Dangerous Assignment (Aegis Group Book 4)

by Sidney Bristol

  Maybe… Maybe if she figured out who was behind this… There was always the chance she could end it. She’d have to lay low for a year or more, just to make sure, but what if she was able to put a stop to the whole thing? Could she go back to Luke? Grovel? Make amends?

  Abigail cleared her throat.

  It was a crazy, silly idea.

  And yet, she wanted it more than anything.

  “I used to have to remind him to eat. Shower. I even put pegs on the door so I could hang his clothes up where he couldn’t miss them. He lives for his job. I bet he’s been promoted, which means he’s even more invested in it now than he used to be. He’s not a bad person.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder.

  When she left, it would hurt. She’d be cutting a piece of herself out, but it meant keeping him—and her heart—alive. So long as he lived she could find it in herself to go on. After all, if Luke could do it, so could she.

  “Nador, I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance.” Hassan smiled. It’d cost him a penny to get this meeting, but it’d be worth it once Yael was gone.

  Nador’s gaze flicked to Hassan’s outstretched arm, but he didn’t move to shake Hassan’s hand. Possibly because it might crease his expensive linen suit, or because Nador hadn’t made up his mind about Hassan. It was a risk to reuse a name so soon, but he’d had to work with what he had ready. With any luck, he’d be able to dispose of it permanently after this.

  “I believe we have mutual enemies.” Hassan sank into the empty chair across from the Libyan mercenary.

  “Oh?” Nador spoke without hurry or any obvious interest.

  “I believe there are four men, and you would like information regarding their whereabouts?” Hassan slid a photograph of Luke and another man across the table.

  Nador took the eight-by-ten image and held it up. The difference was in the creases around the man’s eyes, the tense set of his lips.

  Hassan had him.

  “What do you know?”

  “These two are in Egypt. I have an address.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Nador tossed the photograph on the table.

  “There’s a woman traveling with them. I need her dead.”

  “What kind of woman?”

  “Hopefully, a dead one soon.”

  “Why tell me?”

  “I need men to get to her. You have men. We both want these people dead. It seemed like a win-win to me.”

  “I’m listening.” Nador lifted his hand to his chin, two fingers extended up toward his temple.

  Hassan tamped down on the giddy thrill. There was more than a small chance that he could pull this off, and without giving up much in the way of cash. He just had to wind the mercenary up a bit and set him lose.

  Luke grabbed a couple hot pastries off the baking sheet and pressed a kiss to Salma’s head. For as long as he’d worked at Aegis, Salma had kept house for them in his part of the world. This morning she was manning the ovens, churning out enough food for those still there. He could only speak a few words to her, but her smiles and laughter were all the communication he needed.

  “You’re up early.” Marco leaned against the door, his hair sticking up on one side.

  “Not for long.” Luke grabbed some bottles of water from the fridge and glanced around for anything he could snag.

  “Where’s your girl? How’s her rib?”

  “She’s fine. Asleep. How’s Zain coming with the passport?”

  “Should be ready this afternoon.” Marco made a face.

  “What?”

  “The Jordan authorities contacted us this morning.”

  “Yeah?” Luke’s fingers went cold.

  “They cremated Ethan’s body last night.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Something about their beliefs or whatever.”

  “That can’t be right.” Luke shook his head.

  Ethan wasn’t Muslim; there’d be no reason to do anything to the body—if he was actually dead. Cremating him—or claiming to—was one huge step into weird.

  “That’s what Zain said they claimed in their communication. He’s going to go see Ethan’s wife and son tomorrow. Tell them with Crawford.”

  “Shit.” There was no way for Luke to prove Ethan was still alive. But that fall… All they had to go on was the word of people who’d wanted them dead in the first place.

  “You sure teaming up with Abigail is still a good idea?”

  “Yup.” Luke couldn’t deny that he was biased where Abigail was concerned, but there was another convenient truth. “She’s our best lead on who is behind all of this. Who might have killed Ethan.”

  “Might? Might be dead?”

  Luke stopped and stared at Marco.

  “We don’t know that he’s gone.” Luke couldn’t shake that this felt wrong.

  “That drop alone would have killed him. Add in all the rubble and the blast? It’s amazing the two of you didn’t die with him.”

  Luke shook his head. “I’m not ready to nail his coffin shut yet.”

  Luke scrubbed his hand across his face. He’d been so focused on surviving that Ethan’s death hadn’t really hit him. He was fighting it. Marco was right, there was no way Ethan was still alive after the blast and fall.

  What kind of a friend was he? Instead of looking for Ethan, he’d split. He’d run. He’d left Ethan behind. Because Abigail needed him. Because she was alive. Because he wanted answers.

  Travis had likely been sent home. He’d been Ethan’s best friend. Losing him had probably knocked some better sense lose in the big thug’s head and made him more than a little crazy.

  “What’s the deal with the girl?” Marco scooted out of Salma’s way and leaned against the counter opposite Luke.

  “What about her?”

  “Man, we can all see she’s got you wound around her finger. Be careful.”

  “She’s not—”

  “All I’m saying is…make sure she’s worth trusting. I worked with a Mossad agent once. Scary guy.”

  “She’s one of the good guys.”

  “So was he, but okay.” Marco shrugged. “Better go get your hero on then. Need anything?”

  “No.”

  “All right then.”

  Luke pushed off the counter and slipped out into the courtyard. He glanced up at the third floor, but it was the wrong side to see into the room he shared with Abigail.

  He got what Marco had drilled into his head yesterday. What they were all probably thinking about him. He had a hero complex. Always had. Ever since he was a kid living in the hellhole of his uncle’s house, he’d tried to save people. His cousin. His aunt. His buddies. Abigail wasn’t a victim. She was a fucking warrior princess, but even she needed someone in her corner.

  They’d all seen this go down. A dozen times in a dozen ways with every kind of person.

  The kind of people Aegis hired were heroes. People who stepped up to the plate to do hard jobs—and save people.

  Marco wouldn’t call him on it because chances were, Marco would do exactly what Luke was if their situations reversed. Lord pity the woman Marco ever decided to help. The man was a bull with plenty of screws lose, but he was a good guy. Just a little fucked up, like the rest of them.

  Luke climbed the stairs to the third floor and turned toward their room.

  The door stood slightly ajar.

  He’d made sure to close it when he left.

  Abigail had been gloriously naked and asleep.

  Luke quickstepped to the door and peered inside.

  The bed was empty.

  The curtains were pulled aside, spilling sunlight into the room. He stepped over the threshold.

  Her clothes were gone.

  There wasn’t a single shred of evidence she’d even been there.

  Had that been her plan all along?

  He hadn’t yet wrapped his head around it, but part of him had expected this. For he
r to split. And she had.

  “There you are.”

  He whirled, nearly losing his grip on the plate.

  “Something wrong?” She tilted her head to the side.

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Yeah, I heard you moving around, but you were gone by the time I pried my eyes open. I went in search of clean towels since we used all of ours last night.” She hefted the pile of towels higher on her hip. “I was thinking of making use of that tub later. Interested?”

  She strolled past him, an extra sway to her hips.

  Abigail was there.

  She hadn’t left.

  Fuck, he was a paranoid dick.

  “I got us something to eat.” He nudged the door shut and made for the two-seater table near the windows.

  “I see that.” She left the towels in the bathroom and crossed to the small table in the corner. “What’s the plan for the day?”

  Abigail draped her arm over Luke’s shoulder. He slid his hands down her sides to her hips. That she was still here, that she’d proven him wrong made him crazy happy.

  “Well, I was thinking food, then that bath and maybe a nap?”

  “Nap—is that what you’re calling it now?”

  “We could do things other than nap.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, maybe I can take your picture, you know, so I can send it to Santa so he knows what to get me for Christmas this year.”

  “You are terrible.” Abigail smiled and shook her head.

  “At least I brought breakfast.”

  She leaned past him and snagged a pastry. He pulled out a chair for her, held it while she sat, and settled in across from her. Their knees bumped underneath, and she finally gave up and just put her feet on top of his.

  “My mother used to bake every week.” Abigail tipped her chin up. “I remember her putting together these beautiful spreads. The other women would come over and she’d pour them tea. She was so happy back then.”

  “Was this before your father died?”

  “Yes. We had the community around us. After my father died…she just wasn’t the same.”

  “You said you had someone checking in on her?”

  “I did. We never met face to face. I was referred to him through several different points of contact. He’s supposed to photograph her once a week and upload the images to a server.” She shook her head. “I was so consumed with my own plans that I didn’t check in on her.”

  “Let me find out where Zain is. Can you log in remotely?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly.

  “Look, if you’re hesitant that maybe we’re going to keep tabs—”

  “It’s the smart thing to do.” She stared at him, no emotion on her face.

  “We can trust you.” Or rather, Luke could trust her.

  “I’m a trained spy. I’ve gone rogue. You have no reason to trust me.”

  “Have you killed or hurt an innocent person?”

  “No.” Her answer was quick, no hesitation.

  “Should I believe that answer?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Then it’s good enough for me. Maybe if you’d been with another organization, some other country, but I’m inclined to believe you. To trust you.”

  Luke would rather keep Abigail all to himself, but if he were in her position, he’d want to know about his mother, too. So, as much as he wanted to indulge in a long, naughty soak and some time not-napping, family came first.

  He got up, crossed to the room phone next to the bed, and dialed the war room where Zain was most likely to be at any random moment.

  “You guys up? Wait—don’t answer that.” Zain spoke in a rush, probably due to the pots of coffee he was drinking.

  Luke chuckled. “Morning.”

  “If you guys are clothed I need to come up and talk to—what are we calling her?”

  “Abigail. She also wants to access some information, if at all possible.” Luke glanced over his shoulder at her, still at the table watching him.

  “Let’s talk first. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Luke hung up.

  “He said no, didn’t he?” Abigail glanced away, shoulders slumped.

  “Zain wanted to talk to you. He’s on his way up.”

  She shifted, and while he wouldn’t call the motion nervous, there was a decided lack of ease about her posture, the way she clasped her hands over her knee, the set of her mouth.

  “Zain just wants to talk.” Luke returned to his seat.

  “And Baron just wanted to talk.” Her mouth twisted up into a grimace.

  What Luke wouldn’t do to erase that look from her face…

  14.

  Abigail forced her hands to relax, her toes to not tap.

  She should have left as soon as Luke shut the door to go get breakfast. Her contact was ready whenever she arrived. The new identity, her money, it was a fifteen-minute jog away. And instead of doing the smart thing, she’d gotten more towels.

  Stupid, girl. Hearts get you killed.

  “Zain’s not going to waterboard you. I’d kick his ass before it ever got that far.” Luke reached across and grasped her hand.

  Abigail shouldn’t smile or get the warm-fuzzies from that sort of statement—but she did. What did it say about her life that professions to not be waterboarded were romantic gestures?

  “I prefer my ass not kicked.” Zain pushed the room door shut behind him. “Morning.”

  “You know how to knock, motherfucker?” Luke let go of her hand and stood.

  “Wasn’t sure if you’d hear it.”

  Luke pulled one of the chairs over, allowing Zain to join them. He had a large tablet in hand and a grim look on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Luke asked, echoing her thoughts.

  “I had a weird, encrypted message this morning.” Zain’s gaze switched to her. “Do you know someone named Baron?”

  Abigail’s mouth dried up. Had he found them already? She didn’t think Mossad could strike so soon.

  “Yeah, I know who that is.” Luke’s tone was all venom.

  “He wants to speak with you.” Zain never took his gaze off her.

  “What did the message say?” Abigail licked her lips.

  “Just that he had answers for you.” Zain shrugged.

  “Answers? Like why the fuck he’d waterboard her and keep us locked up for almost a week? The fuck we want to talk to him.” Luke was building up a good rage. He was taking it way too personally.

  “What were the contact instructions?” she asked.

  “You can’t seriously want to talk to him.” Luke glared at her.

  “Baron has answers. If he wanted to recapture us, he wouldn’t make contact. They’d just grab me, or you. They wouldn’t let us know they were out there first. That’s not how they operate.”

  “You still think he’s why we got out of there.”

  “I don’t know, but I’d like to find out. No one has ever escaped from The Pit. There’s no reason we should have been the first.” Nothing made sense. Someone had to have made it possible.

  “Who is Baron?” Zain glanced between them. “I take it he’s someone important?”

  “Yes, which is why you won’t find anything about him.” Abigail remembered all too well the secrecy with which their personal lives were guarded—the darkened windows, feeling like a prisoner in her own home. The only bright spot had been when Baron came home…only to go straight to work again.

  Luke continued to glare at her, his teeth grinding together. He knew more than most, and though his hatred was palpable, she appreciated that he kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t widely known that Baron was her ex-husband and for both her privacy and his protection, she wanted to keep it that way. No matter that Baron had broken her heart, she still cared for him. A part of her always would…but she no longer loved him. Probably hadn’t for a while. It’d taken a man worth loving walking into her life to wake her up to the fact.

  She lo
ved Luke.

  That little fact was enough to nearly send her into a spiraling anxiety attack.

  People like her couldn’t love. It made them vulnerable. As much as she wanted Luke to know she cared for him…she couldn’t. The best thing for him was if she walked away, at least until she could figure out how to end things. She’d leave a piece of her with him, but he couldn’t know. No one could.

  “He left a number.” Zain said after several moments. He pulled a satellite phone out of his pocket. “I can bounce the signal around to a couple dozen countries and encrypt it—”

  “I know the drill.” Abigail held her hand out.

  “I want to hear what he says.” Zain locked gazes with her. It wasn’t a point he’d budge on.

  “I’ll tell Baron you’re listening.”

  “Fine.” Zain handed the phone over.

  “You realize she can just speak some obscure language we don’t know or speak in code, right?” Luke sat back, arms crossed.

  “Yeah, but what else am I going to do?” Zain shrugged.

  “The contact instructions?” She held out her hand.

  Zain passed her a small notepad with a series of numbers jotted down. It was familiar, rote exercise to her, but to someone else, the strings of numbers would mean nothing.

  The first was the number. She waited for Zain to adjust the signal via his tablet and then dialed. She didn’t dare breathe

  The second string were access codes, passwords that bounced the signal around, giving her a direct line to Baron—or whoever was answering.

  It took almost three minutes to make the call, but security was everything. In the field she’d never had direct call permission. All messages had passed through a handler who changed out every couple of months.

  “Hello?” Baron’s voice didn’t inspire the same tingly response it once had. She’d never admit it, but right up until she’d faked her death, talking to him—her ex-husband—had always made her heart beat faster.

  She swallowed.

  How had Luke wormed his way into her heart so fast?

  “Yael? Are you there?”

  She cleared her throat.

  “Abigail,” Luke snapped, glaring at the phone.

  “I’m here,” she said.