“I couldn’t let you call your friend before I was burned, because I wasn’t certain Keith Hatcher would confirm my Raptor credentials. And after… I couldn’t trust you wouldn’t turn me in.”
“So you dragged me to your ‘friend’s’ house—trusting someone who did turn you in, who was ready to kill us both. Because of you, I had to kill a man.” Her voice shook on the last sentence. She’d tried to push Sabal out of her mind as they fled. What had the sex been about if not escaping the horror by taking a moment of pleasure?
But now all she could see was Sabal’s glassy eyes.
Ian reached for the phone, but she snatched it to her chest. “Mine!” The word echoed when it hit the rocky hillside.
“I was just going to turn it off—to conserve the battery. Searching for antennas is a quick way to drain a phone, and we don’t have a solar charger.”
She hated how calm he sounded. Reasonable, when her whole body shook with emotion. “I already turned it off.” She crammed the phone into her sports bra.
He laughed. “Honey, I’m not exactly afraid to go there.”
Their first argument in the nomad camp came back to her. “Yeah, nice to know trust isn’t a prerequisite for sex with you. You screwed me, then had the gall to feign outrage over my lack of trust, when you still hadn’t told me you had a goddamned phone!”
“We were out of range. The phone was nothing but a fragile paperweight.”
“You still could have told me. Maybe if you’d shown me one ounce of trust, I could have trusted you.” She spun on her heel. She couldn’t look at him as anger and hurt burned from the inside. She wanted to take the damn phone and walk all night until she caught a cell signal, but she wasn’t that stupid.
If she wanted to survive, she was stuck with the rotten, jealous, untrusting bastard. She struck out anyway, needing distance to cool her temper. She hadn’t gone ten steps when his fingers snaked around her bicep. “You can’t go off alone.”
She yanked her arm from his grip. “Give me some credit—for once. I’m not stupid. I just need to get away from you so I don’t do something I might regret.”
He stepped back, perhaps realizing she meant it. Honestly, she was afraid of the violence she felt charging through her. Bad enough she’d decked Todd. She hardly knew who she was anymore.
Ian cleared his throat. “Don’t go far.”
She nodded stiffly and marched toward the oxbow below the hill. When she reached the thicker grass that lined the bank, she dropped to her bottom and pulled her knees to her chest, just like she’d done when she was younger and desperately needed a hug.
Back then, when all hell broke loose at home, her mother was the one who needed comfort and aid. Even when the violence had been directed at Cressida, she’d been the one to coach her mother through the lies they had to tell in the emergency room to avoid another stint in foster care.
She couldn’t let her mother see her tears, because that inevitably sent Sarah into a guilt spiral that triggered depression. But all Cressida had wanted was for her mother to hold her, to love her, to let her express her hurt and anger without it being eclipsed by Sarah’s drama.
Eventually, Cressida had stopped crying, because the price was too high. But now she thought of Hejan, who was dead—murdered—and Sabal, whom she’d shot in the neck. She’d killed a man. Her eyes burned with tears, and for the first time in over a decade, she didn’t fight them. She tightened her arms around her legs as her body shook with the sobs.
Somewhere out on the dark steppe was Todd, a man she had lived with and loved, but who’d betrayed her and had set in motion the sequence of events that had led her to this moment. And tomorrow, a terrorist or a spy may well find and kill her. Kill Ian.
When she was a teenager, she couldn’t call for help because telling the world what she faced at home meant foster care and leaving her mother vulnerable. She felt now the same helplessness she’d felt then. The same outrage. When she’d faced down Three, she’d promised herself she was done being helpless.
She cried for the person she used to be, who was surely gone now, and the person she’d become, who might not live to see the mother she loved and resented.
She heard footsteps behind her. Damn him. He couldn’t even let her have a shred of dignity. She swiped at her eyes but didn’t turn to face him. “Go away.”
He said nothing, but the sound of his steps came closer. Finally, he was at her back, and he dropped down. His thighs slid alongside hers as his arms wrapped around her. He pulled her back snug against his chest, cradling her.
“I’m not crying about the damn phone. Or you, for that matter.” She sniffled and wanted to push away from him, but couldn’t find it in her to reject the hug she’d needed since she was thirteen years old.
His lips brushed her temple. “I know.”
“This isn’t about you at all.”
“Shhh,” he said.
“I’m not weak, you know.”
“Honey, you’re the strongest person I know. And if anyone has earned the right to cry, it’s you. So cry. I’m not here to stop you. I’m here to hold you. We can sit here as long as you need.” And then, Boy Scout that he was, he handed her a bandana, which he must have had tucked away in some pocket of his backpack full of wonders.
* * *
Cressida fell asleep in Ian’s arms. His back and shoulders cramped as he sat next to the small, quiet lake holding a beautiful woman while looking up at a magnificent starry sky. For another man, this might be a romantic moment, but not for Ian Boyd. No, his first and only moonlit lakeside snuggle with a woman he wanted with every beat of his sorry heart happened deep in Kurdish territory when they were on the run for their lives, and the woman had just spent an hour crying because she’d reached her limit. Or maybe she’d cried because Ian was an ass.
He frowned at a pinprick of light that slowly moved across the night sky. A satellite. A conduit for communication. A connection to the outside world.
Yeah, she’d probably cried because Ian was a jealous, judgmental, pigheaded ass.
He lost the satellite in the mass of stars that defined the Milky Way. With no light on the ground and the moon but a silvery crescent, the night sky was as magnificent as he’d ever seen it. As magnificent as Cressida pushing past her fear to escape Rajab’s house. As magnificent as when she stood up to him in Siirt when she had every reason to believe he was a traitor.
As magnificent as when she made love with him in a nomad tent.
Easy to feel insignificant when staring up at the vast, unfolding universe, but really, he felt more insignificant facing Cressida. He should have told her about the phone in Siirt, the moment his cover was blown. He’d been reeling, and it never crossed his mind to put his life in her hands. Yet, without her knowledge or consent, her life had been in his since she boarded the plane in Antalya.
By the time they reached his apartment in Siirt, she’d been assaulted, robbed, kidnapped—by him, no less—and had witnessed a bombing that killed one man and could have killed her. It was no wonder she’d freaked out when she learned he worked for the CIA and everything he’d told her was a lie.
And he’d never even attempted to make it easy on her. He’d pushed her, determined to find out if she was part of Hejan’s cell or not. Maybe, if he’d just tried trusting her, they could have had a romantic lakeside tryst in the US. There was a cabin in West Virginia he’d visited once when he’d been on leave right before heading south for training at the Farm. The cabin had been situated on a private lake surrounded by acres of woods, and the thought of taking Cressida there and making love to her in the sunlight on the low bank made him hard.
But to be fair, all thoughts of making love to Cressida—anytime, anywhere—made him hard. And someday, if they made it out of Turkey alive, he intended to do everything he could to convince her to give him…what? A few days? A week? A month?
He’d told her the truth when he said he didn’t do relationships. Temporary was all he coul
d offer.
He’d never considered a future that didn’t include the CIA. He’d never really imagined living in the US and using his talents in a less dangerous pursuit. And he sure as hell had never allowed himself to imagine sharing his life with a woman he loved.
He’d always figured love wasn’t in his genes. Hell, a boy who couldn’t even muster love for his own mother certainly couldn’t love someone else. But here he was, holding a woman who’d admitted she was falling in love with him and her words had triggered a scary, elated thrill.
For the first time in his life, he believed he could love someone. And from the blow to the nuts he’d felt just glimpsing the hostility in her eyes, he had a feeling that person was Cressida Porter. He’d been a fool to think creating a rift between them would somehow stop him from actually caring. He hadn’t gouged out his heart; he’d just made a bigger hole for her to slip through.
He’d lived by one simple rule as a covert operative: the mission above all else. He couldn’t change the rule, so it was time to change the mission.
* * *
The sun was high and bright when Cressida woke with a start. She’d fallen asleep in Ian’s arms, and sometime later, he’d woken her and they’d moved to sleep against the protected hillside. She sat up and searched for her spy, spotting his dark hair in the sea of green grass by the lake. He sat, staring at the water, where he’d held her as she cried a dozen years’ worth of tears.
The lake glistened in the morning light, and Ian glowed in its reflection. Shit. Judging from the way her heart went all pitter-pattery, last night’s crying jag hadn’t cured her infatuation. If anything, the way he’d held her had made it worse.
She wiped her eyes—crusty from crying, naturally—and could only imagine what a horror she presented. She’d braided her hair before leaving the nomad camp, but the tie had loosened, and snarled strands poked out all along the pathetic plait.
She stood and brushed off her clothes, then stepped around a rocky outcrop to take care of business in private. Hard to be sexy when camping while on the run from terrorists and double agents. At least she’d done enough terrestrial fieldwork to be comfortable roughing it. She smiled, thinking of how Trina would be horrified. The historian wasn’t a fan of camping and would never have cut it as an archaeologist.
Cressida returned to where she’d slept and frowned to see Ian approaching. The sun was at his back, leaving his face in shadow, but from the set of his shoulders, she had a feeling he wasn’t in a cheery mood.
Yeah, well, that made two of them.
She wanted a shower, a cup of coffee, and eggs Benedict for breakfast, but she’d be willing to trade the first two for the third. At this point, might even trade Ian for eggs Benedict. That way, she could keep the coffee.
He approached like a Terminator, his gaze never shifting left or right until he stood before her.
“I’m—”
Before she could say another word, he cradled her face between his large, rough hands, and his mouth covered hers. His tongue stroked hers in a deep, wild kiss that woke far more than her libido.
His hands slid into her loosely bound hair, pressing her tightly against him as he plundered her mouth. Need pulsed from her center, and she gripped his shirt, as much to keep herself upright as to prevent him from retreating after decimating her protective walls and stealing her breathless response.
This was Ian. The man who’d brought her flowers before making love to her. He was different, all semblance of control and holding back gone. He kissed like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. He nibbled. He teased her tongue into his mouth and sucked on it in a way that could make her believe she was the only thing in the world he’d ever wanted.
He groaned and ended the kiss, taking in a sharp breath, then he leaned his forehead against hers. “Change in plans. Forget the tunnel. I’m taking you to the nearest cell tower. I want you to call your friend with Raptor connections. We’re getting you the hell out of Turkey.”
She tightened her grip on his shirt. “What about you? Will you come with me?”
He frowned, and she knew exactly what he was about to say.
Behind her, a man cleared his throat and said, “Wow, Ian. I never guessed you had it in you to play an asset so well. But don’t worry, you needn’t keep up the pretense with Ms. Porter any longer.”
Ian grabbed her hips and shoved her behind him, shielding her from the man who stood ten feet away, sporting a nasty smirk. But even more disturbing than the smirk was the gun he pointed directly at Ian’s chest.
Chapter Thirty
Cold calm settled in Ian’s gut as he stared down the bore of Zack’s gun. He couldn’t think about Cressida being in danger. He focused instead on the fact that Zack hadn’t shot them at the first opportunity.
Zack needs us alive.
Ian had game here, and Zack was a rookie player.
“Did she tell you the location of the tunnel yet?” Zack asked.
Typical cheap ploy: divide and conquer. After everything they’d been through, Cressida would never believe Ian had been playing her. Or, rather, she already knew when he’d been playing her.
He tightened his fingers on her hips, keeping her behind him. Damn him for kissing her. A foolish act in broad daylight after they’d been in the same location for hours. Especially when they were closing in on the tunnel. He’d failed Covert Operations 101.
His gun was in the holster at the small of his back. Cressida could grab it. He didn’t dare rock backward to press the weapon against her hips. Zack would notice. Zack was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them.
“I need to see your hands, Ms. Porter.”
“Screw you. If you wanted us dead, you’d have shot us already,” she said.
Ian smiled. Cressida was new to the game, but she caught on quickly, and every little rebellion that let Zack know he may have a gun but wasn’t in control would chip away at his focus until Ian could make a move.
Zack was an analyst first. He’d completed his training for covert ops but didn’t have Ian’s military background. The fool was in over his head, and Ian intended to drown the sonofabitch who’d burned him.
“Hands up, or I’ll shoot Ian in the balls.”
“Do it. I’m done with him anyway.” Ian’s heart rate shot up as Cressida stepped out from behind him. At least it rattled Zack to have more than one target to cover—which told him Zack didn’t have anyone covering his six. Or if he did, he didn’t trust his partner. One of the hazards of being a traitor.
Cressida stepped farther from Ian, visible only in his peripheral vision to his left. She let out a soft, cunning laugh. “Ian may have been using me, but I don’t really give a fuck, because I was using him.”
At that, both Zack and Ian turned to her. She grinned, and her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug. “What? You didn’t think I saw you in the bar in Antalya—both of you? Jesus, I was there to pick up a microchip. You think I’m so stupid I didn’t lay eyes on the man who ‘protected’ me by holding me back from a knife fight? God. Your egos.” She rolled her eyes. “And then when you magically appeared next to me on the flight, and in my hotel… I’m working on a damn PhD, and you think I’m too stupid to pick up on these things?”
She thrust her chest out and took a step toward Ian. “But then, you were too distracted by these, weren’t you?” She squeezed her breasts. “I hate to break it to you, Ian, but these babies aren’t my best asset.” She pointed to her temple and lowered her voice to a throaty whisper. “It’s what’s up here that matters, and I’ve got more going on up there than both of you combined.” She licked her bottom lip, slowly. “I mean, look at me. I don’t even speak the language but I got you to deliver me here, where my real partner, Todd, can’t be far away.” She puckered her lips in a sexy pout and added, “And I even got laid.”
She turned to Zack. “You see, Zack, I’ll do anything to get what I want. I’ll even do anyone.” She took a step toward him. “It looks like Ian i
s no longer of use to me.”
Ian’s gut burned. She was playing Zack. He knew she was playing Zack. But her act…was flawless. This woman was cunning. Beautiful. Even her voice was different, as if everything he’d seen before had been a role and now he saw who she really was.
No. This was the act. The woman who’d cried in his arms last night—that was the real Cressida.
“Don’t take another step closer,” Zack said.
“Fine. But don’t you think we should take away Ian’s gun and tie him up? Because he’s looking pretty pissed right now, and I, for one, am not keen on the idea of him shooting me or breaking my neck like he did Rajab.”
“You want me to let you take his gun? How stupid do you think I am?”
She laughed. “You really don’t want me to answer that.”
Zack’s shoulders stiffened. Good. One way or another, Cressida was throwing off his game. “Cressida, you’re going to take his gun, but this is how it’s going to go down.” Zack stepped toward her. He met Ian’s gaze and slowly smiled, then shifted his gun from Ian’s gut to Cressida’s head.
Ian couldn’t stop his nostrils from flaring or hands from clenching into fists. Zack’s smile widened. “You put on a pretty show, Ms. Porter, but Ian isn’t buying it. And neither am I.”
She’d stiffened the moment Zack’s gun changed targets, but Ian was still impressed by her outward calm. He only saw her profile, not her eyes, but her voice remained low and confident. “I don’t give a shit if Ian doesn’t believe it. What he doesn’t know—what you don’t know—is I’ve been dealing with assholes like him my whole life. He sees me as a fuck, a fun entertainment, not a threat. A naïve little girl to manipulate and control. I learned how to play men like him when I was thirteen.” A harsh edge entered her voice. “I even come when they screw me.”
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