by Karen Rock
Another awkward silence descended. So much for small talk.
She dropped her gaze, withdrew her foot and busily buttered a slice of brown bread. “Um…what’s going on here, Ryan?”
He reached across the table, touched her hand—touched her, hell, he branded her. “You tell me, Erica.”
She dropped her buttered bread onto her plate and sat back in her chair. Okay, no more tap-dancing around the obvious like they had on the drive home from his father’s birthday party; they were finally getting to it. Their elevator kiss, which had left her sleepless, aching, and, yes, sexually frustrated the last couple of nights, proved how much she still wanted Ryan. Yesterday’s dinner revealed feelings for him that hadn’t disappeared either. She’d worried he’d steal her focus, but keeping her distance drained even more of her attention. “Apparently, there’s still some chemistry between us.”
“Apparently.”
Her heart jumped into her throat, then skipped a beat. Would it be wrong to indulge themselves, even for just one night? But when he left her again… She couldn’t even finish that thought without her chest squeezing. “Did you think about what I said?”
Ryan’s gaze met hers and she sucked in air, staggered by the intensity of it. Then his eyes lowered, thick lashes fanning his cheeks. A small frown pulled down the corners of his lips, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, yet deep and powerful. “Only for about forty-eight hours, thirty-three minutes, and twelve seconds. Give or take.”
“Not that you were counting.”
He laughed under his breath. “Of course not.”
Her gut squeezed. “And?”
“There’s nothing more to say.”
Her palms itched to make friends with the sides of his face. Typical Ryan. Unable to express his feelings or get out of his own fucking head. She wanted him to say he was mad for her, that he had never stopped caring for her. That he was so happy she’d walked back into his life. That—
“As much as I want to—” He cut himself off and swallowed hard. “It’s not the smart thing to do.” His hand was still on hers, his thumb rubbing the back of her knuckles.
“Dumb,” she agreed, shaking her head while her heart cried out. Who cares what’s smart, just make love to me, lose yourself in me, in us.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Nope.”
“But I did.”
“Yes.” Great. He’d reduced her to monosyllables.
“We should keep our distance from now on. Be strictly professional.”
She cleared her throat. “That would be easier to do if you weren’t holding my hand.”
“Yeah.” Ryan dropped her hand as if it burned his. “Right.”
“So no more kissing while we’re working together?” She sounded like she’d swallowed a bag of nails.
“None.”
“Lips to yourself.”
“Hands, too,” he agreed.
“Okay.”
“All right.”
“Great.”
“Now that we have that settled…” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s order another bottle of wine.”
After flagging down their waitress, they lapsed into silence. Ryan offered her the last shrimp. She passed him a buttered bread slice.
“Your dad was in good spirits yesterday.”
Ryan’s lower lip twitched.
“Did you see him today?” Erica pressed.
“Stopped in this afternoon,” he said, speaking in a voice that was rough, as if dragged over sharp stones. “We watched the Astros game.”
“Did you talk to him about—”
Thick, dark lashes shielded his eyes. “What time is it?” He grabbed his cell phone and studied its screen. White circled his flattened lips.
She exhaled deeply. Fine. He wanted to change the subject and she wouldn’t push it, no matter how she wished he’d share his grief with her. He lived—or tried to live—in an emotional vacuum. What a lonely place to be. Watching his family talk about everything but Colonel Arnell’s cancer yesterday had pained her.
Just then, the hostess swept by with Hatcher, Pullman and Emir Fahad al Saud in her wake.
Ryan leaned forward, cupped Erica’s face, and brushed her lips with a feather-soft kiss. Air froze in her chest.
“Good move,” she whispered against his mouth once the trio passed. “But you said no more kissing.”
“That wasn’t the real kind.”
It’d sure as hell felt real. To her anyway. She drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Right.”
“Gaze at me lovingly.” Ryan reached across the table and slid his fingers into hers.
Heat traveled up her arm, and she bit the inside of her cheek to quash it. “Not sure if I’m that good of an agent.” Nothing in this world, like—say—the pesky reality of their situation, could stop the rushing warmth. “What are they saying?”
Ryan fiddled with the listening device in his ear. “Mostly just a lot of background noise. They must be opening their menus.”
She nodded, peering over his shoulder.
“Can you read their lips?”
“It’s dim, but I’ll try. I think the Speaker might have said the dog is good.”
Ryan’s fingers tightened around hers, and his eyes danced. “I’m guessing he’s suggesting the duck?”
“He’s pointing to the ‘specials’ sheet, and the waitress is nodding.”
He laughed under his breath. “That’s some crack intelligence work right there.”
“You’re the one who asked me to read lips,” she groused.
He lifted a finger, silencing her, and cocked his head as he listened to the transmitted audio from the Speaker’s table.
She pinned her starry-eyed gaze on Ryan. They were just two lovers lost in each other, not eavesdropping counterintelligence agents who also used to be—might again be—lovers. Not at all.
In fact, the intimacy seemed much too real as Ryan turned over their clasped hands and lazily stroked the center of her palm with his thumb.
Erica raised her wine glass. The red liquid trembled. “They’re looking pretty chummy.”
A boom of laughter erupted from the Speaker’s table.
Ryan nodded. “The Hatcher family owns an oil refinery that does business with the al Sauds.”
Her mouth opened and closed, a goldfish before the treasure chest. “They know each other.”
“Or of each other; it’s a big family. Fahad just invited the Speaker to a party at the Saudi Consulate next week.”
“He’s trying to curry favor…for what?” Erica mused.
Ryan fell silent as he tuned back in to the men’s conversation. Agonizing minutes followed as she watched the prince’s lips, gleaning something about wanting to sell oil.
“Why’s Fahad trying to sell oil?” she asked when the waitress arrived to take the group’s orders. “His family already has a contract here.”
Ryan blinked at her. “They want to sell part of their company. With dropping oil prices, they need to raise cash.”
“Who’s their buyer?”
“Not sure, but whoever it is needs congressional approval to supply here or the sale’s dead.”
“Then this is just a straight-up lobby effort.” Yet the sour clench of her gut told her otherwise.
“We’ll keep listening.”
An hour and a half later, Erica and Ryan exited the restaurant in time to spy Fahad and Speaker Hatcher shake hands before departing in their separate SUVs. Greg Pullman, however, lingered on the sidewalk.
“What’s he up to?” Erica ducked her head when the aide’s gaze darted in their direction.
Ryan drew her close. The muscles low in her stomach tightened as his hand smoothed up her spine to cup the back of her neck. “He�
��s waiting for someone.”
“How can you tell?” her halting words stumbled from her mouth, full of air. He was so warm. She squeezed her eyes shut and soaked him up.
“Keeps craning his neck, looking up and down the street. Oh—hello.”
She stiffened in his arms. “What? Who?”
“The weapons traffickers arrived.”
“They’re conspiring.” Ice trickled in her veins. “Otherwise, they would have shown their faces at the party or dinner. They’re hiding their association with Greg.”
“From the Speaker,” Ryan murmured.
“Or the prince.”
“And now they’re leaving.”
“We’ve got to follow them. I’ll take the traffickers and you follow Pullman.”
Ryan released her, and she mourned the loss of warmth immediately. “The tracking device on Pullman’s car will show his location. We’ll tail the traffickers together.”
Her hands balled. When would he ever trust her again?
“Then let me drive.” They hustled to the parking lot, careful to keep to the shadows and well behind the weapons traffickers. “You’ll stop at every red light.”
“And you’ll get us killed before we discover their whereabouts.” Ryan opened her door, then dashed around the hood to jump behind the wheel. “They moved out of their apartment yesterday in the middle of the night.”
Adrenaline zipped in her bloodstream, a heady rush. “Maybe they’re staying with Al Monitor now.”
“Unlikely.” Cranking the wheel, Ryan reversed smoothly out of his parking spot and darted into traffic three cars down from the traffickers’ black SUV. “Homeland Security hasn’t picked him up trying to enter the country.”
“Still. They aren’t meeting with Pullman in secret to talk about the embassy bombing investigation.”
“Cooperation could get them killed.”
“Yes, but why meet after this dinner? They wanted to know what was discussed….” She rubbed her jaw, her mind turning over the facts. “What do they stand to gain from the royal family’s sale?”
The engine whined as Ryan pushed his economy car past forty. “Maybe they’re buying part of the al Sauds’ company?”
“They don’t have that kind of cash.”
“Then they’re representing someone bigger. Someone interested in accessing US ports….”
“Jabhat al-Nusra,” she breathed, as they swerved down a side street.
In the flickering light, she stared at Ryan’s stony profile as he focused straight ahead, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. “It’d explain why they talked about Khalid at Dallas Heat.”
Erica cranked down the window to let the cool wind fan her hot face. “Does Fahad know who his buyer is?”
“He might not.” Ryan slowed to let a group of teenagers cross the street. Up ahead, the traffickers’ SUV pulled farther away. “Groups can hide their identities by forming limited liability companies.”
The wheels squealed on the pavement the moment the road cleared.
“Al-Nusra could access US ports with tankers…tankers rigged to explode.” She shivered. “Shoot. Red light.”
The car shot forward, speeding beneath it to follow the SUV as it swerved down a side road.
Erica whistled. “Look at you breaking all kinds of laws. It’s a slippery slope. Next thing you know you’ll be jaywalking and stealing the free jelly packets at IHOP.”
Ryan flashed her a quick, lopsided grin. “I’ll take my chances. And you do bring out the worst in me.”
“One can only hope.” Her eyes popped when the SUV zipped down another street without signaling. “Do they know we’re tailing them?”
“Who’d suspect this old hunk-a-junk?” He patted the cheap vinyl dash.
“They probably think we’re deranged pizza deliverers.”
“You have the deranged part right anyway.”
The SUV turned left into an apartment complex parking lot and Ryan followed, slowing the car to a stop behind a boxwood hedge. They watched the men cross to a nondescript three-story building and head inside. A moment later, a light flicked on in a ground-floor unit.
Erica peered at the outline of one, two, three men moving behind the drawn shade. Suspicion pricked inside her, needling her organs. Was Al Monitor in there? She needed to hook that white whale. She shoved open the car door and flung herself outside.
“Erica!” Ryan shouted. “Get back here.”
She ignored him and darted to the building’s side, hoping for an open window to peek through. The alley was empty. Black garbage bags lined crumbling brick walls. Dumpsters overflowed with more trash, and creatures scurried along the gravel.
Sudden unease cramped her spine. She took a breath and immediately wished she hadn’t. The narrow space reeked of moldering food and animal waste. A startled shriek escaped her when a shadow detached itself from the building. A man, a very tall, built man wearing an ankle-length tunic fitted over loose pants, a keffiyeh, and a fierce scowl, materialized.
The cold-hot shock that comes from being caught off guard and unprepared seized her. She willed her heart to slow as she reached for her Glock.
Before she could draw, he hit her like a freaking NFL linebacker, knocking her against the dumpster. Pain exploded in her arm and head. Black spots darkened her tunneling vision. She scrabbled to stay conscious. Stay alert. Stay…
Her breathing grew labored, the world darkened. And then—
Oblivion.
* * * *
Ryan ground his teeth as Erica ignored his call and disappeared down a side alley. Damn her impulsive streak. She was trespassing on private property…possibly occupied by people associated with terrorists.
It’d serve her right if he left her there. His fingers landed on the keys dangling from the ignition, then dropped.
Shit.
He couldn’t leave her. He didn’t want her to trigger another scandal if she were caught on private property. Deeper still, he cared about her well-being. Cared about her…
No denying it.
Her gutsiness, quirky humor, and keen intelligence attracted him more than ever. And she’d looked beautiful tonight in a classy black pantsuit with a plunging neckline that’d drawn his eye and kept him looking.
He heaved himself from the car, then froze at Erica’s shriek.
Pulse thundering in his ears, he sprinted for the alley, Glock in hand. At the other end, a man bundled an unconscious Erica into a black sedan. His breath rasped from his burning chest. No! Ryan flew down the length of the building and skidded to a stop in time to see the car speed away.
His head twisted, left then right, his eyes zeroing in on an idling motorcycle. An amorous couple made out beneath a nearby tree.
“I’ll bring it back!” he shouted over his shoulder once he hopped on the Harley and zipped away from the curb.
The roar of the engine filled his ears as he sped after the black sedan. He darted into traffic when it crossed into a busy thoroughfare, zooming between cars to get closer. The back of his jacket lifted in the wind, which snuck under his collar and skated over his skin. His pulse was somewhere between heart attack and the speed of light. Exhaust fumes waved in the air.
Up ahead, the light turned from yellow to red, and the bike pitched forward when he hit the gas. He blasted through the intersection. A horn blared as he eased the bike to the side. He took a wicked curve, in hot pursuit as the sedan headed for an abandoned industrial park behind a tall chain link fence. It bounced over rutted asphalt, then disappeared around the back of a three-story building the length of a football field.
Instinct fired off a shit-ton of warnings, but there was little he could do about it. Adrenaline clenched every one of his muscles. As he plunged through the complex’s open, rusted gate, his teeth snapped together, nearly severing the tip of his t
ongue when the bike’s front wheel sank into a hole and popped out again. He leaned over the handlebars, fighting to control the swerving Harley.
Come on. Come on. Come on…
At last, the bike righted itself and hurled forward again. The approaching building was a blur of concrete and busted windows. He yanked the bike around back, spied the sedan, and skidded to a stop. With a quick wrist flick, he cut the engine and vaulted off the Harley. Glock in hand, he crept along the wall, listening.
A din of crickets rose from nearby brush. Overhead, the half-moon ducked beneath the growing cloud cover. His breath rasped harsh in his throat. Pausing at each window, he peered inside before moving to the next. One followed another after another after another. His heart pumped overtime.
Where are you?
The Glock slid in his clammy hand.
A voice reached his ears and he flattened himself against the wall. Tipping his head, he peeked around the edge of a glassless window and spied a naked lightbulb dangling from an exposed-beam ceiling. It cast a dull yellow glow on the tall man pacing below it, phone to his ear. Erica slumped on the stained, concrete ground.
He felt as if a hand had shot through his chest and closed around his heart.
“What do you want me to do with her?” the man asked in rapid-fire Arabic. Under the low light, his features looked sallow, sunken in, as if he hadn’t eaten a good meal in a while. Recognition froze Ryan’s lungs in mid-breath. He knew the guy from previous intel…. Jamal something or other…
“Will you be down to question her?” Jamal kicked Erica’s side.
She stirred, and Ryan sucked in a breath at her moan. A burn seared through him. It wasn’t the usual rush that kicked his senses into high gear during a predawn raid. This was a different kind of blistering, provoked by a maddening buzz of emotions.
The fucker had hurt Erica.
And he would pay.
“I don’t know who she is,” Jamal went on. “But she had a gun and was trespassing. Should I kill her now?”
Ryan’s skin tingled, and the back of his throat burned. Whatever control he had was stretched too taut and snapped like a rubber band pulled to its limits. A burst of aggression lit him up from the inside.
With a single leap, he vaulted through the window and landed on his feet, Glock trained on the gunman. “Drop your weapon,” he barked. “And your cell.”