility of a relationship with Jose. She wanted a family of her own, but she couldn¡¯t think of being with anyone else.


    But what about Jose? Had he already moved on? Was that why he thought she could?


    She couldn¡¯t stop herself from asking, ¡°Are you seeing someone new?¡±


    ¡°I make it a point not to be dumped more than once every six months. Since you broke it off with me four weeks ago, I have five months left to be careful and stay completely single. No risks to the heart.¡±


    Her fingers still carried the feel of his unshaven jaw. ¡°Risks to the heart?¡± How the hell could he place this all at her doorstep? Anger welled inside her. ¡°If we¡¯re laying it out there, don¡¯t forget I wanted more with you.¡±


    ¡°Just so we¡¯re clear here.¡± He tugged the end of her braid. ¡°I asked you to move in with me.¡±


    The connection of his hand on her hair shimmered clear to her roots and pissed her off. ¡°Yeah, well, call me old-fashioned but I was hoping we could have it all¡ªhouse, family, rocking chair retirement with grandchildren¡ªand you also made it clear that was never going to happen.¡±


    So much for keeping her distance.


    He gave her braid a final tug. ¡°Keep right on fighting. You can let down soon.¡±


    The way he knew just how to bolster her, how to read her, brought a lump to her throat. Spending time with him now was bittersweet, knowing how it would end.


    ¡°Stella¡­¡± He pulled his 9 mm from the holster. ¡°For you.¡±


    He had his machine gun, so it made sense. Still, she appreciated having control of her safety again after the helplessness of the past three days.


    ¡°Damn you,¡± she whispered, cradling the handgun in her hands.


    ¡°What did I do now?¡±


    ¡°You understand me,¡± she admitted, her anger peeling away, leaving nothing but the hurt behind. ¡°I almost hate you for that. Be horrible, okay? Be a total jerk. Make this easier for both of us.¡±


    He cupped the back of her head, his fingers massaging into her scalp. Tempting her all over again. If she could just give up her dreams, she could have him¡­


    Then she would resent him, truly hate him in the end.


    A low hum started in her brain, a buzz of frustration or doubt? Either way, it grew louder and louder until¡­


    Jose went tense. His hand fell away and he launched to his feet. ¡°The helicopter¡¯s here.¡±


    The CIA agent pulled out his buzzing cell phone, but he didn¡¯t recognize the number scrolling across the screen. Not unusual, since they used disposable names and identities on a regular basis.


    He held up a hand to his two fellow operatives for them to carry on with their brief about the aircraft picking up the rest of the team. He would be right back. Sidling out of the small conference room, he ducked into a deserted computer cubicle in the hangar-based mobile command center and thumbed the on button.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Hello, Henry Pope.¡± The tinny sounding words carried over the phone, unrecognizable with a voice changer distorting the sound.


    That didn¡¯t scare him. But the fact that the person had used his real name? That scared the shit out of him. Only one person would use his name on this line while he was in the middle of a top secret op in Africa.


    ¡°How did you get this number?¡± Damn it, their business was concluded. He¡¯d done what they asked. The debt had been settled.


    ¡°My people can always find your number.¡±


    All those video screens and the hum of activity in the next cubicle over had his skin crawling. If a Predator unscrambled his encrypted signal¡­ ¡°I can¡¯t talk now.¡±


    ¡°Then just listen,¡± the mechanical voice continued. ¡°There¡¯s a young man who will be on the flight with the rescued hostages.¡±


    How the hell did they know that clear across the ocean? He looked around him at the computers with workers hunched over the screens, wearing headsets and monitoring data. Who? Who was trying to sabotage his life? Was someone here talking to him or feeding information?


    Maybe if he kept the person talking, he could find the bastard who¡¯d been making him dance like a puppet for the past year. He wasn¡¯t some errand boy.


    He¡¯d paid off his debt. ¡°What is it you want?¡±


    ¡°Very simple. We just want to know what he says, who he implicates.¡±


    ¡°Who is this person?¡±


    ¡°Check your messages when they land. We¡¯ll send you the rest of your assignment then.¡±


    That sounded easy enough, but he didn¡¯t need their help anymore. He wasn¡¯t going to risk his ass for nothing.


    ¡°No can do,¡± he lied. ¡°I don¡¯t have access to what you want. Sorry, but I¡¯m out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m disappointed to hear that. But not surprised.¡±


    A crackle sound on the other end of the line and then¡­


    ¡°Henry?¡± The voice changer had been removed. His wife spoke now, familiar, dear¡ªterrified.


    Panic twisted his gut in half. ¡°Charlotte? Are you okay?¡±


    Please Lord, let her be all right. His mind was already racing to a horrific conclusion.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t hurt me, but they have guns, Henry. They carjacked me.¡± Her voice cracked on a sob. ¡°They have Ellie too. We were in the minivan together. I¡¯d just picked her up from preschool.¡±


    Whimpers carried over the line, his daughter in the background.


    Nausea welled, and he tried like hell to swallow it back. He was going to be sick, right here in front of everyone in the hangar. His secret would be out and his family would suffer the consequences.


    Sweat beaded on his brow. He had to keep his cool, for his family, for his career, for his life.


    ¡°Stay calm, Charlotte. I¡¯ll take care of everything. I promise.¡±


    ¡°Henry, I love¡­¡±


    The phone line went dead.


    Chapter 5


    His time with Stella was at an end.


    Jose eyed the approaching aircraft with relief¡ªand yeah, a little disappointment since he would have to say good-bye once and for all. This bizarre pocket of time together was over, reopening all the wounds that had only just started healing after Stella dumped him the first time.


    There wasn¡¯t a damn thing he could do about it. Their ride had arrived, descending about fifty yards away. Not a helicopter after all, but a CV-22, the Air Force¡¯s newer tilt rotor aircraft. Engines on the wings moved, enabling it to do vertical takeoff and landings like a chopper, then point forward to fly like a regular plane. The CV-22 combined the maneuverability of a helicopter with the speed of an airplane.


    The military wasn¡¯t messing around here.


    Jose stood along with Bubbles, both of them sliding in place along either side of Sutton Harper, propping him as he hopped on one leg.


    Jose glanced left at Stella, knowing he had to help the lame student, knowing she could take care of herself. But aching with everything inside him to toss her over his shoulder and carry her straight to the aircraft himself. ¡°Stella? Are you good?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Her hand fell away from her ribs, the ribs he¡¯d seen her cradling one too many times. ¡°The sooner we get onboard, the sooner I can let you medics baby me to pieces.¡±


    The CV-22 descended, blades whomp, whomp, whomping, pushing the air downward. Tall grass bowed in an outward circle.


    ¡°Go,¡± Bubbles shouted. ¡°Go, go, go!¡±


    Bubbles¡¯s words popped like a starter pistol through Jose¡¯s brain. He ran. His body worked on instinct from dozens of marathons, countless missions. His feet moved, legs pumping with everything inside him. Sprinting out from the cover of trees. Each step pushed the fresh scent of morning out of the ground.


    As he raced closer to the helicopter, he could already almost smell the familiarity of it, a mustiness of past missions mingling with the scent of hydraulic fluid. This was his life, the military. Dreams of enlisting had been the only thing that kept him going as a teenager when his mother¡¯s drinking got worse. When his sister started drinking too.


    He¡¯d been thirteen years old then, parked in front of the television for the summer because his sister drank away their zoo pass money. He¡¯d seen a commercial about joining the Air Force, seeing the world.


    For him, anywhere sounded better than where he¡¯d been that day¡ª


    ¡°Jose!¡± Stella¡¯s scream just barely carried over the roar of the helicopter.


    He jerked his head around fast and saw her. She¡¯d stopped dead in her tracks, a gun in her hand and horror plastered across her face. His 9 mm that he¡¯d given her, not really expecting that she would need to use it. He followed the line of her aimed weapon.


    A teenage boy ran out of the tree line with a rifle slung over his shoulder. A couple of goats scattered as he plowed forward, his words carried away by the wind.


    ¡°Halt!¡± Stella shouted.


    The boy froze, his eyes wide, but his hold on his rifle looked practiced, comfortable. Stella leveled the gun, pointing with the fluid ease of training. Jose¡¯s stomach rose up to his throat. The thunder of the lowering CV-22 echoed the roar in his head. The boy didn¡¯t seem much older than Jose had been when sitting in front of the television all those years ago, dreaming of joining the military but too young to make that dream come true yet.

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    Carefully, the boy tossed away the weapon and raised his arms in the air, the rising sun swelling behind him. Wind from the rotor blades whipped his too large khakis and T-shirt. His broad forehead was furrowed, his hair buzzed short. He was skinny, but it was tough to tell if that was from hunger or just teenage lankiness.Advertisement


    It all happened so fast, not more than five or six seconds, and in that time, any of them could have shot the boy. Or given the way the kid handled the rifle, he could have killed them in their hesitation. What the hell were they supposed to do with him now?


    Stella approached him with the weapon still drawn, both equal in height. ¡°Go back into the trees, away from the aircraft.¡±


    Jose shoved the student onto Bubbles and followed her, scanning the trees. ¡°Stella, we need to leave.¡±


    The boy took a step toward her, hands still in the air. ¡°Let me come with you,¡± he said in heavily accented English. ¡°Please, ma¡¯am, take me with you. Do not leave me here. They will kill me.¡±


    Bubbles barked, ¡°We gotta go.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± The kid lurched forward. ¡°I know things, important things. I will tell you.¡±


    Anyone could say that, but if what he said was true¡­ Shit. They couldn¡¯t stand around here chitchatting. ¡°The boy comes with us. We don¡¯t have time to sort it out now. We¡¯ll search him for explosives and weapons and if he¡¯s clean, cuff him and load him up.¡±


    The boy didn¡¯t even hesitate. He thrust out his wrists. Jose took the battered rifle, then patted him down, finding no explosives.


    Bubbles stepped into the void and pulled out a set of plastic cuffs. He zipped the kid¡¯s wrists tight. ¡°Let¡¯s bounce.¡±


    Jose escorted the kid, leaving Bubbles and Stella to haul the student the rest of the way to the waiting aircraft. The crew chief inside the CV-22 reached out to steady each passenger up the back ramp and into the belly of the craft. Webbed seating stretched along either side, metal beams and cables lining the cargo hold. Jose strapped in the kid straight off, not trusting the teen, not trusting anyone. Especially when Stella was involved.


    He didn¡¯t give ten damns right now how much professional training she had. This was his rescue. His gig. And he wasn¡¯t lowering his guard for an instant until he had her safely back at base.


    The back load ramp groaned as it closed, sealing them inside with the crew chief and flight engineer. Jose dropped into a seat and strapped in beside Stella just as the CV-22 lifted off. Still, she had his gun trained on the kid.


    Could she do it? Shoot a teenager?


    Their time together hadn¡¯t involved work, not after the initial meet-up in the Gulf of Aden. They¡¯d just been two people dating, getting to know each other. He hadn¡¯t seen her on the job, and he sure as hell hadn¡¯t seen a woman who could draw down on a teen.


    Had her nerve-wracking time as a hostage messed with her head? Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have given her the gun after all. He closed his hand over hers, slipping the weapon from her grip, and she didn¡¯t even protest. But then perhaps she was thinking like an undercover agent after all, trying not to draw attention to her training.


    Although her standoff with the kid a few minutes ago had been mighty damn official.


    The engines groaned as they shifted, pointing the rotors forward. The CV-22 accelerated, speeding forward at double the pace of a helicopter. They were that much closer to freedom.


    Completely free for her to walk away from him.


    He blinked the fog of denial clear from his eyes and scoured the hollow inside of the aircraft. Almost as hollow as he felt.


    Sutton pointed at the kid, shouting over the roar of the engines. ¡°You were with them, the ones who held us at the compound.¡±


    Jose looked fast at Stella. Had she known that too from the second she saw the kid? If so, no wonder she¡¯d drawn a weapon. And no wonder she hadn¡¯t wanted to let the boy go.


    The teen held up his cuffed hands, fingers splaying in some kind of universal pleading gesture. ¡°They made me. I didn¡¯t have any choice. Until now. I came to you.¡±


    Sutton turned wild, scared eyes to Jose. ¡°Are you just going to believe what he says?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Jose answered. ¡°He¡¯s in custody. We¡¯ll sort it out later.¡±


    So far they¡¯d managed to keep her real identity from Sutton, although the student had been eyeing them suspiciously since realizing they had once dated.


    The way they¡¯d worked together to get to this point had been so damn smooth, even when they¡¯d been derailed by the land mine. Why the hell couldn¡¯t she see how good they¡¯d been together? He¡¯d wanted her to just accept him as he was, a great big flawed human being who was doing the best he could, one day at a time. He could already hear her answer of how he should be, what he could be¡ªa father. God, she¡¯d even suggested he go to medical school.


    With her sitting so close, he found himself thinking about her tearful, angry request during their last fight. Really thinking, even though it made his gut knot. The engine slowed again, jerking as the engines shifted upward like a helicopter again. Landing. Time to think was over.


    Before he could gather his scrambled thoughts, the back hatch opened again. The bright sun swelled inside, stinging his eyes. He blinked, seeing the hangar that held their command center, the CIA dudes and SEALs waiting. He was back where he started.


    Except now the welcoming crew included more than the CIA dudes and the SEALs. His PJ team stood with them¡ªBrick, Data, and Fang out front.


    And in that moment, Jose was the thirteen-year-old kid again, sitting in front of the TV watching an Air Force recruiting commercial. He saw what had gotten him out of his screwed-up home, away from his family. He saw what had pulled him up again after he¡¯d surrendered to the family legacy and become an alcoholic.


    And he knew without question there wasn¡¯t a middle ground for him with Stella. All he had was this rapidly closing window of time with her.


    Stella watched the clock as the somewhat nerdy-looking Mr. Brown questioned the teenage boy, while hard-ass Mr. Smith observed from a corner. Of course, the geek thing was Brown¡¯s act. His specialty? Martial arts, anything from Krav Maga to a black belt in karate. His unassuming appearance¡ªfive foot seven, wiry, and wearing glasses he didn¡¯t need¡ªhad caught more than one person off guard in the field.


    Would it work with the teenager?


    They¡¯d been placed in the small office in the hangar, a ten-by-ten coffee break area now being used as an interrogation room. She would be debriefed later. But for now¡ªso far as the kid knew¡ªshe was just a freed prisoner who¡¯d identified him as one of her captors and was listening in to verify what he said.


    The second she¡¯d seen him charging toward the CV-22, she¡¯d recognized him. She¡¯d noticed the kid a couple of times. Every person and every second of her captivity was catalogued in her photographic memory. The teenager had looked a helluva lot more fearsome at the compound, holding a gun and guarding his corner of the camp.


    When she¡¯d seen him running toward her, her gut had cramped with the fear she¡¯d barely let herself feel while she was held captive. And before she could think, her instincts as a field agent went into high gear and she had Jose¡¯s gun in her hands.


    The whole ride back to base, she¡¯d felt Jose¡¯s eyes on her, felt his questions.


    Felt the draw to be with him.


    But until she had a few answers of her own, she couldn¡¯t risk even talking to Jose. Sorting out the tangled mess of emotions inside of her would be tough enough on a calm day.


    Sorting through them right now with an interrogation to get through was impossible. So the best thing she could do? Finish this interview with the teenager as quickly as possible so she could use what little time she had left with Jose to find some closure. She couldn¡¯t spend the rest of her life feeling like her heart was cut out of her chest every time something reminded her of him.


    The teen¡ªhe called himself Ajaya¡ªcupped a canned cola with shaking hands and looked everywhere but into anyone¡¯s eyes. ¡°I lost my parents in an uprising when I was ten. I was sent to a school for orphans. The people who took me, they target boys like me, ones with no family.¡±


    Mr. Brown didn¡¯t even glance up from his iPad tablet as the kid poured out the heart-tugging story. ¡°You speak English well. You must know the odds tell me that¡¯s unusual for a child in your circumstances.¡±


    ¡°I had very good teachers at the orphan school.¡± He took a slurp of his drink. ¡°I had hopes of working at the embassy. Of traveling. I did not expect to travel this way. I did not go with those men by choice.¡±


    ¡°How did they take you?¡± Still, the CIA agent didn¡¯t show even a hint of sympathy, just total absorption in recording the information.


    Mr. Brown played the distracted academic well. Meanwhile, Mr. Smith crossed his arms and tucked himself more tightly in the corner, watching, listening for the least hint of a lie. And that was also why she¡¯d been allowed to listen in. She¡¯d been in there. She had access to more of what went on. The teen¡¯s eyes kept flicking to her, as if questioning why she was here, but he was wise enough not to ask.


    Ajaya¡¯s throat moved with another long swallow, his coffee-dark eyes deep wells of fear. ¡°They pretended to be maintenance people there to fix the electricity. They made me unconscious and took me away. Next I woke up in the back of their van. But they did not work alone. They had help.¡±


    Finally, Mr. Smith straightened, weathered creases in his face digging deeper as he frowned and looked directly into the young man¡¯s eyes. ¡°Help? From who?¡±


    ¡°From one of my teachers at the orphan school where I lived.¡±


    Annie Johnson closed and locked the door to her classroom.


    Most people lived for the end of the workday. Not her. She only came alive during those eight hours she spent at her desk and in front of the board¡ªwith her students. But today had been especially rough, with her eyes drawn back to those two empty desks, knowing more of her students had been snatched away by pirates and there wasn¡¯t a damn thing anyone could do about it.


    She swept the cloth up over her head and started for the door, fighting back the frustration. The hallway here at the orphan school didn¡¯t change year after year. Not really. The same bulletin boards, just different artwork and poems, same teenage themes.


    Same threats.


    Dropping her keys into her pocket, Annie hitched her book satchel over her shoulder and started down the dimly lit hallway. She¡¯d come here to teach believing that she was smarter than the rest of the people on staff. Beyond her two advanced degrees, she¡¯d traveled the world.


    How arrogant she¡¯d been.


    In over a decade at the school she¡¯d learned so much more from these kids, children who¡¯d seen a lifetime of loss and pain before they reached eighteen. She wanted to save them all but had come to accept no one person could carry that off.


    However, for the hour or two they each spent in her class every day, she could give them an escape. She could transport them to another world when she taught literature. That¡¯s how she lived her life these days, one hour at a time. Her dreams came in smaller pockets of time rather than grandiose plans to save the world.


    She stepped out into the fading sun, the dusty wind stirring her skirt around her calves. The teachers¡¯ quarters were a short walk away, a dorm-like setup where each staff member had a two-room efficiency apartment. Her dreams were definitely more scaled down these days.


    She rounded the corner of the clay building¡ªand slammed into another wall. Or rather she slammed into a person. A man, one of her fellow teachers.


    ¡°Sam,¡± she gasped. ¡°You startled me.¡±


    Samir Al-Shennawi had moved here from Egypt a year ago to teach history. And from day one, he hadn¡¯t hidden his interest in her.


    ¡°Annie,¡± he answered, not budging. ¡°I¡¯ve come to walk you to your quarters. You should not be out alone.¡±

 Page 13

    ¡°You¡¯re thoughtful, but the security guards are always a shout away.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°And I am their reinforcements.¡± He smiled but still didn¡¯t budge.


    Samir¡ªSam¡ªwas different from other men she¡¯d known, and she hadn¡¯t led a nun¡¯s life during her exile here. While she hadn¡¯t slept with him, Samir pushed her for something far more intimate than any of those other men. Friendship.


    ¡°I will walk you home,¡± he insisted.


    ¡°It¡¯s only three buildings away.¡± She pretended not to notice the curious stares. Everyone knew Sam had a thing for her, but they also knew she¡¯d kept her distance. ¡°Your help isn¡¯t necessary.¡±


    Still, she waved for him to walk beside her.


    ¡°I do understand it is not necessary. But I will walk with you anyway.¡± His smile fanned creases from his eyes behind his little round glasses. ¡°My mother would be very angry with me if I forgot the manners she taught me.¡±


    She pretended not to notice the curious stares of other teachers and students as she passed the dining hall. ¡°You¡¯re a pushy man.¡±


    ¡°Not really.¡±


    And that was true. He had a reputation for being a mild-mannered academic, the epitome of nerdiness. Except when it came to pursuing her. He was always quietly there, waiting with those intense sexy eyes of his.


    ¡°So then, Sam¡­¡± She smiled at him, letting herself flirt a little as a relief against the horrible day. ¡°If I told you to go on ahead, you would?¡±


    He walked silently beside her, staying in step along the dirt path leading to the teachers¡¯ dorm.


    Laughing, she hooked her thumb on the leather strap of her bag. ¡°Like I said. Pushy.¡±


    ¡°Ungrateful.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    He glanced down at her, reminding her he had eight extra inches of height on her. ¡°Since we are tossing around adjectives, I will volley one back your way. Ungrateful.¡±


    Now that struck a nerve, reminding her of arguments with her husband. Her dead husband. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to be grateful for the gift of your presence? Well then how about this adjective? Egotistical.¡±


    He tapped his chest. ¡°Protective.¡±


    That sat a little better on her prickly pride. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re worried about me? Now don¡¯t I feel foolish? I thought you were hitting on me.¡±


    His smile flattened to a deep scowl. ¡°I would never hit a woman.¡±


    ¡°Sorry. That¡¯s an idiom for making a move on a woman.¡± Still he looked confused so she continued, ¡°A romantic move.¡±


    ¡°That too.¡±


    She stopped. ¡°You¡¯re making a move on me? After a year of following me around.¡±


    ¡°Following you around? You make me sound like a puppy. I am merely a devoted man, a patient man. I have actually been making moves for quite some time, but apparently my moves were not obvious enough to capture your attention. It could be a difference in cultural courtship rituals. You may add intelligent and persistent to the adjective list. Good night.¡±


    She watched him walk silently away, tall and broad shouldered. And persistent.


    Her husband had been upset by her choices, angry with her. He¡¯d even asked her to come back. But he¡¯d never once been persistent.


    Yes, Samir Al-Shennawi intrigued her. He made her want to learn more, made her want more.


    Except how persistent would he stay if he knew she was a trained killer?


    Jose planted himself in a chair outside the break room door so he wouldn¡¯t miss Stella when she left. He was dead on his feet, running on fumes, but sitting was the only concession he would give himself. Sleep could come later, once he saw her and knew she was taken care of.


    The CV-22 was parked behind him, the crew gathered around the back hatch. On the other side of the aircraft, the CIA command center was still in place with screens glowing. The hangar hummed with pockets of activity.


    But he could only think of Stella.


    She had been in there with the boy and the head CIA dude for over three hours. She needed to rest, eat, recharge. Even knowing he wasn¡¯t stopping either didn¡¯t take away the driving urge to rip the door off with his bare hands and haul her out of there.


    It was as if the past four weeks apart never happened. He was right back in those first hours after she¡¯d dumped him, certain she would change her mind, wondering what he could do to change it for her.


    Damn stupid.


    Focus on the now. Do his job. What he did best.


    The light sound of footsteps gave him a one-second warning before his teammates pulled up alongside him. Brick, Data, Bubbles, and Fang were more than just a few fellas he worked with. They were fellow PJs. They put their lives on the line together, would die for each other.


    No one knew him better. And right now that could be a problem, gauging by the way they were grinning, ready to razz him. Bubbles leaned back against a pallet of stacked crates while the others advanced.


    His buddy Brick propped a foot up on the chair beside him, a stubborn rock-headed dude with a marshmallow heart, especially since he got married. ¡°Wanna play marry one, kill one, screw one? Category? Brad Pitt¡¯s women: Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie, and Gwyneth Paltrow.¡±


    His friend would remind him of the way he¡¯d picked on his buddies for not wanting to join in the word game. Not too long ago, he¡¯d razzed Rocha for being all uptight and in love.


    Ironic how life cycled around. ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡±


    Brick dropped into the seat beside him and clapped Jose on the back. ¡°Not as funny when you¡¯re the one in over your head, is it?¡±


    Fang¡ªwhich actually stood for Fuck, Another New Guy¡ªcrouched down in front of him. ¡°So, Brick, is it true what they say about married sex?¡±


    Data¡¯s eyes lit with curiosity, but then the squadron brainiac was curious about everything. ¡°What do they say? And who is ¡®they¡¯?¡±


    Baby-faced Fang scratched his buzzed short hair. ¡°Married dudes who say the sex dries up after the vows.¡±


    Jose cursed. Sex was so not what he wanted to talk about now with Stella so fresh in his mind he could swear the eucalyptus scent of her lingered.


    Brick scowled. ¡°Now hold on there, partner. Any man who¡¯s talking about sex with his wife is either a loser or not working hard enough.¡±


    Fang blinked once, twice. ¡°I¡¯m not getting what you mean, dude.¡±


    Shaking his head, Brick laughed. ¡°Can¡¯t coach stupid.¡±


    The shared laughed knocked around inside the hangar¡¯s high ceiling, ricocheting off beams. Familiar camaraderie. Their gift to him in the middle of hell.


    As the chuckles died down, Bubbles shoved away from the wall of stacked crates. ¡°The key to married sex, single sex, any sex at all? Foreplay is the road to happiness, my friends.¡±


    Jose looked from one shocked face to the other, more than a little stunned himself.


    ¡°Whoa.¡± Fang whistled. ¡°Who knew he could talk?¡±


    Some of the tension eased from Jose¡¯s shoulders. His buds knew him, knew just how to step in and defuse the moment.


    Except, why were they here? ¡°Brick, what¡¯s going on? Why the big welcoming party?¡±


    ¡°Long story. It¡¯s all connected to the vice president¡¯s wife¡¯s visit. Security and some exercise. Blah, blah, blah. You and Bubbles will be tied up here anyway with debriefing the kid and the rescued hostages.¡± Brick nodded to the coffee room door as the knob turned. ¡°And there¡¯s your lady now. Good luck.¡±


    His friends peeled away as the door opened.


    Stella stepped out first, while the CIA head honcho stayed inside with the kid. She pulled the door closed after her, resting her head against the panel.


    Someone had given her clean clothes even if she hadn¡¯t showered. She¡¯d changed into fresh jeans and a simple gray T-shirt. She still kept the long kanga cloth hooked over her arms. Perhaps she kept it to wrap around her if they stepped out in public, or maybe she held it out of nervous habit. But she seemed to take comfort from the cloth. He didn¡¯t bother pondering the ¡°why¡± of it any further. He¡¯d seen enough combat stress to know everyone handled things in their own way.


    And that damn Mr. Smith should know the same. Instead the hard-ass had kept her tied up in extra debriefs for three hours.


    ¡°Stella?¡± Jose scratched his tight throat and pushed a halfway normal voice free. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    Her shoulders went tense again and she turned slowly, scanning until her eyes landed on him.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± She wrapped her arms tighter around her waist, the long red cloth hooking on her elbows.


    He might not be able to fix whatever had messed with her head, but he could damn well monitor for any medical concerns. He looked into her eyes, checked her pupils, took her wrist, and counted her pulse. And even as he did his job he also couldn¡¯t stop thinking like the man who cared about her, the man who didn¡¯t want to play games. The man who¡¯d loved her.


    Still loved her?


    He counted her racing pulse. ¡°Did a doctor check you over when you changed clothes?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need one.¡± She eased her wrist from his hold. ¡°You already cleared me.¡±


    Damn it. He should have guessed as much. ¡°I¡¯m not a doctor.¡±


    ¡°You could be.¡±


    He folded his hands over his chest. ¡°Stella¡­¡±


    She put her fingers on his mouth. ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to travel old scripts.¡±


    Fair enough. He didn¡¯t want to waste time arguing with her either. He palmed her waist and guided her into a private corner behind the wall of crates, away from listening ears and prying eyes. The shadowy corner behind the pallet of wooden boxes created the bubble of solitude he needed to finally talk to her alone.


    ¡°Is the boy settled?¡± he asked. ¡°Did you learn anything?¡±


    ¡°Agents Smith and Brown are still talking with him. We simply played it that they wanted me there to verify what a hostage would have seen.¡± She sagged back against the metal wall, exhaustion stamping dark circles under her eyes. ¡°For now, the kid¡¯s story sounds like I would expect to hear. Orphaned in a civil conflict. Kidnapped by a clan militia force. So totally innocent it¡¯s guaranteed to break your heart.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe him?¡±


    She chewed her bottom lip for a long second before answering, ¡°I don¡¯t know. His story sounds too practiced. Too stock. He¡¯s going to have to offer us something more before I can believe he wasn¡¯t responsible for his actions at the compound. People died, a truly innocent student and a damn good agent.¡±


    The thought of how that could have been her nearly drove him to his knees. He flattened his hand on warm metal to keep from punching the wall, which would only draw attention to them when he finally had her completely alone for the first time since they¡¯d escaped that compound. ¡°Can you tell me what the hell was going on there?¡±


    ¡°Investigating different warlords, following the path of the stolen pirate stash.¡± She held the cloth tighter around her waist. ¡°Sometimes it feels like we¡¯re putting out fires without ever having access to the source.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s time for you to pack it in.¡±


    She frowned, staring back into his eyes. ¡°Are you crazy? You of all people should understand dedication to the job.¡±


    She had a point. So where the hell had his comment come from? From his deeper frustration that had nothing to do with logic, the gut-twisting burn of knowing she could have died. Living without her was tough enough, but at least he¡¯d been able to envision her alive, walking the same planet as him.


    The dam broke on the wall he¡¯d built to hold back all that fear so he could get the job done, get her out of there.


    ¡°Stella, why are you still here? Really? I don¡¯t care if your job gives you superhero status too, but someone should be looking out for you.¡±

 Page 14

    ¡°I can take care of myself.¡±Advertisement


    But she shouldn¡¯t have to, not all the time. The real question detonated inside him, the one that had been eating him up inside since he¡¯d first stepped into this airplane hangar and saw surveillance images of her on those screens.


    He gripped her by the shoulders. ¡°What were you doing inside that compound where you could have f**king been murdered?¡±


    Her brows shot upward, her chest rising and falling faster and faster. She looked away fast, her eyes darting. Avoiding? He didn¡¯t have to be a body language expert to know she was working on what to say, crafting her words.


    Finally, she looked at him full-on and blurted, ¡°I came here to find answers about how my mother died.¡±


    There was no denying the hoarse honesty in her whisper. He processed the words with the notion that he¡¯d thought he knew everything about her. God knows he¡¯d shared his secrets with her. He¡¯d assumed she had done the same.


    ¡°I thought your mom was an aid worker killed in a car accident.¡± He recalled everything Stella had told him, how Melanie Carson had spent half of every year in Africa dispensing aid in villages. ¡°In this region, right?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°That¡¯s what we were told, but I think the car accident story was just to cover her injuries so we wouldn¡¯t question why her body was beaten up.¡±


    ¡°God, Stella, I¡¯m not sure what to say.¡± He touched her cheek, all the comfort he expected she would accept. She had to have some kind of proof. She was too logical to say that about her mother on a hunch, which meant she¡¯d been planning this all along, even when she was with him. ¡°We were together for five months. Why didn¡¯t you mention this to me before?¡±


    And yeah, that stung a little. He¡¯d poured his guts out to her, shared his demons.


    She scrubbed her hand over her face, shaking her head slowly. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly romantic pillow talk.¡±


    He knew a cop-out answer when he heard one. ¡°We did more than sleep together.¡±


    ¡°Honestly, Jose.¡± Her mouth went tight. ¡°You didn¡¯t need to know about my mother, so I didn¡¯t tell you.¡±


    ¡°And you accused me of holding back?¡±


    Her shoulders slumped. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I hurt you and I mean that. Being together like this must really suck for you.¡±


    Straight for the jugular. He half smiled. ¡°I¡¯d forgotten how blunt you can be.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a factual person¡ªand we only broke up a month ago.¡± She touched his chest lightly.


    ¡°Feels longer than that.¡± He cupped her face, thumbing the corner of her mouth.


    She chewed her bottom lip, her teeth so close to his thumb. ¡°How long are you here?¡±


    ¡°Until the morning. Then I¡¯m out of here. Move on to the next phase.¡±


    Not much time left with her, but he didn¡¯t intend to waste a minute of it. His pulse thumped stronger, harder in his ears. Could he do it? Put his heart out there for her to crush again just for the chance to sleep with her one more time?


    Hell yes.


    He angled closer. He could almost taste her, just from memory.


    ¡°Jose, wait.¡± She pressed her hand harder against his chest. ¡°That isn¡¯t what I meant.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± He nibbled her bottom lip.


    She sighed, her breath tangling with his next breath.


    ¡°Really,¡± she said softly, her mouth moving along his. ¡°I told you about my mom because I thought we could use this time to talk things through more fully, to get closure.¡±


    Right now this felt more like a second chance than an ending. He skimmed a kiss along her jaw. ¡°Okay, then you talk.¡± He kissed his way down to her neck. ¡°I¡¯ll listen.¡±


    Her head fell back, giving him fuller access. ¡°Because even though we broke up a month ago, it hasn¡¯t been simple to close the door on what we¡­ shared. I¡¯ve realized I need more time with you.¡±


    And just that fast, her hands went into his hair. She guided his mouth back to hers and kissed him. Full-out kissed him, and God help him, he was all in.


    He slid his arms around her and hauled her closer. The familiar give of her curves against him felt so damn good. He knew they couldn¡¯t take this any further, not here, not now, and there was a certain freedom in that. And knowing he could just taste her, hold her, be with her¡ªthat drove him crazy. The past four weeks without her, thinking about never seeing her again, had damn near driven him nuts.


    The touch of her tongue to his sent a possessive growl humming low in his chest. He didn¡¯t know what tomorrow would bring, although he hoped tonight would find him and Stella in a shower together, then a bed, where he would use every bit of foreplay in his arsenal.


    But here, now, he needed to hold onto control for a while longer.


    Stepping back, he eased his mouth from hers and slid his hands around to cup her elbows. His senses went on high alert, taking in everything about her, from the softness of her skin to the brush of the cotton cloth she still held.


    ¡°Stella, if you¡¯re through here, let¡¯s head over to the quarters where we can be alone, talk about where you want to go next¡­¡±


    The sound of the door opening again echoed up from the other side of the stacked crates. Stella blinked fast, clearing away the fog of passion from her eyes. She hurried around the corner, back into plain sight just as the teenage Ajaya stepped out, his eyes wide and panicked.


    ¡°Where are you taking me? You cannot just send me back there, not when they know I have been here.¡± His voice cracked, his agitation increasing the longer Mr. Smith stayed silent beside him.


    The agent was playing the kid, pushing him for more with psychological pressure rather than physical harm.


    Ajaya tugged at the hem of his overlarge T-shirt. ¡°I know things, more things. I know about that.¡±


    He pointed to Stella.


    Jose stopped cold, his hand sliding around her waist.


    Mr. Smith didn¡¯t even blink.


    Ajaya waved his hand toward Stella again. ¡°The cloth, the one stolen from the compound. The writing in the border. It tells their plans.¡±


    Mr. Smith blinked.


    Foreboding iced up Jose¡¯s spine, years of survival instincts shouting this was about to get bad. Really bad. He resisted the urge to thrust himself between Stella and whatever the kid was about to say.


    Stella inched forward, her hands twisting in the wrap. ¡°What plans, Ajaya?¡±


    ¡°To kill people when your vice president¡¯s wife visits.¡± The teenage boy reached toward Stella, his fingers almost brushing the rippling fringe. ¡°The details are written in a code in the fabric.¡±


    Chapter 6


    Stella unwound the cloth from around her waist, handling the fabric as carefully as crystal. Cradling the material draped over her hands, she took in the pattern scripted along the edges. The stark halogen lights high in the hangar glinted on flecks of silver thread.


    Messages were commonly woven into the patterns or borders of these cloths, so that in and of itself wasn¡¯t unusual. There was no reason to beat herself up over not considering it before now. All the same, she wished somehow she¡¯d considered the possibility that a cloth was more than a ¡°cloth.¡±


    Could the boy be lying about a more insidious meaning? Or was he telling the truth? Either way, they had to move forward on the assumption that he was telling the truth.


    A translator would have to decipher which variation of the local language was used. Even if the words seemed benign, a decoder¡ªlike her¡ªwould have to discern if a hidden meaning had been inserted.


    Unless the boy was lying to buy time.


    She looked up at the teenager. His dark eyes were wild with desperation. She believed he would do anything to stay safe. Was he wily enough to make up a really good lie?


    A tug pulled her out of her thoughts as Mr. Smith eased the wrap from her hands. ¡°Where did this come from?¡±


    ¡°Uhm¡­¡± She blinked fast to clear her blurry eyes and dulled senses. ¡°Sutton and I both took items from their store of stolen goods for survival purposes. This was from Sutton¡¯s backpack.¡±


    Mr. Smith folded the fabric carefully. ¡°Then I think we need to make sure Mr. Harper passes over his backpack before he leaves here today. Sergeant, could you please escort Stella to her quarters? She needs rest and medical care after her ordeal. We¡¯ve asked enough of her.¡±


    She had a million questions she wanted to ask Ajaya and the enigmatic Mr. Smith, the same Mr. Smith she¡¯d been working with since she arrived in Africa six months ago. But he couldn¡¯t relay that. Obviously. Because as far as the teenager and all the hostages knew, she was just a student getting debriefed, fed, and evaluated like all the rest of them. And even as a full-fledged operative, she didn¡¯t always get clearance on everything.


    But God, she ached to be in on this.


    Her gaze flicked to Jose, then back to Mr. Smith. The CIA agent was right. She needed to rest up while he finished the interrogation. Once they had a handle on what was in the border of the cloth, if there was a code to crack, she would need a much sharper mind. Right now, she felt like she was walking through peanut butter.


    Jose¡¯s arm went around her waist, and she didn¡¯t bother protesting. She leaned into him and let him guide her out of the hangar.


    The blinding midday rays stung her eyes as she took in her first comprehensive look at the American base here. Rows of plain tan buildings sprawled ahead, baked and cracked by the harsh African sun.


    Step for step, she walked alongside Jose. The heated concrete steamed warmth through the soles of her gym shoes. ¡°Where exactly are we going?¡±


    His hand felt warm and right against her waist. ¡°You¡¯re no good to yourself or anyone until you eat some real food, shower, and sleep.¡±


    ¡°I know I need to clear my head, but walking away from work is easier said than done.¡± A trio of jet planes split the clouds overhead, leaving contrail to fade in their wakes.


    ¡°No offense, Stella, but have you looked in the mirror today?¡±


    His leg brushed against hers, his lean strength as familiar to her as her own skin. How strange to feel stirred in the middle of utter exhaustion. Especially when he¡¯d just told her she looked like crap.


    Ouch. ¡°I¡¯ve avoided mirrors.¡± She stopped at a corner, waiting for a line of camouflage trucks to roll past. ¡°It¡¯s been a rough few days.¡±


    ¡°Exactly why you need to forget about everything for a while.¡±


    ¡°Easier said than done right after hearing there¡¯s a group planning some kind of massacre.¡± God, she felt like she was running in circles, a futile and exhausting endeavor.


    ¡°The kid also said the plan was tied into the vice president¡¯s wife¡¯s visit.¡± He gave her a reassuring squeeze. ¡°So we have a couple of days. You can take this time to recharge¡ªreally recharge¡ªwhile Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown and however many more Jones and Johnson buddies of his can help out doing their jobs.¡±


    ¡°Why have you assigned yourself to be my babysitter?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t trust anyone else. You¡¯re mighty damn good at maneuvering people.¡± He guided her past a long open-air building with a metal dome roof. ¡°I care about you, and I understand you.¡±


    That¡¯s what made this all hurt so much, knowing he still cared. ¡°Thank you for being here, for being so damn good at what you do.¡±


    For caring.


    He stopped outside a two-story concrete building, steps leading up to the second floor. She stared up into his eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable jolt of awareness, the delicious shimmer that ignited her nerve endings with the promise of pleasure. An intense pleasure unique to being with Jose.


    ¡°Jose?¡± Was that whispery voice really hers?


    ¡°I know.¡± He cupped her shoulder. ¡°Not easy to just pretend everything¡¯s okay between us.¡±


    Her skin flamed to life, pushing aside the fog of exhaustion. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for dragging you into this, for hauling out all our past baggage again.¡±

 Page 15

    ¡°You did what had to be done. You¡¯re damn good at your job too.¡± His hand fell away. ¡°My room¡¯s down the hall. Since your gear is all back at the hostel where you were undercover as a student, I rounded up some essentials for you while you were watching the questioning of Ajaya. I put the stuff in my room.¡±Advertisement


    Her eyebrows shot up.


    He raised a hand. ¡°Before you get riled, I¡¯m not suggesting we sleep together, and if you insist, I¡¯ll find another place to bunk. But I gotta confess the past couple of days really screwed with my head. I need to know you¡¯re okay, or I¡¯m not going to be able to close my eyes.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying this isn¡¯t just about making sure I sleep? It¡¯s about helping you too?¡± A smile tugged at her mouth as well as her heart. ¡°That I need to stay stapled to your side like a teddy bear in order for you to get any rest.¡±


    ¡°Yep¡­¡± He nodded. ¡°I guess that pretty much covers it.¡±


    Not too long ago, she would have done anything to be with him. And now? She didn¡¯t know where they stood, and she was too tired to breathe, much less sort through her personal or professional tangles. Which made her answer a helluva lot easier to justify.


    ¡°I¡¯m honest to God too exhausted to argue with you. Let¡¯s watch out for each other, and we¡¯ll deal with everything else later.¡±


    She started climbing the steps to do the one thing she¡¯d never expected ever to do again.


    Sleep with Jose.


    Jose sat in the uncomfortable-as-hell armchair and watched Stella sleep as the clock ticked away the hours into the middle of the night.


    Once they¡¯d stepped into the small barracks room, she¡¯d washed up while he ate, then eaten while he showered. By the time he¡¯d joined her, she¡¯d been passed out asleep in the double bed tucked in a corner. He should stay in this chair.


    Should.


    But what the fuck?


    He¡¯d slept with her before, and it wasn¡¯t like they were going to have sex again. Even though that kiss earlier had damn near sent him to his knees.


    He shoved up out of the chair, his body groaning from the past twenty-four hours of surviving. He needed to recharge too if he expected to be one hundred percent for Stella. Settling onto the bed, he eased his legs up, careful not to jostle her. His head sank back into the piled pillows¡ªhe¡¯d bought extra when he got her some clothes since he knew how she loved fat, fluffy pillows under her head and to hug. He tucked his hand behind his bed and stared at the ceiling, keeping a couple of inches between him and the woman of his dreams sleeping next to him.


    Life was a bitch sometimes.


    But at least Stella was safe. He would worry about the possible doomsday message woven into that cloth later. For now, he had solid military-issue walls surrounding her.


    With concrete walls and industrial bedding, it wasn¡¯t much in the way of accommodations, but the mattress was decent. The halfway-functioning air conditioner unit in the window gushed air that was cooler than anything outside. He¡¯d stayed in worse. Still he wished he could offer her better.


    But he had to accept he¡¯d done all he could for her here. Sleep would do the rest, a deep slumber. Her catnap last night out in the wilds had been far from restful. Now she slept hard. Her red hair fanned out on the pillow, dry and carrying the scent of him since apparently she¡¯d used his shampoo. Her eyelids twitched with deep REMs. A lightweight robe covered her whole body but clung to damp curves.


    Sighing, she rolled over and looped her arm over his stomach. His abs contracted at the warmth of her, her slim, toned arm so damn familiar. As if the shower fresh scent of her wasn¡¯t already driving him nuts. Damn good thing he wore camo pants and a T-shirt. Although full-out body armor wouldn¡¯t be enough of a barrier between them.


    His arm rested along the dip of her waist. Her curves fit to his side, the give of her soft br**sts searing him, making him ache to cradle the weight in his hands. He knew every inch of her body. They¡¯d been good together, beyond good, better than anything he¡¯d had with any other woman. Hell, when he was with her he couldn¡¯t think of anyone but her. Still couldn¡¯t even though they were no longer a couple.


    Would she be in his system like this for the rest of his life?


    He eyed the scratch along her neck from the guard¡¯s blade. A blade that had come too close to taking her life. Even a bit more pressure, a second¡¯s hesitation on either of their parts would have left her dead. He willed his heart to stay steady. Careful not to wake her, he thumbed just beside the cut, along the place he¡¯d discovered when he¡¯d first kissed her at Queen Elizabeth National Park. Right over the freckle on her neck where he¡¯d kissed dozens of times during the five months they¡¯d dated.


    Every protective urge inside him flamed to life. No matter how many times his brain insisted it was over between them, his body argued otherwise. She was his. And maybe that wasn¡¯t cool or PC, but damn it, that¡¯s just how it was for him. On some primal level, a connection linked them that he didn¡¯t begin to understand. That he didn¡¯t have a clue how to sever.


    Sometimes he wondered if they¡¯d met on a regular day in an ordinary kind of place if things might have been different. They¡¯d played out their affair in a remote corner of the earth, in places with deep-rooted history. They¡¯d made love for the first time with the sound of the flowing Nile waters echoing through their window.


    Every minute of his time with her was branded in his brain. Not just having sex, but their whole weekend in Egypt, one of the handful of times they¡¯d been able to sneak more than a few hours together. He¡¯d been determined to make the most of a whole weekend with Stella, to sweep the incredibly practical woman off her feet with the most luxurious, impractical getaway he could plan.


    So he¡¯d taken her to Aswan with tropical palm trees and the Tombs of Nobles cut in the high west bank of the Nile. They¡¯d gone on a camel ride to the Monastery of St. Simeon. She had an adventurous spirit, but that day he¡¯d discovered a romantic heart underneath. He¡¯d seen it when she heard the story of the Mausoleum of Aga Khan and how his wife laid a rose on his tomb every day, a tradition still carried on by the village even after her death.


    Jose had made a mental note to cover Stella¡¯s bed in roses one day. He¡¯d never had the chance to fulfill that vow. Damn, regrets were a bite in the ass.


    Holding her against him, he let the sound of the whooshing air conditioner echo in his ears like the sound of the Nile during that date five months ago¡­


    The Nile River flowed by as it had done for thousands of years for millions of couples, but for Jose, there was only this woman. Only Stella sitting across the table from him.


    Parked on the restaurant terrace, he leaned on an elbow and watched her savor the Egyptian stew served in a clay pot. The road below was clogged with cars and bicyclists, horns and shouts drifting up. From inside, Nubian folk music echoed with people clapping along to the drum and lyre.


    Stella swayed ever so slightly. A lock of her thick red hair slid out from under the silk scarf she¡¯d draped over her head in keeping with local dress. He didn¡¯t have to reach across to remember the feel of her hair gliding across his fingers when he kissed her.


    Which he intended to do again. Soon.


    For now, though, he indulged himself by simply listening to her talk between bites. He periodically dipped his bread into his soup, the spices exploding through his senses already on hyperaware around Stella.


    She reached for the pewter goblet of juice from local fruits. ¡°My mother would have loved this place, the paintings.¡±


    ¡°Your mom was an artist?¡± he asked, wanting to know everything about her.


    ¡°More of a stylist.¡± She set down her drink, her nose flaring as a whiff of incense carried on the night breeze. ¡°She created works of art from pieces of earth, mud smears, berry juices. Every art project was a science project too. She was the ultimate recycler even before it was in vogue.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like my buddy Wade¡¯s wife.¡± He reached across the tablecloth and stroked the top of her hand.


    A smile flickered across her face when he touched her. ¡°I enjoyed the time she and I spent together on projects. I sent her pictures when she traveled here¡ª¡±


    She paused as the waitress refilled their goblets and placed a pot of mint tea to go with a dessert of cookies and candied figs. His mouth watered and it had nothing to do with the food and everything to do with a certain lady agent.


    Once the server turned away, he tapped Stella¡¯s hand. ¡°Tell me about one of the paintings.¡±


    ¡°The summer before she died, we vacationed at the Outer Banks in North Carolina.¡± She looked down and away, picking up a fig with fidgety fingers. ¡°I think my parents were trying to work on their marriage. Her absences strained their relationship.¡±


    ¡°Like in military marriages.¡± He¡¯d seen more than his fair share crumble, relationships that had appeared rock solid.


    Couples who didn¡¯t have the added stress of alcoholism lurking every damn day.


    ¡°My dad didn¡¯t see it quite that way at all. He couldn¡¯t find anything noble in what she did. He just wanted his wife back, an everyday normal life where he came home from driving his UPS route and had dinner with his whole family.¡± She blinked back a hint of tears. ¡°But he loved her, so he tried. She tried.¡±


    She shook her head.


    He squeezed her hand. ¡°You were telling me about a piece of art you made together.¡±


    A couple at the next table looked at their clasped hands with a disapproving eye. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to them by dissing local customs. So he let her go and poured them both a cup of tea.


    She tucked the loose strand of hair back under the scarf, her composure sliding just as neatly into place again. ¡°My mother and I were on the beach collecting seashells, sand dollars, and bits of seaweed. I used a piece of driftwood as my canvas. I made a portrait of her, my seashell mama. I still have it, actually.¡±


    ¡°She sounds fascinating.¡± Like her daughter.


    ¡°I wanted to go with her. I begged her to take me with her since I was in high school. She said no.¡±


    ¡°It probably wasn¡¯t safe for you.¡± If he had a wife and kids¡­ But he didn¡¯t. He wouldn¡¯t. Any thoughts of being with a woman forever ended when Stella walked away from him.


    Stella spooned sugar into her tea¡ªthree spoonfuls. ¡°She said the same thing, but I reminded her that sometimes entire families went on mission trips. I had looked it up in the library. I showed her all my research and suggested we should all go with her, or if the others didn¡¯t want to go, I would. I had it all worked out how I could take care of myself¡­¡± She stirred, clinking the spoon against the cup in time with the music. ¡°And she still said no.¡±


    ¡°That had to hurt.¡± Hell, it hurt just hearing her talk about the memory.


    ¡°Tough day all the way around.¡± She lifted her steaming tea. ¡°Then I had to face my dad, who I¡¯d just begged to leave.¡±


    Their moms had let them both down. He totally got the pain that went with that, for the kids and the father. He stirred a quick teaspoon of sugar into his tea to keep from reaching for her again. ¡°What did he say?¡±


    ¡°Wanna go to the movies?¡± She laughed softly, if a bit darkly. ¡°He let me buy all the popcorn and candy I wanted. He and I are alike. Talking about feelings and stuff¡ªwe¡¯re awkward.¡±


    Their waitress approached the table again and Stella looked more than grateful for the distraction this time. ¡°Sir, we are one of the few local establishments that offer alcohol beverages. May I¡ª?¡±


    He held up a hand. ¡°No thank you. We¡¯re fine.¡± As the server walked away, he looked at Stella, realizing he shouldn¡¯t have spoken for both of them. ¡°Should I call her back? Just because I don¡¯t drink doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t.¡±

 Page 16

    ¡°No thank you. I¡¯m good with the tea.¡± She studied him intently, like he was a mystery to solve. ¡°That must be difficult for you.¡±Advertisement


    He looked at her watching him and realized¡­ She knew. He hadn¡¯t told her about his alcoholism, but somehow she¡¯d learned about it on her own. Of course, the woman was a professional agent. Apparently there wouldn¡¯t be any secrets from her.


    ¡°Who told you? Or did you figure it out?¡± He forced himself to sit still, really still even though he wanted to charge right over to her side and ask if this was a deal breaker. ¡°I wasn¡¯t holding back; just waiting for the right time to bring it up.¡±


    ¡°I guessed, actually, although I wasn¡¯t certain until now. I understand if you¡¯d rather not talk about this.¡± She stared back, her gaze accepting, open. Sympathetic. ¡°Men use half as many words as a woman.¡±


    She declared it so matter-of-factly even though her green eyes glinted like dewy grass. And then he recalled what she¡¯d said about having trouble expressing emotions, like her father.


    So she rolled out studies to bolster those feelings she didn¡¯t know how to express.


    Something strange tugged at his heart, something that felt like¡­ affection? So different from lust. ¡°Studies show that, do they?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re teasing me?¡±


    ¡°A little.¡± To give himself time to figure out what he wanted to say next. ¡°I¡¯m sober. I¡¯ve been through a rehab program. And honestly, Stella, during that time I¡¯ve talked about the drinking, about staying sober¡­ and talked and talked and talked. I went to AA¡ªI still go whenever I can make meetings.¡±


    She nudged his teacup toward him. ¡°I¡¯m guessing there isn¡¯t a weekly group three doors down in some of the places you¡¯ve been sent by the military.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± he smiled at her, grateful for levity to ease the tension, ¡°that was a pretty good joke.¡±


    ¡°I was serious.¡±


    ¡°Oh, uh, sorry?¡±


    She smiled. ¡°Got you that time.¡±


    He smiled back, so damn entranced by this woman who already understood him better than anyone he could remember. ¡°You still surprise me, Stella.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why. I¡¯m pretty boring.¡± Her eyes lit with more of that tenderness that poured over him like aloe on a burn. ¡°But we were talking about your drinking. Perhaps we could begin with why you started.¡±


    She sounded so clinical. So precise. But instead of being put off by that seeming detachment, he was totally drawn in. If she had a tough time dealing with messy emotions, she could only be wading into his past crap because she genuinely wanted to know. Maybe she even cared.


    ¡°Stella, you know about statistics and studies. People can be genetically predisposed to alcoholism.¡± Maybe she would deal better with the more practical explanation. ¡°You see one person get wasted every Friday night and then when he needs to stop, no big deal. Then someone else drinks half as much only to learn he¡¯s totally hooked and the downward spiral starts.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying it¡¯s in your DNA?¡±


    ¡°My mother, her father. Every generation as far back as I can trace.¡± What a legacy. He felt the weight of it all the more now as he told Stella, wondering if the words would send her running. ¡°The stories people tell in AA about what triggered it for them¡­ I don¡¯t have that story. It just happened. One day I was hanging out with the guys drinking and the next day I realized, holy shit, I couldn¡¯t quit.¡±


    ¡°You said your mother was an alcoholic.¡± She reached across the table and he could see her frustration at not being able to touch him. ¡°That had to have left its marks on you as an adult.¡±


    Down on the street, a shrill horn honked right beneath the terrace, louder than the steady drone of shouts and voices from the marketplace beside the ancient, storied river. Jose peered over the balcony, the scent of spiced meat rising from a vendor¡¯s cart.


    ¡°Don¡¯t try to make excuses for me. My dad held a steady job as therapist¡ªthere¡¯s irony in that, don¡¯t you think?¡± The old saying about not being able to cure your own family was sure as hell true. ¡°We never went hungry. Mom didn¡¯t drink when my sister and I were little. When things got tougher for her, Dad always brought supper home and made sure my sister had enough money to look after me while he was at work.¡±


    Except she¡¯d eventually used that money to buy booze for herself.


    Stella sat quietly, just listening, never judging even though he judged himself. He refused to blame anyone for the decisions he¡¯d made in ignoring his family history.


    ¡°My older sister left at eighteen, enlisting in the military to get out just like I did. Except she left the Army when she went into rehab for the second time, when she had to sign over custody of her two children.¡±


    Now that part made her forehead furrow.


    ¡°How old were you when you quit drinking?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-two.¡±


    ¡°So that means you¡¯ve been sober for five years.¡± Her forehead smoothed. ¡°That¡¯s quite an accomplishment.¡±


    ¡°See, that¡¯s one thing about being an alcoholic. I can never allow myself to grow complacent.¡±


    Did she get what he was saying here? How he was trying to tell her he couldn¡¯t risk ending up like his mother or his sister, unable to care for their children. He was scared as hell to risk failing as a parent. He was going to make damn sure to break the cycle.


    The weight of it all piled on top of him, threatening to smother him. He looked around the restaurant, at the exits, needing air and space.


    Stella touched his arm lightly and his gaze zeroed back in on her fast. She looked at him with an understanding, or at least he hoped so, damn it.


    ¡°Stella?¡±


    ¡°Do you know Morse code?¡±


    What the hell? He blinked through his confusion. ¡°Of course. It can be crucial in a survival situation.¡±


    ¡°So you could understand if I blinked a message to you right now.¡± She tapped his wrist once more before folding her hands in her lap. ¡°Something that might be too risqu¨¦ to say in such a public place.¡±


    ¡°I believe I could.¡±


    He followed the sweep of her long eyelashes as she blinked to him a message that showed she understood him completely.


    Time to leave. Together.


    Stella kept her eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep recharging from her time as a captive. She just wanted to be close to Jose for a little while longer, because once she looked up at him, the reality of their breakup would be there between them. For a while longer, she could indulge in the feel of his lean body pressed to hers. She could draw in the scent of his shampoo with each breath.


    How could everything about him be so familiar even after a month apart? She¡¯d been trying so hard to forget him, even thought she¡¯d made real progress. Wow, had she ever learned otherwise. All their time away from each other seemed to have faded. And as long as she kept her eyes closed, this little faraway room and the generic bed could have been their hotel room in Egypt that night they¡¯d first made love.


    They¡¯d had dinner on the Nile after an exotic day of sightseeing. He¡¯d delivered another wildly unique date. Nothing about Jose was ever predictable, which made him all the more intriguing to a woman who¡¯d devoted her life to solving puzzles.


    Her heart had been tugged by how hard he¡¯d worked to build a life for himself. She¡¯d known there was no turning away from him, from the inevitability of what her heart and body wanted.


    She¡¯d blinked Morse code at their table, then again later in the crowded elevator, enjoying making him deliciously uncomfortable. Although from the glint in his eyes, he hadn¡¯t really minded.


    And then they¡¯d been in their room together. Alone. And hungry for each other. Some things definitely never changed¡­


    Silently, Stella did a half circle in their hotel room in Egypt. Her job had taken her around the world, but this place still struck a dreamy chord deep inside her. An archway swept over the double doors leading out to a terrace with mosaic tiles. Lights from an island shore and boats on the Nile glittered in the night, the same waters that had served as such an incredible backdrop for her romantic meal with Jose. Words failed her right now, but apparently he felt the same, so that was cool.


    Turning back to the room, she took in the heavy furniture, the gold gauze draped in a swag over the carved headboard of a king-size bed. Jose stood in the middle of the space in a loose linen shirt and pants, a quietly commanding presence just by existing. He didn¡¯t have to try. He was one of those individuals born with integrity, with an earthy magnetism.


    But he didn¡¯t make a move on her as she would have expected. He just tossed his wallet on the armoire by the TV along with his room key. She thought she caught sight of a condom tucked in his wallet, but that didn¡¯t matter. She carried her own.


    Nerves tapped in her stomach and she tried her best to decipher why she was scared, but apparently nerves didn¡¯t know Morse code. She knew this was right and she was absolutely certain she wanted to be with him. The scents of their date swirled in her mind so tangibly she could swear she still smelled the incense, the spices, and the light glistening of perspiration. The things they¡¯d shared with each other about their childhoods had been intense, unifying.


    While she couldn¡¯t help wishing they¡¯d met at a less complicated time, they were here together, now, and she wasn¡¯t turning away.


    ¡°Jose,¡± she said simply, ¡°this night has been almost perfect.¡±


    ¡°Almost?¡± A dark eyebrow angled upward.


    Nerves tingled along her already sizzling skin. She¡¯d been thinking of this since their first date, in reality probably since the moment she saw him lift that scuba mask on the boat. She knew this was right, that he was the one, but with expectations so high, she couldn¡¯t help fearing somehow something would go wrong.


    Steeling her spine and pushing back doubts, she pulled her hand from her hobo bag and placed a condom on the bedside table. ¡°But I bet we can make it one hundred percent perfection by morning.¡±


    He ambled toward her, one sexy step at a time. ¡°That¡¯s a bet I¡¯m more than happy to take.¡±


    Then he kissed her and the last thing she thought about was the room¡¯s d¨¦cor or timing. All she cared about was the man in her arms. He swept back the green cloth over her hair, the silky fabric slithering down and off. His hands followed. Stroking. Tempting. Along her back and sliding down to cup her bottom. Her body melded to his. Her br**sts went tingly and tight against the muscled wall of his chest. The rigid length of his erection pressed into her stomach.


    Kissing him, being with him set her on fire in a way that so defied logic she was caught unaware again and again. And right now, she didn¡¯t want reason. She just wanted to feel.


    He touched her with the same intuition he¡¯d shown in how he¡¯d known just what to say when her heart had been bare and hurting over sharing about her mom. Jose understood and that connected them. She¡¯d recognized they were meant to be together from the first moment she¡¯d seen him.


    The way he swept off her blouse and loose fitting pants with such ease, he could have been her longtime lover. His moves synchronized with hers. His clothes fell away into a pile as entwined as their bodies. Bare flesh to flesh, his skin sealed to hers, the cut and definition of masculine hardness turning her inside out.


    His lips trekked down her throat and she could swear she heard him whisper ¡°freckles¡± with a low growl before his finger teased her nipples, plucking with just the right amount of pressure to make desire pulse through her. She pressed her knees together against his thick thigh. She squeezed harder against the moist ache between her legs, burning for more. With each husky word Jose whispered against her skin, he promised to deliver.

 Page 17

    And as she was fast learning, this was a two-way street, with her touching him and finding that every stroke brought her as much pleasure as she gave. Her fingers played over the flex of muscles along his chest. She scored her nails lower, his washboard abs twitching into deeper refinement. His skin was like warm butterscotch, tempting her to¡­


    She flicked her tongue along his collarbone, salty sweet and all hers. He ducked to capture her mouth and the minty taste of tea remained. Was everything about him perfect? Even the way he¡¯d handled adversity with a humble strength. God, he was making her fall deeper in love with him by the day. By the hour.Advertisement


    And right now, by the caress.


    Backing toward the bed, her legs tangled with his until the mattress met her calves and he lowered her onto the coarse tapestry spread, her feet still hanging off the bed. Before she could think, he knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed and leaned forward to press a lingering kiss to her stomach. His intent became abundantly clear as he hooked her legs over his shoulders and nuzzled the inside of her thigh.


    Being so open and vulnerable to him could have been awkward, but everything with Jose just felt natural. Right. And utterly blissful. Pleasure rippled through her with each intuitive stroke of his tongue, every caress of his talented fingers. She ached to be closer to him, to feel him on top of her, inside her, and just the thought of that alone sent her the rest of the way over the edge. Her back arched into the release, again and again, her restless hands grasping at his head, his shoulders, urging him upward.


    Somewhere in a distant functioning part of her brain she noticed how he sheathed himself before sliding upward, kneeling over her, moving with her up the bed. Every rasp against her super-sensitized skin made her shiver with aftershocks as she inched toward the piled pillows.


    Her head sunk back into the downy softness as she clasped at Jose¡¯s shoulders, unrecognizable murmurs rolling from her as she urged him closer. Yet, he still held back, driving her crazy with his mouth along her br**sts up to her neck, until finally, thank God, finally he kissed her with an incredible mixture of passion and tenderness. Then thrust inside her, stretched her, filled her, and she knew¡­


    Their date, being together was absolutely perfect. So much so it scared her to think of losing him.


    Chapter 7


    Jose sensed the change in Stella when she woke, the way her breathing shifted in their small military quarters. He¡¯d been with her so often, he knew the feel of her body asleep¡ªand awake. She¡¯d woken at least twenty minutes ago, but for whatever reason, she chose to keep her eyes closed while she rested her head on his shoulder.


    At least she¡¯d rested for more than six hours since the questioning in the hangar. He sure as hell wasn¡¯t going to argue about holding her. He just stroked his hand along her shoulder, the memory of that night in Egypt so damn real in his head right now, he went hard at the images swimming in his mind. He¡¯d known he loved her but suspected if he said it right after sex, she would have thought he was talking with his dick rather than his heart. So he¡¯d waited for the right moment to tell her.


    Not that it all mattered in the end. He should have been smarter, should have seen the train wreck before they both crashed full-on into a massive heartache that was still kicking his ass.


    Before he could stop himself¡ªand hell, he didn¡¯t even want to stop¡ªhe kissed the top of her head. And how sappy was that? He was all choked up over nuzzling her hair. Her hair, for God¡¯s sake. He¡¯d been with this woman dozens of times, tasted every freckle on her body. He squeezed his eyes closed, resting his forehead on her and just breathing in the unique scent of her that overrode any shampoo.


    Her hand fell to rest on his shoulder, signaling she was finally ready to admit to being awake.


    He eased back to look in her eyes. ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    ¡°Better, rested. Thank you.¡± Her fingers trailed down to his chest and his body twitched in reaction. ¡°Jose, it would be horribly clich¨¦ of us to kiss right now¡­ or more.¡±


    His body went even harder against his fly in reaction to her words. ¡°Clich¨¦s aren¡¯t always bad.¡±


    She closed her eyes tightly, resting her head against his shoulder. ¡°Can we just talk? Just see if we can hang out here together? I don¡¯t want to say good-bye yet, but honest to God, Jose, I can¡¯t go back.¡±


    Did she realize how her ni**les beaded against the robe, making him ache to sweep open the neck and take each peak in his mouth?


    He decided to take hope from the fact that she wasn¡¯t running out the door. He hugged an arm around her shoulder. ¡°Stay put. The less you move the better it is for both of us.¡±


    She looked up quickly.


    He just winked.


    Stella relaxed against his side. ¡°I¡¯ve said this before, but it bears repeating. This would be much easier if you could be a jackass.¡±


    ¡°There are a lot of things that could make this simpler, but life isn¡¯t going to pave the way for us. So for now, let me just be glad you¡¯re alive and we¡¯ll just ignore the rest.¡± Like his raging erection. ¡°Anything I can get for you? Food? Something to drink?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good now. You were right. I was running on fumes before. I needed to recharge.¡± Rolling to her back, she pushed a hank of hair off her forehead. ¡°Have you heard anything about the teenager? Or the other hostages?¡±


    Even as they settled into a no-sex agreement, God, how easy it was to lay in a bed together and talk with the familiarity of lovers. How easy it would be to tug the tie on her robe and make them both forget the hellish past four weeks apart.


    His hands clenched. ¡°No earth-shattering news. Just a text from Bubbles a couple of hours ago.¡± He scooped his cell phone off the bedside table and double-checked. No new messages. He tossed it on the bed between them where it bounced once before settling. ¡°The other hostages have been medically evaluated. Everyone was processed separately, so they think you¡¯re simply in another room. Sutton and the others should be flying out and heading home within a few hours.¡±


    ¡°Which technically, I am.¡± She pushed against the mattress, sitting up.


    And driving him crazy with the way her knee peeked between the part in her robe.


    She hugged her knees. ¡°And the boy? The code?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure Mr. Smith will contact you once he has something.¡±


    ¡°Waiting is tough.¡±


    He knew that was an understatement for her. He¡¯d seen just how hard it had been for her to walk away from decoding whatever message lurked in that cloth. Stella might not be the most overt with her emotions, but she took her job seriously and her methodical mind had an almost obsessive need to untangle puzzles. He had the feeling she¡¯d probably been trying to break the code from memory even while she¡¯d slept.


    ¡°Most high-risk jobs are ninety-nine percent waiting and one percent high-octane insanity.¡± He should roll out of bed, get dressed, and get the hell out of here. He should. But he stayed right where he was because being tempted with her was less painful than being without her. ¡°You said you came here searching for answers about your mother, that you had unanswered questions about how she died. What do you think happened?¡±


    He genuinely wanted to know, and the conversation seemed to be a safe passion douser. Besides, he understood that she needed a distraction before the mystery code drove her crazy. Knowing she hadn¡¯t told him her suspicions about her mother¡¯s death before now also made him question how close they¡¯d really been before.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure exactly. I was fifteen when she died. The casket was closed.¡± She pinched the bridge of her nose, the only sign of emotion as she recited the facts coolly. ¡°They said she sustained head injuries. Supposedly, she was alone driving in the rain and that she spun out into a tree. A branch¡­ killed her.¡±


    He didn¡¯t care how calm her voice sounded. No one could be unaffected by that. He took her hand in his, linking fingers. ¡°Not seeing her body had to have made things more difficult.¡±


    ¡°I only said the casket was closed. The funeral director still let us see her after he¡¯d made her more¡­ presentable. Her face was so puffy and distorted¡­¡± She swallowed hard. ¡°They had to put a wig on her.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps seeing her wasn¡¯t the best idea for a teenager after all.¡± He stroked his thumb back and forth along the speeding pulse in her wrist.


    ¡°I had nightmares for a long time.¡± She cut her eyes toward him. ¡°I still do on occasion. Ones where that puffy face with a wig morphs back into the face I remember. She whispers to me to help her¡­¡±


    ¡°God, Stella¡­¡± To hell with distance. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hauled her against his chest.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the thing.¡± She gripped his T-shirt and he knew she held onto her self-control even tighter. ¡°We were also given photos of the accident site and the crumpled vehicle being towed away.¡±


    ¡°Something¡¯s bothering you.¡± He loved her analytical mind as much as he loved the rest of her. And obviously things hadn¡¯t added up for her regarding how her mom had died.


    ¡°I could see the tire tracks leading up to the tree, right to the long, broken off branch. Except no matter how many times I looked at it, I came to the same conclusion.¡± A shuddering breath shook her shoulders. ¡°The limb had to have gone through the passenger side. My mother wasn¡¯t alone in that car and she wasn¡¯t driving. Why did they lie? Who hurt her? Was that car accident even the cause of her death?¡±


    She¡¯d been solving mysteries even as a teenager. ¡°What did your father have to say?¡±


    ¡°He insisted I was in denial from grief. He offered to get me everything from a new puppy to therapy. I just wanted my mom.¡± She touched his jaw. ¡°But I guess you understand that. You know you tugged my heart that day monkey watching at the National Park. All those images of you as a kid hanging out at the zoo studying families¡­ You still tug on my emotions, Jose.¡±


    The talk of families rather than just mothers steered toward dangerous territory for them. ¡°Stella¡­¡±


    Sitting up, she put her fingers over his mouth. ¡°I know. It¡¯s not wise for us to discuss this, especially in a bed, but nothing about us has been smart or planned. I certainly didn¡¯t bargain on finding someone like you when I came to Africa. I¡¯d expected to find my Mr. Right once I put the past to rest.¡±


    ¡°Sorry to wreck your plans.¡± He kissed her fingers. ¡°I mean that. But I am who I am.¡±


    Damn it, if he could figure out a way around their different views for the future, he would. But they¡¯d talked and talked this to death with no progress.


    ¡°For a man who¡¯s so confident in the work world, I just don¡¯t understand how you can¡¯t see your strengths in your personal realm. I believe in you.¡±


    Anger nipped at the edges of his already dissolving resolve. ¡°Dumping me was a funny way of showing your faith in me.¡±


    ¡°I have so much faith in you I refuse to settle for anything but your one hundred percent.¡± She swung her legs off the edge of the bed. ¡°I need to get dressed and go.¡±


    And here they were again, at a f**king impasse. He reined in his anger with a gritty control that had carried him through marathons and missions. ¡°Then I guess that¡¯s my cue to get to work.¡±


    He rolled to his feet and snagged his uniform jacket off the back of a chair.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to have kept you from your team. You must have a lot to prep for the vice president¡¯s wife¡¯s visit.¡±


    He buttoned up his uniform. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m not on call for that until tomorrow. So for now, you have a bodyguard.¡±


    The best thing for both of them right now? To lose themselves in work. Completely.


    That didn¡¯t mean for a second that he was backing off. For whatever reason, she¡¯d landed in his life again and every second with her only reinforced one glaring fact.

 Page 18

    Walking away wasn¡¯t an option anymore.Advertisement


    Ajaya shuffle-walked beside his two ¡°guards¡± and tried like hell not to wet himself. He wanted to run away into the dark night and just disappear, except there was no place to hide even if he could get past the fences and captors.


    He could only stick by the two agents leading him to his quarters¡ªif that was really where they were taking him. He understood too well about prison cells and torture chambers.


    He was so damn scared and tired. It had been a dangerous move climbing onto that helicopter. But at that moment he had been more afraid of the people chasing him than the aircraft he had run toward. All he had been able to think about was leaving, flying as far away as possible. He¡¯d been terrified one of the hostages would recognize him and accuse him of horrible things. God, how he envied them being able to leave. Even now, he could see some of the hostages in the distance loading up on a plane to go.


    He prayed the interrogators believed him when he said he wanted to get away. That much was true. He had even offered up the information about the pattern in the cloth to make them trust he told the truth.


    But it was so scary figuring out how much to say without getting himself in trouble if the others took him back.


    Keeping pace with his silent guards into the dimly lit night, he resisted the urge to ask them where they were going. To beg them to help him escape to¡­ Where? He had nowhere to go. He just wanted to be alone and safe for one night. Just one night to sleep with a full stomach and no fears.


    ¡°Sir, where are you taking me?¡± he asked the one who had been called Mr. Smith. The fact that he had not been passed over to people in uniform frightened him. He should not warrant this level of attention.


    ¡°As I told you earlier, we are escorting you to a room.¡± Mr. Smith walked soundlessly. The guy was downright creepy with his dark suit and black hole eyes that didn¡¯t have any emotion. ¡°There will be a guard outside your door¡ªfor your protection too¡ªuntil we check out your story.¡±


    ¡°Why would I lie?¡± He sounded desperate, he knew, but maybe that was good.


    ¡°Because you have been identified as one of the kidnappers.¡±


    ¡°I am just a kid.¡± A kid who felt a million years old.


    ¡°All the more reason for us to look out for your safety as well.¡± Mr. Smith¡¯s jacket parted to reveal a gun.


    The other man, Mr. Brown, stopped outside a concrete block building. ¡°Let¡¯s get the kid a Happy Meal and tuck him into his race car bed. I¡¯m beat.¡±


    Beat? Ajaya flinched back, pressing his spine against the warm wall.


    That word must mean something different than he thought. Because beating¡­ He swallowed down vomit.


    If he could just go back in time. Back to the school where he¡¯d been sent after his family died. He¡¯d been so intent on revenge he had been willing to sign on, thinking he would be a warrior.


    Instead, they¡¯d turned him into a murderer.


    If these men beside him learned the things he had done, they wouldn¡¯t be offering him Happy Meals or anything else. He wasn¡¯t innocent anymore. He couldn¡¯t go back to the school, and he certainly did not want to go back to the people who¡¯d taken him.


    But he could not stay here much longer. They would lock him up for life once they learned everything about his past.


    He scraped his fingers along the rough exterior, wishing he could anchor himself to the spot. Mr. Smith unlocked the door and swung it wide. Two uniformed guards with machine guns slung over their shoulders stepped out and flanked either side of the door.


    Mr. Smith swept a hand toward the open door. ¡°Here we are. Your room.¡±


    Ajaya peeled himself off the wall and inched inside. Warily.


    He looked from side to side at the clean cool space with a big bed on one side. He found his boxed ¡°happy meal¡± on a small table. They were obviously trying to lull him. To win him over. It was going to take more than food and a bed. The others had tried that and he wouldn¡¯t be cheaply bought again.


    Still, he smiled his thanks and prayed they would leave faster. He just wanted to be alone to eat and shower.


    And plan.


    He hadn¡¯t decided how to get out of here yet, but if he bided his time long enough he would come up with a plan. He still had more information to share, later, if he needed it. For now they would be busy figuring out the secrets encrypted into the pattern on the cloth. Although once they translated the writing, he suspected they would never unravel the code. That was probably the only thing keeping him alive.


    Because even though he¡¯d needed to hide here from dozens of monsters out to get him, there were monsters here too.


    Stella jogged down the outdoor steps¡ª¨¹ber careful not to brush against Jose¡ªas they made their way through the base, back to the command center in the hangar.


    She¡¯d been foolish to think she could share a room with him for even a few hours and suffer no consequences. More than just memories of making love tormented her. She may have been asleep most of the time, but being so close to him knocked the props out from under her self-control. Being with him, curled up close to his warm, familiar body, and talking to him taunted her with how well they fit in more ways than just sex. She missed him. She ached to be with him, and she didn¡¯t know how to stuff down those feelings again.


    And a nighttime stroll sure as hell wasn¡¯t helping matters.


    At least she was wearing more than a robe now. After bolting off the bed to put distance between her and the memories of her first time sleeping with Jose, she¡¯d rushed into the bathroom to change into jeans and an embroidered tunic.


    The past few days of captivity must have stripped away her ability to put up walls. She needed to get back to work, to refocus her thoughts and numb her emotions. Above all, she needed to keep things light, superficial.


    She wrapped her arms around herself. ¡°The lights are off in the chow hall. I sure hope they sent some boxed meals to the hangar.¡±


    His boots thudded a steady pace beside her. ¡°Remember when we went out to eat in Egypt?¡±


    Gulp. Apparently he wasn¡¯t going to follow her lead on small talk. ¡°How could I forget our dinner by the Nile? I recall every word we said, and yes, I remember staying in the hotel with you and making love with you for the first time. It would be an obvious lie to say otherwise.¡±


    She walked faster.


    So did he. ¡°Me too.¡±


    Anger fed off her simmering sexual frustration. She stopped abruptly, her gym shoes squeaking as she pivoted to face him. ¡°Why in the world would you bring that up now?¡±


    He clasped her elbow, pulling her closer, the deserted walkway giving an illusion of privacy¡ªintimacy. ¡°You want the truth? Here it is. The past month without you has been hell.¡± His voice went raw. ¡°Then thinking you would die in that camp took hell to a whole different level.¡±


    ¡°Jose,¡± emotion clogged her throat, ¡°of course there are still residual feelings. But that doesn¡¯t mean¡­¡±


    ¡°No. Not residual or leftover or fading feelings.¡± He caressed her face. ¡°I¡¯ve decided I¡¯m not sure how I can live the rest of my life without you.¡±


    His touch was so strong and tender on that star-filled night¡­ it was all too much. She swayed closer to him, her br**sts brushing the familiar hard wall of his chest. ¡°You¡¯re not playing fair.¡±


    ¡°None of this is fair, Stella.¡± His dark eyes held her with a shivery intensity. Night sounds reverberated in the distance¡ªa Jeep inside the base, a wild beast stirring outside. ¡°How is it fair that we would fall in love with each other when we have such a fundamental difference of opinion about what constitutes the perfect life together?¡±


    ¡°One of us would have to compromise.¡± She couldn¡¯t douse the whisper of hope smoking through her that they were even having this discussion.


    He stroked down along her arm, just a simple caress that stirred her more than a kiss from any other man. She¡¯d been drawn to Jose on a deep and undeniable level from the first moment she¡¯d seen him. She just hadn¡¯t expected chemistry and kismet to have such a harsh sense of humor. Just looking at Jose now hurt so badly she fought the urge to fall to her knees.


    ¡°What if I said,¡± he swallowed hard, ¡°that I¡¯m willing to do whatever you want?¡±


    For a greedy instant, she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hold on, to say to hell with the smart decision or the inevitable. She just wanted him and would give up anything, do anything to be with him. Until reason smothered the whisper of hope before it could reach a full flame. They needed to find a way to accept each other rather than change each other.


    ¡°I would say you¡¯re breaking my heart. I would also say I can¡¯t be happy if what I¡¯m doing makes you unhappy.¡± She held onto his elbows, her nails digging in deep as if she could hold onto this moment, hold onto him. ¡°Truly, Jose, this is pointless and we both know it. We¡¯re only delaying the inevitable.¡±


    Even as she hoped he would tell her she was wrong, she couldn¡¯t miss the frustration tightening his jaw.


    His hands slid from her face to her shoulders. ¡°I think you¡¯re the one not being honest with me or yourself. I offer to give you whatever you want and you still turn me down? Who¡¯s really afraid of the perfect life?¡±


    His accusation made her gasp, each wording slicing clean through her. It wasn¡¯t true, damn it. She¡¯d poured her entire heart and dreams into their relationship. She tipped her head back to blink away tears blurring the stars.


    ¡°Shit,¡± he cursed softly.


    Just as bullets pocked the ground at her feet.


    Chapter 8


    Jose hooked his arm around Stella¡¯s waist and slammed them both against the wall. Gunfire popped from the other side of the building and damn it, he could use some professional distance right now. Even knowing she was a trained agent didn¡¯t stop him from wanting to wrap himself around her and insulate her from danger.


    But he also had a duty to protect their base, the best way to keep her safe. He whipped his weapon from the holster. A klaxon wailed, waning and increasing, pulsing through the organized chaos. People on foot raced for cover while the armored trucks squealed to a halt as personnel inside went into attack mode.


    No enemy forces were in sight. Gunfire and mortars all came from outside the fence in distant tree lines and from behind three crappy trucks. Security forces in the watchtowers returned fire. The too damn familiar sounds of battle swelled.


    A whistle sounded, the distinct piercing wail of a¡­


    ¡°Incoming!¡± he shouted, hooking an arm around Stella¡¯s waist a second before the rocket-launched grenade exploded twenty yards away. Concrete spewed into the air like volcanic ash. He tucked Stella closer, debris stoning his back. Even with his body on high alert, still he couldn¡¯t help but catch the scent of her hair, the softness of her body.


    Damn it, she distracted him, made him weak when he needed to be strong more than ever.


    She wriggled in his arms and yelled, ¡°We need to find better cover.¡±


    ¡°Roger,¡± he answered, already scanning for the closest door, assessing to see if it would be locked or open.


    Fine-tuning his ears, he listened for the direction of the attacking fire. ¡°Stella, the battle¡¯s winding down.¡±


    ¡°Or they¡¯re reloading.¡±


    Still, the gunfire diminished, becoming more sporadic by the minute. As quickly as the attack began, it was over. Two of the rusted out trucks beyond the gate now were in flames. The third truck raced away, spewing a cloud of camouflaging dust in its wake.


    The siren wailed in the aftermath, and shouts from within the base grew louder along with the echo of something else¡­ Something unexpected. Barking? He peered around the corner and a big-eared mutt streaked out into the open road.


    Three airmen sprinted after the blur of reddish brown dog. Shouts of, ¡°Pumpkin, Pumpkin, stop, sit. Come on¡­ Damn it¡­¡± made it clear the pooch wasn¡¯t new to the neighborhood.

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    Stella clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing. She sank back on her butt and kept right on giggling and he understood well the need to tap the steaming stress after battle.Advertisement


    Jose eased back out into the street, kneeling until the dog that looked like some kind of mix between a Pharaoh hound and Rhodesian ridgeback barreled into his chest.


    An airman wearing a red bandana on his head looped a makeshift leash around the dog¡¯s neck. ¡°Sorry about that. The gunfire freaked him out.¡±


    Stella stepped up alongside, still grinning. ¡°You¡¯ve been hiding a local dog here? That¡¯s against regs.¡±


    She would point out the regs. She probably had the book memorized.


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± the bandana-sporting flyboy said with a southern drawl, ¡°but we just couldn¡¯t let this little dude starve.¡±


    ¡°My wife would kick my ass,¡± said a private who didn¡¯t look old enough to go to the prom, much less have a spouse. ¡°We¡¯re trying to work through a group that will bring him back to the States.¡±


    The flyboy tugged his dog. ¡°We¡¯d better get him tucked away.¡±


    ¡°Roger that.¡± Jose took hold of Stella¡¯s elbow and steered her toward the hangar. ¡°Things may have died down for the moment, but I¡¯m not feeling the need to stand around here chitchatting.¡±


    Keeping his 9 mm in hand, he hoofed it faster, staying close to the buildings until finally he tucked Stella into the safety of the hangar that housed their mobile command center.


    He made a beeline straight toward Mr. Smith. ¡°What the hell was that all about outside?¡±


    Mr. Smith normally played life close to the vest, but the guy¡¯s regular stony face was downright thunderous right now. The agent reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a roll of antacids and thumbed one into his mouth. ¡°We¡¯re still not a hundred percent sure, but actually, those sorts of attacks are commonplace right now.¡± He crunched the tablet, the second already thumbed free and ready. ¡°Rebel forces, separatists, warlords¡ªhell, even al-Qaeda takes potshots at this base. This place needs thicker walls and better intel.¡±


    Stella picked away gravel on the knees of her jeans. ¡°What about the cloth? Any luck deciphering it? And what about Sutton¡¯s backpack?¡±


    ¡°The backpack had some other relics in it, which we¡¯re going over, but no other cloths. We¡¯re still working on the kanga with a local translator.¡± Mr. Smith tucked away the antacids. ¡°Once he¡¯s through we¡¯ll let you know.¡±


    ¡°Or I could work with what they already completed,¡± she pressed.


    ¡°We¡¯ll let you know.¡± Mr. Smith tugged his jacket over his shoulder harness as he left.


    Stella¡¯s jaw jutted. ¡°Too bad there aren¡¯t any trees around here for him to actually mark his territory.¡±


    Jose agreed a hundred percent, but firing Stella up further wasn¡¯t going to accomplish anything. ¡°You know how intelligence agencies are about working together. He may have saved your ass when you were kidnapped, but that doesn¡¯t mean he wants to work with you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right,¡± she said with a gleam in her eyes just before she pivoted away.


    Aw fuck. She was fired up anyhow.


    Jose kept pace alongside her, his boots thudding on the concrete floor. ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°To talk to the interpreter.¡± She stopped short outside the door, her hand on his chest. ¡°Do you think you can keep Mr. Smith busy?¡±


    If it meant closing this case faster and getting Stella back home safe and sound, he was all in. ¡°How long do you need?¡±


    Samir Al-Shennawi had been in love with Annie Johnson since the first time he saw her a year ago, the day he left Egypt and began his assignment teaching at the East African orphanage school.


    Sitting across from her now in the teacher¡¯s break room as she graded papers and sipped aromatic coffee, he still couldn¡¯t take his eyes off of her. Everything about her mesmerized him like a work of art. Her oval face was creamy and timeless as an oil painting by one of the masters. She wore loose, silky pants suits that shifted and glided against her curves the way his hands ached to do. He wasn¡¯t a poetic man, a scientist by trade and nature, yet she made him feel¡­ different.


    Even the loose lock of hair slipping free from the thick chestnut mass piled on top of her head tormented him. The barest glint of silver in that strand reminded him they were mature adults, in their fifties. At their age, they should know their wants, their needs. They weren¡¯t innocents.


    How could she not know he burned to make her his? He shuffled papers to grade, upper level chemistry, watching her out of the corner of his eye, every bit as entranced by her now as he¡¯d been twelve months ago.


    Seeing Annie then had caught him by surprise as he had never been one to believe in the whole ¡°at first sight¡± notion. He was too much of a practical man for that. He¡¯d never had time or the aptitude for romance.


    He¡¯d been a bachelor for so long his brother Omari had once pulled him aside and asked about his sexual orientation. Samir had reminded Omari that people didn¡¯t question George Clooney or Simon Cowell.


    His brother loved American television.


    Just because Samir was not a ladies man or Hollywood attractive¡ªor even Bollywood¡ªthat did not mean he preferred males to females. He dated quietly. He had sex with women but did not feel the need to brag of conquests. He just had not found the lady he wanted to spend his life with.


    Until he saw Annie. So maybe he was a romantic after all.


    He wished he could explain what it was about her that drew him, then perhaps he could figure out a way to get over her. Because after a year of attempting to romance her, she had clearly relegated him to the role of friendship.


    Something had to change. Because after this long waiting for the right one to walk into his life, he refused to lose her.


    After twelve months of failing to win her over, he¡¯d read up on American dating traditions¡ªperhaps they suffered a cultural miscommunication. He thought he had been quite obvious with his offers to walk her to her quarters and hold her chair for her when they sat together at school dining functions. They had even met for coffee and discussed more than just their students.


    Yet, her eyes did not light on him the way they should, with a fire that answered the one burning inside him. In fact, she had such solid walls in place, he did not know what she thought and he was growing impatient. Time for a more direct approach and what better moment than now as the only other teacher working this late slipped out the door?


    Samir nudged his glasses. ¡°Annie, are you seeing someone?¡±


    She glanced up from her papers and set her pencil down closely, precisely. ¡°Seeing?¡±


    ¡°Dating.¡± There. He¡¯d said it. He¡¯d made his interest in her official.


    He felt queasy.


    ¡°Sam, you live here on campus just as I do.¡± She cupped her mug of steaming coffee and lifted it to her perfect-as-a-peach lips. ¡°There¡¯s no way to keep a romance secret around this place.¡±


    ¡°Then do you have someone back at home that I do not know about?¡± If she did, why hadn¡¯t she spoken of him in the past twelve months? Why had she spoken of no one for that matter? It was almost as if she was every bit as much an orphan as the students they taught.


    She looked down into her mug. ¡°There was someone¡­ But he died.¡±


    Even with her emerald eyes averted, there was no missing the sadness, the loss. And something else¡­ Guilt?


    ¡°I am sorry.¡± He wanted to touch her. He settled for resting his hand beside hers. ¡°Was his death recent?¡±


    She looked up with a bittersweet half smile. ¡°No, years ago, and we¡¯d already grown apart because of my job here in Africa, among other things.¡±


    ¡°Then you are free.¡± He almost shot from his seat to cheer.


    Her smile stretched into a full-out grin. ¡°Sam, are you propositioning me?¡±


    ¡°I meant no disrespect.¡±


    ¡°None taken. So?¡± She tapped his hand lightly with her pencil. ¡°Are you propositioning me or is there someone else you left back in Egypt?¡±


    He thought of the woman he¡¯d dated for a couple of months before moving, a woman who¡¯d made him wonder if maybe it was time to settle for companionship. She¡¯d worked at the chemical research facility with him¡­ and then he¡¯d learned she had been planted in his company by a rival business attempting to steal his work on water purification.


    His trust came slower these days, the reason it had taken him a year to make a romantic overture to Annie, regardless of how deeply she moved him. Trusting his own judgment now was even more difficult than believing in others.


    ¡°There is no one waiting for me in Aswan.¡± His family had stopped speaking to him when he gave up the more prestigious job to teach. But he was doing good work here too, even if they didn¡¯t realize or understand. ¡°I am asking you out on a date.¡±


    ¡°A date?¡± She leaned back in her chair, giving nothing away as she crossed her arms over her chest. ¡°To where?¡±


    She was going to make him work for this. All right then. A fire sparked inside him at the notion of the chase.


    ¡°To dinner, downtown, away from the school and curious eyes.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to go to the trouble of hiding anything from the rest of the staff. Everyone here thinks we are already sleeping together.¡±


    He sat up ramrod straight, enraged. ¡°Who said this?¡±


    ¡°Calm down. They¡¯re just rumors because of how much time we spend together. No one seems to believe a man and a woman can have a platonic friendship anymore.¡±


    ¡°I will not have people talking about you that way.¡± Did she see their relationship as platonic? Disappointment seared through him when he¡¯d only just begun to hope.


    ¡°You really are old world, old school.¡±


    ¡°Old school?¡±


    ¡°Old-fashioned.¡±


    A hint of irritation spiked through his frustration. ¡°I do not think you are complimenting me.¡±


    ¡°Your manners are refreshing.¡±


    She placed her hand on top of his.


    Hot damn, as the Americans said. He linked his fingers with hers.


    ¡°Refreshing enough to have dinner with me?¡±


    Her pause doused his enthusiasm, his hope.


    She inched her hand free, patting his wrist lightly before twisting her fingers together. ¡°I¡¯m flattered, truly, but it¡¯s not a good idea.¡±


    Yes, she had pulled away, but he was certain he saw disappointment, even regret in her eyes.


    So why then did she reject him? Anger fired hotter inside him, unusual to him as he was more used to an even keeled life. Not knowing how to hold in these alien emotions, he snapped. ¡°Are you saying no because I am not American? Because my skin is not as white as yours?¡±


    ¡°Whoa, hold on.¡± She leaped from her chair and rushed to his side, kneeling. She took his hand in hers and held his eyes unwaveringly. ¡°First, you know me better than that and I thought I knew you better because the last thing I would expect is for you to insult me like that.¡±


    Her cool touch against his inflamed skin made it difficult to speak. ¡°I am sorry. And second?¡±


    ¡°Second?¡± She blinked fast, her pupils widening with a flash of awareness.


    ¡°You said ¡®first,¡¯ which implies there is a second point.¡± He very much wanted to know more about her thoughts.


    Her eyes fell away, down to look at their hands. ¡°Oh, just that you deserve better than me.¡±


    Studying her expression, he realized she truly didn¡¯t see or care about the differences in their skin. For some reason this woman perceived a lack inside herself.


    ¡°Annie¡­¡± He tucked a knuckle under her chin, savoring the texture that was even softer than he¡¯d imagined. And he¡¯d imagined touching her many times as he lay alone in his bed. ¡°Everything I know about you is intriguing. Please do me the honor of having dinner together.¡±

 Page 20

    ¡°You think I¡¯m perfect?¡± She laughed darkly.Advertisement


    He skimmed back the loose strand of chestnut hair, tucking it behind the most delicate ear he¡¯d ever seen. ¡°Not at all. You¡¯re stubborn and you have a temper.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you want to go out with me?¡±


    Something so very vulnerable in her voice reached out to him, made him wonder who had hurt her. He tossed aside all trust issues of his own and dove straight in. He wanted her. He would have her.


    ¡°I want to date you because when you use that stubborn temper to fight for your students, I am enchanted.¡± All in, he reminded himself. ¡°Honestly? When you simply look at me, I am enchanted.¡±


    She stayed silent so long he thought certainly she would say no. But then she sighed and leaned closer to him.


    ¡°Yes, Sam, I would very much like to have dinner with you. And as much as I fear you will regret it, I sincerely hope you continue to be enchanted.¡±


    Stella angled sideways past a stack of pallets in the hangar, Jose¡¯s footsteps even and reassuring behind her. When she¡¯d seen the woman working at computer station five leave for her break, she¡¯d almost broken out into a happy dance. Of all the stations, that one was positioned the farthest from the entrances¡ªand was blocked from the view of Mr. Smith¡¯s makeshift office by a pile of newly arrived pallets full of gear.


    She glanced over her shoulder at Jose. ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t mind keeping an eye out for Mr. Smith while I¡¯m at the computer?¡±


    ¡°Like I would trust anyone else to keep you safe from that cranky dude?¡±


    The intensity in his eyes brightened the dim and narrow space. Memories of the shooting outside the base swept through her mind, of that moment he¡¯d wrapped his body around hers and to hell with anything else. She could still feel the imprint of his arms, carried the intoxicating scent of him on her clothes.


    Of course he would protect her while she worked. Why couldn¡¯t he have the same faith in himself that she had in him?


    Regrets sucked¡ªand wasted valuable time.


    She edged around the end of the computer consoles. ¡°Sorry. Silly question. Thank you.¡±


    He pulled out her chair for her. ¡°Be quick about it though.¡± He pushed her wheeled office chair closer to the monitor. ¡°I don¡¯t like pissing off Mr. Smith types.¡±


    Had Jose kissed her on top of the head before he walked away?


    The tingling roots of her hair declared hell yes, he had.


    She shook off the sensation¡ªor at least managed to dull it enough to work¡ªand logged into the system. Her status with Interpol gave her limited access to the CIA files and the ongoing investigation. Her personal hacking skills would take her the rest of the way in. Keying through the layers of security, she¡­ was¡­ in.


    Yes.


    Images of the kanga cloth filled the screen, a dozen close-ups of the script. Clicking on each one, she scanned the translations, four in all on this. There was a message on each side, rather than just one down a long rectangular side. Standard stuff she would expect. Caution about the importance of saving money. Warning against chaos. Wisdom about love not seeing flaws.


    Lastly, Dua la kuku halimpati mwewe. A loosely translated proverb about a chicken¡¯s prayers meaning nothing to a hawk. The oppressor not caring about the wants of the oppressed.


    Accessing her profile, she merged two programs to plug in the words, cycling through different combinations in hope of finding some rhythm or pattern. Lines and lines scrolled down the screen, and she knew Mr. Smith and all his minions had done the same. Still, she couldn¡¯t stop from retracing their steps, hoping they¡¯d missed something obvious. Where was the code? The real message of danger Ajaya had insisted could be found here? It was like she had a puzzle with only half of the¡­


    Ah, damn it.


    She sat back in the chair.


    Where was the rest of the message? She thought back to taking the cloth from the backpack during their hideout while waiting for rescue. Smith said they¡¯d already gone through everything in the backpack. Was there something left at the compound?


    Had Ajaya realized all of that, knowing they wouldn¡¯t find out enough to stop anything? If so, the kid couldn¡¯t be trusted.


    She stared at the list of traditional sayings, generic, standard ones that could be found in a fortune cookie.


    Her mind shuffled through what little she¡¯d learned¡­ Could the sayings on the other piece of cloth be as standard? It was just a matter of stacking the right ones, in the right order, then pick through a sequence of letters to form a coherent message. Tedious, but doable if she had all the parts.


    Made sense not to keep the cloths together. She read the interpreted phrases again, generic, nothing to draw undue attention. Most likely the other half would have much of the same.


    She clicked through an Internet search for most common sayings woven into kangas. The more popular, the less likely it would draw attention. Then plugged them into the program and cranked back in the chair¡­She glanced at the time on the screen and¡ªcrap¡ªshe¡¯d already been here for nearly forty-five minutes. How much longer did she have? Jose would send up a warning if there was a problem, and quite frankly, there wasn¡¯t any reason why she shouldn¡¯t be here. Mr. Smith could be territorial all he wanted. She had rights.


    It would just be easier if she didn¡¯t have to fight for them.


    Her eyes scanned along the rapidly scrolling words jumbling and shifting, her mind racing to sort through possible patterns. She narrowed the search and typed in more parameters. She¡¯d learned long ago this kind of work was a mix of science and intuition. That instinct was a higher level of the logical, something needed here as she was looking for a message in a pattern in another language altogether¡­


    A hum started deep in her belly, the kind that told her she was on the trail. Words came together, chemical components, not a full plan but bigger pieces¡­ A date, but no time. A name, but no place. But those parts she could fill in for herself. Just as the kid had said. There were plans to disrupt the vice president¡¯s wife visit, during her first day in Somalia.


    And while she didn¡¯t have all the pieces yet, the chemical sounded a helluva lot like a tetanus bio toxin.


    Jose found Mr. Smith in the last place he would have expected¡ªout back rolling an unsmoked cigar between his fingers. The CIA operative was in charge of the intelligence angle here; even the military dudes reported up their own chain to him. This guy had some clout for even the base commander to stay hands-off this operation.


    The agent didn¡¯t jolt or even look around, but Jose could see the second Smith realized he wasn¡¯t alone. He stopped playing with the cigar and just held it. Jose pulled up alongside him, the African sun baking the ground so hot it burned clear through his boots.


    ¡°Mind if I join you?¡± Jose pulled his unsmoked cigar from his uniform pocket, looking for an excuse to keep the guy occupied while Stella worked her magic.


    Smith shrugged wordlessly, apparently taking a page from Bubbles¡¯s silent and grumpy act.


    Rolling his cigar between his palms, Jose tried again, ¡°Find out anything new about the attack outside?¡±


    Smith flipped the unlit stogie between his fingers. ¡°Base security caught the truck that drove off, about a mile away. Local authorities stepped in after that.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the last we¡¯ll hear of them¡­ until the next time they attack us.¡±


    ¡°We do what we can do.¡± Smith shrugged again, stony and stoic as ever. ¡°Once the VP¡¯s wife is done here, we¡¯ll be able to draw back on our presence. Or rather you will.¡±


    Would Stella stay? Yeah, that thought had crossed his mind about a time or fifty while she slept. ¡°I¡¯m just focused on getting through this week. I¡¯ll worry about future pirate missions after that.¡±


    ¡°Did you need something?¡±


    Shit. His reason for coming out here. ¡°Uh, yeah¡­¡± He held up his unsmoked Cuban and pulled the wrapper off. ¡°Just to smoke.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as a smoker. No nicotine stains under your fingers or on your teeth. No twitchy reach for a pack,¡± Mr. Smith detailed, reminding Jose that every damn move he made was analyzed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve broken the habit for the most part. I hold out for one a month, reserve it for a stressful time.¡± He pulled out a lighter but¡­ held back. ¡°Having Stella captured by separatists hell-bent on torturing her qualifies as stressful.¡±


    Smith pulled out his lighter again but didn¡¯t light up the cigar. He just flicked the flame on and off, on and off. ¡°I quit a year ago.¡±


    Jose watched the dude, not quite able to get a read off him. He didn¡¯t hold a cigar right so why did he have one? The question would have to wait because top priority now was keeping the head spook here from walking around the hangar while Stella snooped around.


    ¡°I imagine you¡¯ve got big fat files on me and my team since we¡¯ve stepped in to help on security.¡±


    ¡°Just call me Big Brother,¡± Smith said, but he wasn¡¯t laughing.


    ¡°Well, since we¡¯re playing on the same team here, I¡¯m happy to help out with the profiles, if you need anything.¡±


    ¡°Oh really,¡± Smith said, eyeing him as if he already knew this was all a game.


    Who the hell cared as long as it kept him outside, away from Stella? Jose shifted through for some benign stuff to share, things that were likely already in their files anyhow, like their call signs.


    ¡°You can tell a lot about each guy on the team from his call sign¡ªnickname. Wade Rocha¡¯s is ¡®Brick,¡¯ which means rock, like rock, rock head. He¡¯s one hardheaded, driven dude. Then there¡¯s Marcus ¡®Data¡¯ Dupre because, well, he¡¯s just like Stella with the analytical brain. We call Gavin Novak ¡®Bubbles¡¯ because of the irony. We had a team leader named ¡®Walker,¡¯ but he¡¯s moved up the chain. Captain Dominic Jablonski¡¯s our new one. Jury¡¯s still out on him.¡±


    The first sign of interest showed in Smith¡¯s eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t trust him?¡±


    Unease made the hair on the nape of his neck stand up. That mission at NASA with a corrupt general was a fluke, damn it. It had to be. He wouldn¡¯t be able to do this job if he always had to question if his teammates had his back.


    He stared up at the sky, jets roaring past in a three-ship formation, striping contrails through the sky. He weighed his words before continuing. ¡°I trust Jablonski in the big scheme of things as far as loyalty to his country and holding his own on the job. He hasn¡¯t been around long enough for us to get a sense of his leadership.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s his call sign?¡±


    ¡°Saint.¡± An odd one they still hadn¡¯t quite figured out yet, but he was willing to ponder on it if that gave Stella more time to nose around about translations on the cloth. ¡°There are several rumors about how he got his call sign. His first name is Dominic, so Saint Nic, like Santa. Others say it¡¯s because he¡¯s holier than thou.¡±


    ¡°Not popular with the team.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that exactly.¡± But he¡¯d been thinking it. ¡°He¡¯s just¡ªhow can I put this?¡ªa really good guy.¡±


    ¡°What about the kid, Fang?¡±


    Jose smiled at the tradition. ¡°The acronym says it all.¡±


    Fuck, Another New Guy. A new guy needed to be watched until he proved himself¡ªor didn¡¯t.


    ¡°There has to be more on Sergeant Zane Thomas.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been around awhile.¡± Too long as the newest team member, actually. ¡°It¡¯s past time for a new Fang, but government cutbacks and crap¡­ We¡¯re making do.¡±


    ¡°Stretched thin. I feel you there, brother.¡±


    And what the hell? He¡¯d come out here to divert Smith so he didn¡¯t walk in on Stella. The last thing he¡¯d expected was a warm and fuzzy bonding moment. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d be on the side of a spook.¡±

 Page 21

    ¡°We¡¯re all on the same side,¡± Smith said with such a somber air the fella could have been a hundred and ten rather than¡­Advertisement


    How old? Smith had that ageless look most CIA dudes wore like a suit of armor. Best guess? He must be in his forties. Did he have a family back home? Kids? Or was he married to the job?


    ¡°With all due respect to your secret agent awesomeness, since when did you stop marking your territory?¡±


    ¡°Everybody needs a smoke break once in a while.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± Jose tucked away his unused cigar. ¡°What¡¯s in your file about me?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a recovering alcoholic.¡±


    Wow, that one came out fast. Smith¡¯s first thought about him. Nothing to do with successful missions or training. Just that big albatross hanging around more than his neck. It was chained to him for life.


    Then he shrugged off the defensiveness long enough to realize a nuance to Smith¡¯s words. ¡°Recovering.¡± Rather than recovered or reformed because those words could never be assumed, not by someone walking the walk. ¡°You know the lingo.¡±


    Smith stared at the ground for a moment before answering. ¡°My wife¡¯s in the program.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Damn, he hadn¡¯t wanted this kind of bonding.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry. It¡¯s working.¡± He rubbed his empty ring finger. ¡°She¡¯s doing well.¡±


    ¡°Glad to hear it.¡±


    The missing wedding band didn¡¯t mean anything. Most agents and warriors out in the field didn¡¯t wear one, preferring to keep their private life off the grid as much as possible. So why was Smith sharing?


    Smith stared straight into his eyes. ¡°Your file says you got your name because you nearly suffered alcohol poisoning from a bottle of Jose Cuervo the day your mother died.¡±


    Fuck.


    One look at Smith¡¯s eyes told him he¡¯d been played. All this sharing and bonding was just an act. Smith had played him, waiting to go for the jugular to get a real read off of him. What did the dude want from him?


    How much of what Smith said had even been real? Had the story about the wife been fake, just to get him to loosen up and talk? ¡°What is it that you really want to know?¡±


    ¡°Is your girlfriend through yet?¡± Smith asked, confirming Jose¡¯s suspicions.


    Nothing got past this guy. And while he respected the dude for doing his job well¡ªintel kept them all from dying in this crazy-ass, mixed-up world¡ªright now he was damn glad to be on the rescue side of things rather than living in that dark hole of secret ops.


    Where Stella lived.


    His stare-down with Smith lasted a good sixty seconds before the sound of someone approaching sent them both on alert. Steady footsteps echoed along the side of the hangar, not at all stealthy, which should be a good thing. Bad guys snuck up. Nonthreats just walked.


    Still, Jose rested a hand over his 9 mm just as Mr. Smith did the same. The afternoon¡¯s attack was still too fresh in his mind, the smell of the mortar exploding, the feel of Stella¡¯s heartbeat against his.


    The steps came closer and Jose realized he recognized the tread well. So well, it should have unsettled him all the more.


    ¡°Stella,¡± he called out, ¡°Smith and I are out here just shooting the breeze.¡±


    She probably already knew, but best to be sure.


    A second later, she rounded the corner, fire shooting from her eyes. Her arms pumping, her braid swaying with her every determined step, she stalked straight up to Mr. Smith and said softly through gritted teeth, ¡°When the hell were you intending to tell me they¡¯re trying to set off a bio toxin in the middle of a diplomacy visit?¡±


    Chapter 9


    ¡°Bio toxin?¡± Jose jerked to attention, his every instinct narrowing to block out anything that distracted him from Stella¡¯s words.


    Ironic as hell since Stella was a walking, talking distraction by just breathing the same air space.


    But for now he blocked out the planes roaring overhead, the sun baking down, the overpowering urge to take Stella somewhere, anywhere, and hide her away safely. Instead, he zeroed in on the moment, one of those instances that battle-honed instincts told him was a crucial, defining instant. She smoothed her palms down the thighs of her jeans, leaving a hint of perspiration before tucking them in her pockets. She tugged the tunic, flipping back her braid nervously.


    Shit. If Stella was sweating, this was beyond bad.


    An angry tic twitching at the corner of one eye, Smith snapped the cigar in half. He stepped closer, his voice low. ¡°Agent Carson, you¡¯re going to need to be more specific with what information you¡¯ve uncovered and how.¡±


    Stella¡¯s bracing sigh wasn¡¯t reassuring. ¡°I accessed the writing on the cloth and ran them through some programs. I¡¯m assuming your programs didn¡¯t decipher the pattern yet or you sure as hell wouldn¡¯t be standing around shooting the breeze, taking a smoke. Bottom line, I realized I only have half the puzzle because there¡¯s another cloth out there somewhere. But from what I can put together, the separatist group responsible for my capture has a nerve toxin. I believe it¡¯s a variation of the tetanus toxin, one so intense a regular vaccination won¡¯t do anything but delay the onset of symptoms for a few extra minutes.¡±


    Jose closed his eyes for a long heartbeat processing what he¡¯d heard. He didn¡¯t doubt her conclusion for a second. They may have had their problems in the romance department, but when it came to her job, Stella was one hundred percent rock solid. He found that brilliant mind of hers sexy as hell most of the time. Right now, he¡¯d wished like crazy that he could be wrong¡­ That she could be wrong.


    Cursing softly, Smith turned to Jose. ¡°The symptoms of extreme exposure to tetanus are¡­ what?¡±


    Jose¡¯s brain shifted into medical mode, but knowledge brought him little comfort. Horrific images filled his head. ¡°Muscle spasms so intense they lead to paralysis, then suffocation.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Smith, if that¡¯s let loose in a large gathering,¡± she hesitated, swallowing as if her mouth had gone dry, ¡°a large televised gathering¡­¡±


    The loss of life, the worldwide panic¡­ the consequences were¡­ beyond imagining. He might as well have been cleaved down the middle. Half of him still shouted to get Stella somewhere safe, while the other half of him knew they would both do their jobs and their jobs were going to take them to the core of the threat.


    Smith flicked the broken cigar into a trash can. ¡°Smoke break over. We need to roll. Carson, patch a call through to Sutton and see if you can find out more about where he got the kanga. We¡¯ll also need to send someone back to the compound to search again.¡± He charged ahead in a blur of generic dark suit, words floating over his shoulder. ¡°And we can talk later about why the two of you felt the need to play me.¡±


    Strapped into a CV-22 heading to Mogadishu, nearly a seven-hundred-mile trip, Stella fought down the welling outright panic that had been threatening to swallow her whole since she¡¯d cracked part of the code. The CIA had stepped the operation into high gear.


    No cigar breaks.


    The bulk of their mobile command unit was being related to Somalia¡¯s capital, ahead of the arrival of the vice president¡¯s wife. They had limited time to prevent the attack. Attempts to persuade her to abandon her trip fell on deaf ears. Canceling the visit would embolden the very warlords she and the U.S. administration as a whole condemned.


    Now it was up to the CIA, Interpol, the Secret Service, and the military to ramp up their efforts to keep the nation¡¯s second lady safe.


    From what Stella gathered, the rest of the details were on the second stretch of cloth. But the details on the first length of fabric had been chilling enough. The deciphered code contained the formula for a bio toxin.


    Ajaya had been warily helpful thus far. From what the teenager had said, the attack was supposed to take place when the vice president¡¯s wife made her goodwill visit to Mogadishu¡ªalso known as Xamar. The celebrations would be huge, spanning days. There would be everything from a brass band welcome on the tarmac to a speech at a local monument to high profile diners at a convention center. He vowed that he¡¯d only heard about a regular package bomb.


    But the code indicated otherwise.


    The potential devastation was beyond imagining with so many different scenarios to protect against. An outdoor bomb? An indoors insidious release through the air ducts?


    Once Smith had led them back into the hangar, he¡¯d mobilized his CIA team. The PJs were included for on-the-ground security.


    Even if they prevented the release of the bio toxin, there was still the potential for panic if word leaked. Mass chaos. The PJs¡¯ medic skills would be in high demand. With that kind of threat hanging over their heads, Smith had never gotten around to chewing her out for breaking into his intelligence files to get her own private take on that cloth.


    The tension in the aircraft was thicker than the humidity. And it was mighty damn dense, carrying the scent of hydraulic fumes and fear. Yes, fear, because she knew something these big badass warriors would never admit. Anyone with sense was afraid at a time like this.


    She wanted to reach for Jose, needed the reassurance of his touch, but knew now wasn¡¯t the time. Even though they¡¯d worked as a team to give her time in the hangar, they had left so much unsaid.


    He¡¯d been here for her again and again, even when she pushed him away, he came through for her. She pressed her leg to his, giving what comfort she could without dinging that male pride. The flex of his thigh against hers told her he noticed even as he continued to sit in his webbed seat, his head resting back, his eyes closed.


    How could he be so calm in light of what they were facing? They had scraps of intel to chase down a major terrorist plot likely to take place eighteen hours after they landed. Not much time to defuse things that could change world dynamics forever. She saw Smith on his comm set still chasing down leads about the second kanga.


    She looked at the other men on Jose¡¯s team, all of them sprawled much like Jose. Catching catnaps? Storing energy, no doubt, which she should be doing. Jose breathed evenly, his eyes closed and his hands folded over his stomach. How many times had she watched him just this way? He always snagged power naps¡ªin a chair, on a train, anytime he had to wait. She¡¯d figured out his body went on autopilot, grabbing rest whenever he could to make up for all the times he pushed himself for days straight in rescue situations.


    God, there was so much to admire about him. She felt small and petty right now for pushing him away because he didn¡¯t have room in his life for anything more.


    For a full life with her.


    Bad, bad, bad idea letting her thoughts run that path. No good could be found there. She needed to be smart, focused. Tearing her gaze away, she looked around the belly of the aircraft until her eyes landed on Fang; the junior team member wasn¡¯t sleeping at all. His foot was twitching. He looked around at his napping teammates, his gaze and movements jerky. This was big stuff early in the newbie¡¯s career.


    Big stuff for any stage.


    Fang realized she was watching him and he bulked up, sitting straighter with bravado, then shrugged sheepishly. ¡°Can¡¯t sleep,¡± he said. ¡°Smells like straight up crotch in here.¡±


    A laugh popped free and God it felt good right now.


    Bubbles peeked out of one eye. ¡°Lovely, Fang. Lovely.¡±


    They could all use a laugh right now. Stella reached into her bag and tossed her fuzzy loofah at Bubbles.


    Sgt. Novak flinched back.


    Jose laughed. Hard. Wade Rocha pinched the bridge of his nose as he chuckled, and slowly they all settled back to sleep, but their bodies less tensed, less ramped. Well, all but Fang. The baby-faced PJ was still awake, but less tense at least. His hand dropped beside him, reaching under his seat and Stella realized¡­


    Holy crap. The dog from earlier was tucked under there asleep.


    The kid looked like Tom Hanks from the actor¡¯s early days, with curls and an aw-gosh-golly attitude. He waved a hand. ¡°It¡¯s all cleared and official, ma¡¯am. Some folks at the base arranged the paperwork since they care about the dog so much. No worries about the military getting their knickers in a twist.¡±

 Page 22

    ¡°Fang,¡± she reached to pat the dog¡¯s belly, ¡°somehow I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s going to be riding your ass about the mutt today.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Guess not.¡± Fang scratched his shoulder under the seat harness. ¡°A group in the States sponsored the dog a while ago and since we were headed out, the dog will be swapping over to another plane in Mogadishu. He¡¯ll be gone before¡­¡± He swallowed hard. ¡°I mean, like, if the worst happens. The dog will be safe.¡±


    ¡°Fang, you¡¯re going to be okay,¡± she said with a total conviction she knew he needed to hear. ¡°I¡¯ve crunched the numbers. I¡¯m the queen of logic, remember?¡±


    He nodded and grinned like a grateful kid before closing his eyes.


    The dog scrabbled across the grated floor and tucked in beside Jose. His hand slid down on top of the animal¡¯s head and right away she thought of Jose¡¯s old commander, the one he¡¯d told her married a lady who worked with therapy dogs for veterans under stress. She could totally imagine how that would work right now.


    In fact, she could envision a lot at the moment, that tenderness in Jose that had so drawn her. How could he not recognize that in himself? The part of him meant to nurture¡­


    ¡°Stella,¡± Jose said softly without opening his eyes, just leaning closer to her where no one could hear them, ¡°just because I like dogs doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m primed for domestic bliss. And don¡¯t deny you were thinking it.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to. I can feel your thoughts, lady.¡±


    Didn¡¯t that just make her point? They were so in tune with each other, it was wrong that he kept denying what they could have together. ¡°You¡¯re petting a dog. It¡¯s like one of those pictures circling around the Internet of soldiers with pups. It¡¯s heart-tugging, all right?¡±


    ¡°Okay. I just don¡¯t want you to make too much of it. Yeah, I¡¯m human and the mutt is comforting. You¡¯ve been kidnapped. You got shot at earlier today. You could get shot at again. I¡¯m rattled, but I¡¯ll pull it together before we land.¡±


    ¡°I know you will. I have complete faith in your ability to do your job.¡±


    ¡°Too bad that confidence in me didn¡¯t carry over into the relationship department.¡±


    His voice rumbled so lowly it almost blended in with the drone of aircraft engines. But she caught every word all the same. His hand slid away from the dog and the mutt inched on to the next available hand¡­ on to Bubbles, who looked less than pleased to have company, especially fuzzy company. The fuzzy-phobic PJ unbuckled from his seat and guided the pup back to the crate strapped down, although Bubbles chose to sit beside the dog. Softie.


    Stella glanced away and back to Jose. Frustration sparked inside her over him laying the whole breakup at her feet. She looked around at the others and they were catching their own catnaps or far enough away where they wouldn¡¯t overhear. A part of her winced at having such an intense conversation when they were anything other than alone, but their life was anything other than normal or convenient. They had to grasp moments when they could.


    ¡°Jose, you¡¯re the one who didn¡¯t want me to settle down with a couple of rug rats.¡±


    His eyes crinkled at the corner with one of those sad smiles. ¡°Like you would ever settle down.¡±


    ¡°If I had kids, I would make changes to my life.¡± And she meant it. ¡°I want to be there for my children. I don¡¯t want them to grow up like I did, not if I can help it.¡±


    ¡°Moot point for us anyway.¡±


    She flinched, reality a cold freakin¡¯ splash of water. ¡°We could all die today.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant, Mary Sunshine.¡± He bumped his knee against hers.


    ¡°But it¡¯s true. The risk here is off the charts.¡±


    He glanced over at the mutt in the crate as if he wanted to haul the dog back out. ¡°I can¡¯t walk into missions thinking that way.¡±


    ¡°You approach every mission thinking that way. That others may live. Right?¡±


    He sat up straighter. ¡°You¡¯re afraid I¡¯m going to check out on you.¡±


    ¡°Is it so wrong to worry you could be killed, living life with that kind of reckless approach?¡±


    ¡°I just didn¡¯t expect that from you.¡± He searched her eyes, his forehead furrowed. ¡°I thought you would understand. You signed on for the same thing. Who did you expect to fall for when you hang out with guys like me all the time?¡±


    His words stung, making her sound foolish when she wasn¡¯t. She¡¯d just had a plan and he arrived too early. ¡°You make it sound so analytical.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the one who¡¯s logical,¡± he reminded her gently.


    She sagged back with a sigh. ¡°Apparently not about falling in love.¡±


    ¡°You love me?¡±


    He studied her warily, making her all too aware of the pain they¡¯d both felt over their breakup.


    ¡°I did.¡±


    His hand rested on top of hers gently, but his jaw was hard and set. ¡°I still do.¡±


    Oh God, he was breaking her heart here. ¡°That¡¯s not fair.¡± She squeezed his fingers. ¡°Especially not now with what we¡¯re about to face.¡±


    ¡°Nothing between us has been fair.¡± He pulled his hand free, crossed his arms over his chest, and went back to sleep.


    Four breaths later, his chest rose and fell evenly, his body lanky and relaxed as if they hadn¡¯t just torn each other¡¯s hearts out again, damn it. She ached to wrap her arms around the comfort of that goofy looking dog, but surprisingly Bubbles was scratching the mutt¡¯s muzzle through the mesh grating.


    She needed to find peace, resolution, and she needed to find it fast. They would be landing shortly, then go through another debrief with Smith and his intel comrades. Even now, intelligence organizations were following up, gathering data through satellites and drones and human assets on the ground. Those tasked with detail tomorrow would be forced to sleep tonight, to block out the world and recharge their bodies for whatever waited for them when the vice president¡¯s wife landed to greet a welcoming crowd of at least a couple hundred. Thousands more gathered outside the airport¡¯s secured perimeter.


    She was about to launch into the most important mission of her life, one that could send the world into tumult, and still she couldn¡¯t help but think about the image of Jose¡¯s face when he¡¯d told her he still loved her.


    Everything here in Africa had been so intense between them. They¡¯d only had five months together, a month apart. And in less than twenty-four hours, it could all be over. She could actually lose him in a way far more final than any breakup.


    Faced with what waited for them tomorrow, she couldn¡¯t imagine confronting it with the weight of regrets bearing down on her heart, on her soul. They only had this one last night in lodgings in Mogadishu to themselves before their part of the operation. She couldn¡¯t find a single good reason not to spend that night with Jose.


    Ajaya wondered how much longer they would keep him here at this base. The man who¡¯d questioned him yesterday had left, but one of his friends remained. How often would they make him come back to this room for questions?


    At least they let him sleep in a bed in a room by himself. The space had been cool and dark, the shower warm, and the loose clothes soft. But sleep? That had been tough to find, especially after the attack outside the gates. If the people who¡¯d kidnapped him from the school took him back, after he¡¯d been here¡­?


    He would die. Painfully.


    His only chance at living was to play this through until he could escape on his own. Because not for a minute did he trust this man in a suit that looked just like the other man who¡¯d questioned him yesterday. The one they¡¯d called Smith had cleared out fast for some reason. This person today, he went by Mr. Jones and wore a cowboy hat like that was supposed to make him look friendlier. His skin was also dark, but not as dark as Ajaya¡¯s. But he wondered if they thought he would be more likely to open up because of something as meaningless as similar skin color.


    He just wanted to go someplace safe and start a new life.


    Mr. Jones sat in the seat across from him, elbows on his knees. ¡°We know you aren¡¯t telling us everything, and hey, I can understand why you didn¡¯t want to talk before. Mr. Smith is a scary dude. Working for him¡­¡± He shook his head, swiping off his cowboy hat and hooking it on his knee. ¡°It¡¯s no picnic, let me tell you. I¡¯m glad to have some breathing space now that he¡¯s gone.¡±


    As if he was stupid enough to buy this man¡¯s nice guy act? Ajaya cocked his head to the side, pretending to be the stupid kid they seemed to assume he was. ¡°Picnic? I am hungry.¡±


    ¡°Of course. We¡¯re happy to bring you anything you want.¡± He waved to an airman in camouflage behind him, a guy not much older than Ajaya. ¡°How about a hamburger? An American hamburger, made right here by our own cooks.¡±


    ¡°Food would be nice,¡± Ajaya said, wondering if they would drug him like the pirates who¡¯d taken him had, at first, until they had him so far away from the school he could not run anyway.


    Jones smiled, showing off his perfect white teeth, no signs of hunger or worse. ¡°And another soda? Although the fella over there calls it ¡®pop,¡¯ and Mr. Smith calls it ¡®Coke.¡¯ All depends on where you¡¯re from. We have little quirks about the way we speak English. It is easy to make a mistake. Maybe you misspoke about something you told us.¡± Mr. Jones tapped him lightly with his outback hat. ¡°But you could correct that mistake now.¡±


    Yes, he spoke English very well, and he was not a gullible boy anymore. Gullible¡ªa fancy word he had learned in school. Gullible¡ªwhat he had been when a teacher introduced him to two men promising money and a job. ¡°You think I am lying? I went to an orphanage school, with very good teachers who taught me how to speak your English. You can find out.¡±


    He stretched out his story to buy himself time to plan, to escape. Because when this Mr. Jones and all his fancy suited friends finished with him, they would throw him away. No one here cared about him. So he had not told them everything then. And he did not intend to now. He needed information to ensure he would not end up unprotected again.


    He had not meant to betray his friends at school. He had not meant for them to be taken too because of him. That had torn him apart for a long time.


    But now, he would turn on all of them if that was what it took to get away.


    Jose had twelve hours to sleep before he kicked the enemy¡¯s ass¡ªor not.


    Towel tied low on his waist, he brushed his teeth after the first shower this week that had lasted longer than ninety seconds. How bizarre that this Mogadishu hotel room looked much the same as countless others he¡¯d stayed in around the world before launching a mission. Brown tile bathroom, a few extra mosaics, and a few less breath mints.


    Sleeping away what could be the end of his life seemed like a lame idea, but being anything less than one hundred percent tomorrow would be beyond a bad idea. Tomorrow afternoon, the wife of the vice president of the United States would step in front of the microphones to give a goodwill speech that would be televised live on cable news stations around the globe. On a regular day, people might not even pay much attention to her visit.


    But if the world exploded?


    The cameras would all be in place, and those small cable stations would have footage of a horror that would terrorize millions.


    Unless their information was incorrect. Stella had explained she only had part of the code. They could be chasing ghosts. What if the times, dates, and locations were wrong? The bastards could be as tough to pin down as¡­ toxic fumes.


    Damn it, he never had doubts or questions before a mission. He always lived in the moment. Until he¡¯d met Stella.


    And he wouldn¡¯t be able to sleep tonight until he laid eyes on her. She¡¯d been escorted by local security to the parallel hall, to the rooms for agents, while the military bunked along the other corridor. The best damn protected hotel in Mogadishu.

 Page 23

    He tore open the bathroom door, and¡­Advertisement


    ¡°Damn, Stella.¡± He grabbed his towel before it hit the floor since he¡¯d loosened it reaching for his gun. ¡°How did you get in here?¡±


    Hands behind her back, she stood just inside the door, her hair damp and loose around her shoulders. She looked more like the woman he¡¯d first met in her jeans and black T-shirt.


    She held up a hairpin. ¡°I have crazy good lock picking skills. Comes with the job description.¡±


    God, he¡¯d missed her. He pulled the toothbrush out of the corner of his mouth and tucked it in his gear bag. ¡°You broke into my room to see me?¡±


    Leaning back against the door, she shrugged. ¡°It seemed a better idea than waiting out in the hall until you finished your beauty regimen.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here.¡± He scratched along his bare chest. ¡°The whole calm before the storm feeling has me antsy. I wouldn¡¯t have slept well, wondering about you.¡±


    Her eyes lingered on his chest. ¡°You sleep anywhere, like today on the flight over.¡±


    ¡°You watched me sleep?¡± He walked to her, thinking about their night in Egypt. How could he not? He stopped short of touching her. ¡°Honest to God, Stella, I¡¯m not in the mood to talk. I think I should get dressed and take you back to your room.¡±


    She dropped the pin and reached to touch his chest, trailing one finger lightly back and forth, searing him clean through. ¡°I¡¯m thinking more about what I said earlier. The whole point that we could die a truly gruesome death tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re really romancing me here, lady.¡± He clasped her wrist, stopping her before his erection dislodged the towel altogether.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about romance.¡± She stepped closer until they stood chest to chest, her pulse throbbing faster against his hold. ¡°It¡¯s about how if I die tomorrow, I¡¯ll regret passing up the chance to be with you again.¡±


    ¡°And if we live?¡± He sketched her damp red hair back, his knuckles skimming along that vital pulse echoing in her wrist, a vitality he would do anything to protect.


    ¡°Then I deal with the fallout.¡± She angled closer, her words heating over his mouth. ¡°Can you accept that?¡±


    Her meaning was clear. She wanted to be with him again, just for tonight, and hell yes, he knew she wasn¡¯t thinking long term. She was here for all the wrong reasons and he couldn¡¯t tell her no.


    He slid his arms around her and pressed her flush against the hard length of how damn much he wanted to be with her. ¡°I can¡¯t think of a time I would ever turn down the opportunity to sleep with you.¡±


    Chapter 10


    Making love with Jose felt like the only right thing in a world turned upside down.


    She didn¡¯t stop to question why she was with him again in spite of how damn hard she¡¯d grieved over their breakup. She didn¡¯t have the luxury of time right now. If ever there was a night to live in the moment, this was it.


    Sliding her hands down his sides, his skin warm and damp from his shower, she hooked her fingers in his towel and tugged, revealing the rest of his bronzed skin. Her fingers sketched down, down farther until they grazed along the familiar tattoo on his butt¡ªthe green footprints were a tradition for PJs, or so he¡¯d told her. But remembering that discussion was for another time. Right now, she was all about the now. And she did so enjoy looking at him, tall and rangy, built for strength and endurance he tapped into for work, for play¡­ and for sex.


    ¡°Stella¡­¡± His forehead rested against her, his wet hair sliding a drop of water down her temple. ¡°Are we good on birth control?¡±


    They¡¯d used condoms at first until discussing how she¡¯d chosen to have a Norplant because of her job undercover, to protect herself in the event of possible capture¡­ and assault. It couldn¡¯t prevent diseases, but at least she wouldn¡¯t have to fear pregnancy. ¡°I¡¯m still covered. And I haven¡¯t been with anyone since you.¡±


    ¡°Me either,¡± he said raggedly, the pain of the breakup unmistakable in his voice.


    His body curved into hers, his head angled down toward her. His mouth was only a whisper away from hers, but he didn¡¯t kiss her. Not yet. Each heated breath flowed faster over her. The fresh scent of toothpaste and soap seeped through her. Who would have thought Crest and Dial could be aphrodisiacs?


    His rich mocha-colored eyes still held hers as she tossed his towel to the floor. She leaned closer into him, the thick length of his erection pressing into her stomach. He hissed between his teeth, and yet still no kiss. She ached to be nearer, as close as she could get.


    ¡°Touch me,¡± she demanded softly.


    A slow, confident smile spread across his angular face¡ªarrogant man¡ªand she loved it. Soon all that confidence would pour through his bold hands¡­


    On her.


    A husky moan crawled up her throat as his palms sketched lightly down her arms inch by inch until he cupped her hips. Her br**sts went tight and heavy in the confines of her bra, only brushing his chest with each inhale. She burned to be flesh to flesh against him. But after a month of living with the possibility of never being with him again? No way in hell was she squandering this moment with fast gropes and a quickie before they rolled over and went to sleep.


    And from the intensity in his eyes combined with the restraint in his hands rubbing oh-so-lightly into her hips, apparently Jose felt the same way.


    Every breath from him, she took into herself and then gave back, flowing in and out of each other, foretelling the way their bodies would eventually join.


    She traced the lines of his collarbone, up the rigid tendons in his neck. ¡°Undress me.¡±


    ¡°I will. Soon enough.¡±


    Just when she thought he would make her ask again, he plucked the hem of her shirt from her jeans. That simple friction of cotton against tingling nerves sent a shiver over her. Bit by bit he bunched her shirt in his fists, peeling it over her head with total precision, control. In the instant her eyes were covered, her breath hitched in her throat, and the loss of connection with his eyes and their synced up breaths cut through her. Her balance rocked. Then he tugged her shirt free and flung it across the room to land on a stone elephant lamp in the corner.


    His eyes captured hers again, and the room faded away. The d¨¦cor and furniture didn¡¯t matter. Just the two of them together, and God, there was something mystical about being here where so much of history began, the timeless connection much like when they¡¯d first made love with the Nile as a backdrop.


    His head dipped to brush her shoulder. ¡°Your freckles are the sexiest damn things I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    Her head fell to the side as she gave him freer access, her hands sliding to cup his taut ass, every bit of him honed with muscle, the lean body of a marathoner. ¡°My freckles? Really?¡± Her words rode hitchy gasps. ¡°I think you¡¯re stretching it a bit with that one.¡±


    A simple twitch of his fingers and he¡¯d unfastened her bra as artfully as she¡¯d picked the lock on his door.


    ¡°If that¡¯s what you want to tell yourself.¡± His lips grazed freckle after freckle, lower and lower. ¡°But I¡¯m not budging on this. Counting them, following them¡­ Yep, one of life¡¯s greatest pleasures.¡±


    His tongue flicked one tight nipple. Her nails dug into his buttocks.


    ¡°Call me silly, but I always just enjoyed¡ªenjoy¡ªthe way it feels when we¡¯re bare skin to skin.¡± Biting her lip, she toed her shoes off. ¡°So if you¡¯re going to undress me, my jeans come next.¡±


    His laugh rumbled low in his chest, vibrating against her breasts. But hallelujah, his hands moved to the snap of her jeans.


    ¡°Remember when we rented that safari cabin for a weekend and at our picnic lunch I painted most of that bare skin of yours with guava jam, then I licked you clean?¡± He peeled her pants down, underwear, socks, and all. ¡°I was searching for freckles.¡±


    His face nuzzled her stomach, his deeply tanned face contrasting with her paler skin in a yin and yang way that made such sense when they were together. She liked it when life made sense and wrestled to find the reason in why she¡¯d been this undeniably drawn to Jose from the start.


    She grabbed his shoulders for support. Her legs went wobbly. ¡°We had to swim in the Shebelle River to get clean enough to put our clothes back on. I was certain we would get discovered by someone¡ªor stampeded by a herd of goats.¡±


    ¡°The rhinos ignored us, and the place was every bit as secluded as I promised.¡± He pitched her pants to the side. ¡°We had fun together.¡±


    ¡°We did.¡± She cupped his face, her heart squeezing tight in her chest, which made it even tougher to recapture the beautiful flow of energy between them when even their breaths were one. ¡°If I had it all to do over again, I would still want to know you, to be with you, even though I understand why it had to end.¡±


    Standing, he hooked his arms under her bottom and lifted her against him. ¡°Don¡¯t talk about endings, not tonight.¡±


    The kiss.


    Yes.


    Now.


    She slanted her lips over his, her damp hair falling around their faces as if to further insulate them from the world. He carried her toward the bed, the tips of her toes just skimming the carpet. Her flesh pressed to his, her mouth open and hungry, savoring the minty sweep of his tongue.


    Turning, he backed toward the bed and she read his intent without hesitation. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he eased onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard. Still face to face, she straddled his lap, his hard-on still between them. She lost track of how long they touched each other, stroked and stoked, taking their time with each other. The lovemaking a process rather than a goal.


    Being with Jose had been fun and exciting, and always one hundred percent in the moment. The man was about marathons, not sprints. Why couldn¡¯t he see that part of his nature was so ingrained he was meant for the long term? He deserved it.


    ¡°Stella,¡± he said against her lips, ¡°stay with me.¡±


    That easily he drew her focus back into the moment, back to the two of them together. How he read her, sensed that her thoughts had been stealing her from this moment together¡­ that scared her. And hurt her. He knew her so damn well.


    His hands cupped her waist and he lifted her with ease, positioning her over and lowering her onto his erection. Muscles in his arms bulged with restraint as he took his time bringing them together again, filling her.


    Totally.


    Tonight wasn¡¯t about reinventing the Kama Sutra. No games or gimmicks. Just the two of them, bodies, breath, thoughts connected, not just tantric, but tantra. Sublime.


    He moved inside her as she rolled her hips, sweat slicking their skin. She laved along his shoulder to his ear, tasting the salty mingling of them. She took the lobe of his ear between her teeth and tugged, nipped. He thrust deeper again and again, so fully inside her he touched her womb. Desire gathered in her belly, spreading, and she bit back a groan, fiercely, fighting the urge to come and come hard now.


    Her head flung back and she stared up at the ceiling with its swirled mosaics, trying to hold on by distracting herself with tiny tiles depicting¡­ what? She couldn¡¯t think.


    He cupped her face and brought her to him. Looking directly in her eyes. Connecting with her in a way that was far beyond sex. Just like the first time she saw him.


    Pleasure slammed through her, pulsing outward with a force so strong she cried out. In a smooth sweep he shifted her onto her back and loomed over her, staying inside her, pumping, drawing out her orgasm until her spine arched off the mattress. Her fingers twisted in the sheets to keep from clawing at him as wave after wave crashed through her.


    But she forced her eyes to stay open, to watch him, to bring him with her, not to lose any of their time together. And seeing the intensity of his release, the pulse throbbing in his temple, the flush heating his skin only drew out her release.

 Page 24

    The power of it all was so strangely energizing and depleting. She¡¯d given up trying to understand why it was this way between them. His arms gave out and he collapsed on top of her. His breath was hot against her neck, their skin sealed together with sweat.Advertisement


    So in tune with him right now, she could feel him drifting off to sleep, truly asleep, not some micronap on a plane. One of the very rare times, Jose was completely out of it, not simply dozing with an ear fine-tuned to stay on watch.


    Her fingers trailed along his back as she turned her head to look out their fourth story window at the harbor leading to the Indian Ocean. For tonight, she would watch over Jose because tomorrow was completely out of her control.


    Jose dreamed of guava jam and Stella. Of their bodies tangled up together months ago on a picnic blanket in a private cove by the Shebelle River in one of the most fertile places in all of Somalia. He¡¯d planned the safari-esque escape, minus the hunting, because hell, they got more than enough time with guns on the job. Their time together, eating lunch off of each other¡¯s bodies, had nothing to do with work and everything to do with playful sex.


    The lush landscape along the Shebelle offered a stark contrast to the scrub brush and cracked dry places of desperation elsewhere in the country. Their jobs were tough enough, brutal even at times. Their mutual time off was rare and finding places to be alone, to shed undercover personas to be themselves? Even rarer. He wanted to show her life at its best when he could.


    Except he couldn¡¯t escape the feeling that they were transitioning into something¡­ intense. Being with Stella was different. It didn¡¯t take a rocket scientist to recognize that their connection was different. Unique. And that had his heart pounding heavier in his chest with a sense that what little time they had together could be racing full-out toward a gut-wrenching crash.


    Shit.


    He pulled his focus back onto the indomitable woman at his side and thumbed a droplet of perspiration from her forehead. Lime and banana tree leaves rustled overhead but offered minimal shade against the harsh African sun. Her freckled skin started to redden, matching the pink-backed pelican wading along the bank. He tugged a generous edge of the picnic blanket over her body. The handwoven cloth swept around in bright splashes of green and red.


    She brushed his hand aside, laughing. ¡°It¡¯s no use covering me up. I¡¯ll be sunburned all over, but it¡¯s a price I¡¯m more than willing to pay.¡± She stroked down his side to his left buttock with the two green footprints tattooed in honor of the early PJs who¡¯d been picked up by a helicopter called the Jolly Green Giant. ¡°And I do enjoy checking out your all over tan.¡±


    Ethnicity wasn¡¯t something he thought of other than when time came to fill out forms and check the box. He was a U.S. citizen, wore the uniform. But he did have a heritage he was proud of, a grandma who¡¯d put her life on hold to help them out when times got particularly tough with his mother. ¡°My paternal grandmother was born in Cuba. Jose was her father¡¯s name and my dad¡¯s name.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like perhaps your grandmother was more of a maternal influence than your mom.¡±


    ¡°She tried until her health gave out.¡±


    ¡°Health?¡±


    ¡°She had diabetes, but she put her needs on the back burner to help out when my mother tried rehab¡­ Then Gran was too sick.¡± He¡¯d wanted to be there for her the way she¡¯d been there for him, but he was a kid without a driver¡¯s license. He¡¯d jogged to her nursing home eight miles away on weekends when the weather permitted.


    The breeze off the Shebelle cooled his skin and hopefully hers too. He was doing his damnedest to romance her, and certainly their dating had been unusual, exotic. But what happened when they returned to real life?


    The everyday Jose was a recovering alcoholic with a family so dysfunctional they could eat up a whole season on some Jerry Springer type show. He didn¡¯t want to lose Stella, but he didn¡¯t know how to keep her. Here, in Africa, their time together was all fueled by adrenaline¡ªsneaking off when she returned from some covert op in a nearby village to ferret out human intel on local radicals. Or after he got back from a mission on the ocean rescuing vacationers from the never-ending flow of pirate attacks.


    When he saw Stella, they were either hyped up on the adrenaline of victory or if the mission hadn¡¯t gone well, then they came together with an edge of frustration.


    Stella smiled up at him, her nose red from the sun. ¡°When we get back home, it¡¯ll be a lot easier to grab sunscreen from a nearby drug store. Not that I¡¯m complaining about the picnic, mind you, I have a permanent love of guava jam.¡± She rolled to her stomach and kissed his chin. ¡°I have a permanent love for you.¡±


    She was saying exactly what he wanted to hear. She¡¯d said it before.


    And every time it sliced him to ribbons inside. ¡°Stella, I love you too.¡±


    Fuck. He hated how damn agonized the words sounded when he said them.


    She swatted his shoulder. ¡°Jeez-Louise, Jose. You are so damn dramatic. It¡¯s going to be okay.¡± She tapped his temple. ¡°Think about it. We love each other. You¡¯re just stressed right now, and I get that the kind of work we do is rough on the nerves. We¡¯ll get home, indulge in a full week of jam and tantric sex¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop, Stella.¡± He eased her off him and stood, yanking on his shorts. ¡°Going home will only make things tougher, not easier. The me out here in the field, that¡¯s the better me, and I¡¯m still struggling.¡±


    At least she didn¡¯t laugh. She quickly pulled on her bra and panties, avoiding his eyes. He sat beside her again, watching her warily as she stared off in the distance.


    An ostrich ambled by on lopey legs, staying way clear of the rhinos on the other side of the lake. The smell of syrupy jam clung to her skin and he just wanted to roll her underneath him and make love again. But after four months with Stella, he knew her pensive face and she wouldn¡¯t budge until she¡¯d sorted through all the ¡°facts¡± in her mind.


    Finally, she sat again, hugging her knees, her spine so vulnerable, at odds with her indomitable air. ¡°You¡¯ve spent over five years pushing yourself to the limit in one of the most stressful jobs there is. You¡¯ve gone overseas, seen combat, natural disasters, and no one would have faulted you if you¡¯d cracked and taken a drink. But you didn¡¯t.¡± She searched his face with those too wise and logical green eyes. ¡°You¡¯re an expert at running, Jose. Why do you doubt that you can go the distance in your personal life as well?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about the pace or the distance.¡± He toyed with the tail of her braid, brushing it along the back of her shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s the ¡®afterward¡¯ that has me worried, the everyday life part, the quiet moments. As long as I keep running, I¡¯m good. When I stop, I crash.¡±


    ¡°A crash? Why not think of it as a cool down, relaxing and reveling in success? You don¡¯t have to keep running until you burn out.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Maybe not.¡± He dropped her braid and scratched his collarbone, itchy from more than jam.


    She stayed silent while an albatross flapped low over the water, then sighed hard, a forced smile on her face. ¡°What made you start racing?¡±


    He grasped the subject change with grateful hands. ¡°I was a hyper kid. My grandma would make me run around the outside of the house until I got so tired I wouldn¡¯t run around the inside.¡±


    ¡°Smart grandma.¡±


    ¡°Then I started running in school, especially near the end of high school.¡± He¡¯d stuck around to avoid going home, taking on extra workouts and stints in the weight room.


    ¡°When your mom was drinking, after your grandmother got sick?¡±


    ¡°It was simpler for everyone if I stayed busy at school. Dad would swing by and pick me up on his way home. We made it work.¡± He started to stand.


    She clasped his hand and tugged him back down beside her. ¡°What about your niece and nephew? Are they into running? How old are they?¡±


    ¡°My niece is twelve and my nephew is eight. Madison is into soccer¡­¡± He paused, stuffing painful images to the far corners of his mind. ¡°Michael swims.¡±


    ¡°Those are fun ages. My brothers and I were all athletic. Of course, I pretty much had to be if I wanted to keep up with them.¡±


    ¡°Paid off for you in the field,¡± he said, his breathing leveling out again as she veered off the subject of his family.


    ¡°You¡¯re right there. Little did I know, all of our tree climbing to prove I wasn¡¯t a scaredy-cat would help in survival and resistance training.¡±


    He¡¯d seen firsthand how tough she was in the field and right now he felt like the scaredy-cat, shaking at the thought of her injured, captured¡­ Or dead. ¡°What do your brothers think of your job?¡±


    She crinkled her sunburned nose. ¡°They¡¯re under the impression I¡¯m an interpreter for Interpol.¡±


    ¡°Good cover story. I guess ignorance is bliss.¡±


    ¡°I actually thought I might segue back into that field someday¡­¡± She looked at him through her eyelashes. ¡°When I¡¯m ready to settle down and have a couple of rug rats of my own.¡±


    Time to veer off that topic ASAP.


    He looped an arm around her waist and hauled her close. ¡°Talking about kids when you smell like guava and sex feels somehow wrong to me.¡±


    Pressing a hand to his chest, she arched her back. ¡°Are you going to be that guy? The stereotypical dude we see in Hollywood movies who¡¯s afraid to commit? I really expected more originality from you than that.¡±


    Now that stung. ¡°Call it what you want. I have a commander who¡¯s on his fourth marriage. Stories like that can give a guy pause.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s his fourth marriage going?¡± She snapped the waistband on his shorts.


    Damn, he loved her sass. ¡°I believe he¡¯s got a keeper this time,¡± he admitted begrudgingly. ¡°Of course, he¡¯s not in the field as much anymore. Good thing, since they have a kid on the way.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not helping your case here. Any other tales of military life misery you want to share to shore up your argument?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too smart, you know that, right?¡± His teammates and their wives were producing like rabbits these days. Brick and his wife had a new baby. So did his old teammate Hugh Franco.


    ¡°So it can be done,¡± she pressed, her smile tight. ¡°You just don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°Roger.¡±


    ¡°Care to elaborate?¡±


    ¡°Not really.¡± Images of his nephew tormented him, little Michael scarred for life because he¡¯d been neglected by an alcoholic mom too drunk to hear her child¡¯s screams. Bianca had already been through rehab. They¡¯d thought she¡¯d turned her life around.


    They¡¯d grown complacent and Michael would pay the price for the rest of his life.


    Jose refused to be complacent. Every day he fought the urge to take a drink and yes, so far he¡¯d won. But this was his battle. He¡¯d devoted his life to saving others on the job. How in the hell could he justify the risk of breaking the sacred promise of a parent to protect a child?


    Intellectually, he understood from AA meetings that others found a way to rebuild a family life. But that didn¡¯t stop the images of Michael for him. Only work offered him complete forgetfulness and he was beginning to realize Stella wouldn¡¯t be able to accept that. Hell, she deserved more.


    He slid an arm under her legs and lifted her against his chest. ¡°Enough talking. I¡¯d rather take you for a swim.¡±


    He waded into the Shebelle River, knowing he¡¯d only delayed the inevitable with Stella. They were headed for the crash¡­


    Holding her sleeping body against him now as the sun rose on a new morning in Mogadishu, he let the memory of that afternoon kick around inside his head awhile longer. They hadn¡¯t broken up that day, but it had marked the beginning of the end for them.

 Page 25

    Orange gold rays just beginning to streak through the window reminded him their pocket of time¡ªthis unexpected last chance to be together¡ªwas ending. In less than an hour, he would have to wake her so they could report for duty.Advertisement


    Report in to do their jobs in a world where missions like this one were becoming too frequent, near brushes with the possibility of a cataclysmic attack. How long could they keep dousing these threats? Was he wrong to hold out on committing to Stella because of what might happen when time was already so damn precious?


    No, damn it. Because he did love her, too much to risk adding another ticking time bomb to her life.


    He kissed her shoulder lightly, whispering against her freckled skin, ¡°Love you.¡±


    Easing from the bed to shower alone, he left her.


    Annie leaned against the wall in the back of the cafeteria where eight classes of students had been gathered to watch news footage streaming out of Mogadishu today. The broadcast was subtitled. Her stomach knotted. The lingering scent of goat liver from lunch made her nauseous.


    The room was packed with wooden tables and chairs, and she couldn¡¯t stop the illogical thought of how the number of people would be a fire code violation back in the States. She just needed to keep reminding herself that a school, home, and regular meals were tough to come by for children in this region, much less for orphans. This concrete building with a cracked foundation and peeling paint was a godsend to these kids.


    She was making a difference here. Saving lives rather than taking them. And yes, there were days she wanted to rage in frustration over the lost children, the stolen lives, and unbearably poor odds for a free future. However, she couldn¡¯t turn away. Teaching here, spending her life, being as much of a mother to these children as she knew how¡ªthat was her atonement for the harm she¡¯d caused in the line of duty.


    For abandoning her own children.


    An arm¡¯s reach away, an eleven-year-old girl named Khaali leaned back in her chair. ¡°Why do we have to watch this, Mrs. Johnson?¡±


    Khaali had lost her mother to a post-childbirth infection. Her father left the infant with her grandparents and disappeared. The grandparents were killed in an uprising three years ago and she¡¯d been brought here. She was one of the lucky ones. She¡¯d had a fairly stable, well-fed first eight years and hadn¡¯t ended up on the streets after her grandparents were killed.


    Luck was a relative thing in a country that stoned women to death.


    Annie knelt beside her. ¡°Because I teach you English, I also teach you about English-speaking countries. This is a visit by a very important American woman. She is the wife of the vice president of the United States. Look at all the celebration in place. This is a big deal.¡±


    The television screen was filled with images of the pre-ceremonies keeping the crowd entertained while they waited for the plane to land. Dancers performed in regional garb. The colors and sounds of local culture drew Annie now, just as it had when she¡¯d left the States. She loved this country and its people. She turned back to Khaali.


    ¡°Boring.¡± The girl tipped her chair back and forth.


    ¡°She cares what happens to you.¡± Annie palmed the back of the chair, gently forcing all four legs on the floor again. ¡°She cares about things that are happening to young girls and boys in this country.¡±


    Khaali stared at the television, twirling the edge of her long yellow headscarf between two fingers. ¡°Do you really believe the words from one lady, a lady who just happens to be married to someone important, will bring back our friends, like Ajaya?¡±


    A sense of hopelessness washed over her because no, she didn¡¯t think this political visit would make any lasting difference. It was a gesture. She¡¯d been idealistic a long time ago, but not anymore. Now she was a realist. She lived one day at a time, ensuring that for today, these children were fed, taught, loved.


    And telling Khaali that would not make her feel in the least secure or loved.


    So Annie settled for, ¡°I believe her trip here is a good thing, maybe even a start of something bigger.¡±


    ¡°I believe her coming will only start trouble.¡±


    Wise child. Then old instincts tugged at her, making her wonder. ¡°Why do you say that?¡±


    Khaali traced a scratched word in the tabletop. ¡°No special reason.¡±


    Two rows up, the uptight math teacher¡ªMr. Gueye¡ªshushed them and Annie rose, stepping back to her post on the back wall, by the rear exit. She bumped against¡ªnot a wall.


    Gasping, she turned. ¡°Samir?¡±


    She eased away. Public contact between men and women was a tricky thing, even here. But their dinner together last night had been¡­ nice. Really nice.


    She¡¯d expected some elaborate wooing, but he¡¯d opted for a simple dinner he cooked himself, followed by watching a video. The normalcy of that appealed to her on a far deeper level. She¡¯d had delicacies around the world.


    Normal was actually more the non-norm for her.


    He pressed a finger to his mouth and moved into the hall. She followed without even thinking¡ªbecause she wanted to be with him. She wanted to sit across the table from him and just gaze at his handsome face with a strong jaw and the most adorable scholarly glasses. Oddly in some ways he reminded her of her husband with his calming quiet manner. But back in her youth she hadn¡¯t appreciated that¡ªand then it had been too late. Their marriage crumbled. Her chance to go home was gone. Now he was dead.


    ¡°Annie?¡± he asked, frowning. ¡°What is wrong?¡±


    She swiped a hand over her mouth and realized she¡¯d been frowning too. ¡°This isn¡¯t the time. I should stay with the children and I want to hear the speech.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re fine with Mr. Gueye and Miss Veronique. You have time. The guest of honor¡¯s plane hasn¡¯t even landed.¡± His deeply melodic accent washed over her frayed nerves. ¡°Now tell me. What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    She surrendered. For now. ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    ¡°What Khaali said bothered you.¡± He touched her elbow so lightly she almost missed the contact as he steered her farther away from the cafeteria. ¡°Why?¡±


    The television grew softer, the low hum from other classes behind closed doors giving a muffled melody of their life, the same year in and year out¡ªuntil Samir arrived.


    She walked alongside him down the deserted corridor, their students in good hands with the half-dozen other staff members watching over them. ¡°It¡¯s just a feeling, like when I knew my children were lying or maybe even just holding something back.¡±


    ¡°You have children?¡±


    She stumbled over her own feet. How had she gotten this comfortable with him after one shared meal of beef and rice, followed by watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon? ¡°I did,¡± she answered carefully. ¡°They¡¯re gone now.¡±


    ¡°Why did you never tell me this?¡±


    Because it was damn stupid to discuss her old life. ¡°It¡¯s painful to talk about the past.¡±


    He tucked her into a supply nook, away from any possible prying eyes and nestled her among the stockpile of paper, paste, and pencils. ¡°I would like very much for you to talk about your past with me, let me help share the pain so it is less.¡±


    ¡°When you speak, it sounds so poetic.¡±


    He scowled, his proud cheekbones more pronounced. ¡°You make me sound weak.¡±


    ¡°That was not my intention at all.¡± She touched his chest lightly and oh my, the scholar must work out. ¡°It¡¯s nice to be around a man who can express what he thinks.¡±


    ¡°The father of your children could not?¡± The scent of musk and sandalwood reached to her.


    Exotic. Enticing. She felt so disloyal for wanting this man more than the one she¡¯d married.


    Her hand fell away from him and she clenched her fists by her side. ¡°He was a good man and he put up with a lot from me.¡±


    Sam cupped one of her hands in his, rubbing a thumb along the inside of her wrist until her fingers unfurled. ¡°Where is he now?¡±


    ¡°He died a few years ago.¡± She gulped in bracing gasps of air, until the familiar smells of paste and paper helped balance out the scent of this man.


    ¡°I am sorry.¡± He squeezed lightly, offering comfort.


    She accepted.


    ¡°Me too.¡± Any other words about that time in her life lodged halfway up her throat, loyalty and self-preservation holding them back. She needed to get away from Sam, now, before she did something she regretted. But she also needed a moment to compose herself before she faced anyone. ¡°Waiting for the festivities to kick into high gear has the children restless. Perhaps I should get them a snack.¡±


    ¡°I will help.¡±


    She looked back, guilt tugging her. ¡°I really should stay¡­¡±


    ¡°Half the staff is with them.¡±


    Her hand went back to his chest again. ¡°Sam, I¡¯m not sure this is¡­¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He skimmed his knuckles down her cheek in the most sensual caress she could remember experiencing. ¡°I am a poetic man, but I am still very much a man who is aware that you are very much a woman.¡±


    Her knees already weak, she didn¡¯t even pretend to protest when his mouth sealed over hers. She swayed into him, opened for him in a full-out kiss like she hadn¡¯t experienced in¡­ a long time, longer than even before she and her husband split. Sam tasted like cinnamon and felt like unmovable marble. Steady felt so very good after so long in a state of upheaval and fear.


    The sharp bolt of desire that shot through her shocked her. She¡¯d known him for a year, and yes, she¡¯d been attracted to him. But this? This out of control, crazy need to tear away his clothes¡ªhave him peel hers from her body¡ªthe feeling blindsided her.


    As much as she wanted to tell herself that her reaction came from years of abstinence, she knew better. Samir Al-Shennawi, the quietly reserved chemistry teacher, was kissing her socks off with a confidence and expertise that had her toes curling.


    ¡°Annie,¡± he said against her mouth, his broad hands cradling her face. ¡°We need to stop this, dear.¡±


    A cold splash of reality washed over her. Good God, this wasn¡¯t the time or the place¡­ She sagged back against the shelves of boxed school supplies. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I was thinking¡­¡±


    ¡°Shhh¡­ I don¡¯t mean that at all.¡± He tucked his shirt in quickly. Had she done that? ¡°Someone¡¯s coming.¡±


    Oh. Damn. She smoothed her hands over her loose muslin pant suit, dimly registering voices swelling louder through the halls, along with the echo of racing footsteps.


    ¡°Annie?¡± a voice called. The school secretary, Veronique, had left her homeland of France for this job, to help in her mother¡¯s old hometown. ¡°Annie, Mr. Gueye and I need your help¡­¡±


    Annie stepped out of the nook, leaving Samir behind her as she fast-tracked down the hall. Hopefully he would take the hint and stay behind rather than stir gossip.


    Veronique ran to meet her, unlike the normally collected secretary who fielded childish antics without a wince. ¡°On the television,¡± she gasped, looking every one of her seventy-plus years at the moment, ¡°there¡¯s some kind of disruption in Mogadishu. A riot or something at the airport, and the children are terrified. Your class needs you.¡±


    Her racing heart stopped for a beat before picking up again. Of course the kids were petrified. Most of them had witnessed war. Some had even seen their own families gunned down.


    A firm hand settled on her shoulder, slowing her. She looked back at Samir, his onyx eyes sharp, focused. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±


    Annie shook her head. ¡°Veronique?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure of the details. Once the plane landed, explosions started. The news people were running for cover.¡± Veronique took her elbow and guided her back toward the cafeteria, obviously too distracted to even question why Samir was here with her. ¡°But there are reports of shooting and tear gas¡­ They say an attack has been made on the vice president¡¯s wife.¡±

 Page 26

    Chapter 11Advertisement


    The world was seriously frickin¡¯ conspiring against her.


    Stella sat stuck at a computer screen looking at Predator footage of the melee outside her hangar. Someone had set off firecrackers just as the vice president¡¯s wife stepped off the plane.


    Firecrackers, for God¡¯s sake, then just claimed they were celebrating. More likely, the fireworks had been a distraction for the bigger ¡°show.¡±


    Damn it. She hammered computer keys in frustration.


    Mr. Smith had set up a mobile command center in a small hangar in the area sectioned off for private jets. The setup mimicked the one back at the base, making it easier to pick up where they¡¯d left off in tracking down that bio toxin. Mr. Brown directed tracking data while Mr. Jones directed the collection of human intel.


    The fact that this ¡°goodwill¡± event was still happening in spite of the raised threat level blew her away. But the White House and VP¡¯s wife had insisted on the diplomatic necessity. They¡¯d ordered more protection and moved forward.


    So how the hell had all that increased security allowed anyone to get by with a pack of firecrackers?


    Really?


    Clicking the mouse to rewind footage and recheck angles, she shuddered to think of what else had been missed.


    Didn¡¯t those idiot protestors realize they could have all been shot? Lucky for them security forces had only used tear gas while the VP¡¯s wife had been hustled into the airport, skipping the whole opening remarks to the press part.


    But then maybe that was what the firecracker toting idiots had been hoping for. She increased the zoom of the first checkpoint, then back to the runway, reviewing the airplane¡¯s arrival for the third time.


    Even with the Predator surveillance drones circling overhead, she should have been there. On the ground, in the crowd, walking through the masses, gathering human intel on how those firecracker pranksters had gotten through and what else may have slipped past.


    Instead, Mr. Hard-ass Smith had parked her behind a computer screen reviewing satellite footage like a newbie recruit. Smith had mumbled something about not being sure she could bring her A-game after the stress of the kidnapping.


    She¡¯d bitten her tongue to keep from telling him where he could stuff his A-game.


    So here she sat, watching Jose on the screen from earlier as they¡¯d waited for the plane to land carrying the VP¡¯s wife. The PJs were pulling guard duty in uniform, the SEAL team lying back farther out and incognito. Jose stood at attention in his uniform, his maroon beret like a beacon to her heart. The way they¡¯d made love last night had been a transcendent farewell.


    Transcendent farewell?


    When had she gone from being an analytical soul to a lovesick high schooler? Just bring out a prom dress and CD mix of ¡°their¡± songs. And yes, she knew she was being cranky and irritable because her heart hurt. She¡¯d reconciled herself to a life without the man she loved, and that had been almost bearable when they didn¡¯t see each other. But now? After what they¡¯d been through?


    What he still faced if she didn¡¯t figure out where that bio toxin was hidden? So many unbearable scenarios rolled through her head. Worst of all? What if she¡¯d screwed up? What if Mr. Smith was right and she was off her game? She could have totally misinterpreted the meaning of that cloth¡ªeven though they¡¯d run her take through the CIA code breakers. They agreed.


    Tuning out the chatter in her headset, she clicked through the different images being fed in, trying to focus less on the man she loved and more on the big picture. She cranked back in her chair and lined up a sequence of images: the plane landing, firecrackers exploding, the guest of honor being hustled inside. She was missing something, damn it; she could feel it.


    She accessed additional surveillance cameras inside. The welcoming ceremonies had been shifted inside to the conference room inside the airport. American and Somali flags, along with other African flags, were hastily brought in along with the floral arrangements¡ªthe splashes of color from fireball lilies, deep crimson desert roses, and hibiscus brightening the sad little room for such a momentous event. Refreshments had been set up, fruits, cheeses, and a cake bearing both countries¡¯ seals. The military honor guards resumed their positions.


    The PJs were in place again¡ªJose was in view again.


    Anyone watching on television wouldn¡¯t see the frenzied caterers, the terse secret service agents, the ragged edges just outside a carefully edited view.


    Then the guest of honor stepped up to the podium. Wearing a navy blue flowing dress, the VP¡¯s wife had pulled her hair up in a French twist with a whispery scarf over it in respect to local tradition. Setting her notes aside, she spoke¡­


    As much as Stella wanted to listen, she trained her eyes to look around the room instead, searching for where they could have hidden the toxin. Something to do with the flowers? The confined space of the press conference suddenly seemed wrong. Had the stunt outside been designed to maneuver the ceremony inside?


    A shout over her headset had her sitting upright. Mr. Smith barked for all eyes to lock in on the motorcade waiting outside. The exhaust from the tailpipes pumped puffy clouds into the air. But that wasn¡¯t his worry.


    The delivery truck was marked with a bakery symbol. The truck was driving in, when clearly the three-tiered cake was already set up in a corner of the reception area.


    Mr. Smith shouted, almost losing his cool altogether. ¡°The bakery truck, damn it. Stop and secure that truck, now!¡±


    Helplessly, she watched as Jose eased from his post inside the conference room. Surveillance feed from the Predators showed his maroon hat¡ªJose was taller than most people there and he was fast. Crazy fast. Her heart was in her throat as he ran outside, closing in on the white truck, with no windows in back.


    A deep fear, deeper than anything she¡¯d felt before, froze her in her seat. He¡¯d worked dangerous missions since they met, but never had she felt this intense, immobilizing fear.


    Had he been this insanely rocked when watching footage of her being held hostage? Of course he had. The full impact of that slammed through her, the toll that both their jobs would take on them, watching each other take on horrifying risks year after year. Knowing the risks for them were tenfold what they were for other couples. She¡¯d been so confident they could make this work; now she wondered if Jose had been right after all, that she was oversimplifying how they would work things out.


    How could they both live their lives at this high-octane pace and not self-destruct?


    Troops and security shifted with such seamless ease. The ceremony never even paused. Not the least sign showed that they¡¯d even noticed the disruption.


    Stella glanced back at the VP¡¯s wife quickly just as the woman accepted a gift from a local general¡¯s wife. The woman passed over a small flat package wrapped in simple gold paper. Stella started to turn away¡ªthen hesitated, something tugging at her, a sense of premonition. The VP¡¯s wife set aside the gift wrap and unfurled¡­


    A long length of burgundy cloth. A kanga. A strikingly familiar kanga. She magnified the image but she knew it was the missing code even before her improved view confirmed it.


    It was an exact match to the kanga with the coded message.


    Oh God. Her gut fell to her feet like the floor of an elevator dropped out from under her. The bio toxin was a diversion. Maybe real, maybe not, but whatever it was, it was meant to draw their attention away from this. The VP¡¯s wife was somehow being marked or used to transport the rest of their message, their plan¡­ She didn¡¯t know what, she only knew she couldn¡¯t let it slip away and she couldn¡¯t let Jose walk into whatever trap had been set.


    She shot out of her seat, already eyeing the door.


    Mr. Smith scowled from beside the big screen, his infamous clicker in hand as he orchestrated the forces closing in on the bakery truck. ¡°Agent Carson, please return to your seat.¡±


    ¡°No, sir, I need to talk to you about what¡¯s going on in there.¡± She wasn¡¯t sure who she could trust and she didn¡¯t want to announce her suspicions over the headset to the dozens of listening ears. ¡°If you¡¯ll just give me a moment of your time.¡±


    ¡°No can do,¡± he snapped. ¡°I¡¯m busy. Sit your ass back down in the chair now. That¡¯s an order.¡±


    Chain of command be damned. She was out of here. And even as much as she wanted to tell herself she was just a field operative following her well-trained instincts, she also knew she couldn¡¯t sit by passively any longer. She had to see Jose.


    ¡°Sorry, sir.¡± She tapped the mouth piece with one hand and snagged a New York Yankees ball cap from the station beside hers. ¡°Can¡¯t hear you. Going through a tunnel.¡±


    She tossed aside her headset, rammed the ball cap over her head, and sprinted toward the door.


    Jose whipped open the back doors of the bakery truck.


    And¡ªshit. There wasn¡¯t so much as a petit four in sight. His worst fears were confirmed. A half-dozen large steel canisters lined the inside of the truck. They could be as innocuous as milk containers, but they also looked exactly like vessels for transporting a toxic gas.


    Bubbles and the Saint had weapons drawn on the driver and passenger in front. Data was on lookout. Brick and Fang had his back in case anyone leaped from inside the truck. Only one man waited in the back and he kept his hands raised, the bottom half of his face covered in the black head wrap. He seemed to be cooperating, but Jose wasn¡¯t lowering his guard. He¡¯d seen too many instances of feigned compliance.


    Did the dude have explosives strapped to his chest?


    And where were the guys who dealt with hazardous waste? The last thing he wanted to do was inadvertently open the things.


    Carefully, he crawled into the truck. ¡°Keep your hands in the air.¡± Gun leveled, he gestured with his free hand in case the guy didn¡¯t understand.


    Brick edged closer. ¡°Need help?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good. It¡¯s tight in here.¡± Crouching, he studied the containers, his skin crawling and his mind buzzing with distracting images of Stella. Why the hell had he left her while she slept this morning? ¡°We¡¯re just going to keep the truck locked down until the military hazmat dudes arrive.¡±


    As if conjured by his words, the guys in hazmat suits jogged forward looking like something out of a Ghostbusters movie. Damn, wasn¡¯t that an irreverent thought when he knew deep in his gut this was it? A no shit life-or-death moment. Yet he hadn¡¯t looked into the eyes of the woman he loved this morning.


    He¡¯d faced his fair share over the years¡ªparachuting into war zones, crawling through shaky earthquake rubble to save a couple of kids, the list went on and he remembered every mission, every face. They¡¯d all stuck with him. But he couldn¡¯t even imagine the kind of hellish brain stash he would have to wade through if anything happened to Stella today.


    He waved the guy out of the back of the truck. ¡°Careful. Hands up.¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes darted wildly, like a captured beast.


    No. No. No, damn it.


    ¡°Brick¡­¡±


    They¡¯d all worked together long enough, words weren¡¯t needed. Brick and Fang grabbed the guy¡¯s arms and Jose patted him down, forcing himself to stay calm, nerves level in case he found explosives. They had bomb guys. They had everything thanks to the high profile visit.


    And¡­ nothing? ¡°He¡¯s clean.¡±


    From inside the truck, one of the hazmat guys shouted, his voice muffled. ¡°Please clear the perimeter. Our meters are already pinging. Decontamination stations are already being set up.¡±


    Already pinging?


    Jose exhaled hard. Okay. Bad. But it could have been so much worse. They¡¯d made it before those containers were unleashed on the crowds on the other side of the building.


    Bubbles and the Saint hauled the two fake baker bastards from the front seat. Jose grasped the elbow of his prisoner, wind tearing across the concrete stretch, wind that could carry lethal gasses for miles. The gusts slammed harder, whipping his clothes. The wind tore the cloth from around the detainee¡¯s face.

 Page 27

    Jose stopped short. Stunned. And it wasn¡¯t often he lost his cool. But fiery denial pumped through him as he realized how bad he¡¯d screwed up, everything he¡¯d missed, things that put Stella in danger. Because somehow he overlooked an American traitor in their midst all this time.Advertisement


    He tightened his grip, making damn sure his gun didn¡¯t waver as he pointed it at the supposed student hostage, Sutton Harper.


    Stella ground her teeth in frustration.


    She hadn¡¯t made it to the door before Mr. Brown blocked her exit. When she pushed, he reminded her she wouldn¡¯t make it more than three steps before he flipped her. She could fight, but with his martial arts training, odds really weren¡¯t in her favor.


    Mr. Brown and his damn odds. Usually they got along well, feeding off each other¡¯s analytical perspectives. Not so much today.


    Meanwhile, she was stuck inside the command center, still freaking watching Jose in harm¡¯s way and there wasn¡¯t a damn thing she could do about it. Her eyes were riveted on his face on the video screen, the camera angle showing the back of the man he¡¯d detained. And given the preliminary sensor readings from their military hazmat experts, those containers were filled with toxins every bit as horrific as she¡¯d originally feared. The details on the cloth hadn¡¯t been a distraction. This threat had been horrifically real, which bolstered her fears that the second cloth could hold even more information. If she wanted to get her hands on that, she would have to play by Mr. Smith¡¯s rules. And she would.


    As soon as she saw for herself that Jose was all right.


    The decontamination stalls were already going up in record time. Guys in suits were herding Jose, his PJ teammates, and their captives toward the tents and hoses. Jose was struggling and shouting something that was lost in the frenzy. She wanted to be out there and shout right along with him.


    Nobody cared about the fact that the VP¡¯s wife may well have wrapped herself in a major message about the current crisis.


    She pivoted back to Mr. Brown, the guy who¡¯d usually seemed most open to reason and calm. Yet right now he was not budging.


    Reining in her temper, she searched for the logic that had carried her through past cases¡ªhad gotten her through her recent hostage horror. ¡°With all due respect, sir, you don¡¯t need me here. What harm is there in letting me secure the second cloth? I¡¯m the person who decoded the first one.¡±


    ¡°You mean the cloth you decoded through game playing rather than bringing us into the loop right away?¡± He nudged his glasses, his smile downright condescending.


    ¡°The way I see it, bringing you into the loop isn¡¯t going that well for me right now. Because quite frankly, I¡¯m not feeling the interagency love.¡±


    Where was Mr. Smith? She never thought she would want the help of Mr. Uptight, but right now she felt like she was being torn in two. She needed to find out what was on that pattern¡ªshe¡¯d already hedged her bets by asking one of the tech guys to capture up-close images in case she couldn¡¯t secure the actual cloth.


    She ached to be outside with Jose. She tracked his progress as he and the guy with him ducked behind the decontamination curtain. Normally they would have just stripped down and hosed off, but the proprieties here made that impossible¡­ made it impossible for her to see him.


    She clapped her hand on top of her head, her ball cap still in place. Reasonable, be reasonable. ¡°I just want to be in the loop. I could be wrong. There could be nothing there. But if I¡¯m right? I¡¯m guessing you don¡¯t want the hellfire that will rain down on your head if you say no and you¡¯re wrong. Sir.¡±


    He pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Interpol agents¡­ pain in the ass.¡±


    ¡°Why thank you.¡±


    His glasses slid back in place. ¡°Go see your boyfriend and by the time you get back, I¡¯ll have the kanga here for you to inspect.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Brown¡­¡± Or whatever his real name was. She sprinted toward the door, then called over her shoulder, ¡°I could use a dedicated computer and a scanner.¡±


    ¡°Want, want, want¡­¡± He pushed open a side door and waved her through. ¡°Just hurry it up before Smith finds out I let you leave.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, really. I owe you.¡± She ducked under his arm and out into the cacophony outside.


    Ropes held back the crowds that had waited for hours to watch the festivities. Sirens wailed from an older local police car, lights rippling on top of the other security vehicles. Flashing her badge, she sprinted across, toward the canvas stalls with water flooding underneath. Decontamination units.


    Her heart kicked harder in her chest. She jogged faster, wishing she had Jose¡¯s marathon skills. Right now, she felt like she was running on fumes. She¡¯d come to Africa so confident in her ability to take charge of her life, solve the mystery of her mother¡¯s death, and bring change to women and children.


    Instead, she was nursing a broken heart and barely staying ahead of destruction at every turn.


    She held up her badge again to a local soldier. ¡°I¡¯m on the team working with the men in there. I need to check on¡­¡± Jose¡­ ¡°on my guys.¡±


    He eyed her shield more closely, then gestured with his weapon, motioning her through. Splashing through what could well be tainted water, she pushed through to a new set of ropes around the shower stalls. Men in chemical suits sprayed down a row of totally buff men in their skivvies. But she saw only Jose.


    Alive.


    Thank God, alive.


    She soaked up the sight of him, of the lean vitality, the strength of his taut muscles and honey warm skin. His hair turned even darker slicked back. Sun glistened off the water sheeting down his back as he turned, turned, turned, and finally faced her. His deeply brown eyes went wide with recognition as their eyes held.


    Just like that first time she¡¯d seen him pulled from the sea into her boat, she felt that spark of something special, of her body acknowledging his. And for a woman of logic, this whole soul mate thing was totally knocking her for a loop. She¡¯d expected to fall for the man most reasonably suited for her.


    Not one who battled alcoholic demons and vowed he couldn¡¯t give her the kind of forever she craved. But she couldn¡¯t imagine living that dream with anyone else. Which left her pretty much confused as hell. All she knew right now was that he was alive. He¡¯d faced the possibility of a horrific death without so much as a blink.


    And he would do it again and again and again, because that¡¯s the kind of man he was.


    Her nose clogged and she hadn¡¯t even realized she was crying. Damn it. She swept the back of her hand over her face, smiled at him, and shrugged. Sure, she shouldn¡¯t be here and she was probably raising more than a few eyebrows.


    He shook his head and shouted, but his words were carried away by the roar of hoses. He swiped a hand over his face and pointed to the other row of decontamination cubicles, the one where the trio from the truck had been taken.


    What was Jose trying to tell her?


    She looked closer at the third man and¡­ recognized Sutton Harper. Her fellow captive from the compound. A student she¡¯d trusted for her month undercover.


    The man who¡¯d carried that length of cloth from their warlord captors.


    Jose was running out of uniforms.


    His latest uniform was in a toxic waste bin and he¡¯d been given a set of camos without patches until he could get to his own clothes. He scrubbed a hand over his damp hair, his eyes tracking Stella walking along the rope line until finally they met at the end. She flung herself at his chest hard and fast before pulling away.


    ¡°You¡¯re okay?¡± She searched his face.


    ¡°I¡¯m good. No flesh melting off,¡± he joked¡ªsorta. ¡°We got to the catering truck in time. Exposure appears to be minimal.¡±


    But she had to know this already. Maybe she just needed to hear it from him, and God, it felt good to remind himself now that the aftermath of it was hitting him. He touched her shoulder and guided her out of the path of two guards. He thought about taking her inside, but work would intrude a helluva lot faster there. For just a minute, he needed to look at her and let that steady Stella logic ground him.


    ¡°Jose, what in the world was Sutton doing in the decontamination booths?¡±


    Didn¡¯t she know? He¡¯d called in the student¡¯s involvement over his headset, informing Smith right away.


    ¡°Sutton was inside the truck with the toxins.¡± And now the student was wearing sweats and walking between two guards escorting him to¡­ hell, he didn¡¯t know. He wasn¡¯t in that loop. ¡°You really didn¡¯t hear that the student turned? I told Smith over my headset as soon as I recognized Sutton.¡±


    ¡°I had no idea. He didn¡¯t tell me anything.¡± She gnawed her lip for a second. ¡°But then I went off headset for a while. I¡¯m not even really supposed to be out here now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you came.¡± The way they¡¯d left things this morning, the way he¡¯d walked out on her while she¡¯d slept¡­ Shit. What if he¡¯d died and that was the way their relationship ended? ¡°Stella, I¡¯m¡­¡± He wrestled with the right words.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. Whatever you¡¯re thinking, just hold onto the thought and we¡¯ll talk when there¡¯s not so much adrenaline clogging up our brains. Things are moving fast.¡± She cupped his face. ¡°I have to get back to work¡­ things are crazy at the command post. And no doubt the whole Sutton factor complicates everything. We¡¯ll have to review everything we heard from him. And there¡¯s a second cloth¡­¡±


    She cut her sentence short, her eyes apologizing.


    He squeezed her hand. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I don¡¯t have a need to know. You do your job. I do mine.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s kinda become ¡®our song.¡¯¡± Still, she didn¡¯t move and neither did he. The worst was over, right? For now. It was a matter of untangling the piece to start nabbing bad guys, which put the ball back in Mr. Smith¡¯s court.


    He heard his team walking up behind him even though they walked like f**king spooks. He stepped back from Stella.


    Brick held out an arm to her like he was some frickin¡¯ tuxedoed date. ¡°Interested in your own team of Special Ops escorts back to the command post? We¡¯re all headin¡¯ that way.¡±


    ¡°Thanks; you guys are probably ready to get through your debrief and find food.¡±


    Fang trotted alongside, getting ahead then falling back, racing ahead again, puppy style. ¡°I feel like that damn song¡­ should I stay or should I go? This place is crazy. Do they want our help or not?¡±


    Data clipped alongside at an even-measured pace. ¡°The vice president¡¯s wife is emphatic on that subject. You can be sure today¡¯s events won¡¯t send her running.¡±


    An odd sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu rolled over her. ¡°My mother said the same thing every time she would leave for her next Peace Corps mission. She would tell me about how little girls here were hurt¡­ She waited until I was fifteen to explain that ¡®hurt¡¯ was a euphemism for female circumcision.¡±


    Fang tripped over his overlarge puppy feet. ¡°Shit, Stella. Is it even okay to say those words out loud? Just¡­ Shit.¡±


    Data scowled. ¡°In a culture where it¡¯s estimated over ninety percent of the females experience that¡­¡±


    ¡°Argh!¡± Fang thumped his hands on either side of his head. ¡°Makes me want to kick some pirate ass for all those girls and for that boy we picked up too¡­ Ajaya.¡±


    Bubbles cocked his head to the side. ¡°You think the kid¡¯s innocent?¡±


    Jose didn¡¯t know what to believe anymore, not after Sutton. And now that Ajaya had been mentioned, why hadn¡¯t the teen said anything about Sutton¡¯s involvement? Perhaps he hadn¡¯t known, but it was quite possible he had. How much was truth and how much was a setup? Ajaya was the one who¡¯d told Stella about the code in the kanga cloth in the first place.

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    Her voice pierced through his thoughts as they reached the mobile command center.Advertisement


    ¡°I think he¡¯s scared shitless and would do anything to stay safe. I think there are countries that use children as soldiers and weapons for the very reason that we¡¯re vulnerable in that arena. We¡¯re wired to back off when a kid¡¯s involved.¡±


    Great. He hitched his hands on his hips. Just f**king great. ¡°I guess this is where we step off. Good luck with that second cloth.¡±


    She winced. ¡°Unless I¡¯m about to lead us all on a wild goose chase.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± He caught her eyes with his and held firm. ¡°You¡¯re a rock star operative who got us here in time to avert a disaster of epic proportions. I have faith in you.¡±


    She snorted on a laugh. ¡°Just call me the JLo of Interpol.¡± Stella stepped back, looking at the whole team. ¡°Glad you guys are okay. Good work out there. Jose, I¡¯ll bring you in the loop if I can.¡±


    Pivoting away, she flashed her badge to the guard, swiped it through the security lock, and disappeared inside. He watched the door close behind her, scratching along the tightness in his chest.


    Brick coughed, loudly.


    Jose startled and realized¡ªdamn it¡ªhe¡¯d been staring at the door like a lovesick puppy. Most of the team started hoofing it away before he could bite their heads off and started walking toward the west side of the building, where they would give their statements of what went down.


    Brick held back, striding alongside him, one stubborn determined step at a time. Great guy to have guarding your back, but the pigheadedness wasn¡¯t always convenient.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Jose conceded. ¡°Say it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t play cutesy. You¡¯ve been giving me that wise old married guy look like you know better than me about everything. So either speak your piece or back the f**k off.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in a mood.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t fully grasped that himself until just now. ¡°It¡¯s been a crappy couple of days.¡±


    ¡°You were worried about Stella.¡±


    ¡°You think?¡± He¡¯d been through hell and back, more than once, and now he was screwed, trying to figure out how to make things right with her.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just marry her and put yourself out of your misery?¡±


    His neck itched. Things weren¡¯t that simple. ¡°Just because you tied the knot doesn¡¯t mean everyone else is cut out for the happily ever after gig with two-point-five kids and a picket fence.¡±


    Brick nodded slowly, lumbering alongside. ¡°So you¡¯re moving on. Okay then, now that we¡¯re clear on that¡­ Who¡¯s the new lady in your life?¡±


    ¡°There isn¡¯t one and you know it.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough. I can help. Sunny has this great friend she met at a recycling fair. A hot babe, truly, blonde with an unbelievably awesome rack. But don¡¯t tell Sunny I said that part or she¡¯ll kick my ass then serve me those granola bran pancakes of hers.¡± He shuddered. ¡°Anyhow¡­¡±


    ¡°Quit with the mind games,¡± Jose interrupted, stopping outside their door, the rest of the team already climbing the steps to go inside the concrete building for interrogation. ¡°I¡¯m not interested in seeing anyone else. There? You got what you were fishing for. Are you happy?¡±


    ¡°Why would I be happy, dude?¡± He clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°I feel bad for you. Because for whatever reason, you keep turning your back on an incredible woman who, honest to God, seems perfect for you.¡±


    Brick¡¯s hard-hitting truth made heading into a CIA debrief sound like a cakewalk. Jose didn¡¯t bother denying a thing.


    The words rolled around like acid inside him. ¡°I¡¯m not a total idiot. You aren¡¯t telling me anything I don¡¯t already know. She is perfect. I get that. Man, I really do. She¡¯s not the problem. I am.¡±


    ¡°Henry Pope, we¡¯re very disappointed in you.¡±


    Fear gripped the CIA agent in an icy hold at odds with the sweltering sun overhead. Nothing compared to the heat these bastards kept pouring onto him. He hadn¡¯t been able to think of anything but the hell they were putting his family through back in the States while he was stuck over here. ¡°I did what you said, damn it. I sent all the transcripts of Sutton Harper¡¯s debriefs. I covered his ass when he slipped away instead of leaving the country.¡±


    ¡°But he got caught and that could create a real problem for your family.¡±


    A scream sliced through the crackling connection. Charlotte. In agony. Oh God, he was going to lose it.


    ¡°You bastard, let her go.¡± He hissed, terrified of being overheard by one of the spies crawling all over this place. Even more terrified of what was happening to his wife.


    Her scream dwindled to a low moan. Whatever they¡¯d done to her had stopped. She was still alive. For now.


    ¡°Daddy,¡± his daughter, Ellie, sobbed hysterically in the background, hiccupping with fear. ¡°Make them stop hurting Mommy. They cut Mommy. Daddy!¡±


    ¡°No, goddamnit, stop!¡± He wanted to howl out his frustration, to claw his way across continents and oceans to get to his family, vulnerable and alone because of him. He considered just turning himself in, sacrificing his career and even his life for his family.


    He¡¯d heard about agents being blackmailed, flipped because of one mistake. He¡¯d never thought it could happen to him. But they were that damn good at finding a person¡¯s vulnerability.


    ¡°Henry,¡± the mechanical voice came on again. His own personal demon. ¡°Henry, we¡¯ve been very generous with you. We paid off your gambling debts so you wouldn¡¯t lose your job and your family wouldn¡¯t lose their pretty house.¡±


    Slumping back against a concrete wall, he felt the weight of his own guilt hammer down on him. Even now, the addiction whispered to him, tempting him to win enough money to take his family and hide from everyone forever.


    But he owed these bastards too much and they were too well connected to crime syndicates around the world. If he betrayed them, there wasn¡¯t a hole deep enough for him to climb into. They would find him, find his family, and slaughter them all.


    He dragged his wrist across his damp eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve done everything you¡¯ve asked.¡±


    ¡°Piddly little tasks to test your competence and your compliance. Dry runs for this mission. We thought you were ready, now we¡¯re questioning that assumption. I hope you can come through for us, Henry. Your wife¡¯s life depends on you.¡±


    His head thudded back against the concrete wall. He had no choice. No way out. Only the hope of buying time. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±


    ¡°Kill Sutton Harper.¡±


    Chapter 12


    Rain hammered the roof of the airplane hangar. Rain, of all things. Rare as hell in this part of the world, but choosing today to make her life more complicated.


    Stella assessed Sutton Harper as he glared at her from across the interrogation table. She rolled a mango between her hands while Smith and Brown observed the interview from off to the side. She¡¯d been given the lead on this for now since she¡¯d spent the past month with the traitor.


    Apparently they¡¯d both been pretending to be a student.


    Harper was posturing and he was tough, tough enough to make her wonder how long he¡¯d been involved. He looked so benign in surgical scrubs and wet hair from his decontamination shower¡ªfor a toxic bomb he¡¯d brought into a crowded reception. She¡¯d been questioning the treacherous bastard for well over two hours with only minimal success. She could only hope when analysts reviewed his statement that they could detect some thread, some inconsistency that could be traced back further until his story unraveled.


    What had she missed before, when she¡¯d been undercover with the students? After weeks cultivating a friendship with him, she should have picked up on something. She was a trained professional, for God¡¯s sake, and she¡¯d totally missed she was brushing elbows with a monster who¡¯d joined forces with separatists bent on killing thousands of innocent civilians just to make a statement. At the moment, she didn¡¯t feel all that confident in her professional skills.


    But she had backup. Smith sat silently like a human lie detector watching every move while Brown took notes on his tablet, doing his standard gig calculating odds¡ªthe consummate professionals.


    As much as she wanted to be a calm expert here, her stomach was still in knots just thinking of Jose standing in a decontamination booth, how things could have been so much worse. She could have been grieving over his body.


    The thought of him dying¡­


    She fought back the urge to scream and focused on her next tack for finagling a misstep from Harper.


    ¡°You and that teenager Ajaya really played us when the kid raced out of the woods.¡± She rolled the mango back and forth, steady pace, not giving anything away by pitching faster. ¡°You two must have been laughing the whole time you were pretending to be held hostage. Did you two stage the meet up ahead of time? Or was it just dumb luck?¡±


    ¡°The boy didn¡¯t know anything.¡± His hands cuffed, Harper forked his fingers through his blond curly hair, exhaustion straining the corners of his eyes. ¡°Ajaya was too low level to be a part of the plans.¡±


    ¡°Plans?¡± She whipped the fruit from palm to palm. ¡°That¡¯s a mighty benign word for killing thousands of people with a bio toxin guaranteeing them a slow torturous death.¡±


    ¡°But it would make for great television, press¡­ all those contorted bodies would create such dramatic images. People perk up for drama. They pay attention to drama.¡± His brown beady eyes followed the mango with an almost hypnotic regularity.


    Good.


    ¡°What message did you want people to hear with your drama?¡±


    He looked up sharply. ¡°Like it would make any difference if I told you. You work for the government.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s it? You¡¯re¡­ what? Antigovernment?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m protesting.¡±


    ¡°Easy to protest when you have chemical suits stored in the truck so you don¡¯t have to suffer the fallout.¡± She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Yes, our people found them.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Stella, don¡¯t look at me that way. I¡¯m not a total bad guy. I tried to help you get to that helicopter. I told you to go without me.¡±


    And a piece of the puzzle slid into place. ¡°When we were escaping, you fell and freaked out, tripping the land mines. You did that on purpose to slow us down, to make us miss the helicopter.¡±


    Shrugging, he worked his wrists inside the cuffs. ¡°I improvised. It all worked out in the end.¡±


    He stared back without the least hint of guilt or shame. Damn sociopath.


    She leaned closer, damn grateful there was a table between them or it might be impossible to resist the temptation to take him apart herself, piece by piece.


    ¡°Harper, you didn¡¯t help me get to the helicopter when you tripped those mines. You cost us our flight out, risking a night in the jungle. And you turned in innocent students to be taken hostage.¡± To be tortured. To be murdered.


    She pushed images of their faces, people she¡¯d spent weeks with, getting to know them, sharing food and tents. She couldn¡¯t let memories of them terrified and in pain distract her, not now. The best way to give them justice and honor the two who¡¯d died? Do her job. Bring this traitor down.


    He sneered at her. ¡°Not so innocent after all since you were a plant, a spy. I knew there was a snitch in the group.¡±


    No use debating with a mass murderer on the difference between international law enforcement agencies with rules of engagement and warlords slaughtering for profit. She just let him talk, knowing he would eventually dig himself a deep, deep hole.


    ¡°I have to give you credit, Stella¡­¡± He grinned. ¡°You don¡¯t mind if I still call you Stella, do you? Anyhow, I never thought it was you. I actually suspected that anthropology student from Maine. They thought he was just trained well at resistance. Sad to think the poor bastard died for nothing since he didn¡¯t really know anything.¡±

 Page 29

    She forced herself to keep rolling the mango without so much as a wince. Because that ¡°archeology student from Maine¡± had been undercover from the CIA and they¡¯d killed him during the interrogation.Advertisement


    Her chest went tight with¡­ She capped the emotions.


    Later, she would deal with that information, maybe climb up on a roof and scream out her rage at the top of her lungs. For now, she had to do her job, to put together the rest of the puzzle, pull in the other players responsible for today¡¯s attempted attack, because no way did those three men in the truck plan this alone.


    Mr. Brown stood, setting aside his tablet. ¡°Agent Carson, I believe it¡¯s time for you to turn the interrogation back over to us.¡±


    The ominous tone in the agent¡¯s voice had Harper fidgeting in his seat. The bastard was fine with seeing people suffer and die for his big stance against ¡°the man.¡± Torture was strictly forbidden, but she knew there¡¯d been breaks in protocol. She wasn¡¯t sure she trusted Smith and Brown. They¡¯d brought her in here for a reason and now they were just dismissing her?


    ¡°Carson¡­¡± Smith nodded toward the door. ¡°I hear you should check your computer. Mr. Jones is waiting to direct you to a place we set aside for you.¡±


    Mr. Brown tapped his iPad. Realization kicked in. She set aside her mango. Her computer¡ªimages of the second cloth. She had a different role to play, one she felt a helluva lot more confident in: breaking codes.


    With one last look at the seemingly innocent face she¡¯d risked her life to save, she swallowed back disgust and angled out the door. Once it clicked closed behind her, she sagged back in exhaustion.


    Sure enough, Mr. Jones was waiting, wearing his outback hat and his sleeves rolled up, jacket ditched. The humidity from the rain made the temps worse. ¡°How¡¯d it go in there?¡±


    Stella glanced back at the door. ¡°He¡¯s a great liar because he has absolutely nothing in the way of a moral compass. He¡¯s into the next thrill¡ªhe called it drama. God, when I think about¡­¡± She couldn¡¯t travel that pathway in her thoughts; she just had to know one thing first. ¡°The team that secured the truck and the toxin¡ªare they okay? Any ill effects after the decontamination?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re fine. Your guy¡ªCuervo¡ªis fine.¡±


    She nodded tightly, giving herself one selfish second for relief before getting back to business. ¡°What about the teenager? Ajaya? Is he here too? Did you get anything more from him?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s in the room next door.¡± He took off his hat and swiped his wrist across his forehead. ¡°The teenager isn¡¯t as innocent as he likes to play it. He¡¯s still holding back. But do I believe he¡¯s responsible for a bio toxin being released at a national media event? No. I think he¡¯s a foot soldier.¡±


    ¡°That fits.¡± Although so much else still didn¡¯t make sense. She didn¡¯t have a sense of the big ¡°why¡± to all of this. What were the warlords or separatists responsible for this attempted attack trying to achieve other than chaos? It didn¡¯t make sense. There was always a reason¡­ ¡°I believe Harper when he says Ajaya wouldn¡¯t have had access to that level of information. I don¡¯t think they would have trusted him with keeping that kind of secret.¡±


    ¡°But if they planned on killing the hostages, which I¡¯m sure they intended¡­¡± Jones slapped his hat back on his head. ¡°They still would have kept their circle tight in case the teenager got captured.¡±


    ¡°Or turned, which he did.¡± Brainstorming with Jones was actually helpful. She liked this guy with his honest eyes and a professionalism that went beyond his Cowboy Troy act. Her gut told her he was one of the good ones¡ªbut then her gut hadn¡¯t been all that reliable lately. ¡°He¡¯s been doling out what little information he could, holding back details for when he needed them. He¡¯s smart. But in comparing his statements, I found a place he contradicted himself. He said he was taken by people posing as electricians. Then he said his math teacher¡ªa man named Mr. Gueye¡ªwas responsible.¡±


    ¡°Maybe they were working together?¡±


    ¡°Could be,¡± she conceded.


    ¡°The clock is ticking for us to sort through it all.¡± He gestured toward the row of computers. ¡°Yours is just around the other side, at the end, in a cubicle for privacy.¡±


    She¡¯d gotten what she wanted¡­ But for once, work held no allure. She wanted to be a civilian, free to check on the people she cared about. Free to check on Jose.


    Mr. Jones tapped his watch and snapped his fingers. ¡°Your cubicle. Go.¡±


    Snapped his fingers at her? Really?


    She wove her way past the row of computers with CIA and military monitoring Predator feed and recordings of ongoing interrogations. Circling past the end of the row to the sectioned-off cubby where her computer and work waited.


    And Jose?


    Her feet grew roots as she stared, stunned. She blinked. Looked again. But her weary eyes didn¡¯t lie.


    Jose sat in her seat, waiting for her.


    Jose wasn¡¯t sure why Jones had given him the okay to sit here by Stella, but he wasn¡¯t arguing. Being with her here in the hangar was better than sleep. As long as he had his eyes on her, he knew she was safe. He couldn¡¯t give her what she needed in the long term, but he could damn well protect her now. So he sat and watched while she worked. A low hum of activity swelled over the cubicle walls.


    His PJ buddy Data would have understood more about the intricacies of the programs she input. Jose just studied her face and gauged the success of her efforts by every nuance of her expressions. The way she scrunched her freckled nose, furrowed her forehead, chewed on her bottom lip¡­


    Shit, it wasn¡¯t going well.


    Was there anything even there on that second cloth? Or was this all some crazy coincidence? This part of the world had been in chaos for so long maybe there wasn¡¯t a bigger plan. He swiped a hand over his face, then reached for his cup of coffee. Getting philosophical wasn¡¯t going to solve anything. Today, his primary goal, his mission, was to keep Stella safe.


    He set down his lukewarm coffee. ¡°Any good news to share?¡±


    ¡°I wish.¡± She sagged back in her chair, her red braid swinging. ¡°I¡¯ve already tried the original code that worked on the first cloth and ruled that out. I¡¯ve run dozens more, even programs I¡¯ve written. I¡¯m convinced there¡¯s something here. But more complex, which makes me all the more certain I¡¯ve got a lead, some kind of list. I just wish I had more time¡­¡±


    ¡°Keep working it.¡± He tugged her braid lightly, then paused to thumb down each curve. ¡°I have faith you¡¯ll find the answers.¡±


    Her laugh came out choked, stressed. ¡°I wish I had your faith, but my confidence is a little shaky today. I should have known about Harper. Damn it, when I think of you risking your life to get him out of there¡­¡±


    She squeezed her eyes shut, then turned back to the computer, jabbing keys.


    ¡°You did everything you could. We didn¡¯t suspect him either. You¡¯re the epitome of chill in the workplace. The last thing you should do is second-guess yourself.¡± His hand slid up her braid to cup the back of her neck reassuringly. He could offer her this, now.


    ¡°Chill? Hardly.¡± She launched a new scan then turned her chair to face him. ¡°I get upset.¡±


    ¡°Like when?¡± He rested his hands on her knees.


    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t much enjoy being held hostage or running away from a building blowing up.¡± She counted down with fingers. ¡°And the whole tetanus bio toxin thing still creeps me out.¡±


    ¡°You never showed a sign of nerves through this whole crisis.¡± He squeezed gently. ¡°You¡¯ve been damn amazing, Stella.¡±


    ¡°That would have been a waste of time when seconds counted.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s called not losing your cool.¡± He kissed her on the nose, fast, unable to resist her. Hell, when had he ever been able to resist her? ¡°I rest my case.¡±


    Her nose scrunched and she pulled her knees away. ¡°I¡¯m a trained professional. It¡¯s my job. That¡¯s different from being freaked out.¡±


    Actually, now that he thought about it, his vision of her shifted. ¡°You¡¯re a code breaker. I would have expected you to stay in a vault somewhere listening to clicks and reading bizarre printouts. That¡¯s what you¡¯re wired for, but you came here to put your mother¡¯s ghost to rest. That¡¯s admirable.¡±


    She looked at the computer, then back at him, half grinning. ¡°There¡¯s no sunlight in a vault. My serotonin levels would be shot all to hell.¡±


    He laughed along with her, her smile tapping some of the tension from him. ¡°Things are tough right now, worse than tough. You can take the stress out on me if you want.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re propositioning me?¡± She cocked her head to the side. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Seems like maybe I¡¯ve made this relationship too easy for you.¡±


    ¡°What in the hell gave you that idea?¡± he barked in surprise.


    She linked fingers with him. ¡°Our relationship was too simple. I just fell into your arms and told you I loved you.¡±


    ¡°What planet are you living on?¡± Following this woman¡¯s ¡°logic¡± was damn near impossible sometimes. ¡°From where I¡¯m sitting, nothing between us has been simple or straightforward. I still don¡¯t understand half of what went down.¡± He lowered his voice to a whisper, talking about so much more than just how they¡¯d met, how they¡¯d fallen love. ¡°The parts I do understand are tearing me up inside.¡±


    She squeezed his hand with surprising strength. ¡°Even if I make this easy for you now, it¡¯s only going to get complicated again, then we hurt each other. I know that. But after what happened today, when things got truly tough, when I could have lost you¡­¡±


    Her voice dwindled off with a strangled sob.


    He gathered her close to his chest, grateful for the privacy of their cubicle in a corner, but wishing they could be in a room alone so he could hold her all night long while the rain washed away the horror of this day.


    Sniffling, she eased out of his arms, swiping a tissue from a box by her computer and blowing her nose. ¡°Sorry to fall apart on you like that. But after what happened today, I¡¯m having a tough time being logical or smart.¡±


    He wanted to kiss her so damn bad his teeth hurt. His hands slid up to cradle her face, and yeah, right now he couldn¡¯t think of a reason why he shouldn¡¯t just go ahead and¡­


    Kiss her.


    His mouth covered hers, not in any crazy, out of control way. Not here, where someone could walk up to them at any second. Just her lips against his. He needed to connect with her, affirm that they were both alive and on a day like today, nothing else seemed to matter. He drew in the eucalyptus scent of her shampoo, the satiny feel of her skin under his fingertips. Stella. It was always about Stella and had been since the first time he¡­


    Ping.


    He froze at the electronic chime. Stella jerked back, her eyes wide. She pressed her fingers to her mouth for an instant before she whipped around to look at the computer.


    ¡°Stella?¡± He sat up straighter. ¡°Do you have something?¡±


    ¡°Hold on¡­¡± She held up a hand while she hunched closer to the screen, clicking the scroll button as she analyzed data cycling in front of her in what looked like gibberish to him, letters, numbers, and words shifting, realigning into distinguishable lists. Names.


    ¡°Oh my God,¡± Stella whispered, horrified.


    Shit. On a day like today, there shouldn¡¯t be anything that could shock them. Only something beyond imagining. ¡°What does it say? What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°The words coded into the cloth¡­¡± Her hands hovered in front of the screen as if she could gather up the information in her palms. ¡°I¡¯ve translated them and they¡¯re names. When I put those names into the database, it came back a list of U.S. and European operatives in the area. Both alive and dead.¡± Her throat moved a gulp and she reached for a drink that wasn¡¯t even there. Her hands fell back to her lap. ¡°I thought at first they had my name on here.¡±

 Page 30

    Her words damn near set his skin on fire, to think of her identity out there, exposed. It was one thing for Sutton Harper to have a vague sense of her as an agent in the area. But for enemy intelligence agencies and governments around the world to know specifics, to have her on their radar¡­Advertisement


    His brain grasped on one bit of hope in her words. ¡°You thought your name was on the list? But it wasn¡¯t?¡±


    She shook her head, braid swinging like a pendulum. ¡°It doesn¡¯t say Stella Carson. It says Melanie Carson. It¡¯s my mother¡¯s name.¡±


    ¡°Your mother? Why would her name be there?¡± Unless. Holy crap.


    ¡°My mother wasn¡¯t working for the Peace Corps.¡± Stella looked from her computer screen straight at him, her eyes hollow with disillusionment. ¡°She was a CIA operative.¡±


    Sam would miss these late night walks with Annie when they came to an end, and he knew they would have to end eventually. His job here would be over once she realized exactly why he wasn¡¯t the man for her. For now, he wanted to breathe in the air heavy with humidity from the rain and make the most of every last second with her.


    How far was he willing to take that, even knowing it couldn¡¯t last? Somehow he¡¯d lost sight of that end result in his yearlong pursuit of her. At some point he¡¯d become so consumed with making her notice him, he¡¯d forgotten there would be a very real expiration date.


    After the way they¡¯d kissed at the school earlier, his time to figure out his next move was coming. Most likely sooner rather than later.


    Annie tipped her face into the night breeze, moonlight streaming down over her porcelain face, illuminating the freckles along her nose. ¡°The kids recovered quickly from the disturbing news reports. By supper, they were acting like nothing had happened.¡±


    ¡°You were good with them in the cafeteria.¡± As they walked onto the playground, he squeezed her hand, a privilege he didn¡¯t take for granted. ¡°You calmly talked them through the television report then kept them occupied with all the cookies they could eat.¡±


    Her laugh rode the gritty wind that twisted swings until the chains clinked. ¡°They¡¯ll be upset later when they realize there¡¯s no dessert for the rest of the week.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll add an extra recess.¡± He punted the ball farther, toward the swing set.


    ¡°Wearing them out with soccer.¡± She nodded, kicking a stray soccer ball. ¡°Good plan.¡±


    ¡°It worked well this evening after supper.¡± He pointed to the row of dark windows along the dorms.


    ¡°Worked for most of them.¡± She tipped her head toward his conspiratorially. ¡°Khaali stuffed pillows under her blankets again and hid in the bathroom.¡±


    ¡°To read late?¡± He respected how much she cared for her students, looking after each one like a child of her own.


    ¡°Maybe. That¡¯s what she says.¡± She dropped into a swing, pushing off with her toe. ¡°But I think she just wants some time to be alone.¡±


    He leaned against the metal A-frame. ¡°So she¡¯s asleep now?¡±


    ¡°I gave her a flashlight.¡± She pulled on the chains and swung higher, hooks overhead squeaking.


    ¡°You broke the rules. I like that about you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a rebel at heart, I guess.¡±


    He liked that about her too, more than she could imagine. Damn it, this was getting complicated.


    Sliding behind her, he palmed the small of her back and nudged her higher. ¡°The staff party this weekend would be a good time to make our dating officially known.¡± Because if their time was limited, damn it, he wanted to make the most of it now that finally she¡¯d noticed him as a man. ¡°We could see each other more openly rather than sneaking a late night walk. I could offer you a proper date.¡±


    She glanced over her shoulder and she wasn¡¯t smiling. ¡°You¡¯re a good cook and I happened to enjoy our movie night.¡±


    ¡°Back to the staff party¡­¡± he pressed, more determined with each passing second that he was making the right decision. His hand grazed her back again. ¡°Will you go with me as my date?¡±


    She drug her feet along the dusty earth, slowing, stopping. ¡°The staff party would be a sad place to end something that¡¯s only just started.¡±


    His gut dropped. He stepped around to kneel in front of her. ¡°You want to¡ªwhat is the English phrase?¡ªbreak up with me already?¡±


    ¡°I think you are rushing things between us.¡± She trailed her fingers down his cheek.


    ¡°I have waited for a year.¡± And he feared time was running out. He clasped her soft hand.


    ¡°A year¡­¡± She blinked and stuttered. ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°You are speechless for once.¡± He kissed her knuckles. ¡°I am amazed.¡±


    ¡°Suddenly you¡¯re a comedian.¡± She rested her forehead against his.


    ¡°I am a man who has waited a long time for a chance with you.¡± A chance that would very likely be ruined when she learned more about him, about why he left Egypt to come here. But for now, he would allow himself to enjoy what time he had with her.


    ¡°You know, an affair would be easier than a relationship.¡±


    He choked on a cough. ¡°Pardon me?¡±


    ¡°Does that shock you? We are both adults¡ªmore than adults. I may be wrong, but I assumed from your kiss that you find me attractive.¡±


    ¡°You know I do.¡± God, he wanted to take her up on the offer, had been thinking the same thing himself.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s skip the formalities.¡± She kissed him lightly, deliberately. ¡°Come with me to my apartment.¡±


    He wanted her, without question, wanted her so much his body ached. And he couldn¡¯t imagine spending the rest of his life never knowing what it would be like to hold her in his arms through the night.


    But his conscience balked at the notion of being intimate with her when he held back so much about himself. When he knew she could not be honest with him.


    She pressed fingers to his mouth. ¡°I am not na?ve. I know there are things you haven¡¯t told me. There¡¯s a look to a person who has secrets. I¡­¡± She stuttered for the first time. ¡°I have my own. Maybe that¡¯s why we¡¯re drawn to each other. And perhaps that¡¯s why we can have an affair.¡±


    ¡°You make a compelling argument.¡± One he didn¡¯t have the strength to argue with.


    He pulled her from the swing and into his arms. Kneeling right there in the dusty playground, he kissed her, tasting the lingering sugar and cinnamon from cookies. But more than that, he took in the feel of her, the press of her full br**sts against his chest, the silky glide of her hair as he thrust his hands under her scarf. The intimacy of those chestnut strands caressing his skin was almost more than he could withstand.


    They needed to move this inside before someone saw them. He wouldn¡¯t compromise her reputation or set an improper example for the children. Clasping her by the elbows, he stood, bringing her with him. His body protested the loss of her lips, of her hands on his shoulders even as his mind reassured him soon, soon she would finally be his for as long as they had together.


    ¡°Sam,¡± she said, her voice husky with desire. ¡°Your phone.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± His passion-fogged mind wrestled to keep up with words.


    ¡°Your phone is buzzing. Can you ignore it?¡±


    His phone. Buzzing. With a message.


    Damn it.


    Not now, not now, his brain chanted as he hoped the text was something simple. He received countless memos. But this wasn¡¯t his regular phone. It was his second, for official business. His instincts told him the news would be bad, and for Annie¡¯s sake he needed to know sooner rather than later.


    He reached into his pocket and thumbed through the code to read¡­ A series of numbers scrolled across his screen. A code, rather than words, in case his phone was compromised.


    A code he knew meant only one thing.


    He cursed the timing and his duty. This was not the way this evening was supposed to end. He jammed his phone back in his pack and clasped Annie¡¯s arm with purpose rather than passion.


    ¡°Sam? What¡¯s wrong? Where are we going?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t believe all that he was giving up tonight. But he didn¡¯t dare look at her right now or he would forget all about his job.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time to explain, but I know who you are. Your identity has been compromised. Melanie Carson, I work for Interpol and I need to take you into protective custody.¡±


    Chapter 13


    Stella sat in the middle of her bed, legs crossed, rocking back and forth. A small corner of her brain registered that she was in shock, so she let Jose take over. They¡¯d been lodged at a hotel near the airport, a blah place with plenty of amenities and none of the local flavor.


    If she¡¯d been in her right mind, she would have voiced how much she hated it and Jose would have grinned, then offered to distract her. Or checked them both into someplace more exotic. But all of that would have been wasted on her. She was too numb to feel or register anything other than the surreal discovery that everything she¡¯d believed about her childhood, the memories that had shaped her, had all been lies.


    He locked the door and closed the blinds, creating a cocoon for her to process, to grieve. She¡¯d come to Africa to find out about her mom, but she¡¯d never expected to find this. Her mind was still reeling with the fact that her mother had lied about everything. Stella forced steady breaths in and out, willing her heart to slow.


    Smith had pulled her off the case the second he¡¯d realized her mother was involved. But involved how? What had she been doing here? Stella¡¯s image of her mom grew all the more complicated. Her mom hadn¡¯t been on Peace Corps missions. Her mother had been serving the government in some capacity. Her mother had been doing exactly what she did, probably since before Stella was born.


    And her mother had died in the line of duty rather than on some random road trip from village to village between goodwill missions.


    The truth had rocked her to the core.


    Jose opened a water bottle and set it on the bedside table before he sat on the edge of the mattress, not talking, just waiting. Giving her space to deal with mind-blowing information at a time when she was already on shaky ground.


    How was she supposed to sift through it all? She was such a mess she could hardly lift the water bottle from the end table. Hand shaking, she brought it to her lips. Three gulps later, she wasn¡¯t any steadier. The words welled inside her without any organization at all. No surprise since the walls of logic had been blasted away.


    ¡°My mom was in and out of my life so often when I was a kid. We made big memories when she was home.¡± She squeezed the bottle, the plastic crackling in her hand, water sloshing up and over. ¡°It was like being with her was always a huge party.¡±


    ¡°What about your dad?¡± Jose took the bottle from her hand. ¡°Wasn¡¯t that tough for him, her being the good guy while he managed the daily grind?¡±


    He spoke with an understanding that pierced through her fog, making her think of him as a kid and teenager, taking care of himself while his parents ignored the real problem. The only time he¡¯d had anyone on his side was during that time his grandmother lived with them.


    ¡°I honestly don¡¯t recall my father complaining.¡± But then she questioned her perceptions today. Big time. ¡°He really tried. He shared lots of stories about my mom when she was overseas¡­ and after she died¡­ to keep her alive in my mind. She was artsy. My dad kept all her crafts, even after she died.¡±


    ¡°He cared about her.¡±


    ¡°I believe he did, but tonight I¡¯m not sure I trust my instincts anymore.¡± She pressed her palms to her temples. ¡°I missed the signs from Harper. I obviously didn¡¯t have a clue about my own mother¡­¡±


    He clasped her wrists, thumbing her pulse. ¡°Remember what you said earlier? You¡¯re not a robot. You¡¯re human and you did the best you could. Your best helped us catch Sutton Harper before he hurt anyone. And your best found the answers about your mom in spite of all the odds. From where I¡¯m sitting, you¡¯re mighty damn amazing.¡±

 Page 31

    ¡°Then why do I feel like such a failure?¡± She blinked back the tears and drew the stiff quilted bedspread around her legs. ¡°I love my job. I love serving my country, but¡­¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Hey, now, stop.¡± He grabbed her shoulders, his strength so welcome especially now when she was falling apart. ¡°This is adrenaline letdown talking. It¡¯s been one of those razor¡¯s edge days. Hell, my heart is about to pound out of my chest too.¡±


    The tears burned hotter and fuller. ¡°I think I¡¯m done, Jose. The life of a field operative is short for a reason and I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve pushed the odds to the limit with this mission.¡±


    She needed objectivity and she didn¡¯t have it. She couldn¡¯t live with the fear that she¡¯d begun losing it after the split with Jose, because that would mean she¡¯d been doing her job at half speed, compromising the integrity of her work. Jose started to interrupt, but she needed to talk this through. To get it all out there.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready to move onto another phase of my career working for Interpol¡­ or maybe I¡¯ll transfer to a CIA or FBI office.¡± The plan came together, making sense. ¡°Only a small fraction of us do wet work in the field like this. I¡¯m done, damn it. I¡¯m done.¡±


    ¡°You say that like you¡¯re serious.¡±


    ¡°Because I am.¡± She stroked her hand over his hair that had dried sticking up in places from a decontamination shower. ¡°I also understand you¡¯re not ready to dry off your feet. Maybe you never will be.¡±


    He scowled. ¡°Are you booting me out?¡±


    She didn¡¯t know what she was doing other than lashing out, the pain inside her expanding until she had to have relief. ¡°I¡¯m starting to really understand now. You never wanted this to work between us, not really.¡±


    ¡°I offered to marry you.¡±


    ¡°Offered?¡± Her eyebrows shot up along with her blood pressure. ¡°Offered? Actually, the way I remember it, I proposed to you. But hey, let¡¯s not quibble when you were so generous. Other than the fact I want kids and you won¡¯t even consider it.¡±


    ¡°And I want this f**king genetic curse to end with me,¡± he snapped, his patience visibly fraying.


    Of course he had almost been taken out by a horrific weapon of mass destruction. But the day had hardly been a picnic for her either. The fury inside her roared louder. ¡°Then adopt.¡±


    ¡°I swear to God, if you recite another study about the power of believing in yourself, I¡¯m going to lose it. Damn it, you know what happened with my sister, to my nephew¡­¡±


    Oh God, what was she doing here? Her anger deflated in a flash as she thought about the night he¡¯d told her about his nephew, about the horrific accident. ¡°Shhh¡­ Shhh.¡± She leaned forward on her knees, her fingers over his lips. ¡°You¡¯re right. Let¡¯s not talk about that. I don¡¯t want to hurt you, and heaven knows I don¡¯t want to fight with you. It makes me get too fired up and the last thing I need to be right now is emotional around you.¡±


    He grasped her hand, gripping a hint too tightly, and kissed her fist, hard. The ache in her chest pushed the tears the rest of the way free, in big gulping sobs. Jose hauled her to his chest and she let the tears flow out, along with so many tangled emotions. The horror of a cruel world. The betrayal by her mother. The fear of losing Jose.


    She was through. Through chasing ghosts. Through believing in dreams or even hoping for the future. She wasn¡¯t going to die in some godforsaken country alone, like her mom, without ever really connecting with anyone in order to keep the job safe. Anonymous.


    Screw. That.


    She wasn¡¯t going to be another statistic spit out by a code-breaking program¡ªa name with no real roots. She wasn¡¯t sacrificing the chance at a real family to the almighty job.


    Gasping, she gripped Jose¡¯s shoulders tighter, her nails digging deep as she soaked his shirt with her pain. She hurt so damn bad and right now his arms were the only thing keeping her from shattering altogether.


    His hands soothed along her spine, her braid brushing his wrists. He tugged the band loose and threaded his fingers through, loosening the thick mass, massaging her scalp. Her body melted into his. The sharp edge of her pain found another channel, another outlet.


    Desire.


    Jose felt the sensual shift in her, and God, he wanted her too. Always.


    But he wasn¡¯t so sure this was the right time or the right reason. ¡°Stella, you¡¯re¡­¡±


    ¡°Damn it, Jose.¡± She angled back to stare at him, her chest heaving. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me about adrenaline letdown or misplaced emotions. I do the same kind of work you do. I¡¯ve been to all the same training and psych briefings. I get it. And I don¡¯t care. I need this. I need you.¡±


    She grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and yanked it upward, pressing her mouth to his heartbeat. He¡¯d always taken such care with her, working his ass off to give her all the romance, finesse¡ªhell, foreplay¡ªthat he could muster without losing complete control of himself.


    Right now, control was tougher than ever to find. He¡¯d been through hell today too. Not because he¡¯d feared dying, but because he¡¯d been scared as hell he might not make it in time to save Stella. So damn all the reasons why this was a bad, bad idea.


    They were here, together, alive, and they both needed this. They needed each other.


    Stella nipped his earlobe. Hard. ¡°You¡¯re falling behind here. Help me undress.¡±


    She¡¯d already gotten his shirt off and was well on her way to tugging down his camo pants. Blood slugged through his veins, surging below his belt. Stella¡¯s touch, her words, the woman herself set him on fire. He peeled her tunic away and worked her jeans free, until they kicked the pants over near their shoes by the door. Her hands stroked his body with the familiarity of a lover, lower, cradling him. He gritted his teeth to fight back the urge to come in her hand.


    Then she knelt and took him in her mouth. He palmed the wall to keep from falling. The sweep of her tongue, the moist warmth. His head fell back and he was a second away from losing total control. His hands fell to her shoulders.


    Hauling her up again, he sealed their lips and their bodies, falling onto the bed. They rolled as dominance flipped back and forth between them until he pinned her, kissed his way down her neck, along her shoulder to the curve of her breast. He captured her nipple between his teeth, teasing, flicking with his tongue until she squirmed beneath, her breathy moans demanding more. He was more than willing to deliver. He reached to the bedside table and grabbed the water bottle.


    Trickle by trickle, he dribbled water between her breasts. She gasped as the first droplets hit her. She hissed as he sipped them. He took that as a yes to keep right on going, down her stomach, between her legs, tasting until the bottle was empty. He flung it away and kept right on pleasuring her, which pleasured him.


    She gripped his shoulders, tugged at his hair, her hands frantic until he slid up over her. Into her. And while he¡¯d enjoyed the hell out of their all night lovemaking in the past, he already knew this was going to be hard and fast. He could barely hold onto his control now with the warm, moist clamp of her drawing him in deeper. Her legs locked around his waist and she moved with him, her eyes open and telling him she was right there with him, so close to the edge on a day that had brought them both to the brink of a cliff.


    The spread and top sheet tangled in his feet, and he kicked them to the floor. Her hands flung back and she grabbed the headboard, arching up to him, crying out as she milked every last pulse from her orgasm. Watching the flush spread up her chest, goose bumps prickling along her flesh, sent a primal wave of satisfaction through him. His hands gripped over hers as he finished and knew he was only one thrust away from jetting his release hot and deep inside her.


    And in the most insane thought of his already screwed up life, he imagined filling her with his baby. A growl of denial followed close on the heels of that thought. Even knowing about her birth control implant, he couldn¡¯t stop himself.


    He pulled out.


    Collapsing on top of her, his release throbbing between them, he buried his face in her neck. But he couldn¡¯t hide from himself or the knowledge that he wanted to give her more. He wanted to give her everything.


    Stella curled up in the armchair, her head against the windowpane as she looked out at the road below, dark other than streetlamps and passing cars. The airport lights blinked two blocks away where the investigation would continue without her. Cop cars were parked at every corner, no doubt a by-product of the near miss with a deadly nerve toxin less than twenty-four hours ago.


    She wrapped a kanga around her like a thin blanket, a benign cloth of blues and greens with a message along the border that probably said something like live long and prosper. Jose had bought it for her a month ago when they¡¯d snuck away to Kenya for a weekend. Their last weekend together before she¡¯d gone undercover with the students.


    God, so much had happened since that memorable, heartbreaking night. Yet it still felt like she¡¯d packed a lifetime of stress into this day.


    Her nerves were ragged, totally shot in more ways than one. Apparently all that happened hadn¡¯t left Jose unmarked either. She¡¯d sensed an edge to him, a desperation even when they¡¯d been together.


    They¡¯d had sex three times tonight. Sex. Not making love. She knew the difference. But that¡¯s what she¡¯d asked for from him in bed. In the shower. Then on the dresser as they¡¯d made their way back into the room before collapsing on the mattress, exhausted enough to sleep through the demons that would haunt their dreams.


    He slept still, sprawled out with the sheet twisted around his waist. Turning away from the heart-tugging sight of him, she drew the coarse cloth tighter around her, watching the lights blink¡ªstill all too aware of the man sleeping just a few feet away. Could she walk away from Jose a second time?


    He had damn good reasons for his fears about a commitment, about building a family together. A part of her whispered that she should just give in, take what he offered and be grateful.


    Her fists tightened until her fingernails poked holes in the fabric. Damn it, Jose was breaking her heart all over again, just like he¡¯d done a month ago¡­


    ¡°Any idea how long you¡¯ll be undercover as a student?¡±


    ¡°Not a clue.¡± Stella looped the blue and green sarong around her again and again, checking in the mirror to make sure she got it just right. She spun back to face Jose. ¡°And if I did know and I told you, then I would have to kill you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s supposed to be my line.¡± He slipped his hands under the edge of the kanga he¡¯d just bought for her from a street vendor.


    The Kenyan bed and breakfast by the ocean was a little hokey with its over-the-top safari room. But she enjoyed it all the same¡ªfrom the zebra skin rug to the mosquito netting around the bed. Even the carved wood animals with a gloss perfection that hinted they might just well say ¡°Made in China¡± on the bottom.


    They had one weekend left before finally she had her chance to blend in with a group of foreign exchange students doing a work study in an area known for recruiting new foot soldiers for anarchy. Jose¡¯s stint in Africa dealing with the pirate issue was nearly over, a new team stepping in for the next rotation. By the time she finished her assignment, he would have returned to the States.


    And then? They¡¯d both said the big ¡°love¡± word and maybe it was too early to talk marriage, but was she crazy to want reassurance before they said good-bye?


    He hauled her closer, guiding her with him as he backed toward the bed, shouldering through the mosquito netting.


    She batted his hands away, plastering a playful smile on her face. ¡°You¡¯re bad.¡±


    ¡°Not as bad as I want us to be.¡± He tugged again, toppling her onto the bed with him. ¡°Unwrapping you plays a part in more than one of my fantasies.¡±

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    ¡°You fantasize about me?¡± She rolled to her side as he kissed her neck, his hands tunneling farther under the wrap. ¡°When?¡±Advertisement


    ¡°In bed, in the shower, hell,¡± he growled against her skin, ¡°when I¡¯m eating dinner, which can be awkward if there¡¯s a mess hall full of people around.¡±


    ¡°Oh really?¡± She liked knowing that he was thinking about her. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    ¡°I sure as hell didn¡¯t stand up.¡± His hand trekked over her stomach, cupping between her legs. ¡°I hung out there moving food around on my tray until it was safe to stand up. The smell of mess hall chow still makes me hard.¡±


    She appreciated that he was trying to be lighthearted, to ease the tension of preparing to say good-bye while making the most of this weekend. And the way his fingers were toying with her now, she almost forgot her doubts. But it was getting tougher and tougher to play along as time ticked away.


    Still, she would try, because the last thing she wanted was to say good-bye with tears or anger. She¡¯d seen that kind of parting too many times with her parents. ¡°Women have fantasies too, you know.¡±


    He grinned wolfishly. ¡°Now you¡¯re talking.¡± He rubbed small circles, her arousal slicking his fingertips. ¡°What kind of fantasies did you have about me?¡±


    ¡°You would be surprised.¡± Dreams of dinner in a totally nonexotic kitchen that happened to be in a house they owned together. Hopes of children at that table, with precious chocolate stains on their faces¡­ Normal stuff.


    Real life.


    ¡°Seriously, Stella? You¡¯ve been holding back?¡± His erection throbbed against her thigh, his jeans not doing much to disguise how much he wanted her. ¡°I think I would know by now if you had¡­ edgier tendencies.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant,¡± she said, but not knowing how to tell him.


    ¡°Too bad.¡±


    Whoa. Wait a second. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Nah¡­¡± He stopped teasing and cupped her hip, his eyes dark and serious. ¡°I¡¯m not into pain myself and the last thing I ever want is to hurt you. So, what do you want that you¡¯ve been hesitant to ask?¡±


    Stella stared back at him, the face of the only man she¡¯d ever loved¡­ and she couldn¡¯t say it. She could face down armed gunmen, but she couldn¡¯t bring herself to voice how much she wanted happily ever after with Jose. She was afraid he would say no.


    Maybe lighthearted was the way to play it this weekend after all. ¡°Do you promise not to laugh?¡±


    ¡°Hand to God¡­¡± He clapped a palm over his heart. ¡°I would never laugh at anything to do with you and sex. I take that very seriously.¡±


    ¡°A kilt.¡±


    His jaw went slack. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You promised not to laugh.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not laughing. I swear. I¡¯m just¡­ stunned.¡±


    ¡°Never mind.¡± She sniffed.


    ¡°No, hey, I¡¯m not backing down.¡± His arm slid around her back and he pulled her flush against him. ¡°I¡¯m starting to groove on the whole kilt thing if that¡¯s what you want. I just didn¡¯t expect it. You¡¯re so logical.¡±


    ¡°Logical women can¡¯t be fanciful?¡± And have dreams that didn¡¯t involve guns and international plots, instead settled into desk jobs where they could serve their country and still have a life.


    ¡°What else goes with this kilt?¡±


    A home filled with his babies. ¡°You shirtless, of course.¡±


    She swiped the edge of her wrap along his chin. ¡°We could even use a sarong as a tartan.¡±


    His brow furrowed and he watched her while cars honked and beeped on the street below. ¡°You really are dreaming big. How did I miss that about you these past five months?¡±


    Suddenly, they weren¡¯t talking about sex or playing dress-up games. She couldn¡¯t hide her longing for more. ¡°Do you ever wonder what we¡¯re doing here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here to save lives. One at a time. How about you?¡±


    ¡°Pursue bad guys around the world, I guess.¡± Uncover the truth about her mother¡¯s death. ¡°Except sometimes it¡¯s tough to tell who the bad guys are when some seem to keep switching sides back and forth.¡±


    He traced the furrows in her forehead. ¡°There¡¯s an Arab proverb that goes something like ¡®People fear time. Time fears the pyramids.¡¯ Which I interpret as ¡®take each day as it comes. There¡¯s a picture bigger than us going on.¡¯¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not helping me.¡± Not when she so desperately wanted to talk about the future, their future, not some existential view of the whole freakin¡¯ world.


    ¡°Okay, how about this one?¡± He lifted a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. ¡°¡®God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can. And the wisdom to know the difference.¡¯¡±


    His alcoholism. There it was. The big pink elephant in the room, the issue that guided every decision he made regardless of how long he¡¯d been sober.


    She accepted that but couldn¡¯t understand why he couldn¡¯t allow himself to celebrate his success, to move on and have the happiness he deserved. ¡°Where do we fall in that philosophy?¡±


    ¡°Honestly? If I had my way, I would tuck you someplace safe, because thinking about you out there¡­¡± He reached into his jeans pocket and tossed a coin onto the mattress where it bounced once before settling.


    His five-year sobriety coin.


    He stared at her with tortured eyes. ¡°I want to get you the hell out of this place.¡±


    A cold chill started in her stomach. She hadn¡¯t considered until now that her work, this mission, would be a threat for him, could be a stressor that sent him over the edge.


    ¡°I¡¯m good at my job, trained, just like you are.¡± She scooped up the coin and pressed it in his palm, holding on tight. ¡°I¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    ¡°I get it, Stella, I do. But that doesn¡¯t make this feeling go away.¡± His eyes closed, the tendons in his neck straining. ¡°How the hell am I going to make it if something happens to you?¡±


    She squeezed his hand. ¡°I could say the same.¡±


    ¡°So this is it,¡± he said against her loose hair. ¡°We¡¯re laying it out there on the line, that crazy-ass, unconditional love that tears a person up inside.¡±


    She kissed the heavy pulse throbbing in his neck. ¡°Uhm, I was thinking it¡¯s a crazy-ass love that lifts you up, makes you happy. But you don¡¯t look very happy. In fact, you look like you want to run.¡±


    ¡°I should run, Stella.¡±


    Her gut twisted. This wasn¡¯t taking the direction she¡¯d hoped.


    ¡°Jose, this could be my last mission, then I could step out of the field and take a desk job cracking codes and writing new software. If you¡¯re not ready to step out of the field yet, I understand. I want you safe too, but I can wait on that part as long as I know you¡¯re coming home to me.¡± She swallowed hard then blurted, ¡°Let¡¯s get married.¡±


    There. She¡¯d said it.


    His cheeks puffed with an exhale, the rest of his body going very still for a heartbeat too long. ¡°Did you just propose to me, woman?¡±


    ¡°Did you just call me ¡®woman¡¯?¡± Her heart was still stinging from his hesitation.


    ¡°Fuck. I did.¡± He scrubbed his face with his hand. ¡°Sorry. I try to be more enlightened than that. Let¡¯s move in together.¡±


    It was her turn to pause, to mull over his words and tamp down her disappointment. She tried to reason through the fact that she was likely moving too fast. She should just be patient, logical.


    Except her feelings for Jose had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with impulsive emotions. ¡°So you¡¯re saying a long engagement?¡±


    ¡°I love you, no question; I want us to get this right. I can¡¯t let you down.¡±


    That helped¡ªa little. She almost managed to overlook the panic on his face. ¡°As long as I know we¡¯re headed in the same direction, building a life, a family together, I¡¯m good.¡±


    ¡°Kids?¡± His strangled tone left zero room for misinterpretation.


    She bolted upright. ¡°You don¡¯t want children.¡±


    How the hell could she have missed that? She¡¯d heard him talk about his niece and nephew, heard his love for them and just assumed¡­


    Sitting up on the edge of the bed beside her, he stared at the coin in his palm. ¡°It¡¯s the alcoholism thing.¡±


    Her hand fell to rest on his knee. She had to touch him, to make some connection as she felt him slipping away from her. ¡°Plenty of reformed alcoholics have children.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s deeper than that for me.¡± His hand opened and closed around the coin, waves crashing outside their scenic window. ¡°My sister, Bianca, she didn¡¯t just get out of the army. She was forced out.¡±


    ¡°Because of her drinking?¡± she prodded carefully.


    ¡°In a roundabout way, but not what you¡¯re thinking. We all knew about her alcoholism. Hell, once she got old enough to drive, she took the money Dad left for us each day and went out partying with her friends. But she was one of those drunks who just gets sloppy and cracks jokes, so people overlooked it.¡±


    ¡°As opposed to the drinker who turns violent?¡± What kind had his mother been? He¡¯d never indicated beyond mentioning he¡¯d stayed clear of the house as much as possible.


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying either kind of drinking is right.¡± He glanced over at her. ¡°I¡¯m only saying the ¡®jolly¡¯ alcoholic tends to get away with it longer, people stick around. Hitting rock bottom comes later, maybe because folks enable longer. But make no mistake, it still comes.¡±


    ¡°As it did for your sister?¡± And from the weary lines in his face, she feared what would come next, ached for the pain it caused him.


    ¡°Her husband was in the military too. When he was deployed overseas, she was stateside with their kids and vice versa. Combat stress along with the pressures of military family life pushed her the rest of the way over the edge. I¡¯m not making excuses. There is no excuse for what she did.¡±


    Her gut clenched, but she still asked, ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°One night, she started the hot water for the kids¡¯ bath and passed out. When Michael jumped into the full tub, it was scalding water.¡± His breath grew ragged, each word forced as if he had to punch them free. ¡°He had burns on eighty percent of his body. My sister was so out of it, she didn¡¯t even wake up. My niece pulled her brother onto the bathroom floor and called 9-1-1.¡±


    The image he painted, the horror of what had happened to his family, she couldn¡¯t wrap her mind around it. The silence roared with the crashing waves and a pain inside Jose so tangible she could swear she heard the rage inside him.


    ¡°Oh my God, Jose. I can¡¯t even imagine¡­¡± Some-times there just were no words. ¡°Your nephew¡­?¡±


    ¡°He survived, barely.¡± His voice went raw, his fist so tight on the coin a trickle of blood seeped out. ¡°But he still has scars.¡±


    She stroked his hand, carefully prying his fingers open. ¡°It sounds like you all carry scars of some sort from that day.¡±


    ¡°In the darker days, I can¡¯t stop thinking if I¡¯d helped Bianca that wouldn¡¯t have happened.¡±


    ¡°You also know your sister would have hit rock bottom another time, another way.¡± She thumbed off the blood on his palm and kissed the tiny wound, a symbol of one so much bigger inside him that had never healed. ¡°And what about your mother? Was she alive then too?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯d died a couple of months before, but she would have only been a drinking buddy. Hell, so would I.¡± He set the coin on the bedside table by the elephant lamp. ¡°Once we knew that Michael was going to live, I went to my commander and told him I needed to go to rehab.¡±

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    ¡°And you¡¯ve been sober every day since.¡±Advertisement


    He nodded, his fingers closing around hers. He turned to face her full-on for the first time since he¡¯d started talking about his sister. His brown eyes darkened with intensity. ¡°But I can¡¯t do it, Stella. I can¡¯t have children. I won¡¯t.¡± His voice rang with conviction. ¡°I know I would never be abusive, but damn it all, look at what neglect can do? I can¡¯t risk a family, Stella. I just can¡¯t.¡±


    She did the only thing she could. She wrapped her arms around him and held him, stroking his hair until he stopped shaking. She loved him so damn much, but she felt her dream dying in that moment. Saying good-bye was only a formality. He didn¡¯t want marriage. Didn¡¯t want a family. Wasn¡¯t ready to share in the things that meant so much to her.


    She understood now. When he left Africa, he would be leaving her for good¡­


    Stella traced circles on the windowpane overlooking the Mogadishu International Airport, the past and present wrapping around her as tightly as the wrap Jose had bought her a month ago in Kenya, the weekend they¡¯d broken up.


    After he told her about his nephew¡¯s tragic accident, they¡¯d gone through the motions of finishing out their weekend together. They¡¯d even made love. They¡¯d almost made it back to their quarters before an argument broke out. They¡¯d quarreled over something silly and inconsequential. She couldn¡¯t even remember exactly what now, other than it had to do with directions and getting lost for five minutes.


    They¡¯d fought, snapping out hurtful words as if that would somehow make it easier to say good-bye. Yet, here they were again, right back in the same painful place with her cocooned in the same wrap, having even fewer answers than before.


    Her cell phone vibrated on the bedside table.


    She reached behind her quickly, not wanting the sound to wake Jose. Only numbers flashed on the screen, numbers that were code for Agent Smith. Thumbing the on button, she shot to her feet, her legs tangling in the trailing fabric as she made her way to the bathroom.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°We need you to report back, now,¡± Mr. Smith said with a tense edge that sent a bolt of fear straight through her. This man never lost his cool. Never. ¡°Sutton Harper committed suicide in his holding cell¡­¡±


    ¡°What? Repeat that, please?¡± Shock iced through her¡ªand surprise. She¡¯d been trained to look for signs and Sutton had seemed more the type who would shout his ideology from a jail cell for years to come¡­


    ¡°Harper cut the femoral artery in his thigh. He bled out before anyone noticed.¡±


    An injury like that would kill in about five minutes. Her head reeled with the image as she grappled with the need to make sense¡­


    ¡°Carson, we¡¯ll deal with the ramification of that later. There¡¯s more. Top priority and the primary reason for my call? The list is on the move. We have less than twelve hours to stop the transfer and find those responsible so this kind of leak doesn¡¯t happen again. I repeat¡­¡±


    ¡°Got it. I¡¯m on my way.¡± She disconnected, forcing her training to assume control, an icy focus sliding into place.


    They had a lead¡ªand twelve hours to stop the exposure of American agents across Africa and the Middle East. Twelve hours to catch those responsible in the act so every agent wasn¡¯t compromised. Twelve hours to protect an intelligence network decades in the making¡ªa network that had somehow failed her mother. Stella pushed that thought aside as she slid back into the hotel room, trying to decide whether to wake Jose or leave him a note.


    Moot point. He already sat on the edge of the bed, his phone at his ear and from the narrowed look in his eyes, he¡¯d just gotten the same recall.


    Chapter 14


    D¨¦j¨¤ vu swelled over Annie in waves, as potently and vaguely nauseating as the scent of jet fuel in the back of the cargo craft. She¡¯d ridden in countless military transports during her days as a field operative, slipping in and out of countries. Once she¡¯d gone undercover, people hadn¡¯t suspected the motherly looking aid worker.


    At least not at first.


    Even now that her new identity had been ripped from her, she couldn¡¯t just become Melanie again¡ªshe still thought of herself as Annie, felt like Annie. For fourteen years, she¡¯d lived as Annie Johnson, a widowed teacher who poured her energies into her work and her orphaned students. Severing all ties to Melanie Carson had been the only way for her to survive. The only way to keep her sanity after her world exploded. Now, somehow, her real identity had been exposed. Her life could be in danger. Her family¡¯s lives could be in jeopardy because of her, even after all she¡¯d sacrificed to keep them safe.


    Her worst nightmare had come true.


    And the only person she could count on was the man sitting next to her, a man who¡¯d apparently lied to her every day for the past year.


    Samir Al-Shennawi.


    Looking through her lashes, she checked on him sitting next to her and thought of that horrible moment of disillusionment when he¡¯d announced he¡¯d been spying on her the whole time. The way she¡¯d done in her former life as an operative. She¡¯d understood the truth of his mission faster than most people might have in her shoes since she¡¯d lived it often enough. That hadn¡¯t made it hurt any less. But Samir had all the proper credentials. Intelligence authorities had contacted her and verified his story.


    This CV-22 aircraft packed with U.S. troops erased any lingering doubts. Red lights tracked overhead with a hazy glow over people and gear. The nightmare was real, even though everyone around her seemed at ease when her world had been turned upside down. Soldiers slept and listened to music and zoned out with eReaders. Apparently they were on their way to an American base in Somalia where she would be protected until they decided where to relocate her. Starting all over again at fifty-eight? Saying good-bye to another man¡­


    She swept a glance at Sam again, engines droning, filling the cavernous hold until noises from others faded away.


    He met her accusatory look without flinching, already assuming a bolder persona than before, his shoulders broader, his strong chin tipped up rather than tucked down. ¡°I understand that you are angry with me.¡±


    ¡°Why should I be mad?¡± Pride kept her spine straight and her voice steady.


    ¡°I lied to you for a year.¡±


    Damn straight he had. But at least he¡¯d been on the side of a friendly government. What if he hadn¡¯t, and she¡¯d missed the signs that he was working undercover? The children could have been in danger and she was losing her touch.


    Yet, she wasn¡¯t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her wince. ¡°You had a job to do. Believe me, I understand all about lying in the line of duty.¡±


    Although she¡¯d sure as hell never kissed anyone while undercover. Did he think he was some kind of Egyptian James Bond?


    ¡°Yes, my job was to watch over you, although I am not technically a field agent of your level¡ªor rather, your previous level.¡± He sounded so believable, so earnest. ¡°I am a scientist and a teacher. Traveling for my job has facilitated my ability to go where I¡¯m needed. Our governments worked together through different intelligence agencies to protect assets. Very simple.¡±


    Could she believe him? Buried professional instincts fired to life and she studied his every move, twitch, and blink. Maybe Melanie Carson wasn¡¯t buried as deeply as she thought. ¡°Why did they decide to start watching me this year?¡±


    ¡°You have been watched since the day you assumed the new identity.¡±


    His words spoken so matter-of-factly rang true and stunned her silent until a turbulent bump jostled her. Fourteen years.


    ¡°This whole time? Who?¡± She searched her mind for all the faces and clues she must have missed. What if someone had been trying to kill her? Would she have seen it coming? And there wasn¡¯t a thing she could do about it now except be glad she hadn¡¯t exposed her family to the risk. ¡°Teachers or janitors¡­ I guess it¡¯s all in the past now. They don¡¯t matter, although I don¡¯t understand why I matter.¡±


    ¡°Melanie¡­¡±


    ¡°Call me Annie,¡± she said quickly, needing that separation from the past. ¡°That¡¯s who I am now. At least they gave me a name that had a part of the old me¡­¡± Oh God, she hadn¡¯t even considered¡­ ¡°What about you? Is Samir your real name?¡±


    ¡°It is.¡±


    Would he even tell her if it wasn¡¯t? His eyes looked honest, familiar.


    Enticing.


    Damn it. ¡°I feel like I don¡¯t know anything about you, although I guess you know everything about me.¡±


    ¡°The facts.¡± He tapped his glasses in place. ¡°That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all?¡± She laughed¡ªat herself and her whole messed up life. ¡°That¡¯s everything.¡±


    The more she thought about it, the more frustrated she felt, even violated. Yet, she¡¯d given up her right to privacy when she¡¯d willingly signed on with the CIA.


    Sam tipped his head to the side, his eyes curious behind those round glasses. He sat with a zen kind of stillness, but with an edge now. ¡°There are many things I do not know, things I have wondered about you but was not free to ask.¡±


    ¡°Such as?¡±


    ¡°What led you to this line of work?¡±


    It had been so long since she made the decision, sometimes she couldn¡¯t remember either. She toyed with a bead bracelet Khaali had made in art class and given to her as a gift. ¡°How does anyone land a job? You pursue what you want to do with your life.¡±


    ¡°You just walked up to the CIA and asked to be an operative?¡±


    Memories started flooding back. She hadn¡¯t allowed herself to think about these things in so long. In the beginning, it had been a matter of survival. Eventually, it had become habit.


    ¡°Freelancer. Off the books.¡± At first, but once she¡¯d gotten a taste, she wanted in deeper, envisioned herself changing the world. ¡°I was already active in the area. The aide work was real, not a cover, not in the beginning. After my husband and I graduated from college, we joined the Peace Corps. When our oldest son was born, we tried to keep up the lifestyle, the work. And we managed pretty well even through the birth of our second child¡ªboth were born here in Africa.¡±


    Her heart ached with memories¡ªthe visions of their infant faces, the smell of baby shampoo, the feel of a tiny cheek resting against her chest. She¡¯d tried so hard to be a good mother in spite of feeling ripped in two by a call to action against injustice.


    ¡°We had only been back in the States for a few months when the CIA approached us, just a short-term freelancing assignment. My parents helped with the children. And God, we enjoyed it, the adrenaline rush of making a difference in what felt like an even bigger way.¡± Although in the end she¡¯d felt like such a fool for not realizing the mammoth gift of a sticky hug from her child. She¡¯d learned too late to appreciate what she¡¯d lost.


    ¡°What changed?¡± he asked, even though he had to know from her file.


    Still, it felt good to talk about the past, not to guard every word out of her mouth. ¡°We found out I was pregnant again. My husband said he wasn¡¯t into the whole ¡®Kumbaya¡¯ lifestyle anymore. He wanted a regular roof over our heads and meals at a family table.¡±


    ¡°So you relocated back to the States permanently.¡±


    ¡°We did. I went back to work in the classroom, had another child, our only girl. And I tried, I really tried to tell myself I could wait until the children grew up to help over here¡­¡±


    An air crewman walked by on his way to the back and she paused until he passed.


    ¡°Until one day,¡± she continued, ¡°during a parent-teacher conference, I was talking to a student¡¯s mother and she mentioned her husband¡¯s work overseas. He was in the Army. For weeks I thought about that father fulfilling his call to serve, and I couldn¡¯t deny the strong desire I felt to go back again. I needed to make a difference in the world.¡±

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    ¡°What did your¡­ husband say?¡±Advertisement


    She tried not to read too much into the way he seemed to stumble over the word husband. She was overanalyzing, just wishful thinking.


    ¡°He told me I was being selfish. That I was screwing up our family, that I was breaking the agreement we¡¯d made when we got married.¡± That awful argument, the rage in his voice, the pain she¡¯d caused, all came back to her as real as if she¡¯d just walked out the door of their little red brick house. ¡°We¡¯d promised each other we were a team. Where one went, the other would go.¡±


    ¡°Yet you left anyway.¡±


    After all the angry¡ªbut logical words¡ªhe¡¯d shouted at her, it was the strangled pain in his final question that haunted her most to this day. Who the fuck¡¯s gonna braid Stella¡¯s hair?


    ¡°Freelancing was our compromise.¡± A brittle peace settled between them. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t take it on as a full-time job.¡±


    ¡°He was not happy.¡±


    Not by a long shot. ¡°Neither of us was, but we made it work until Stella was fifteen.¡±


    ¡°And then you ¡®died.¡¯¡±


    There was an implied question in his tone she couldn¡¯t miss. How did Sam manage to get her to share so much so quickly when by all rights she should still be reeling from the hurt of how he¡¯d played her? Maybe a part of her believed she deserved any and every bad thing that came her way as retribution for the pain she¡¯d caused her family.


    ¡°You¡¯re wondering if I used my faked death as an out to abandon my family.¡±


    ¡°I did not say that.¡± But still the hint of a question remained.


    Although oddly, she found no condemnation. Either he really didn¡¯t blame her¡ªor he was that good of an actor. With nothing to lose anymore, she kept on talking, needing to pour out the words she¡¯d kept bottled inside for so many years.


    ¡°But you¡¯re thinking it. Believe me, I¡¯ve questioned myself on that more times than I can count. In my head I know I didn¡¯t have a choice. My identity had been compromised in a major way in southern Africa, and I needed to assume a new life to keep my family safe.¡±


    She¡¯d opted to stay in Africa for two reasons. She wanted to minimize the temptation to seek out her family anyway, even for a glimpse. And she still wanted to help. Funny how in the end she¡¯d found returning to her roots in more of a teaching and aide manner brought her far more satisfaction than any large-scale mission.


    Sam nodded slowly as if processing. ¡°Annie Johnson was born.¡±


    ¡°Such an innocuous name¡­ Smith. Jones. Brown. Johnson. Jane or Anne or Mary. I could take my pick mixing and matching.¡±


    ¡°Why did you choose to leave your family behind? It is my understanding witness protection will keep a family together.¡±


    His words made her realize she cared what he thought of her, deeply. She wanted him to know she¡¯d truly tried her best. ¡°My sons were already heading off to college. And my daughter¡­ I had to keep her safe. Staying out of all their lives was the best way to do that.¡± But in her heart she¡¯d harbored doubts. Even though she¡¯d missed them every single day, she feared that she¡¯d made a selfish choice to stay in Africa. Life wasn¡¯t clear-cut with simple answers. But she¡¯d known one thing for certain. Living on the run? That was no life for a child.


    ¡°And your husband agreed?¡± Sam¡¯s stern tone made it clear he wouldn¡¯t have made the same call.


    Something stirred in her stomach, something that felt strangely like¡­ butterflies? At her age? Just because this man hinted with a tone of his voice that he would have fought to keep her?


    She hadn¡¯t given her husband that chance because she¡¯d already known his answer. He loved her, but he would have let her go, given the choice. So she¡¯d saved him the pain of deciding. ¡°He was told I was dead. The agency even found an unclaimed body at the morgue that looked enough like me and with such extensive injuries to that body, no one looked too close or questioned. That was for the best. I didn¡¯t want to tie up his life with my mistakes. The agency assured me that I was dead, legally, so there were no repercussions if he decided to remarry¡­¡±


    Except he hadn¡¯t. The agency had told her that much in one of the few times they¡¯d contacted her¡ªafter his death. She had mourned him despite all the ways they¡¯d hurt each other. Mourned the lost chance at happiness they might have had together bringing up their children. They¡¯d shared some big dreams at one time, but somewhere along the way they¡¯d drifted apart. Still, she had grieved for all he¡¯d given up for her and all the ways he¡¯d carried on without her. She¡¯d owed him better.


    But that was in the past. Annie Johnson¡¯s quiet life of hard work had been part of her healing.


    Sam folded his arms over his chest, his face foreboding in the hazy red glow of the lights lining the ceiling. ¡°I would not want those choices made for me without my consent.¡±


    The censure in his voice set her on the defensive. ¡°I did the best I could then¡­ Would I make the same choices now? I don¡¯t know. At the time, I was in so much pain¡­¡±


    ¡°Pain?¡± His arms slid down, his judgmental air easing.


    ¡°My cover was blown when I was kidnapped along with two others I worked with. The local warlord who took us had international black market connections. He was an evil man and¡­¡± She forced her voice to stay steady. ¡°He was a harsh interrogator.¡± He was a rapist. ¡°The other woman in our group broke, told him everything.¡±


    She¡¯d been damn close to breaking as well. When she¡¯d thought she couldn¡¯t take anymore, she¡¯d found an opening to kill the lead interrogator. She¡¯d escaped with the other remaining hostage.


    As she thought back to those harrowing moments, she realized he hadn¡¯t said anything.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t my file mention any of that?¡±


    She could read in his eyes that it had. A fast pulse throbbed in his temple, his fists clenched as he just let her talk. He¡¯d somehow known she needed to share all of this that she hadn¡¯t been allowed to discuss with anyone.


    Had he kept things so platonic between them for so long because he worried about her?


    Or because he saw her as defiled? She¡¯d thought he was holding back from physically comforting her now to give her space¡­ That he might see her as untouchable¡­? That thought was beyond bearing.


    She¡¯d dealt with the attack as much as anyone could. She¡¯d found her own peace to move forward with her new life. But she understood rape was perceived differently in this region of the world. Archaic views still prevailed, that the woman was damaged goods, somehow to blame.


    ¡°Once I was rescued, I could only think of them taking my children¡­ my daughter¡­¡± Her voice choked off and she struggled for control, looking around the plane and seeing that no one here even really noticed she existed. She was just one of a number of passengers on a noisy transport plane. ¡°Once the decision was made, there was no going back.¡±


    Although now that she looked back, perhaps she hadn¡¯t been in the best state of mind to make decisions that large, that fast.


    She looked down and realized at some point, Sam had placed his hand on top of hers. She¡¯d been so wrapped up in the past, she hadn¡¯t noticed, just like he¡¯d slipped past her defenses this past year. He had a way about him that made it easy to simply¡­ exist. And maybe that was a part of his undercover training, low level or not, but at the moment, she decided to go with the flow and continue talking.


    How much more could she be hurt anyway?


    ¡°Every child I saw, I thought of mine at the same age and wondered what they were doing. I hoped they were thinking of me, remembering memories we¡¯d made. When my daughter was eight, I rented the movie Out of Africa to give her a sense of where I went when I left home. She would draw pictures and mail them to me¡ªpictures of me passing out mosquito nets to children. And she always drew herself as well, standing beside me. I was supposed to get rid of everything from my prior life, but I kept one of those pictures.¡±


    With that last confession she ran out of words. She was emptied out, exhausted. This time in the CV-22 with Sam was all the indulgence she could allow herself. She didn¡¯t know what would come next for her or if she would even see Sam again. If this relocation was anything like the last, the coming couple of days would move quickly and radically. She needed to get her head together, because all too soon they would be on the ground and things would be out of her control.


    In fact, the aircraft was starting to slow. The CV-22¡¯s loud rotors cranked into motion, shifting the blades to an upward helicopter position for landing. Still, Sam held onto her hand. Why hadn¡¯t she thought to ask more about him?


    Because she didn¡¯t trust yet that he would tell her the truth. She didn¡¯t want something to be said, more lies told, that she couldn¡¯t overlook. After living through some of the worst experiences life could dole out, somehow knowing that Sam hid his identity to protect her didn¡¯t feel like an unforgivable sin¡­


    The CV-22 settled on the ground with a light thump that echoed in her stomach. Her hand clenched around Sam¡¯s. This was it. When the hatch lowered, life as she¡¯d known it for the past fourteen years would be officially over. Could Annie Johnson handle the upcoming intelligence meetings? The reorganization of her life?


    She couldn¡¯t screw up much worse than Melanie Carson had.


    And she was older now, stronger. Tougher. She let go of Sam¡¯s hand and tried not to think about how much she wanted to hold on and drag him into her next incarnation.


    Shoulders squared, she walked down the load ramp, dry wind funneling around tan military buildings and whipping her loose pant suit around her. She was ready, damn it. Prepared for anything¡­


    Except the sight of her daughter standing only twenty yards away.


    Stella¡¯s gasp sent Jose¡¯s protective radar on high alert.


    He scanned the troops off-loading from the CV-22 at the airport in Mogadishu, wondering which one was Smith¡¯s new contact and why Stella was so upset. She staggered back a step and he caught her, steadying her with a palm to her spine. Smith had brought them all out here for the arrival of some new intel contacts, but beyond that, the lead agent on this had been damn tight-lipped about where he thought the list of operatives was about to be exposed.


    Or why the coded cloth had been draped on the VP¡¯s wife.


    Irritation was running high. He¡¯d always been able to stay detached during an operation, but with Stella involved, the stakes for him became all the more personal. Her moods fed his and that was a scary thought.


    He wanted to pin Smith and demand answers for Stella. Now. No more jerking her around. If the guy didn¡¯t want to talk, why the hell had he dragged them out of bed?


    Jose ducked his head to her ear. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    Eyes wide and stunned, she shook her head, pointing. ¡°The woman there, one of the last off the load ramp¡­ That¡¯s my mother.¡±


    ¡°Your what?¡± Squinting into the late morning sun, he scanned the stream of people pouring off the CV-22, a mix of soldiers and civilians.


    He followed the line of Stella¡¯s attention to a couple trailing the rest. A dark-skinned man dressed in local garb stood beside a fair-skinned woman in a loose linen suit and a scarf that almost managed to hide her brownish-red hair. ¡°You mean that lady looks like your mother?¡±


    ¡°No. That woman is my mother.¡±


    Stella¡¯s mother was alive? This was Smith¡¯s special contact they¡¯d been brought out here to meet? The implications of this woman¡¯s name being on the list of operatives in the area took on a whole new complexity now.


    She pivoted hard and fast toward Smith, anger vibrating from her. ¡°You knew. Why the hell didn¡¯t you warn me?¡±


    Smith didn¡¯t even wince, his craggy face unapologetic. ¡°I was curious to see if you already knew she was alive, if she¡¯d broken the terms of her agreement and contacted her family after all. That information could have provided a lead to how this list leaked out.¡±

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    ¡°Well, trust me. Even I¡¯m not that good of an actress.¡± Stella¡¯s mouth tightened into a grim line.Advertisement


    Across the stretch of asphalt, the woman in question had her eyes locked on their small group as well. She¡¯d gone white as a sheet. Her feet moved forward in something close to slow motion. The man at her side adjusted his pace to stay right by her until the couple stopped.


    No one spoke. The aircraft engines rumbled and other base noises echoed¡ªtrucks, loudspeakers, people going about the business of parking and servicing planes.


    The two women continued to stare at each other. Now that they were closer, the resemblance was unmistakable, right down to the freckles on the nose.


    There were minor differences¡ªMelanie Carson had more of a brownish tint to her hair and time had brushed some lines on her face. What did Stella see when she looked at the mother she thought she¡¯d lost, a mother who¡¯d walked away? He wanted to scoop Stella up and hold her, insulate her against the pain.


    Stella stepped nearly nose to nose with the woman without reaching out. Her arms stayed stiff and straight at her sides. ¡°I hope to God you¡¯ve had amnesia for the past fourteen years, otherwise I¡¯m going to have a tough time getting past this.¡±


    Melanie Carson shrugged wryly. ¡°No amnesia. Sorry, Stella.¡±


    Smith interjected, ¡°Touching as this is, the rest of this reunion will have to wait.¡± He gestured to Agent Jones. ¡°If you¡¯ll show Mrs. Carson and Mr. Al-Shennawi to the briefing room, I need a few moments with¡­ Stella.¡±


    Interesting. Melanie didn¡¯t know about her daughter¡¯s job, because otherwise why would Smith purposefully avoid calling her Agent Carson?


    Smith charged ahead, orders given.


    Apparently now that he¡¯d gotten his shock value test to read mother and daughter he was ready to move this little party inside the hangar. Jose kept his hand on Stella¡¯s back and to hell what anyone else thought. Rage and pain damn near radiated off her in waves, stirring every protective impulse in his body. He was staying by her side until he received a direct order to the contrary.


    Once inside the hangar, Smith guided Stella to the door. Jose stayed with her every step of the way. Smith just lifted an eyebrow but didn¡¯t argue.


    ¡°Sergeant James, this actually will be of interest to you,¡± the agent said as if it had been his idea to include Jose. ¡°Mr. Brown, stay with us.¡±


    Stella took a place at the long table, chairs, and a smart screen with a map of the region running feed in all four corners. Really? They were going to have a brief while Stella thought of her mother on the other side of the wall? Smith was a f**king sadist.


    The senior agent leaned a shoulder against the wall by the screen. ¡°We got the reports back on the bio toxin in the container.¡±


    Jose sat up straighter. Hell, that seemed like years ago now. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°All exposed can enjoy a sigh of relief.¡± He thumbed a remote in his hand, bringing a report onto the screen. ¡°The toxin levels were high enough to set off our sensors, but not enough to do more than make people sick¡ªwhich explains how it flew under our radar. We would have caught the movement of chemical sales large enough to create a weapon of that magnitude.¡±


    ¡°A hoax?¡± Stella inched forward in her seat, her face overly controlled. ¡°To cause chaos?¡±


    ¡°Apparently that¡¯s what Harper and the warlord¡¯s troops that brainwashed him intended.¡± Smith clicked through slides with images of the compound, the captors, Stella¡­ the rescue.


    Smith paused on a picture of the stolen artifacts, with the folded kanga Harper had stuffed in his backpack. ¡°Their goal has never been order, but rather more anarchy so they can continue with their illegal trades.¡±


    And now Sutton Harper was dead, a casualty of someone else¡¯s larger plan.


    Stella pointed at a new image. ¡°Why did they drape the list on the VP¡¯s wife?¡±


    Brown took notes on his iPad. ¡°To send a message? Or arrogance? My money¡¯s on the former.¡±


    Stella rubbed the back of her neck. ¡°Or could she be involved?¡±


    Brown looked up fast. ¡°Did you really just say that, Carson?¡±


    ¡°It had to be said,¡± Stella answered. ¡°True, Mr. Smith?¡±


    Agent Hard-ass wasn¡¯t giving anything away. ¡°All scenarios have to be taken into consideration. But we must always¡ªalways¡ªprotect the families of our leaders without hesitation.¡± His eyes lasered in on Jose, finally coming around to the reason he¡¯d been allowed in the brief. ¡°We¡¯ll sort it all out regarding possible high profile involvement once the dust settles.¡±


    The official orders may not have come down yet, but it was clear even without Smith¡¯s veiled mention. Special operations forces would be a part of the security detail and since his was already in the region, that put them at the top of the list. Jose knew his job and the best thing he could do for Stella was keep his focus, get through this nightmare scenario. He tuned in as Smith continued.


    ¡°We circulated a story that the cloth was promptly packaged up and mailed back to the States. Initially, we hoped they would try to track our decoy package. However, our intel on the ground indicates there will simply be another transfer that will take place tonight at the state dinner honoring the vice president¡¯s wife. I don¡¯t need to spell out how many years of operations¡ªhow many lives¡ªwill be in jeopardy if the list of our human assets becomes public knowledge. The balance of power and peace is already so unstable in this region.¡±


    If intelligence agencies and special operation forces were compromised, unable to help stem the flow of pirates, warlords, separatists, terrorists, too many unstable factions to count, there would be nothing left to stop them¡ªexcept war.


    Fang¡¯s words from earlier rolled around his head, how the kid had half-jokingly asked¡­ Should I stay or should I go?


    Jose glanced at Stella and saw the answer in her eyes. There was no question for people like them, intel, and special ops. They were here for a mission and they had to see it through to completion.


    He¡¯d always understood that part of his mission.


    But this need to take Stella and tuck her away somewhere¡ªanywhere¡ªsafe and to hell with the cost to everyone else? That distraction was a hundred percent new.


    ¡°Henry, we have one final mission for you and then your debt will be paid.¡±


    Cell phone pressed to his ear, he watched Jose James stand guard outside the room where Stella Carson spoke with her mother. James¡¯s determination, his protectiveness damn near vibrated through the air.


    He understood the feeling well. There¡¯d been a time he¡¯d thought he could protect his family from anything by sheer force of will.


    ¡°Hold on. I need to get somewhere I can talk.¡± Henry marched toward the hangar exit, trying to give off the air that he was working and to back the hell away.


    Shoving through the door, he blinked at the harsh sun. God, he missed his little house in Virginia, the snowy winters, all the shit he¡¯d griped about, taken for granted. ¡°Why should I believe this is ever going to stop? That I¡¯ll ever be free?¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯ll die on this mission, Henry. You won¡¯t be a danger to your family ever again.¡±


    He squeezed his eyes shut, holding onto that image of building a snowman with his wife and kid. ¡°Or I could eat a gun now.¡±


    ¡°Henry, you don¡¯t want to do that.¡±


    ¡°Why the hell not?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t let it be that simple for you or word will spread and others might get the same idea to escape their obligation to us,¡± he spoke patronizingly¡ªand without the voice distorter. This truly was the end if he wasn¡¯t worried about his voice being recognized. ¡°Do what we ask and your daughter will live as a sign to others we keep our word¡ªas long as you follow our orders.¡±


    His throat clogged with the truth he already knew but had to ask. ¡°And Charlotte?¡±


    ¡°Your wife¡¯s already gone.¡±


    He doubled over, grabbed his knees, and fought back the urge to vomit.


    ¡°But your daughter can walk away from this alive. Little Ellie can grow up with her cousins in your sister¡¯s home where no one gambles with her future.¡±


    Like he needed the reminder this was all his fault, how he¡¯d justified his addiction, then justified the things he¡¯d done to hide his secret. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±


    ¡°You will shoot the vice president¡¯s wife. She doesn¡¯t have to die, but an injury to her will create chaos. And continued chaos in that region equals free trade of goods and information. We don¡¯t need to get into the gory details. You¡¯re a smart man, Henry.¡±


    A smart man? More like a dead man walking.


    Stella squeezed the doorknob and searched for the will to pull the door open. Her mother waited on the other side and Smith had given them ten minutes to ¡°talk¡± before they went to work. The reality still hadn¡¯t settled in her brain. She¡¯d barely had time to process her ¡°dead¡± mother had worked for the CIA. Then to learn in such a shocking fashion that her mother was still alive? She should be rejoicing¡­ if it weren¡¯t for the searing betrayal. They¡¯d even been given a body to bury¡­


    What the hell had Melanie Carson been doing for the past fourteen years while her family grieved for her?


    Anger fueled Stella¡¯s feet. She opened the door and charged inside. Her mother sat alone in an industrial metal chair, the hangar walls and beams stark around her. Memories of a trip to the beach sucker punched her with the scent of peanut butter sandwiches and sunscreen.


    She should sit. Should. But she stayed against the door instead. ¡°Mr. Smith says we have ten minutes, so let¡¯s cut straight to the chase. You¡¯ve been alive this whole time.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Stella, I have,¡± her mother said, her voice a bit lower pitched than Stella remembered, but still familiar.


    The last time she¡¯d talked to Melanie, they¡¯d gone to the mall, shopping for Stella¡¯s school clothes. She¡¯d tortured herself for years regretting her last words to her mom had been I hate you. Now to learn all this time her mother had been alive?


    How dare she sit there so poised and regal as if they were simply meeting for lunch? ¡°A postcard would have been nice.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I couldn¡¯t communicate with anyone in my former life.¡± Her mother swept her scarf off her head, fully uncovering her chestnut hair¡ªand strands of silver that caught Stella unaware.


    She pushed back distracting emotions, sliding into a chair, her shaking knees close to betraying her. ¡°Are you telling me you were in witness protection?¡±


    ¡°In a sense, but deeper.¡±


    Willing her heart out of her throat, Stella counted bolts in the beams¡­


    Melanie smiled. ¡°What are you counting?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± She sat up straighter, startled.


    ¡°You always did that when you were little, counting to calm yourself¡­ crayons, stairs, roadside signs.¡±


    Stella¡¯s already thread-thin control snapped. ¡°How would you know what I¡¯m like anymore?¡± She smacked the table, leaning forward. ¡°You haven¡¯t bothered to speak to me since I was fifteen years old.¡±


    ¡°Would you believe me if I said I did it for your own safety?¡± She twisted the headscarf between her fingers.


    That took a little wind out of her sails and made sense. Her mother had been an agent, and so many things could go wrong for operatives that would change life forever. But damn it, she didn¡¯t want to feel sorry for her mother. ¡°Where have you been all this time?¡±


    ¡°Teaching at an orphan school, here in Africa.¡±


    ¡°Of course. You always did love this place.¡± She couldn¡¯t help the bitterness in her voice. Her mom had cared more about this country and its people than her own family.

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    ¡°Stella, I¡¯m sorry I had to leave you.¡± Her mother¡¯s hand inched across the table, close but not touching.Advertisement


    ¡°And Dad and the boys.¡±


    ¡°All of you. I thought I could have this job, stay in the field, and have my family too. For a while it worked.¡± Her green eyes took on a faraway look. ¡°Until my cover was blown and the only way I could ensure our family¡¯s safety was to disappear.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to come with you.¡± Their fight at the mall came roaring back, the ache of abandonment. ¡°Did you ever think of offering us the option to join you when you built your new life?¡±


    ¡°Even if I could have justified putting you at risk, your brothers were in college. And what would have happened if you said no? Once you knew I was alive, I would have placed you in danger for the rest of your life.¡± Her shoulders braced again. ¡°I made the decision and you can be angry with me. Blame me. Hate me. But I will always believe I made the best possible choice under the worst possible circumstances. Think logically, think like the agent you are, sift through it, and you¡¯ll come to the same conclusion.¡±


    Her mother¡¯s words made total sense in a heartbreaking way. Melanie Carson¡ªAnnie Johnson¡ªhad made her choice: the job. Her mother was the kind of agent she would never be, the kind she didn¡¯t want to be.


    Stella squeezed her eyes closed and¡­ accepted.


    ¡°What do I call you?¡±


    Her mother might have chosen the right course of action¡ªlogically. That didn¡¯t mean Stella had to like it. Right or not, the decision hurt immeasurably.


    ¡°My name has been Annie Johnson for fourteen years. I don¡¯t know who I will be after this.¡±


    ¡°Okay, then.¡± She shoved her chair from the table and walked to the door. Pausing without facing her mom, she said, ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, Annie, Melanie, whoever you are, I forgive you.¡±


    Stella slipped out of the door past her mother¡¯s Egyptian bodyguard and back to her final mission.


    Chapter 15


    Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jose tugged off his combat boots. He and Stella had twenty minutes¡ªtops¡ªto change into more formal gear and get back to work security for the outdoor festival. Her head had to be reeling after the confrontation with her mother, but Stella had stayed silent during the bus ride from the airport to their quarters.


    Not that he¡¯d expected her to talk about it in front of his team and other operatives. And now that they were alone? She was still putting up walls, and he needed to get through to her before they launched this last phase of the mission. Especially when she¡¯d made it so clear she was ready to be done.


    Frustration simmered on so many levels. Somebody should have his head examined for planning an outdoor celebration in this volatile region. But he went where he was sent, carried out the assignments he was given. He didn¡¯t know any other way to live. He was fast realizing he didn¡¯t know how he could live without Stella in his life. These past days together again had to mean something to her too. Why couldn¡¯t she recognize that?


    He thumbed the buttons on his sweaty ABU¡ªAirman Battle Uniform. He would change back into the same digital camo uniform, but a clean version with a bulletproof vest and his maroon beret. His role dictated he stand out as a security force. Stella, on the other hand, would be blending in.


    She pinned her braid into a bun on the back of her head. She wore her standard black pants and tank top, her bulletproof vest, and a kanga resting beside her on a chair. He recognized that length of cloth well. He¡¯d bought it for her on their last date.


    God, how could they be so good together and so wrong for each other? But without a doubt, he couldn¡¯t miss the sadness on her face. He pulled off his sweat-stained uniform and reached for a fresh set, tugging on his pants, his eyes never leaving her.


    She reached for her Kevlar vest and stopped short. ¡°Is there a problem?¡±


    ¡°Problem? Hell yes, there¡¯s a problem.¡± He closed the two feet between them, taking the vest from her hand and tossing it aside. He cupped her face. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I¡¯m going to walk away from you again.¡±


    She blinked in surprise, then more of that sadness flooded her green eyes. ¡°Maybe we were destined to fail from the start since we¡¯re so different. You get along with everyone, and I don¡¯t know how to be anyone¡¯s friend.¡±


    Surprise rocked him to his socks. ¡°Why would you say that?¡±


    ¡°Forget about it.¡± She eased his hands down. ¡°Could you please stop trying to be so nice? We can¡¯t just pretend to be friends, or even just pick up where we left off. And I¡¯m in a crummy place today after talking to my mother, too bad a mood to fake it.¡±


    There she went putting up those walls again. ¡°I know. And I want to be supportive.¡±


    She tugged on her bulletproof vest like armor against him as well as the rest of the world. ¡°The best thing you can do for me is to back away.¡±


    He touched her shoulder.


    She shrugged his hand aside. ¡°You¡¯re not listening to me. I. Need. Space.¡±


    ¡°Damn it, Stella, let me spell it out for you.¡± An image of her out there in the line of fire in her current unsteady state scared the shit out of him. ¡°I care about you. I¡¯m worried about you going in the line of fire in this mood. This region isn¡¯t safe, so you don¡¯t have the luxury of ¡®space.¡¯¡±


    ¡°You forget I¡¯m a trained agent.¡± She strapped on her 9 mm for easy access and a right-hand draw.


    ¡°Lot of good that did when you got taken by warlords and had to call me to save your ass.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair.¡±


    Gut-twisting fear for her safety pushed him past the point of measuring his words. ¡°Nothing that¡¯s happened between us has been remotely fair. Our relationship feels like one big cosmic irony, a guy who never wants to get married falling for a woman craving a white picket fence and babies.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare mock me,¡± she said, standing toe to toe with him.


    ¡°Mock you? I¡¯m trying to help you because I love you.¡± The words burned like raw alcohol in his gut. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to get it. You broke my heart. Not some flowery, romantic sob story. It¡¯s messy and painful. Let me say it again, clearer. You broke my f**king heart.¡±


    ¡°Oh God, Jose, I¡¯m sorry.¡± Her face softened and she swayed toward him. ¡°You know that I love you too.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± Like that made a bit of difference.


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe me?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I believe you.¡± His laughter hurt. Hell, even his toenails hurt. ¡°I thought we were going to be together for the rest of our lives. My world made sense for the first time, and it felt good, so damn good to think past one day at a time. To think beyond just making it to the end of the day without taking a drink.¡±


    Sighing, she clapped a hand over her face. ¡°Jose, haven¡¯t we torn each other up enough already?¡±


    ¡°Apparently not.¡±


    She scrubbed her wrist over her eyes. ¡°You know what I think?¡±


    ¡°It sure would be nice for you to tell me for a change, instead of making me guess.¡± Frustration chewed a fresh hole in his gut.


    ¡°Nice, love the sarcasm,¡± she said tightly. ¡°Really helps maintain constructive lines of communication.¡±


    ¡°Constructive lines of communication?¡± His frustration reached the breaking point. ¡°Could you just speak English?¡±


    She sagged back against the wall next to a corny stock painting of an elephant. ¡°I think you keep pushing me away because for some sad reason you seem to have decided no family is better than losing one again.¡±


    Her words struck deep and true, but then that¡¯s what happened with people who knew each other too well. ¡°You¡¯re one to talk with your expectations of a perfect family that doesn¡¯t exist.¡±


    He regretted the words the second they left his mouth, knowing they would cause her even more pain on a day that had already handed out too much. But he still believed every bit of it.


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± she answered defiantly, snatching the kanga from the chair. ¡°What about your friends from work and their wives? They¡¯re happy and building great lives together.¡±


    He didn¡¯t even have to think. He already knew. ¡°Give them time.¡±


    Stella clutched the blue-and-green kanga to her chest and stared back at him with finality.


    And pity.


    ¡°Jose, I really wish I¡¯d had the chance to prove you wrong.¡± Turning her back on him, she wrapped the cloth around her, over her gun and vest.


    The finality of her tone and the brace of her shoulders went beyond anger, beyond a regular fight. This was really it for her, and he knew it. They were over, no going back, no more making love or pretending they could keep living in limbo. There was nothing left for him but to keep her alive so she could go home and build that fantasy life with some other man.


    One look at Annie, and Samir Al-Shennawi had a pretty good idea how the meeting with Stella went. He closed the door behind him, sealing him in the small interrogation room with Annie. He¡¯d spent the past year reading every nuance of her face, both as her protector and as the man who loved her.


    And today? He would have to continue as the man who protected her, here in a stark cubicle of a room at the airport. The agent in charge¡ªSmith¡ªwanted her tucked away until they had completed damage assessment. Meanwhile, Smith would keep things secure at the big shindig political dinner downtown.


    He had his job keeping Annie safe here while the powers that be figured out where to relocate her.


    Sam stopped alongside her. ¡°Would you like to take a walk?¡±


    Her wariness changed to surprise. ¡°I thought I was under house arrest.¡±


    ¡°You are,¡± he confirmed, too aware of how she¡¯d been keeping her distance. She may have told him everything, but she had still closed herself off from him. ¡°But they need this space for questioning, and I found an unused office with an incredible view. I had food sent up for you. There is even a sofa if you need to rest.¡±


    Her smile didn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡°As if I have any choices these days.¡±


    Neither of them did. He opened the door and gestured her through into the sparsely populated corridor. His hand rested over his weapon, his eyes tracking the length of the hallway. Transfers were always the most dangerous, even in a locked-down-tight facility. Four doors down, her room waited. Uniformed and armed military guards were stationed at every corner.


    Those few steps seemed like miles as he escorted her past framed posters about touring historic Mogadishu. Her steps against tile seemed so dainty, so vulnerable. He understood she had training and could protect herself. During past missions, he had trusted female agents. But Annie wasn¡¯t just any agent. After listening to her talk about her capture and what she¡¯d endured, hearing her voice give life to facts he¡¯d read¡­


    He couldn¡¯t let her out of his sight now. Maybe ever. Which made that emotional wall she had put up between them cursedly inconvenient.


    A dozen steps later, he finally had her in the new room, one he¡¯d chosen just for her to make this lockdown more bearable. During the past year, he¡¯d made it his mission to learn everything about this fascinating woman. He knew she liked wide open spaces. Even at the school, she taught outdoors whenever possible.


    So he¡¯d picked this office with care. A wall of windows¡ªbulletproof and tinted¡ªoverlooked the runway, but more importantly a distant view of the Indian Ocean.


    She raced across the room and pressed her palms to the glass. Airport lights created a bubble of light in the dark night. Fireworks split the sky, just a few, more like amateur stuff before the big show at the end of the ceremonies later.


    Her back rose and fell with deep breaths. ¡°Thank you for bringing me here. I was about to scream from being stuck in that claustrophobic room.¡± She glanced over her shoulder. ¡°But I¡¯m guessing you knew that.¡±

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    He wanted to know more about her, everything and anything he needed to keep her safe. ¡°I take it things did not go well with your daughter.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Not as I would have hoped, but as I predicted,¡± she said with a deep sadness in her eyes. ¡°She forgives me but she¡¯s upset, hurt, distrusting, and that¡¯s completely her right. I didn¡¯t expect hugs and tears.¡±


    Pain, loss, and regret all radiated off her in waves. He walked past the covered meal to stand beside her, crossing his arms behind his back as he stared out at planes taxiing. ¡°Seems to me since she is also an agent she might have a little understanding for the difficult decision you had to make. You sacrificed a lot to keep her safe.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t make excuses for me.¡± She pressed a hand to her throat. ¡°You don¡¯t have to pretend to be nice anymore.¡±


    ¡°You think I was pretending?¡±


    ¡°It was your job to get close to me, to do whatever it took, to be whomever you needed to be to get under my skin so you could watch me. I get it. Now the need to playact is over.¡±


    Playact? She thought he was pretending to care about her? He couldn¡¯t let her go on believing that, but he wasn¡¯t sure how much she was ready to hear.


    So he just touched her arm lightly, but even that brought back memories of their kiss and how much more he wanted from her. ¡°Not everything is an act. You should also know the best covers for agents are the ones that blend the truth in with the fiction. That makes it easier not to trip up.¡±


    Her chin tipped proudly, but he could have sworn her eyes held a tentative hope that fired him to clasp both her hands and continue.


    ¡°If I had just wanted to get close to you, the simplest way would have been to pretend I was in love with someone else, perhaps a heartbroken widower who could never love again.¡± He¡¯d played that role before on a prior mission in Cairo. ¡°I would have created a backstory to keep you at arm¡¯s length romantically while still staying close to you.¡±


    ¡°Instead, you chose to be my friend for a whole year?¡± She glanced down at his hands holding her. ¡°Friends don¡¯t kiss.¡±


    Why was she making this difficult? Perhaps because she did not want the same thing? Or he had missed his chance by being too cautious? Too honorable? Frustration chewed at his already overtaxed self-control. ¡°That¡¯s because I do not want to be your friend, damn it, and this may not be the best time to tell you, given all you have been through today.¡± His hands slid up her arms to hold her shoulders. Finally, he allowed himself to vocalize his deepest wish since he¡¯d first seen her. ¡°But I want to be with you, romantically. I always have.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Her eyebrows shot upward as quickly as the plane outside climbed into the night sky.


    ¡°Oh? That is all you have to say?¡± He had bared his pride to her, and she could only say¡­ ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the always part that I¡¯m stuck on.¡± More light powered on outside, casting beams across her incredulity. ¡°Always?¡±


    The power of that first meeting with her surged over him again, the sense that he had been waiting for her his whole life. ¡°From the moment I met you. You were sitting in your classroom putting together some kind of project for a bulletin board. You had the saddest look on your face. All I wanted in that moment was to make you smile.¡±


    He still did.


    ¡°I remember the day you arrived, that moment you introduced yourself.¡± She angled her head to the side, her beautiful face so dear to him, every freckle imprinted on his memory. ¡°I was thinking about my daughter and how we used to make art projects together when I came home¡ªthings to hang on the wall or even use as a doorstop. I needed to know that I¡¯d left a part of myself with her whenever I left.¡±


    Guilt creased deep grooves into her face, weighting down her words. More of that pain swelled from her and he realized that was the wall between them. She couldn¡¯t allow herself to be happy. ¡°Annie, I know you and I am certain you tried your best.¡±


    Tears welled in her dark green eyes. ¡°All of that doesn¡¯t matter. The reality is, I let her down. I let my boys down¡­ my husband too.¡± She looked at him with those sad eyes again, just like she had the first day he met her. She blinked and two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. ¡°I don¡¯t think I could live with myself if I failed again.¡±


    ¡°Annie¡­¡± His voice came out strangled and hoarse. He gathered her against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of the hand lotion. So many times he¡¯d walked by that bottle she kept on her desk and resisted the urge to lift it to his nose. ¡°I meant what I said. My feelings for you have never been an act.¡±


    ¡°Still? Even after everything I¡¯ve said?¡± she asked, all the self-doubt in her voice tearing him up inside. ¡°The kind of person I am¡ªa woman who could leave her husband and her children?¡±


    Decades ago when he¡¯d begun his undercover career, he might well have judged her, back when he¡¯d been stuck in very narrow views of right and wrong. He¡¯d seen too much since then to live that way anymore. Life was far more complicated.


    ¡°Annie, you are not perfect. Neither am I. No one is. This is likely the worst possible time to tell you, but I loved you the first time I saw you. Each day, as I got to know you better only made me love you more. It made me want to leave behind my old job and teach by your side in reality. To have the privilege to keep right on loving you.¡±


    More of those tears flowed from the strongest woman he¡¯d ever met. ¡°Sam¡­¡±


    He touched her mouth. ¡°You are not alone anymore.¡±


    She swayed into him, her mouth opening to speak, but he stopped her again. ¡°Just think about what I said. I do not want an answer now when so much is turned upside down in your life. I only told you so you would know, you are not alone anymore.¡±


    She kissed his fingers lightly, then held his hand to her chest. ¡°It¡¯s that simple for you to commit?¡±


    ¡°Not simple at all. But it is true and I have had much longer than you to think through this.¡±


    Her pulse raced against his hand pressed to her heart, a tentative smile pushing through her tears. ¡°Sam, I want to believe I can have that kind of happiness again. The picture you paint of us teaching together is incredible. I want to be with you, if that¡¯s possible once I find out if I even have a future¡­¡±


    The beautiful smile on her face faded into a frown, her eyes drifting from him to the window, then widening with confusion, then outright fear.


    She pointed toward the tarmac outside, toward the halo of halogen lights. ¡°That¡¯s Ajaya, from the school. And one of those agents wearing a dark suit has a gun pointed at him.¡± The light gleamed off the agent¡¯s cowboy hat. ¡°He¡¯s forcing Ajaya onto an airplane.¡±


    Ajaya didn¡¯t know who to trust anymore.


    The American agent, Mr. Jones, acted like his friend, but he had a gun out, his hat in place like he was some African American cowboy. He said leaving was for his protection, but he wouldn¡¯t explain why they were getting on an airplane. How much longer would his life be out of his control? When could he become a man and take charge of his own life, his own destiny?


    Except he could never have the one thing he wanted most.


    To go back. To live with his family and be a child again. The one thing he could never have.


    The night wind full of dirt grated against his skin, carrying the sounds from the festival close by. The familiar music and scent of grilling meat reminded him of home. So much so he could swear he heard his mother calling his name.


    ¡°Ajaya¡­¡±


    Mr. Jones pivoted on his heels, weapon leveled.


    ¡°Ajaya¡­¡±


    It wasn¡¯t his imagination. Someone was shouting for him. He looked and couldn¡¯t believe¡­ ¡°Mrs. Johnson?¡±


    Somehow, impossibly real, his English teacher ran toward him. His chemistry teacher Mr. Al-Shennawi trailed protectively behind her. Ajaya didn¡¯t understand how it could be true. But Mr. Jones was already lowering his weapon. They were all on the same side. He was safe.


    For the first time in longer than he could remember, Ajaya wasn¡¯t alone anymore.


    Stella winced as another firework exploded in the sky.


    The courtyard celebration was already a security nightmare, full of people in thick layers of clothes that could hide an assortment of weapons¡ªas her kanga hid her gun and the knife strapped to her leg.


    Too bad there was nothing to protect her from letting Jose break her heart all over again. She was the smart, logical type. Except when it came to him. She tried to keep her eyes off Jose and his team as they stood in a protective row in front of the dais, red berets a perfect blend for the festive colors.


    Her eyes betrayed her and skated front anyway, right to her pararescueman, the tallest one standing lean and strong in the middle. The loss burned over her, almost sending her to her knees. She¡¯d pushed him away, but what choice did she have? Why did she keep setting herself up for this pain again and again?


    She couldn¡¯t afford to figure that one out now, not when she needed to focus every ounce of energy on the celebration around her. If they could get through this evening without incident, they might not have answers, but they would have time and space to follow up leads without fear of a national incident involving a major political figure.


    Her earpiece chattered with voices from the command post, agents and military guys discussing surveillance. She was on the ground to gather human intel rather than sitting behind a computer. Mr. Smith had gotten past parking her behind a monitor. Not that any of them knew what they were looking for. They were shadowboxing with a ghostly enemy.


    Hundreds of guests dressed in ceremonial clothes filled the tents with color¡ªa mix of flowing robes to tuxedos. Women covered their hair with everything from simple headcloths to colorful hijabs. Jewelry, beads, and gold glinted in the lights, creating one distraction after another as she searched for guns, knives, and any other possible weapons. Even the display on the dais containing a case of African artifacts reminded her of how easily she¡¯d turned similar remnants into tools to survive in the warlord¡¯s compound. Except she hadn¡¯t needed them because Jose had come for her. At the compound, he¡¯d pushed through the doorway wearing his full battle-rattle, face streaked with camo paint.


    But she¡¯d recognized him without hesitation.


    She forced her thoughts away from how she¡¯d known him so instinctively.


    More fireworks popped overhead, but otherwise the skies were empty. All flights had been canceled until after the guest of honor made her speech. The airspace would stay clear, no risk of threats from above.


    Meanwhile, the invited guests and dignitaries partied on, picking at falafels, fried plantains, the spongy sour cake-like injera, meats, fruits, all local but surprisingly not overdone. In a country full of starving people, excesses would have been wrong¡ªnot to mention bad press.


    Her mother had fought and sacrificed her entire adult life to help others here. Just as Jose sacrificed his life for others? Was it somehow her fate to love people who gave up a family for some higher calling? What was the answer for her?


    A part of her wanted to shout at the Melanies and Joses of the world that this fight was futile. They couldn¡¯t win and they were forfeiting a personal life for nothing. She pressed a finger to her earpiece, sifting through all the chatter. So much going on at once.


    Mr. Smith monitoring the placement of security forces as the vice president¡¯s wife took the podium.


    Mr. Brown calling in from the entrance checkpoint.


    Mr. Jones escorting Ajaya to a secure location.


    Voices in her headset competed with the music swelling through the air, played on instruments that were works of art themselves¡ªbamboo flutes, xylophones, kettle and clay pot drums, a kora harp. And those were only the ones she recognized.


    Her earpiece filled with the cool logical tones of Mr. Brown. ¡°Heads-up. Suspicious activity in the west corner of the park. Two persons of interest from a student rebel group. Wearing green hats. I repeat, west corner of the park.¡±

 Page 38

    Smith came on the line, barking out orders shifting his security around. Stella angled sideways through the crowd, arching up on her toes for a better view. Damn it, she needed a clearer vantage point. Period.Advertisement


    No one questioned how Brown could remember faces from thousands in a registry of suspicious persons. The man had a photographic memory and a careful attention to detail. And the timing lined up for some kind of move to be made. The vice president¡¯s wife was giving her statement about women¡¯s rights in the region. Gifts were being exchanged, including a doll passed from a local official¡¯s daughter. Beads on the doll¡¯s dress gleamed in the morning sun.


    Stella grabbed a light pole and stepped up onto the ridged edge, searching the crowd¡ªuntil, yes, there were two men walking side by side, both wearing hats that matched agent Brown¡¯s description. But where was he? She searched for his dark suit in the splash of color, careful not to linger on the PJs still creating a wall of strength in front of the dais. She found Smith an instant later, just past the stage.


    Jones would have been easy to find with his outback hat, but he was at the airport taking Ajaya into protective custody so he could be moved to the States. So why wasn¡¯t there a dark suit on the west side of the park? Only military uniforms converging for protection as ordered.


    Hanging onto the lamppost, she angled around, looking off to the east, which didn¡¯t make sense. Mr. Brown was in the back, watching the west. Except he wasn¡¯t. She saw his dark suit and short ginger hair, spiky on top. Okay, so he wasn¡¯t in his assigned position and he¡¯d called in a report that shifted the bulk of security to the other side of the park. Could be explained away by something as simple as him finding a better vantage point as she had.


    No big deal. She was just looking for trouble because of hints of a mole. And there were always rumors and fears of a leak in intelligence.


    She glanced back at the rear entrance to see who¡¯d taken Brown¡¯s place¡­


    No one. She slid off the lamppost and back to the ground. Her feet carried her toward the east side of the park, where she¡¯d seen Mr. Brown on the edges of the party.


    Brown didn¡¯t make mistakes. He was Mr. Logical, like her. Except right now she wasn¡¯t thinking logically. She was thinking that her every instinct screamed something was wrong about Mr. Brown. That he was the kind who could have cracked codes to get his hands on the list of agents. That he was the kind who would have the aptitude to encrypt the information.


    Him and hundreds of other people.


    Except he was here and she had questions with very little time to waste waiting for answers. She pushed through the crush of bodies, applause and cheers reverberating over something in the speech. Damn it, she needed to move faster. If she voiced her suspicions over the headset to Mr. Smith, she could divert security in the wrong direction¡ªand Mr. Brown would hear her.


    This was a no-win.


    Finally, the crowd thinned and she spotted Mr. Brown on the sidelines. Approaching him in the darkened corner didn¡¯t feel right. And when the hell had she started going so much on ¡°feelings¡±?


    Since Jose.


    She looked closer. Brown¡¯s spiked ginger-colored hair shone¡­ along with the glint of his gun.


    Gun?


    Why the hell did he have his weapon drawn? She palmed her 9 mm. Damn, damn, damn, a shoot-out here would be a very bad thing. And maybe his intent was benign. Even so, she couldn¡¯t stay quiet any longer.


    She brought her sleeve up to her mouth and spoke into the mic. ¡°Carson here, east side of park. Mr. Brown, why do you have your weapon drawn? Over.¡±


    Mr. Smith hissed over the headset. ¡°Draw down. Now. That¡¯s an order.¡±


    Brown pivoted, fast and sharp on his heels, facing her for an instant. His eyes blared the worst message of all. Desperation.


    As if in slow motion, she saw his gun arm swing back toward the stage. Toward the vice president¡¯s wife.


    ¡°No!¡± she shouted, whipping her 9 mm from under the folds of her wrap.


    Sprinting, she wished like hell she had Jose¡¯s speed. Her heart leaped in her throat. Her ears roared so loudly she couldn¡¯t have heard a gunshot or screams. She caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eyes. Blood? No. Jose¡¯s hat as he vaulted onto the stage to protect his charge. She ran faster, closing the gap. And thank God the few people in her way dropped to the ground, giving her a clear shot at Agent Brown.


    A man she¡¯d worked with for the past six months.


    She squeezed off two shots without hesitation, catching him in the shoulder. Ten feet away, Brown spun around from the impact. His fist still gripped his gun.


    Pain exploded in her leg. In her head. She stumbled forward toward her target.


    Then she smelled it. Blood. Her own. Dripping in her eyes and down the sides of her nose. She fell to her knees and shot Brown again, blasting away his kneecap. Howling, he fell to his side. His gun skittered away. And finally, she let herself sag the rest of the way to the ground.


    As she lay on her side, she looked into the eyes of a man she¡¯d trusted with her life and asked, ¡°How could you?¡±


    Sweat rolled down his face, his mouth twisted in agony. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you do anything to protect your family?¡±


    Her family? Images of her brothers, her father, her mother all scrolled through her mind in the fast-track life review. But then the reel slowed and focused on one face, one man.


    Jose. Her family. And she¡¯d foolishly pushed him away. Love and loss seeped through her as tangibly as her life¡¯s blood leaving her body.


    Chapter 16


    Jose was in hell.


    Draped over the vice president¡¯s wife, he needed to be with Stella. Each gunshot echoing in his ears ripped a roar of denial from him. He¡¯d done his job, protected the vice president¡¯s wife, but at such a high cost. Stella had been shot. She¡¯d defied the odds to stop an all-out massacre, and he doubted he could have done anything more.


    The fact that they¡¯d both been doing their jobs was piss poor comfort. His heart hammered in his ears. Where the hell were his objective instincts from years of training?


    A hand clamped him on the shoulder. He jerked, looking to find Bubbles crouched beside him. ¡°I¡¯ve got things here. The Saint too. Go treat Stella. Go.¡±


    He didn¡¯t need to be told twice. Jose launched off the stage into the mayhem below. Jose pushed past a couple shoving back against him, desperate to get away. His eyes stayed locked on Stella, the world around him a peripheral blur.


    Security had their hands full restoring order. Fang loped up alongside him, medical rucksack in hand that carried enough supplies to treat up to three patients. How f**king ironic that Stella and Brown would be sharing lifesaving gear. Fang kept pace as they dodged musicians huddled by a bandstand. There was no discussing who would treat Brown and who would take Stella.


    She was his, damn it.


    Fang could care for the traitorous bastard.


    A trio knelt around Stella, and he could only see her feet and a trailing edge of the kanga he¡¯d given her. If she was dead¡­ Even thinking it threatened to knock the ground out from under him. He could rub that sobriety coin all damn day and nothing, nothing would get him through if he lost the most important person in his life.


    ¡°Move,¡± he shouted, to hell with control and calm, ¡°medic coming through.¡±


    The wall of people parted and¡­ Oh God. The streetlamp bathed her in stark light that revealed everything, too much. Stella lay stone still, her eyes half-open and glazed with pain. A wad of bloodied handkerchiefs lay beside her head, no doubt someone¡¯s attempt to help.


    Blood streamed from a scrape along her temple. Most would have gone for that first, but he evaluated fast and ranked it as the least of their worries.


    Her thigh wound pumped blood from the femoral artery. She could bleed out in about five minutes.


    ¡°Hang on, Stella.¡± Dropping to the ground, he slapped a hand to her leg and pushed hard while tearing into the medic pack with the other.


    He had gear for a splint, tracheotomy, intubation, and countless other lifesaving measures he prayed he wouldn¡¯t need. Finally, thank God, finally his body went into autopilot. A tourniquet for her leg. Bandages. IV antibiotics.


    Beside him, Fang treated Agent Brown who kept groaning, ¡°Let me die, let me die.¡±


    Fang muttered, ¡°Not a chance. You¡¯ll face your firing squad.¡±


    How f**king ironic¡ªand unfair¡ªthat Stella had aimed to maim when her enemy had shot to kill.


    Her fingers clamped his arm weakly. He looked into her eyes again. Bad, bad idea. Professional distance crumbled.


    Her lips moved but nothing came out other than a faint whisper he couldn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°Shhh,¡± he soothed, checking her vitals, willing his hand not to shake as he counted her pulse, simultaneously monitoring the drip on the IV. ¡°You¡¯re going to be fine, Stella. I¡¯m that damn good at my job.¡±


    She blinked up at him. Alive. Awake. For how long?


    He shouted over his shoulder, rage and desperation chewing through his gut. ¡°We need medical transport. Stat!¡± He looked back at her, adjusting her elevated feet. ¡°Stella, stay with us. You¡¯re going to be fine. A transfusion or two and you¡¯ll be kicking ass again. I promise.¡±


    As he checked her pupils he realized¡­ she was blinking in a pattern.


    ¡°Morse code?¡± he asked, focusing on her while listening for updates in his earpiece. Where the hell was the ambulance? ¡°Are you trying to tell me something?¡±


    Yes, she blinked. Agent Brown.


    ¡°Agent Brown. We know. We¡¯ve got him. You got him, wounded but not dead. You kept him alive for interrogation.¡± A siren wailed in the distance. ¡°You did great, Stella. Help¡¯s coming.¡±


    She squeezed his arm again. Love. You.


    ¡°Love you too.¡± And he meant it, with every cell in his body that screamed for her to hold on. Not to give up.


    Come hell or high water, if she lived, he would do anything to make sure he didn¡¯t lose her again. He¡¯d thought he was protecting her by staying away, but she was right. He¡¯d only been shielding his heart from the possibility of losing another family. Yes, he carried a genetic flaw and he couldn¡¯t forget that, but he¡¯d made different choices for his life than his sister and mother. He sure as hell refused to be like his dad, enabling, avoiding.


    Jose monitored her thready heartbeat and willed her to stay with him. He and Stella deserved a life together.


    Without her, he had no future. ¡°God, Stella, you can¡¯t die, damn it. I want to spend my life with you.¡±


    But he¡¯d waited a second too long to tell her. Her eyes stayed closed, no more blinking messages.


    She¡¯d passed out cold.


    Pain hovered just below the surface under a blanket of drugs.


    Part of Stella wanted to stay under the numbing fog, and another part of her insisted she needed to wake up, even if that meant facing the agony of¡­ gunshot wounds.


    The hellish scenario flashed through her mind in fragments. Brown¡¯s betrayal. Shooting him. Him shooting her.


    Jose¡¯s shout of horror piercing her headset.


    Her memory filled with the sight of him leaning over her, treating her, pleading with her to hang on. The fear in his eyes had let her know just how bad her injuries were. By that time, she¡¯d been floating in a cottony cloud of shock.


    Was she alive now? Or hovering in a limbo state?


    She drew in air and could swear she was actually breathing, except there was no antiseptic scent of a hospital. Her body felt so heavy, anchored by the crisp weight of a thin blanket.


    A sheet? She forced her hand to grip the sheet, then move to her face where tubes pumped oxygen to her nose. No wonder she hadn¡¯t detected the standard hospital smell.


    At least she was alive. Knowing that, she fought through the hazy pain, fought her way back so she could see Jose and tell him how much she loved him. She wasn¡¯t missing out on that chance again.


    Her eyes opened and a chair screeched back against the floor. She turned her head on the pillow and found¡­ her mother.

 Page 39

    A smile of relief spread across her mother¡¯s face. ¡°Good morning, kiddo. How do you feel?¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Mom?¡± she croaked, then coughed.


    Her mother passed her water to sip through a bendy straw just like when Stella had the chicken pox at five years old.


    How could she have forgotten that?


    Annie set the cup on the bedside table. ¡°I¡¯ll call for the nurse.¡±


    ¡°No, please.¡± Stella gripped her wrist. ¡°Wait. Tell me what happened first.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in a hospital. You were shot twice. One bullet grazed your temple. The other hit a major artery in your thigh.¡± She squeezed her hand. ¡°But you¡¯re going to be fine. Jose treated you on the scene while you waited for the ambulance. The doctor said Jose saved your life.¡±


    Her voice trailed off and she pressed a palm to her chest. Annie blinked back tears that spoke louder than words of how close she¡¯d come to dying. She owed Jose so much. ¡°And the list, the names?¡±


    ¡°Agent Brown was the leak. It appears he was turned traitor when he built up gambling debts. An enemy exploited that weakness. I¡¯m not privy to all the details, but I¡¯m guessing they may offer him his life in exchange for all his contacts. Regardless, the leak has been plugged.¡±


    Annie clicked through the high notes like the seasoned professional she was and Stella felt an uncanny sense of looking in the mirror. How humbling to think she was so much like this woman whose choices frustrated the hell out of her.


    She would get the rest of the details later, once she could link up with her contacts at Interpol. She intended to press hard for the right to sift through every piece of data the analytical Mr. Brown recorded, check and recheck each piece of paper he touched. If he¡¯d falsified so much as an order for candy bars, she would find it.


    And she couldn¡¯t help but wonder if she might have been more effective from the start if she¡¯d stuck to what she did best.


    Analyzing data.


    ¡°Uhm, Stella?¡± her mother asked, uncertainty looking so alien on her confident mom. ¡°You need to know I¡¯m coming back to the States.¡±


    Pain meds dripping through the IV tube fuzzed regular details like the sun shining through the window and the bedpan on the rolling table.


    Sifting through her mother¡¯s words made her head throb. She pressed her fingers against her temple¡ªand winced as she touched the bandage. She¡¯d come that close to dying from a bullet to the brain.


    Stella thumbed the remote and raised the head of the bed, wincing at the stab of pain as her leg moved all of a couple of millimeters. ¡°What about your whole witness protection program?¡±


    ¡°A lot of years have passed since I was in the loop.¡± She smoothed back her silver-streaked hair. ¡°I haven¡¯t been an active agent in so long anything I know is outdated. Maybe I¡¯ve been hiding out here in Africa, afraid to face you and your brothers. Afraid to face myself.¡±


    ¡°Wow, I don¡¯t know what to say.¡± She reached for the cup and sipped more water to clear her throat and her thoughts.


    ¡°I don¡¯t intend to camp in your front yard, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about.¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t what I said.¡± The thought of spending more time with her mother was scary, yes, but also¡­ amazing.


    ¡°Sorry to be defensive.¡± She rubbed her bare ring finger where she¡¯d once worn a plain gold wedding band. ¡°I haven¡¯t put together my whole plan, but knowing that you almost died out there and I could have missed the opportunity to see you again? I just want the chance to get to know you and your brothers again.¡±


    ¡°I can understand that.¡± She felt the same way. Second chances were rare in life. ¡°If you need help, just let me know.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a teacher. I can support myself, and sadly, there¡¯s no shortage of orphan schools in the United States as well. I¡¯ve been thinking about that a lot as your agency friends work on placing Ajaya somewhere in the States.¡±


    ¡°What about your, uh, boyfriend?¡± She hadn¡¯t missed how Mr. Al-Shennawi never left her mother¡¯s side¡ªexcept for now.


    Annie smiled, as if reading her thoughts. ¡°He¡¯s just outside the door. We¡¯ve talked about taking teaching jobs at the same school, maybe lead a beautifully boring life together.¡±


    Stella reached a hand out to her mom, knowing all too well how much courage it took to hope for a happy ending. ¡°I hope your dreams play out for you, Mom, I really do.¡±


    Her mother looked at her extended arm, an olive branch, and her eyes filled with tears. Annie squeezed her daughter¡¯s hand. A sense of peace filled Stella, a lot more soothing than any painkiller dripping from that bag on the IV pole. She and her mother still had plenty to talk through and fences to mend, but they¡¯d made a good start.


    ¡°Hey, Mom? Could you do me a favor?¡±


    ¡°Anything. Just ask.¡±


    ¡°Could you find Jose? I really need to talk to him.¡±


    Reaching out to her mother had been a good first step in putting her life back together. But nothing would be okay again until she made things right with Jose. The love she¡¯d seen in his eyes when he¡¯d treated her back at the festival gave her hope. She just prayed she hadn¡¯t been hallucinating from blood loss.


    Because the pain in her brutalized leg was nothing compared to the agony she would feel if she lost Jose for good.


    Jose stared into the steaming cup of coffee his buddy Bubbles kept refilling. The big lug sat beside him on the cracked leather sofa, offering silent support.


    The night had been the longest of his life. Hands down. Once he¡¯d stabilized Stella at the scene, he¡¯d been left with no choice but to turn her over to paramedics. Fang had held him back as he¡¯d tried to force his way into the ambulance. Only Mr. Smith¡¯s promise to keep him in the loop had managed to calm him down enough to keep him from getting arrested.


    The bastard Brown had survived and was under guard on a different floor of the hospital. Jose had ditched his bloodied ABU jacket, but refused to leave the hospital. He waited, in his camo pants, boots, and T-shirt. The doctor sounded knowledgeable, but trusting Stella¡¯s care to someone he didn¡¯t know in a third world country hospital was tough, to say the least.


    Normally he would have flipped his sobriety coin. God knows the painful crawl of hours waiting for word on Stella had been beyond stressful. He glanced at Bubbles. ¡°Thanks for hanging out here with me.¡±


    ¡°No problem. It¡¯s what we do for each other.¡±


    The words resonated, reminding him of how he¡¯d said the same thing to his teammates in the past. They all said it. His team had been like a family to him, helping him keep his head above water, just as he liked to think he helped them.


    How much better would it be in a rock solid family? With Stella? Because he knew now. He was in for the long haul. He was a marathon man, after all.


    Soft footsteps whispered down the hall, coming closer, around the corner. Stella¡¯s mother walked into the waiting room.


    Jose stood, fast, sloshing hot coffee onto his finger. ¡°Stella?¡±


    Exhaustion stamped its mark on her face, her clothes wrinkled from sleeping in a chair. She looked like¡­ a worried mother. ¡°She¡¯s awake and asking to see you. The doctor¡¯s checking her over now.¡±


    Thank God.


    The knowledge that she was out of the woods damn near took his knees out. Annie must have known because she reached for him, giving his arm a simple squeeze.


    Then it hit him. If he married Stella, he got a family along with her. And what do you know? The thought didn¡¯t scare him. It felt¡­ kind of right.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He offered her his coffee. ¡°I haven¡¯t even touched this yet.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± She smiled her gratitude.


    Her eyes shifted from him to across the hall where her Egyptian friend stood at the nurse¡¯s station. She patted Jose¡¯s hand, leaving him to go to Stella.


    Ten steps past the nurse¡¯s station and a rolling cart with lunch trays, he reached Stella¡¯s door as the doctor walked out.


    ¡°She is a lucky woman,¡± the doctor said in broken English before moving on to the next patient.


    Right now, he felt like the lucky one.


    Jose pushed open her door and God, she was beautiful. But so damn pale her freckles stood out all the more. At least the heart monitor beeped a steady reassurance, even if the bandages on her head and her leg struck a fresh bolt of fear through him.


    ¡°Stella, what the hell were you doing out there?¡± Shit, that wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d meant to say.


    But she didn¡¯t bristle. She simply rolled her eyes at him, understanding too well, probably more than he deserved. He charged across the room and kissed her forehead, taking in the warmth of her. Alive. Thank God, alive.


    Her fingers stroked the back of his neck. ¡°I was doing my job. Which included saving your ass.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a code breaker. A data techie. That¡¯s your job.¡± He angled back, looking into her glittering green eyes that reminded him of the dewy morning grass of home. ¡°Leave that shoot-out stuff for us security dudes.¡±


    ¡°But I knew something was off when Brown told everyone to go west and he went the other way.¡± She frowned at the memory, her well-ordered brain always ready to catch a piece of a puzzle that didn¡¯t fit. That was one of many reasons she was so damn good at her job.


    ¡°You found the mole and kept sensitive information safe. I would wholeheartedly approve if you hadn¡¯t gotten shot in the process.¡± The kick to his gut was so damn sharp it was like seeing it happen all over again. ¡°You took doing your job to a whole new level.¡±


    Her hand slid around to caress his unshaven cheek. ¡°My job is to love you, Jose James. That¡¯s the only thing I care about. But you know I¡¯ve spoken before about focusing my work life on code breaking, the desk type, out of the field.¡±


    She was making this too easy for him, which also made it tougher because he wanted to earn her, to be worthy of this amazing woman who¡¯d given him her entire heart.


    ¡°Loving you is the scariest damn thing I¡¯ve ever done, Stella.¡± He kissed her forehead again, then her freckled nose, her mouth, quickly, carefully. ¡°And I do, I love you¡­ so much.¡±


    That point had been hammered home to him in the month he¡¯d spent without her. He¡¯d known then that he wasn¡¯t ready to let her go. But this last week together had been the pressure cooker that stripped everything else away¡ªall his dumb defenses and all his half-baked notions about what he wanted for his future. The only thing that was left was his love for Stella and faith in her. Hell, if this smart, kick-ass woman saw him as a stand-up guy who could take on a family, then by God he could.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡± She stroked her thumb over his mouth. ¡°I wondered if I was hallucinating when I heard you say that last night.¡±


    No more wasting time. No more running. He was ready to take on the future, with Stella. ¡°Let¡¯s get married.¡±


    She looked at her IV bag quickly, then back at him. ¡°Did I hear you say what I think or are the pain meds messing with my head?¡±


    ¡°Stella, I mean every word. I want us to get married and if you¡¯re not ready to talk about that now, I¡¯ll wait until you¡¯re feeling better. Hell, I¡¯ll wait however long it takes because I¡¯m not giving up on us again.¡±


    ¡°What about your concerns? You have some very real worries and while I believe in you, I don¡¯t take those lightly.¡± Wary hope flickered through her eyes and he hated that she had to wonder or doubt him.


    He lowered the bed rail and sat beside her, cautiously so as not to jostle her. He checked the half-empty bag of fluid and the machine blipping her vitals. Satisfied she was okay, he settled beside her. ¡°I want to be with you. Period. I¡¯m f**king miserable without you.¡±

 Page 40

    ¡°So romantically spoken.¡± She rested her head against his shoulder, toying with the chain on his dog tags until they slid free from under his T-shirt.


    ¡°But from the heart. And actually, it¡¯s the logical, practical truth, just the way you like it.¡± He clasped her hand and pressed it against his chest right over his pulse pounding for her. ¡°When I¡¯m with you, I don¡¯t fear the future anymore. I want it all, as long as we¡¯re together.¡±Advertisement


    She started to answer but he needed to tell her everything. He wanted her to understand how much peace she brought him.


    ¡°Before you say anything, I¡¯m willing to revisit the issue of kids.¡±


    Her eyes went wide with shock, and she wasn¡¯t blinking anything, much less Morse code. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    This part was still tough for him to wrap his brain around, but it was getting easier. And he had faith now that he could be a part of a healthy relationship, with Stella. ¡°I would just ask that we wait to have children until I¡¯m out of the field so there would be less pressure on¡­ our family.¡±


    Was it wishful thinking, or did some color flood back into her cheeks? She looked so damn happy she practically glowed.


    ¡°That sounds good, really good.¡± Her fingers caressed along his heart, grasping a handful of his shirt. ¡°After what I¡¯ve been through with my mother, you won¡¯t hear any argument from me on that part. Are you sure, though? I don¡¯t want you to make spur-of-the-moment promises because of what happened last night.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not spur-of-the-moment. It¡¯s been a slow and steady build to the realization that I¡¯m not my mother or my sister. I¡¯ve been through the worst stress imaginable in the last month and a half, and I haven¡¯t thought of taking a drink.¡± He rubbed his cheek gently against the top of her head on the uninjured side. ¡°I¡¯ve only thought of you and how to make you happy.¡±


    ¡°You do make me happy, Jose.¡± She looked up at him, and he knew he wanted to stare into those eyes forever. ¡°And I have total faith in you.¡±


    ¡°Besides, any leftover doubts I had got kicked in the ass yesterday. This has been the kind of time that makes a person reevaluate life. I want to spend mine with you. You¡¯re going to be an amazing mother someday and I want to be a good dad.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to make it work, Jose. Forever.¡± She tugged his dog tags, bringing him closer for a kiss to seal the deal.


    Sealing their future together.


    And making him the happiest flipping man in the world, because he wasn¡¯t letting her go.


    Epilogue


    Aswan, Egypt¡ªSix Months Later


    When Stella Carson was eight years old, she made a scrapbook from magazine photos, collaging the ¡°perfect family¡± and a monstrously big wedding. Reality was a thousand times better than any of her childhood fantasies.


    Never in a million dreams could she have envisioned getting married on a sailboat, anchored in a scenic cove along the Nile River. Best of all, her mother stood with her below deck in a tiny cabin, pinning white jasmine blossoms in her daughter¡¯s long, loose hair. Stella watched in the oval mirror, Annie¡¯s face reflected beside hers like a picture in that long ago dream album.


    Her mother smiled. ¡°You look beautiful, sweetheart.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, I¡¯m just so very happy to have gotten this right, to have been this lucky.¡±


    Peace flowed through her without even a hint of pre-wedding jitters. She and Jose were meant to be together and today was the fulfillment of the first time she¡¯d seen him emerge from the Gulf of Aden.


    After their mission in Africa had wrapped up, she¡¯d taken a leave of absence from her job with Interpol to spend time with Jose in Georgia where he was stationed at Moody Air Force Base. She¡¯d struggled at first with what to do with her life and took a job at a local college to pay bills, only to find she enjoyed the hell out of the intellectual challenge. Life was funny sometimes in the way she found her best answers in the surprises.


    Like her unexpected meeting of her Mr. Right the day Jose had pulled himself up into her boat and changed her world forever.


    Stella passed another flower and bobby pin over her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m glad you and Sam could be here with us today.¡±


    The couple would serve as their only witnesses, Sam and Annie having eloped five months ago.


    Annie clipped the final bloom in place. ¡°I wish I could have been there for so many other important moments in your life.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re here now.¡± Stella clasped her mother¡¯s hand over her shoulder and turned to face her.


    Annie¡¯s face radiated contentment, her restlessness having finally eased. ¡°Ajaya has given me a do-over of sorts.¡±


    Sam and Annie had sponsored his immigration to the United States and served as his legal guardians. He¡¯d been placed in a boarding school for teens with troubled pasts, but he would spend all holidays with Annie and Sam.


    ¡°And now I have another brother.¡± Her biological brothers were slower in warming up to their returned-from-the-dead mother, but time and patience seemed to be easing the path.


    Life was too short to waste on anger. Too easily they could have all died six months ago. Thank God the guilty had been brought to justice.


    Mr. Brown¡ªHenry Pope¡ªhad been arrested and was currently standing trial for treason. Yet, he¡¯d never once spoken about his crimes or given evidence. At one point he¡¯d been placed on suicide watch, but never tried to end his life¡ªunlike the teacher Mr. Gueye who¡¯d hung himself rather than face justice for selling his students. Profilers could only deduce that Pope had chosen to live for his daughter, who was being brought up by her mother¡¯s sister.


    The warlord responsible had been traced through the bio toxin, a formula so specific it might as well have left a signature. He¡¯d been taken out by his own troops before he could be arrested. And another warlord stepped into the power vacuum. It seemed a never-ending battle, but with defenseless boys and girls lives in the balance here? Turning away just wasn¡¯t an option.


    Music drifted through the open hatch, a lute and harp lightly calling her to shake off the thoughts of work for now. The time had come to join her life with Jose¡¯s.


    Annie picked up the lotus bouquet and offered it to Stella. ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± she answered without hesitation.


    ¡°He¡¯s a great guy.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to convince me.¡± Stella laughed lightly. ¡°I¡¯ve known he was the one since the first time I saw him.¡±


    Clasping the fragrant flowers, Stella started up the steps and into the shining sunlight. The rippling breeze teased her simple eyelet cotton gown around her ankles. Date trees and palms rustled along the bank, reminding her of another time here with Jose.


    And the love of her life stood waiting on deck beside a military priest. The sight of Jose, tall and steady in his uniform, made the breath catch in her chest. The sunlight glistened along his jet-black hair, the familiar angles of his handsome face so dear to her. She¡¯d found her family, found her home in Jose.


    He held out a hand to her and she joined him, his touch familiar, stirring. He squeezed her hand, the love in his eyes speaking as tangibly as words. Her smile answered him right back before she turned to the military chaplain as her mother moved to stand by Sam, hooking her arm with his.


    Stella held hands with Jose, the sailboat rocking gently by the Nile River. His voice rumbled low and firm as he spoke his vows with a firm conviction that tingled through her. And then it was her turn.


    ¡°I, Stella, take you, Jose, to be my husband¡­¡±


    She and Jose had decided to keep the wedding simple and celebrate later with a larger party in the States. Today, this moment, was just about the two of them, affirming their love and their future by each placing a simple gold band on the other¡¯s ring finger.


    ¡°¡­to have and to hold, from this day forward.¡±


    Thanks to Jose and his fearless rescue, she was alive to enjoy that future.


    ¡°For better or worse¡­¡±


    They¡¯d been through so much and survived so much already this past year, coming through it all stronger. Life wouldn¡¯t always be easy, but together? They were rock solid.


    Stella continued, ¡°For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.¡±


    She¡¯d started attending Al-Anon meetings, arming herself with the knowledge to better understand his recovery and the challenges they could face. And each day made her all the more certain she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, as his wife.


    ¡°¡­to love and to cherish from this day forward, ¡¯til death do us part.¡±


    And before the chaplain could even finish with his official blessing, Stella arched up to kiss her husband. Warm anticipation curled deliciously through her veins, along with love. So much love.


    She¡¯d been wrong about one thing that day they¡¯d met. She¡¯d thought the timing was off. But she¡¯d fallen for the right man at the right time, and looked forward to falling for him all over again every day for the rest of their lives.