Body Shot

by Amy Jarecki

  After swiping her keycard, Henri opened the door and switched on the light.

  A flicker of movement made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Gasping, a jolt of electricity shot through her blood. She ducked. But her flinch wasn’t fast enough to completely avoid the thrust of the fist aimed at her face. As she moved, knuckles grazed her ear.

  In a heartbeat, four things about the assailant flooded her mind: a ski mask, a man, her height, sixty pounds heavier.

  Henri blocked his next strike with a downward heel pump while she threw an elbow into his temple.

  As the man recoiled, she went on the assault with a jumping side kick to the ribs. He doubled over with the impact and spun away. She lunged, aiming a karate chop to the jugular.

  Blocking, he caught her wrist midair and twisted her arm up her back. Henri fought to unwind, but the man was stronger than an ox. Gnashing her teeth. She ran the heel of her boot down his shin and stomped on his arch. Grunting with pain, the thug only tightened his grip.

  “At last I will watch the life drain from your face,” he growled in her ear.

  Henri’s blood ran cold. The accent was Middle Eastern—but it wasn’t his accent that made his words menacing, it was the pure hatred in his voice. Braving the pain from her arm being wrenched up her spine, she twisted and reached for his mask. Stars darted through her eyes while she ground her teeth against the agony of stretching sinew. His hand reached for her neck. She had no choice but to abandon her escape and block the choke hold with her fingers.

  Gaining the upper hand, the man tightened his grip like a boa constrictor as he pressed his lips to her ear. “I like women with fight.”

  She gasped for air, her temples pounding. Unwilling to quit, her gaze shifted side to side as she planted her feet. Bucking, Henri threw an elbow to his flank, nearly dislocating her arm from her shoulder socket. With his jerk to the side, she bent her knee and flipped him onto his back. He released her wrist. From the floor, the bastard threw a side kick to her knee. Henri jumped away. He sprang to his feet. Leading with his shoulder, he tackled her. As her back crashed into the floor, pain didn’t register.

  Arching her spine, she slammed a heel punch to his nose. He countered with a jab as he straddled her, forcing the wind from her chest. Henri parried his hand away. Again, he caught her wrist. With all her strength, she levered her arm toward his thumb, caught the back of his elbow and hyperextended his arm as she rolled. Straining, he kept the upper hand. The ass was too damned strong and too damned stupid as she bent his arm to the point of breaking.

  Henri’s muscles burned. Fighting with every shred of strength, they struggled in a battle of brutal force and wills while Henri gasped for air under the attacker’s crushing weight.

  The door swung open.

  A new surge of power shot through Henri’s limbs as Mike bellowed like a madman, pulling the attacker to his feet and pummeling him with a barrage of fast jabs.

  Henri dove for the man’s mask and yanked it off.

  Shit!

  Omar Fadli shot her a look of pure hatred as he broke away from Mike and ran for the window. Glass shattered with a deafening crash.

  “We’re two stories up!” Henri ran.

  Mike reached the window a step behind her.

  Down on the sidewalk, Fadli was already up and escaping with a limp. He jumped into the passenger side of a black Mercedes. The car’s wheels screeched as the car sped away.

  “God damn,” Henri hissed still catching her breath. “He’s the last person I expected to attack me. I-I’m hunting him, not the other way around.”

  Mike stuck his head out the broken window. “Was that Omar Fadli?”

  “Same likeness as his picture.”

  “I thought it had to be Melvut Amri until you pulled off his mask.”

  “It’s unbelievable.” She’d never forget the steely-eyed glare of the man who framed her for murder.

  “Now there’s no question.” Mike pulled his head back in. “Those two must be in cahoots. But how did he ken you were here?”

  “Don’t know. They might have a feed from the bank cameras.” Rubbing her jaw, Henri shifted her gaze to Mike. “Thanks for the help.”

  “You okay?” his voice sounded a little choked up. He reached out like he was going to pull her into an embrace, but only placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “Yeah, nothing a soak in a tub of ice won’t fix.” Her gaze trailed aside as she clenched her fists to stop the damned shaking—she wasn’t the type to lose it. Ever. And now that she wasn’t fighting for her life, it was damned awkward to have Mike Rose, spy extraordinaire, burst into her hotel room and rescue her from her nemesis. She didn’t need rescuing. What she needed was to keep it together and act like a Delta Force badass.

  Mike gently tilted Henri’s chin toward the light and hissed. “We need to get some ice on that.”

  She looked up and met his gaze and suddenly nothing hurt. Her mind blanked. Jeez, when blue eyes like that were looking at a woman, who needed painkillers?

  Then those blues grew dark and dangerous. Mike’s jaw twitched. “I could have killed that bastard.”

  She chuckled. “I tried.”

  “It’s a good thing I came when I did.”

  “I nearly had him.”

  “Aye. That’s why he was on top of you.” The big Scot’s jaw twitched as he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I dunna ever want to see that again.”

  Henri’s next breath came with a shiver. Her skin tingled with the feeling of his warm breath on her forehead. All she wanted to do was melt into him, feel those brawny arms surround her, listen to him promise to protect her.

  But she forced her muscles to stiffen. God, she was an idiot. When in her life would she not fall for the wrong guy? Mike was her co-worker. She couldn’t melt into his arms and turn gooey.

  But she was too spent to push him away. Sighing, she settled for resting her head against his shoulder, a well-muscled, powerful, protective shoulder. The next thing she knew, her arms were around his waist. “We should go,” she said, despite her heart demanding the contrary.

  “You’re right. I need to get you someplace safe, ASAP.” He inclined her chin upward with the crook of his finger. Warm lips kissed her ever so softly. Though just a peck, Mike’s lips imparted more emotion than a sonnet. Warning lights flashed in the back of her mind as her heart won the battle—just this once.

  “I missed you, Eagle Eyes.”

  Shit. She’d missed him, too.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mike took Henri to a safe house in the countryside near Avignon. It was an unassuming stone cottage nestled between vineyards. Quaint with one bedroom, it would do until they got a handle on the extent of the Islamic State’s presence in France.

  Once he’d ensured the place was safe, Mike had stopped at the local shop to stock the kitchenette, including a few bottles of French wine. After the Fadli attack, they both could use a drink.

  He carried the packages inside and set them on the counter. “I’m home, dear,” he jested while putting some ice in a plastic bag.

  “In the bath,” she said as water splashed behind the door of the WC. Mike grinned. The greatest asset of the cottage was the enormous claw-footed bathtub—Henri had spotted it first. Before reaching for the knob, he stood with the bag of ice in his hand and listened for a moment. His biggest dilemma was his head was in sharp disagreement with his cock. He didn’t trust himself to go in there at the moment. Bloody hell, he’d already kissed the lass. He’d even told Henri he’d missed her. He couldn’t let himself slip again. No matter what his cock might be thinking, they were now on an op together which meant it was no time to strike up a romance. Besides, Mike didn’t sleep with co-workers.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  Water trickled. “Do you have that ice?” Did her voice have to sound sultry enough to melt butter? He could do with the badass sergeant voice she’d used when they first met.r />
  “Aye.”

  “Okaaaaay. But in and out. No cheap thrills. We’re on assignment, remember?”

  The last comment was due to the kiss. Jeez, he shouldn’t have let loose with that one. And she was right. This was work. Life threatening, dangerous work. Neither one of them could afford to let down their guard. Steeling his resolve, Mike sucked in a breath and opened the door. He was both disappointed and relieved. Henri had found some bubbles and all he could see was her lovely but bruised face peeking above the foam. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Better.” She reached up with a slender arm and took the ice. “My body likes the warmth of the water, though I’d probably feel less pain in the morning if I were sitting in a tub of this stuff.” She put the cold pack against her chin and hissed.

  “Do you have any other bruises...ah...below the water line?”

  “Several. But none I’ll be showing you.” She leaned her head back. “Didn’t you say you were going to bring back some wine? We’re in France, you know.”

  He held up a finger. “Aye, the perfect medicine after a good thrashing.”

  “Hey, by the way he was limping I reckon Fadli ended up worse off.”

  “Whatever you say.” Mike left the door open as he headed for the kitchenette.

  “That leap two stories down had to hurt,” she said, raising her voice. “And I’m pretty sure I broke his nose.”

  Mike popped the cork on a bottle of Bordeaux. “Good on you. I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks.”

  After pouring two glasses, he headed back to the WC, bottle tucked under one arm. “What I dunna understand is what Omar Fadli is doing in France. He’s number two on Interpol’s most wanted list.”

  Henri sat forward a bit to take the glass. Mike wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a rose-tipped nipple through the bubbles. His tongue slipped to the corner of his mouth as he stole a second glance. Yep. An honest to God, hardwired nipple detector, he could spot a rosebud from fifty paces.

  “Do you really think he’s in cahoots with Amri?” she asked, taking a sip, completely oblivious of the peek she’d just given him. “Mm.”

  “Either that or he’s stalking you.”

  She set her glass on a table beside the tub—probably not his best idea, but he didn’t want to miss watching the bubbles diffuse. “Why? Didn’t he do enough? For chrissake, he ruined two years of my life. In fact, worse. He destroyed my entire military career.”

  Mike sat cross-legged beside the tub. “True, but he might want more.”

  “Then why didn’t he just shoot me when I opened the door to my hotel room?”

  “Maybe he thinks a bullet is too easy.”

  Henri shivered. “God, people like Fadli are sick in the head.”

  “They are, and that’s why we’re in a safe house, especially now they’ve figured out who you are.”

  “It didn’t take them long.”

  “My hunch is you just might be on their watch list.”

  “Jeez,” she snorted. “There are a lot more interesting people out there for them to watch aside from me. It’s insane.”

  “ISIS is growing stealthier all the time. And the more money they steal, the more high-tech equipment they can afford.”

  “And they’re invading Europe.”

  “Faster than anybody realizes.”

  Henri reached for her glass, took a long drink, then held it up. “I think I need more wine.” Lord, her skin was like burnished amber.

  He poured. “It helps curb the sting.”

  She dropped the bag of ice and leaned over the edge of the tub. “This is good.” A lazy grin spread across her lips, sexy as sin.

  Mike cleared his throat and took a long drink. He shouldn’t be thinking that anything was sexy. And he shouldn’t even be the washroom with her. “It’s the volcanic soil.” Instead of obeying the voice in his head and leaving, he rested his elbow on the tub right beside hers, so close he could feel the warmth of her skin.

  “And the climate.” She drank again, then watched the ruby liquid as she swirled it in her glass. “Did you mean what you said?”

  “Ah...when?”

  “You missed me?”

  God, he needed to keep his mouth zipped. “Ah, well, it was cracking to have you as a sparring partner.”

  “Sparring was...ah...good practice for me, too.”

  “You’re strong...I mean really strong.” Now he was grinning like a maggot while the teenaged appendage below his belt stirred to life.

  “Shoveling dirt will do that to a girl.” Her gaze slid up and met his. Even with the bruise on the side of her chin, she looked delicious.

  “Mm hmm.” He leaned closer to get a better look at those eyes. They made him hunger for chocolate. Christ, they made him hunger for a whole lot more than food.

  She didn’t make it any easier, either, lazily resting her arm on the side of the tub, her mane of wet, sleek, black hair running down into the water. Her lips, moistened by wine, were too enticing to resist. Could he allow one more wee kiss?

  Mike’s tongue slid along his bottom lip as he continued to near. Rivulets of water tricked along her cheeks making her look tastier than ice cream with a cherry on top.

  Her mouth parted with a quick intake of air. Though the sound was hardly noticeable, Mike’s cock lengthened with a blast of fire. He shouldn’t be doing this, God save him. But the Almighty was nowhere in the loo because as their lips met, Mike’s mind sizzled with lust. If only he could pull Henri to her feet and rake his gaze down her wet, naked body. A body toned by hours of exercise. A body he’d admired with her clothes on—every inch of shapely woman, from the smooth and healthy skin on her face to the way her t-shirt molded to her shapely breasts to the way her hips filled out a pair of tight jeans. Henri Soaring-Eagle Anderson was pure woman. Complete and total hotness.

  His tongue plunged into her mouth as his hands slid around her neck and down her slick back. She met him with a clamping of her lips, her fingers threading through his hair. Her lazy, feminine sigh made him leak from the tip of his cock. He wanted her on top of him, naked and straddling him. He wanted a rose-tipped breast in his mouth with his cock plunging deep inside her.

  He swirled his tongue with hers in an erotic dance until his phone’s ring registered in the back of his mind.

  Christ, the damned thing wouldn’t stop.

  If only Mike could ignore it, but the ringtone was one he’d assigned to Garth. And his damned phone was on the kitchen counter.

  Henri’s fingers stilled and she pulled away slightly. “You’d better get that.”

  Mike groaned. “Bloody hell, his timing is for shite.”

  “Put it on speaker.” Henri sank back into the water while Mike went to answer his phone. Her lips tingled and she ran her hand across them to wipe away the sensation. Thank heavens the ring had interrupted them. Jeez, she needed to put on the brakes and fast, or else their working relationship was going to be too awkward to handle.

  Once he was gone, she stepped out of the bath and wrapped a towel around her body.

  “Hiya, sir,” Mike answered from the kitchen.

  “You’ll never believe who we just spotted in Tanzania.” Garth’s voice came through clearly from the speaker.

  Henri poked her head out of the bathroom. “Tanzania?” she mouthed in disbelief.

  Mike shrugged. “Who?”

  “Melvut Amri—he was caught by a security camera at the Kilimanjaro International Airport in Arusha.”

  Henri moved in beside Mike to better hear. “Was he picked up?”

  “Slipped through,” said Garth. “Damned crooked cops.”

  Combing his fingers through his hair, Mike glanced out the window. “What in God’s name would Amri be doing in Africa?”

  “Who knows, but you need to find out. Tanzania’s a hub for nasty shit.”

  “Tell me about it—if it’s mined, they’re selling it.” Mike’s gaze meandered down Henri’
s body. Jeez, the guy needed to get some. Not that she didn’t.

  “But what about Fadli?” Henri asked.

  Mike knitted his brows and looked to the phone. “You think he’s still in France?”

  Garth cleared his throat. “My guess is he headed straight for the border right after he jumped out of the window.”

  “Maybe,” said Mike. “But not before he ordered a hit on Henri, I’ll wager.”

  Henri lightly touched the bruise on her chin. The damned thing hurt. “Do you think Fadli is connected to the bank heist?”

  “He’s guilty,” said Garth.

  “Then why aren’t they together? Why is Amri in Africa?”

  “That’s what I’m paying you to find out. Right now, nothing makes sense. Sure, they can buy guns in Tanzania, but there are plenty on the black market in the Middle East. My guess is they’re brewing up something the world doesn’t want to know about.”

  “And in the meantime, Omar Fadli has Henri’s number,” said Mike. “I think Agent Anderson ought to fly back to Iceland. I can pick up my team in Kenya—move across the border stealth.”

  Henri poked him in the shoulder. “No way. That bastard’s mine. I’m not going to go into hiding because he threw a few jabs.”

  “Rose has a point,” said Garth.

  “With all due respect, sir, I disagree.” Henri threw a hand out to her side, glaring at the damned Scot with a look of exasperation. “What good would I be in Iceland when there’s a terrorist out there with a million euros in stolen gems?”

  “You’ll get in the way.” Mike knitted his brows and pulled an angry face. “What if Fadli finds you?”

  “In Africa?” she demanded. “He thinks I’m in France. And you said yourself we can’t be sure where he’s headed.” She stamped her foot. “Remember your promise!”

  Garth started to speak, but Henri wasn’t done. “What if you need me for bait?” She thrust her finger at the phone. “Sir, I am going to Tanzania. If Fadli wants me, then I want him more. I can draw him in. The jerk ruined two years of my life. He thinks I’m going to pay for his brother’s death? Well, what about all the US soldiers Fadli murdered? I’m going with Rose and that’s final.”