“But Dr. Brenner doesn’t believe she’s innocent?”
“No. He thinks she asked Ganem to steal for her and, when he got caught, let him take the fall.”
“What’s the scoop on Ganem?”
“His parents immigrated to the US from Jordan the year before he was born. He has an uncle in Jordan who’s high in the military. The uncle has made several inflammatory anti-American statements. It’s possible the uncle or his cronies wanted the Lidar and drones for aerial reconnaissance of the Jordan/Syrian border.”
“Where is Ganem now?”
“Also interesting—no one knows. He disappeared five or six weeks ago. Investigators think he’s in Jordan with his uncle.”
Ian frowned. “She decked a guy in the bar last night. Any chance that was Ganem?”
“Possible. We’re trying to locate the blonde—Suzanne Davis—to confirm the man’s identity.”
“Why is Porter going to Van?”
“A research trip to gather data for a grant proposal. She wants to convince the private exploration institute—the one that’s partially backing the shipwreck excavation—to fund a Lidar survey in southeastern Turkey to search for archaeological sites. She needs outside funding because FSU won’t let her use their Lidar equipment after what happened with Ganem. According to Dr. Brenner, she resumed planning this trip the moment she was reinstated at the university.”
Ian tapped the steering wheel. On one level, everything about Cressida Porter added up—she could be a squeaky-clean innocent grad student with poor taste in men—but throw the microchip into the equation, and nothing balanced.
“You should know,” the intelligence officer added, “Dr. Brenner believes her research will take her closer to the border.”
“Which border?”
“Southeastern Turkey.”
Ian paused. “You mean Iran, Iraq, and Syria?”
“Yes.”
“Holy fuck,” Ian said.
“Yeah, I thought so too.”
Ian had to admit, it was brazenly brilliant to use a woman—and an American woman at that—as courier. If he could pull off the academic angle, he’d have used the archaeologist cover himself years ago. Hell, covert reconnaissance missions with archaeologists likely predated T. E. Lawrence’s survey of the Sinai Peninsula for British military intelligence a century ago, when the man was supposedly looking for evidence of the Exodus.
“What’s her religious background?” Ian asked. “Are we dealing with a zealot?”
“We only know her mother’s side, which is mixed Christian and Jewish. No word on if she’s practicing either, so it seems unlikely she’s an extremist with an agenda. Which leaves stupid as the only other reason she’d head into the region alone.”
“The word crazy also comes to mind. And it’s too early to rule out extremist, no matter how unlikely. Keep digging. Send what you find to my email.” Call completed, Ian next dialed Stan. “What’s the word on my flight?”
“By the time the airline agreed to cooperate, the passengers were already boarding and the seat next to hers was assigned. We had to pull yet more strings to ground the flight and rearrange seating.”
“You got me in the seat next to her?”
“Yeah. They’ve switched planes, forcing a seating chart scramble. Do I need to remind you how much this is going to cost us? And I’m not talking money, I’m talking favors. I’ve burned through them all with this.”
“It’ll be worth it, Stan.”
Stan sighed. “Your ticket is waiting at the VIP counter. Hurry your ass up, the new plane will start boarding soon. We can’t hold the flight and don’t have any favors left. This is a deep cover op, Ian. You’re on your own once you board that jet.”
“I know.”
Chapter Four
Cressida’s frustration simmered when they announced everyone had to disembark the jet on which they’d just embarked. She was tired and cranky and afraid the flight would be canceled. She grabbed her heavy suitcase from the overhead compartment and shuffled down the narrow aisle with the other passengers.
Nothing about this trip was going right. She was cursed. The universe was out to get her.
Stop being a narcissistic baby. This flight delay has nothing to do with me.
In the terminal, she made a beeline for the coffee stand next to the gate. She’d feel human with more caffeine in her system.
Coffee in hand, she settled into a seat. Exhaustion weighed on her like full diving gear. She’d actually fallen asleep underwater once. The hot Florida sun had beat down on the shallow water of the bathtub-warm Gulf of Mexico, and exhaustion mixed with heat had lulled her into closing her eyes, just to rest them for a moment…
She startled, realizing she’d done the same thing here. She rubbed her face and glanced around, trying to determine if she’d been out for more than a few seconds. Her eyes met those of a man sitting two aisles across from her.
She glanced away, uncomfortable to have met a stranger’s gaze, even as her body flushed in an uncontrollable response to his sheer…perfection. How could a mere glance cause a physical reaction?
The scientist in her wanted to study the evolution of why eyes just that shape, capped by thick, dark brows, combined with those sharp cheekbones and that firm jawline with dimpled, squared chin, was such an appealing masculine combination. Why was his particular arrangement of features so harmonious? Why did she find more pleasure in looking at him than, say, the man sitting to his left? That man’s nose was a tad wider, with cheeks that bore the marks of a losing battle with acne in adolescence. The man with acne scars wasn’t unattractive. His face had a certain appeal, but it lacked the symmetry, the perfection of his neighbor. She doubted her heart would flutter after a chance meeting of gazes with him. Which was ridiculous, really.
She knew nothing about either man.
Her name sounded over the loudspeaker, dragging her tired brain away from musings on male beauty and surreptitious glances at the Adonis in the boarding area. She grabbed her bag and made her way to the counter, where the agent gave her a new seat assignment and boarding pass.
She returned to her seat and was disappointed to see the guy with the perfect face was gone. To occupy herself, she pulled out her cell phone. She’d shut it off hours ago to avoid Todd and now was tempted to turn it on again to check for messages, hoping to hear from Berzan. She wanted to know if he’d changed shifts so they could set out for Cizre tonight. Expecting to set out right away, she hadn’t booked a hotel in Van and now was nervous about arriving in a remote foreign city without reservations. Anthony Bourdain, she was not.
Boarding began again, making the decision for her. She tucked the phone back into her purse, then lined up with the other passengers.
Inside the jet, she noted there were two seats on one side of the center aisle and three on the other, a different configuration from the first plane. That had to seriously mess up the seat assignments and explained the long delay. Cressida had been assigned a spot on the two-seat side, but there was a man sitting in her seat. And not just any man. It was the Adonis.
Panic swept through her. What if the ticket agent had screwed up and she’d been bumped from the flight by accident? How would she straighten this out when she couldn’t speak the language? “Excuse me, there must be some mistake—”
The man met her gaze and flashed a warm smile. “My bad,” he said in crisp American English, “I prefer the aisle—do you mind trading?”
She was too relieved to object. “No problem.”
He stood and stepped into the aisle so she could get to the window seat. “Thanks. Can I help you with your bag?”
The cramped aisle and waiting passengers at her back had her practically pressed against him. It would be hard to lift her heavy wheeled carry-on over her head without hitting him with it. “Thank you,” she said, then brushed past him into the row, leaving her bag for him to lift.
He dressed like a man traveling on business—dark slacks and a l
ight button-down shirt that stretched tight over thick biceps when he lifted her suitcase above his head. She couldn’t help but pause to admire the display.
He glanced down and caught her eye as he positioned the bag. His smile said he’d noticed her appreciative look. She flushed and settled into the window seat.
No. Men. She clearly had crap taste in that area, so the fact that she thought he was good-looking must mean he was a thief or a liar or had connections to anti-American activists in Jordan.
Or, if she was twice blessed, all three.
Adonis dropped into the aisle seat, knowing smile firmly in place. His gaze landed on her left hand. She couldn’t help herself and peeked at his left hand too. No ring.
Not that she cared, because she wasn’t interested. It didn’t matter how attractive he was, with those pale gray eyes highlighted behind frameless, rectangular glasses, or the faint lines that creased his skin next to his eyes and mouth, telling her this was no young grad student but a man.
She was so tired of grad students.
He offered his hand. “John Baker.”
“Cr-rista.” She stumbled, employing a fake name on impulse. She’d promised her friends she’d be careful, and giving her real name to a total stranger was definitely not safe behavior. “Crista Portman.”
The man cocked his head. “That’s funny, because I was just thinking you look like—”
“Natalie Portman. Yes. I’ve been told that.” She affected a casual shrug. “We aren’t related.” She’d been hearing about her resemblance to the actress since her braces came off when she was fifteen, which was why she’d co-opted the woman’s last name. “And thank you. I consider it a compliment.” She was always flattered when someone made the comparison, because she was nowhere near as pretty as the Black Swan actress.
The man held her hand a beat too long, and her heart rate picked up—her reaction had more to do with that handsome face than with her impulsive lie. Plus he smelled good. Shaving cream and soap combined with a musky scent that made her want to breathe deep and relax. But maybe that was due more to her utter exhaustion than to the attractiveness of her seatmate.
“Is your final destination Van?” he asked.
She pulled her hand from his. “I don’t know you, Mr. Baker, and I don’t share my travel plans with strangers.”
His grin deepened as if he relished a challenge. “Call me John. And I understand your caution. A woman traveling alone can’t be too careful. What brings you to Turkey?”
She should grab her book and end the conversation right here and now, but…she didn’t want to. After a hellishly long night and having to face an ex she’d hoped never to see again, it was refreshing to meet a handsome stranger. Maybe it was the simple fact that he came from her country but had nothing to do with the insular world of underwater archaeology that made him appealing. He knew nothing about her relationship with Todd and the fallout from his lies.
It hit her, all at once, that in addition to being upset by Todd’s arrival, she was also homesick. She’d been in Turkey for eight weeks and was tired of the struggle to get around when she didn’t speak the language, and heading east, the difficulty would only get worse. John Baker…he spoke her language.
“What brings you to Turkey, John?”
He flashed a smile and winked. “Business.”
An announcement was made in Turkish, Arabic, and at least two other languages she didn’t recognize. The seat belt light turned on. Cressida adjusted her belt and stowed her purse—plucking out a book and tucking it in the seat pocket in case she decided to end the conversation. Flight prep completed, she leaned back in her seat and said, “What sort of business?”
“I work in private security—my client—a tech company I’m not at liberty to name—is sending me to Van to make security arrangements for an upcoming meeting between company executives and officials from all over the Middle East.”
Security. She knew a few men in that field. His muscular build made sense, as did his polish and charm.
The jet pushed back from the gate. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. After months of planning, saving, and stress, she was finally on her way to Eastern Anatolia on an insane quest to find an ancient aqueduct that would make or break her academic career.
Chapter Five
Ian leaned forward and plucked Cressida’s—or rather, Crista’s—book from the seat pocket. “Serçe Limani: An Eleventh-Century Shipwreck,” he said, reading the title. “A relaxing beach read?”
She smiled. She had a beautiful smile—full, engaging, warm, with perfect white teeth on display. This surprised him, but then he hadn’t seen her smile like this in the bar last night.
“Research,” she answered.
“Research for what?” he pressed. She was determined to be taciturn, but engaging with people who didn’t want to be engaged was his specialty. And he could do it in six languages.
“For my dissertation,” she said with a hint of pride in her voice.
“What are you studying?”
“Underwater archaeology. Specifically, illicit trade routes through Turkey, Iraq, Iran, and Syria, as observed by mapping shipwrecks in the Mediterranean and the utilization of Byzantine-era aqueducts and cisterns. It’s part of a larger evaluation of trade in the Middle East but my focus is primarily on the illicit routes that may have led to the downfall of civilizations.”
Ian smiled. Her desire to be reticent was overwhelmed by her desire to impress him. She had a strong need for male approval. This was going to be easy.
And, in all honesty, he was impressed.
He flipped through the book, which appeared to be a lengthy academic paper. He glanced again at the cover. “INA?”
“Institute of Nautical Archaeology—it’s part of Texas A&M University.”
“Is that where you’re a student?”
“No. I’m a grad student at Florida State.”
“Gainesville?” he asked, knowing he was wrong and wondering if she would bother to correct him. After all, she didn’t want to talk to him.
“Tallahassee.”
He suppressed a grin. He was in, and they hadn’t even reached cruising altitude yet. “Right. Good football team. The Seminoles.”
She nodded. All at once she seemed to realize she’d told him too much. She gently took her book from his hands, opened it to her bookmark, and settled back in her seat.
He’d give her a few minutes. Let her get lulled by the fact that he wasn’t pressuring her to talk. But he couldn’t give her too long. He intended to have dinner plans with her before they landed.
He pulled out his own book—written in Arabic—and settled back to read. With his peripheral vision, he saw her eyes widen when she took in his reading material. She hadn’t asked him for details on his work or where he was from, and now he’d laid the bait to make her curious. Hopefully, the same insecurity that made her want to impress him would go into overdrive now that she knew he was no dummy.
He glanced sideways at her and tossed her an absent smile, the look of a man engrossed in his reading. She smiled back and resumed her own reading, a light flush on her smooth, tanned cheeks.
She really was lovely. How had he missed the slant to her eyes last night? Brown but flecked with amber and framed by long, elegant lashes, her eyes were downright mesmerizing up close.
Prior to this job with the Company, he’d served in the Army with Delta Force, working covert ops for the military. In all his years of undercover work, he’d never slept with a target for his job. It had never been necessary and, technically, couldn’t be required. But he’d always known there might come a time when sex would be a logical action to maintain cover.
In short, for his country, he was a willing soldier, but that didn’t mean his body was a mindless patriot and, given the types of women he’d dealt with on covert ops, more often than not, sex wasn’t a tool in his arsenal.
Could he take one for Team USA if this mission requi
red it?
He had no doubt he could muster the necessary patriotism.
* * *
Twenty minutes after takeoff, the flight attendant arrived with the beverage cart. Cressida ordered coffee, but John touched her hand and said, “Let me buy you a drink as thanks for trading seats with me.”
She shook her head. “It’s still early, and I’m short on sleep. One drink and I’d go down for the count.”
After they both had coffee and the flight attendant had moved on, John said, “You’ll have to let me take you out in Van, then.”
She frowned.
“You don’t like that I’m being so forward,” he said.
“I’m surprised by it. You don’t know me. I could be married. Or have a boyfriend. Or I could be gay. Or crazy. Or any of a dozen other things.”
“I know you aren’t married.” He glanced at her left hand and raised a brow.
“Too easy. I’m an underwater archaeologist. I’ve been diving on a shipwreck twice a day for the last two months. The married crew members don’t wear rings so they won’t lose them in the Med, and after eight weeks, there’s no tan line or cheater imprint.”
“Yes, but no married woman in her right mind would fly into Eastern Anatolia alone without a wedding band.”
Her mouth snapped closed. “Okay. So I’m not married. But I could have a boyfriend. Or be a lesbian.”
He shook his head. “Definitely not a lesbian. That was obvious right away.”
She felt her face flush. Okay, so he’d caught her admiring his muscles. But, damn, he had a nice body. No harm in looking. “And the boyfriend?” she asked, feeling like a glutton for punishment.
“Well, if you have one, then I have an hour and a half to determine if it’s serious and I should back off.” His voice dropped so low she could barely hear him over the whine of the jet engine. “So, is there a boyfriend?”
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