She didn’t know the half of it—yet. “This is no game.”
“He’s got the rounds, then?”
“I think so.”
She blinked up at him. “You think? I thought that’s why Rurik brought you along. So you could inspect them.”
“So did I. All he had me do was check the charges.”
“How many?”
“Nine.” He nodded, agreeing with the sentiment behind her own blue curse. Nine bags of pre-measured gunpowder. Just enough to lob an 8-inch shell smack into the embassy courtyard in downtown Sarajevo. But that wasn’t all. “Dani, the warhead was there. He just wouldn’t let me near it.”
“But that doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you recognize the guy who sold it to him.”
Her brow shot up.
“Farid Vlaldosta. He’s a former army artillery officer from Azerbaijan. I recognized him from a mug book a few years back. Farid’s dirty as hell and very well-connected.” Jack fell silent as the accordion shrieked out its final, wailing notes. Stark, dead air filled the room as he pushed off the dresser and paced his way around Dani’s shoes. The beginning notes of a less raucous, more romantic sevdalinka filled the room as he reached the window. Despite the cooler breeze outside, he kept the window shut and turned to lean against the frame.
Dani twisted around to face him, shifting her legs over the foot of the bed as he sighed. She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. They were thinking the same thing. Why Azerbaijan?
If Rurik needed howitzer ammo, he could have gotten the shells from any number of black-market weapons dealers. Why go all the way east, past half a dozen NATO countries including Turkey? Hell, Rurik could have gotten the shells right here, from some UN peacekeeper in Bosnia…unless he hadn’t been after conventional rounds, but something a lot deadlier. A special version of the 8-inch shell that’d been removed from the U.S. inventory years before—say around 1991—but hadn’t been removed from the inventory of some of America’s lesser-known allies.
From the chill that’d slipped into Dani’s gaze when she finally lifted her gaze, he knew she’d made the same connection. Her question confirmed it. “You sure there were only nine?”
“Yup.” Just enough powder for one single lob. That’s all Rurik and his thugs would need.
“You suspect Farid of selling Rurik a chemical warhead…or a nuclear one, don’t you?”
He nodded. The former—a chemical round—would take out a couple thousand citizens along with the embassy. But a nuke? That, as she’d so succinctly put it, raised the game to a whole new level. With a one-kiloton yield, the round would not only obliterate the embassy but pretty much everything else within the city limits, including Sarajevo’s half a million citizens. Most of which, interestingly enough, were Muslim. However, without getting a look at the round itself and the color-coded band around the base, he had no idea how twisted the man’s interpretation of Islam was. Nor did he have proof.
Suspicion wasn’t enough. They still needed hard proof. They needed the warhead itself, conventional, chemical or nuclear. Otherwise, Rurik would do a couple years for possession of the howitzer—if that was even in the barn—and the powder. When he got out, he’d set up camp elsewhere and finish the job if another terrorist cell didn’t already have the warhead. Today’s transaction could have been a feint. Rurik could be a decoy.
Christ. Jack raked his hands through his hair. It didn’t help. Tension had been eating a hole through his gut since he’d been forced to leave Dani behind that morning. Worrying about her dodging some thug’s hands all day hadn’t helped. Neither had sitting next to Rurik in the front of a rusted truck, faking small talk during a five-hour ride home while Youssef baby-sat nine bags of gunpowder and a possible unconventional warhead in the rear. He never should have stopped that bullet in Mostar. Except if he hadn’t, he—and DSS—wouldn’t have had this in with Rurik and he knew it. Jack paced his way to the door, his boots muffled by the lively folk song that kicked in. He took advantage of the noise level and paced back to the bed. Back to Dani. “I’ve got to get in there.”
To his surprise, she cursed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’ve just been so stunned, I forgot to tell you. What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Eight-ten, local. Why?”
“Because we’re already scheduled to go in. About seventy minutes from now. Just before Rurik and his thugs retreat to their rooms for Isha Du’a. Once Rurik checks the slaves, Zorah will slip two keys under the door—one for the lock on the croft where the girls are being held.” She tipped her head toward the window. “And one for that padlock down there on the barn.”
“Why the hell would she risk that?”
“Because she won’t be sticking around to suffer the consequences. Neither will C’emal. The keys are a parting gift.” Her lips curved briefly. “I told you it would pay off.”
She had. “I’ll be damned. I’ve got to call Hamid.”
Adrenaline surged into his blood as he turned to the dresser and the cell phone he’d left secreted beneath in case she needed it. Dani snagged his hand, her fingers threading into his as he turned back. She shook her head.
“I took care of it. Hamid will be waiting for our signal. The transmitter in your pack of cigarettes or the one in my shoe. If either goes active, he’ll descend on the barn with everything you guys have—including the chopper you stashed in his cousin’s tent. They’ll be here in five, ten minutes tops.”
Relief seared through him, displacing the adrenaline—and yet, not. The mix ended up tumbling though his gut—right into the waiting tension. Trapped in this room for the next hour, there was no way to expend any of it. He dropped his gaze to their hands. Not smart. Their fingers were still linked.
And he was still clutching on to the urge he’d been trying to suppress since the moment he’d walked into that kitchen. The one that made him want to haul this woman into his arms and kiss her—without an audience present. The urge that made him want to finish that kiss up here, right now. He tugged his fingers from hers and shoved his hands into his pockets—and hit metal. He grabbed the insignia and jerked his hand out. Dani wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten to mention something.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Another gift. While you were adding a piece to my puzzle, I managed to locate one of yours. Here.” He laid the flat-black U.S. Army Specialist Fourth-Class insignia with its missing clasp into the center of her palm, waiting as she turned the tiny shield over. She stiffened as she read the numbers scratched into the back—42.
The female sergeants Dani was tracking had been attached to the 42nd Field Hospital before they’d disappeared.
Jack nodded as her gaze shot up. “The prong was stuck into one of the bags of powder. I didn’t see money change hands. Rurik must have handed over the girls along with the down payment. I’m guessing one of your sergeants hoped someone would understand her coded SOS. I’ve got someone tailing Farid. They’ll locate the hole he crawled out of. If the girls are there, we’ll find them.” But they both knew it wouldn’t happen—couldn’t—until they took Rurik down. Not unless they wanted Rurik warned.
His chest began to burn as Dani dropped her gaze to the insignia and closed her left hand over it. She smoothed the fingers of her right across her bottom lip. The swelling had gone down and the split was healing, but it was still visible. So was the one in her heart. When she wouldn’t raise her gaze, he lowered himself to his knees and took her hands in his.
“We’ll get them back.” Nothing. “Honey?” He slipped a hand to her neck, hooked his thumb beneath her jaw and nudged it up.
It was a mistake. Her lips parted.
And, God help him, he stared. Touched. Caressed. Her lips were smooth beneath his thumb, warm. Her breath swirled between them, deep into his lungs. He closed his eyes against the scent. Fought the urge that crept up on him whenever he was in the same room with this woma
n. He opened his eyes and stared into the soft blue invitation. No. This was not smart. Not now. He didn’t give a damn if the door was locked with the chair wedged beneath the knob. He had too much tension coiled in his gut, too much raw adrenaline pulsing through his veins. So did she.
If they acted on it, they’d both be guilty of doing exactly what he’d blamed her for doing eleven months ago—using the rush to experience an incredibly enhanced sexual release. But, Lord, he wanted to. So did she. He tensed as she lifted her fingers, sliding them across his lips. “Dani, we need to talk.”
She leaned close, her warm whisper filling his ear. “I don’t want to talk…do you?”
No. “Yes.” They might not get another chance. She was right. The fact that Rurik was Muslim changed everything. Especially if the man’s benefactor was who he now suspected it was. C’emal’s cooperation and Isha Du’a notwithstanding, there was a high probability that when they walked into that barn tonight, they wouldn’t be walking back out. She threaded her fingers into his hair as she pulled away—not far enough. He was staring directly into that mesmerizing gaze. “I don’t suppose you’d consider—”
“No. I am not leaving. This is bigger than anyone thought and you know it. You need backup. On site. Now, regardless of how the rest of tonight plays out, the fact is we’ve got seventy minutes to kill. How do you really want to spend them?”
“Inside you.”
Oh, that was smooth. About as subtle as that cat-in-heat accordion grating down from the dresser.
She laughed anyway. “I like the way you think, soldier. Now get rid of those boots and that uniform along with the pistol you’ve got tucked at the small of your back.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his ear once again, the promise in her voice throbbing just beneath the music. “I’m much more interested in the gun you’ve got tucked inside your front.”
He might not be in the Army anymore, but he remembered how to follow orders. He was off his knees, Beretta in hand and round chambered before she could draw her next breath. He tossed the pistol on the rickety nightstand. It had the grace not to go off. He grinned down at her T-shirt—his T-shirt—as she blinked. “Seventy minutes, huh? Race you.”
Her smile spread. “You’re on.”
He tore his shirt off as he headed across the room. By the time he’d hit the light switch and made it back to the bed, she was minus his shirt, her shoes and her jeans, looking too damned gorgeous in the moonlight in a plain white bra and matching panties. She was also ahead…but only because of the knotted laces on his jump boots. When she reached back to unhook her bra, he knew he had to do something, and quick. He shoved his trousers down and made his move, snaking his right arm around her slender waist as her bra fell away. He dragged her forward as he sat down on the bed, swirling his tongue around the plump nipple that filled his view. He absorbed the first, heady taste and instinctively reached for seconds.
She gasped…and he groaned. It had been too damned long since they’d done this. But it all flashed back in an instant. He gave his lips, teeth and tongue free rein as he sent his fingers down to yank at the laces on his boots—sucking, licking, and nipping greedily, taking up the rhythm he’d learned drove her insane during those hours on his bed.
She moaned as she lost her grip on her panties. “That’s cheating.”
He grinned as he kicked off his boots and peeled off his socks. Completely naked, he slid his hands up her thighs, teasing his fingers beneath the elastic as he stood. “You complaining?”
“Hell, no.”
“Good, ’cause I won.”
“Really?”
Oh, no. He knew that look. Then he remembered.
She grinned—because this time, she had him. He ought to know…because he’d made up the rule eleven months ago. During their heated rush up his stairs, she’d confessed she needed to go to her SUV and grab something from her rucksack. He’d been so aroused, the euphemism hadn’t registered at first. Until he remembered that his ruck was in his closet—along with the stash of condoms some soldiers carried to keep the barrel of their M-16 dry in the rain. Unwilling to wait the minute it would take her, he’d scooped her up in his arms and insisted during the detour to his closet that providing protection was the man’s job. And now that protection was across the room, in his duffel bag.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Not only did she move, her panties were dangling from the tip of her index finger as he turned. She nodded to the packet in his hand. “Did I forget to mention I’m safe right now?”
“What?”
Her grin gleamed in the moonlight.
“You cheated.”
She shrugged. “You complaining?”
“Hell, no.” Not with those lush curves beckoning to him. But he did intend to even the score. He stalked across the room as she laughed, backing her up to the wall, trapping her there as he lowered his head and captured her mouth. Her lips were as soft as they’d been out behind that barn this morning, as hungry as he’d dared to hope. She drew him in quickly, thoroughly, feeding off him. Meeting him as easily and squarely as she had that night in his bedroom. She didn’t give an inch. He didn’t want her to. And then they were both demanding more.
Hotter, deeper. Harder.
He grabbed the panties from her hand and flung them somewhere over his shoulder. The condom followed. He dragged his hands up her waist, cupping her breasts, squeezing, pinching and pulling her nipples as her hands seared down his chest. A second later, his stomach bottomed out as she stretched up to bite the side of his neck and suck hard. Adrenaline, abstinence and the truth in his heart slammed into him at the exact same moment, rocketing him straight up to the edge of the abyss. He growled and plowed his fingers into her hair, tugging her head back to the wall as he struggled for sanity, for control—for air. When he finally found it, it was short and ragged, coming in and out as rapidly as hers as he stared into those fathomless eyes, now smoke-blue with passion. Like that first time in his kitchen, they were going way too fast. He didn’t care.
She hiked her right leg against his restlessly, and he took the hint, grabbing her bottom and lifting her up to his level. His hoarse groan rivaled that blaring music as her fingers raked down his back and around to his groin. He lost his air again as she wrapped her hand around his erection and pulled—firm, hot, guiding. And then his entire world was wet. And tight.
Sweet heaven, he did not remember Dani being this tight.
He shuddered right along with her, into her, gripping her gorgeous bottom with his left palm as he slammed his right into the wall above her, bracing both of them as the brunt of their need rocked through them. He was piercingly aware of her legs hiking higher, locking around his hips, drawing him in deeper, holding him right there, as he pounded into her liquid heat again and again. He tried to slow down, but he couldn’t. She moaned into his neck, he groaned right back into hers. It was fast and it was furious—and, dammit, he was almost there.
No! Not yet.
But it was too late. It had truly been too long. It was her scream that did it. He caught it in the nick of time and swallowed it whole, praying it would help drag the moment out, at least a bit. But it didn’t. The moment her short nails ripped into his shoulders, down his back, and dug into his naked ass—one last racking shudder—and it was over. He was still gasping for air when she pressed her forehead into his sweat-slicked neck and sighed. He was pretty sure that was satisfaction. But still. He tipped her chin and stared into those huge eyes.
“I’m sor—”
Her fingers came up, pressed to his lips. She glanced at the Beretta he’d dumped on the nightstand. “If you apologize for that, I’ll put a hole in you before Rurik can.”
His lips twitched, but he could still feel the heat creeping up his neck. “Dammit, Dani, I didn’t even get you to the bed.”
She stared past his arm again, her beautiful, sated smile quirking. “Nice bed. Bit narrow, though.” Her gaze skimmed to his thighs,
then up, stopping at the juncture of them. “Nice—ah—gun, too. The caliber’s as impressive as I remember.”
The caliber increased. He dropped his forehead to hers, confessing the truth as he shifted his hands to cradle her bottom in his right. “Yeah, well, it’s been a while since I’ve been out on the range. Eleven months to be exact. My grip’s rusty, not to mention my trigger was a bit…quick. But that’s nothing a little practice can’t cure, I swear.”
She snagged his left wrist and tugged it close, turning it until she could read the dial on his watch in the moonlight. “We still have fifty-six minutes. Care to reload and fire again?”
He didn’t wait for her to ask twice. He just wrapped both arms around her and swung her about to the bed. If they had fifty-six more minutes to kill, he intended to murder each and every one of them slowly this time, sweetly. Because if they did make it out of that barn alive, he wanted to make damned sure she came back for more.
Chapter 7
They still had nineteen minutes to go.
Dani glanced across the room. Despite those minutes, Jack was already dressed, boots, fatigues, concealed weapons and all. He slipped his Beretta into the waist of his trousers as he turned to stare out the window at the barn below. He retrieved the open pack of cigarettes and tapped one out, the flame from the silver lighter she’d given him all those years ago flashing to life for a brief moment as he lit the end. The tip of the cigarette glowed as he tucked the lighter home and braced his hand against the top of the window frame. It wasn’t until she finished wrapping his belt around her waist twice and watched him take his second, searing drag on the cigarette and then saw his hand tremble before he anchored it firmly back on the frame, that she realized what was really going on.
Jack Gage, a man legendary among even the Shadow Warriors of Delta for his calm, cool composure, no matter what the risk, what the job, let alone the nonexistent odds, was nervous. Scared. Because of her. That’s when it hit her. Actually, when it punched into her fist-first, straight into her heart.
An Unconditional Surrender (In Love and War Anthology) Page 8