Bartholomew sat back in his seat. “I have an idea, Sloan. You spend your day under the blazing sun, holding a rifle, looking for the Taliban. I’ll wander around the camp and get yelled at by Torelli. Sound good?”
“Sure. I’ll happily trade with you. I swear, one more word out of that beady-eyed bastard and his bunch of brainless cronies, they’ll be throwing me in prison on murder charges. And I’ll merrily confess.” Sloan ran both of his large hands through his thick hair then pounded his fists on the table.
“You suck at being a commander. You know that, right?”
Sloan chuckled deep and low before he turned to Abbey. “Lass, you need to stay the hell out of the way. I don’t know what Torelli’s agenda is. I don’t need you in the crossfire. Lay low, all right? Keep your ear to the ground. Listen for idle chit chat. But stay the hell away from Torelli. Understand?”
“That’s going to be impossible if he wakes me up every morning like he did this morning,” Abbey replied. She watched Sloan’s entire body bristle. She could only imagine what was going through his head at the moment. If she and Seth just dancing had sent him off in a jealous rage, the thought of Torelli seeing her sleeping, waking her, would probably make him tear the camp apart with his bare hands.
The fury etching his face told her that she was probably right. “Did he touch you?”
“In a room with a bunch of women waking up? Of course not.”
“He’d better keep his hands to himself.” Without another word, he stalked out of the mess hall.
Bartholomew cocked an eyebrow at Abbey. “Woke you up?”
Abbey shook her head. “I was fully clothed in my bunk. But he had one of those looks in his eyes.”
“Imagining you naked?”
“Precisely.”
“Got it. You know Sloan’s picturing you naked in Torelli’s bed, right?”
“Yep. I know.”
“He’s going to kill Torelli.”
“That’ll make life easier for us all, won’t it?”
Bartholomew laughed as he stood and picked up his tray. “It definitely would. Well, I better get to work again.”
“What exactly am I supposed to do?”
“Go back to the barracks. Talk to the other women and make friends. Listen for anything out of the ordinary. Watch for anything suspicious. Do as Sloan suggests. He really is a decent commander. I was giving him shit. Really, the women are much friendlier than the men. I’ll check up on you later.” He offered a slight wave before he walked off to dispose of his trash.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Abbey mumbled to herself as she took her last bite of food. “You’re not married to Sloan O’Riley. Whether they want him or hate him, to them, I’m enemy number one.”
Chapter Four
Bartholomew sauntered into the command center as he whistled a tune to himself. Since he had arrived at the camp, all he could think about was this time every other day. The center was deserted except for one lone body lost between the monitors. With a wide, cheesy grin, he redirected his steps.
“Hey Lizzy,” he greeted. “Waiting for me?”
The woman turned toward him in her chair, her long, nearly black ponytail brushing her shoulders. Her blue eyes took him in as she pursed her full red lips. “Of course, handsome. It’s the perfect time for my coffee break.”
“Those are the words I’ve been dying to hear.”
Lizzy stretched her long legs beneath her khaki pants before she stood. She patted him on the shoulder as she passed. “The normal amount of time?”
“Sure.”
“Tell Maggie ‘hi’ for me.”
“Come back a minute or two early, and you can yourself.”
Lizzy smiled at him. “I might just do that. Have a good chat, handsome.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Bartholomew settled into Lizzy’s seat and flipped on the monitor. He chuckled to find the Skype website already waiting for him. He knew just how lucky he was. The CIA warned that they should have no outside contact while on this mission. But when he had struck up a conversation with Lizzy and gushed about Maggie and the baby, the soldier had felt sorry for him. It had been her idea for him to sneak in at night to video chat with Maggie, and she arranged it so that no one else would be in the room. And he couldn’t be more grateful.
His fingers flew across the keyboard as he logged onto the site then dialed Maggie’s computer. His heart thundered in his chest as he waited.
The soft brogue hit his ears before the screen came clear. “Hey, luv.”
“Hey, beautiful.”
Maggie’s ice-blue eyes glittered as she settled onto the couch at home. Bartholomew felt that familiar rush course through him as he stared at his wife. She was the sexiest woman he had ever laid eyes on, but the control center wasn’t the place to have that kind of video chat. “Stand up,” he ordered.
She obeyed, sitting the laptop on the coffee table then rising.
Bartholomew shuddered a breath. “Pull your shirt up,” he breathed.
Maggie tugged up the fabric to just below her breasts, exposing her rounded stomach.
“Pull down your waistband.”
She did as he asked.
Bartholomew reached out, brushing his fingertips to the computer screen. “Hey, monkey. It’s Dad. I miss you. Do me a favor? Wait until I come home to come out. Okay?”
He heard Maggie’s giggle as she laid her hand on her belly.
“How are you both doing?” he asked.
She settled back down on the couch and scooped the laptop into her arms. “Our little monkey is kicking up a storm as usual. I’m tired. And cranky. And still craving strange things.”
“What has the doctor said?”
“Everything is normal. Our monkey is just where he or she is supposed to be. I have new ultrasound pictures.” She picked up some sheets of paper and lifted them one at a time in front of the camera.
Seeing the shaded images of his unborn child took Bartholomew’s breath away. “Our baby is so perfect. So beautiful. Like his or her mother.”
“His or her father is pretty hot too, you know. The crib is up.”
The words felt like a punch in Bartholomew’s gut. That was his job—to give his child a place to sleep. “That’s good. You didn’t do it, did you?”
“Robert, Logan, and Gordon. Well, mostly Logan and Gordon. Robert did quite a bit of cussing instead.”
Bartholomew chuckled at her response.
Maggie cocked her head to the side. “How are you?”
“I’m here in the middle of a war with your big brother. Take a guess.”
“That well, huh?”
“Always a day in paradise.” Bartholomew paused. “Abbey’s here too.”
“I know. Gordon told us. Mary is a basket case.”
“If our child was here, I would be too.”
“Very true. Is she doing well?”
“Sloan is being dominating, unreasonably demanding, and cold. Torelli isn’t much better. Lathrop has yet to come to her aid and make them back off. None of the soldiers are warming up to her. I’m about the only friend she has. I really wish she’d be sent home.”
“You don’t want her there?”
“Not where she can get killed, no. I know she’s trained. But she’s still my sister, and I want her where she’s safe.”
“Me too.”
“How’d we get on Abbey?”
Maggie laughed. “I’m not sure.”
Bartholomew smiled as he touched the screen again. “I love you, Maggie Evans. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I can’t live without you.”
“I love you, Bartholomew. Come home to us.”
“No doubt, baby. No doubt.”
They talked for a few more moments until Lizzy sauntered back to her desk. Bartholomew wanted every second he could have with his wife. This was never supposed to happen. He was out of the Army. He’d never intended to go back. When Maggie had fallen into his life, ther
e was no way he wanted to reenlist. He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the screen one last time. “Goodbye, beautiful. I love you so much.”
“Goodbye, my love. Please be careful. Please come home to me.”
“I will, baby.”
Maggie kissed the screen of her laptop before signing off. Bartholomew slumped back in the chair as he stared at the blank monitor. This is hell. And there was no sign of relief in sight.
Lizzy wrapped an arm around him and gave him a quick hug. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Bartholomew muttered.
“I promise if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” He slowly stood and hugged her back. Then, he shuffled from the building toward his quarters. Even though he knew he should check on Abbey, all he wanted to do was take his broken heart to bed.
»»•««
Sloan lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling. The stiff cotton fabric scratched his naked skin. Every night since he had stepped foot in this camp, he had slept in a pair of cotton boxers. Tonight, he needed his bare flesh between the sheets.
He stared at the full moon that lit up the room. Abbey did more than fill his thoughts. She burned through his veins, setting him on fire. She seeped into his skin, made him ache down to his core. The thought that she was a few hundred feet from him, lying curled up in a bunk turned him inside out. Why is she there and not here? Oh, that’s right. I don’t need any more grief from Torelli or Lathrop or anyone else in this bloody camp. I believe in keeping up these ridiculous appearances and keeping the CIA and the military pleased. And I’m punishing her for her defiance with that dance instructor. Although in reality, I’m certain I’m only punishing myself. I can’t lose her. She is every thought, my very soul. I need to stop being an ass to her or I’ll lose her forever.
His mind bounced from the dancer to Abbey’s words in the mess hall. Sloan had noticed Torelli’s fascination with Abbey. The thought of the contractor’s hands anyway near his naked wife made his blood boil. He didn’t trust Torelli anywhere near Abigail, especially when she was sleeping. It wasn’t like he could find out. To storm the women’s barracks to check up on her would cause a ruckus he couldn’t afford. He would just have to wait until morning and see where his beloved wife was.
In the meantime, he would just have to simmer naked in this bed, so aroused it was painful. He shifted on the mattress again to relieve the tension between his legs.
The sun barely streaked the sky when Sloan slipped out of bed, groggy from the very little sleep he had gotten. He slowly stretched then tugged his clothes on. It was time to soothe the itch that had plagued him through the night. Stepping from his quarters, he turned in the direction of the women’s barracks. He strode across the camp, not stopping until he reached the building. A snarl slipped from his throat as Torelli arrived there at the same time.
“A little early to be up, isn’t it, O’Riley?” Torelli questioned.
“What are you doing here, Torelli?” Sloan countered.
The smirk on the captain’s face glinted evil. “I’m here to get our little sniper out of bed before I head to my assignment. I wouldn’t want her to miss breakfast again.”
Sloan closed the space between them in a flash, until the two men were nose-to-nose. Fury burned inside him. “She has nothing to do with your assignment here. She’s on my team. Make no mistake. In this little farce, she may be Lathrop’s soldier, but she is, and always will be, my wife. You know my past. I know you’ve been briefed on the chaos I have caused. My love for my motherland compares nothing to my love for Abigail. I will make you wish you had never been born if you so much as look at her wrong. You have your orders. Stay out of the women’s barracks and stay away from my wife. Understand?”
Torelli’s grin grew more devious. “It may be a farce to you, but it’s not to the CIA. Her and I, we’re in it together here.”
“The CIA can go to hell.” Sloan cocked his head toward the center of the camp. “Don’t you have other soldiers to harass? Leave mine alone. Final warning.”
Torelli stared at him for a long, hard moment before he stepped around Sloan and walked away. The Irishman didn’t miss his parting words. “We’ll see.”
Sloan huffed as he pulled the door of the barracks open and stepped inside. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark before he looked for Abbey. Stopping at her bunk, he watched her sleep. Her face was barely visible beneath the covers, and her small, strong arms hugged her pillow tight. His eyes roamed her curves beneath the thin sheet. She was wearing just a T-shirt and panties. The pajama pants she’d had on were now lying on the floor.
He glanced around the dark room for a place to scoop her up and carry her off to for a quick moment of lovemaking. There was none, and he certainly couldn’t carry her across the camp to his quarters. Even with so few people up, it would cause enough disruption to get the rumor mill going full force. Like it isn’t already. They needed to find the arms smuggler and arrest him or her. Now. His temper and desire couldn’t take much more.
“Abigail, get up!” he barked in frustration.
Abbey moaned and hugged her pillow tighter. A couple other women shot up in their beds, glaring at him irritably. Their disgust quickly melted away into flirty smiles and giggles. Fantastic. He reached down and shook his wife.
“The sun isn’t up,” Abbey protested.
“It’s five-thirty. Get up. Shower. Get breakfast. You’re expected on the ridge at seven.”
Abbey sat up and crossed her arms over her chest angrily. “If I knew where my phone was, you wouldn’t have to wake me up.”
“That won’t be happening. I’m your alarm clock now. And I have your phone. No contact with the outside world. CIA orders.”
“Seriously, Sloan. I’m a grown woman.”
“Who has a weakness for her children.”
Sloan could hear the grumbles from the women around him. Abbey certainly hadn’t made any friends because of him. Shit. I need her to make friends. At the very least it’ll make her stay more bearable. Maybe she’ll find a clue or two. But the men need to stay the bloody hell away. Mine. She’s mine.
Abbey’s bravado dissipated, and she hugged herself. “They think we abandoned them.”
“They have your parents. They’re fine. Get out of bed and get to your post. Now.”
Sloan could see the hurt in Abbey’s eyes when she looked up at him. “Yes, sir.”
He stormed away, leaving the barracks without another word. His gut turned. He was a bastard for treating her this way. He loved her for being protective of their children. He couldn’t imagine a better woman being the mother of his babes. And he was just as concerned about his wee ones being without their mom and dad.
He huffed a sigh as he reached the control center. He needed to find whoever was selling these weapons. He needed to take Abbey home to their children, lock the door, and never let any of them out of his sight again.
»»•««
Finally, after three days of scouting for Bartholomew, Abbey got her chance to be the sniper while he kept an eye out for her. She nearly skipped up the crags to their perch, dropping to the ground with a laugh as she pulled her rifle from its case. When she set the gun on its tripod and shimmied onto her belly, she heard chuckling behind her. She shot a disgusted look over her shoulder at Bartholomew and grinned.
“Didn’t realize you were so excited about this,” he remarked.
“Staring at the camp all day is boring. I may still be staring at the camp, but at least there’s the chance of something to do. You can be bored all day.”
Bartholomew was still snickering as he settled into the dirt next to her. “All right, all right.”
Abbey peered through the scope, looking for any sign of threat. She frowned as she heard the sound of boot steps in the dirt.
“What the hell are you guys doing here? You’re breaking protocol,” Bartholomew said from beside her.
“We heard O’R
iley gets to play sniper for the first time,” a voice boomed. Abbey cringed as she recognized it. Torelli’s stooges had followed them up the hills, no doubt to embarrass her. She growled as she kept her eye trained on the camp below.
“So what?” Bartholomew demanded.
“We wanted to make sure she had her bullets.”
“My gun is loaded, you moron. Yes, I have my bullets,” Abbey spat, her attention never swerving.
“Maybe so. But Torelli found special ones for you.” Abbey finally turned her attention from the rifle to meet the soldier’s devious grin. He handed her a tube of pink paintball pellets. “Here. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Go to hell,” Abbey snapped. “Tell Torelli to concern himself with his computer programs, not me.”
The men roared in laughter as they tossed the container at her, which hit the rocks and fractured on impact. Several of the pellets exploded, splattering Abbey, her satchel, and her ammunition with pink paint. She bolted into a sitting position to inspect the mess as they walked away.
Bartholomew grabbed a towel from his bag and handed it to her. “Abbey, just forget them. They’re trying to get under your skin.”
Abbey breathed a few curses as she wiped her hands and blotted at her clothes. “They got there. I don’t know what Torelli is trying to accomplish by making my life miserable. Way to break protocol. Now Lathrop gets to hear about this. I love being the tattletale. Not.”
“If you’re miserable, then Sloan is miserable. If Sloan is miserable enough, he’ll abandon the mission.”
“Not likely. Sloan isn’t thrilled to breathe the same air as me. He isn’t going to care if I want to be here or not.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“All he’s done since I’ve been here is bite my head off. He doesn’t want me here. Maybe if I’m miserable enough, it’ll give him enough of an excuse to call Dunham and arrange for me to be shipped off.” She tossed the towel back to Bartholomew. “Which will make me happy. Maybe I should act miserable.”
The Assassin Page 6