Lee (In the Company of Snipers Book 12)

by Irish Winters

  Lee shifted his gaze from the screen back to Tess when the camera angle dropped to the ground. The spark from those two distinct shots Turik had taken cracked in the dark. Tess’s hand lifted automatically to her tight lips. A tiny groan rose from the back of her throat, but there was the proof, damn it. Someone else was out there last night and that person was Mohammed Turik. She might as well face the facts. She’d been marked to die that night, and the only reason she hadn’t was because Eric and Seth had busted Turik’s ass, making him miss.

  The pain in Seth’s voice when he cried, “Oh, my God, she’s gone,” was difficult to miss. Lee turned the video off at that point, ejected it from the player, and waited for his client to make her move.

  Tess turned on him, her hands on her hips, but her eyes glimmering. It struck Lee hard. This Mohammed Turik guy was no casual acquaintance. Miss Tess Culver had feelings for the bastard. What the hell was that about?

  “How did Mohammed know I was going to be there?”

  “You got me,” Lee answered, stuffing the video back into his bag, annoyed that she could care for someone like that murdering assassin, Turik.

  “But he knew where to set up his position. He knew right where to aim, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Lee admitted. “He’s good like that.”

  “I never told anyone what I planned, but my brother might have shot his big mouth off when he was drunk,” she proposed. “He might have said something he shouldn’t have.”

  Lee avoided her eyes. Their conversation could only go two ways, and both were uncomfortable. Either she delved deeper into the possibility that Clint was worse than a deadbeat, or she defended Turik. He went to the phone to order room service and to get back to business. “You hungry?” he asked, trying like hell to change the subject.

  “My brother betrayed me,” she mumbled somberly.

  “No, he didn’t,” Lee said with conviction. “Someone else did. Probably Turik.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. He was the one shooting at me, so someone had to have told him.”

  “Trust me. It wasn’t Clint.”

  “But you said so yourself. You bribed him with a fifth of Jack.” She crossed her arms over her chest and her toes set to tapping.

  He shut his big mouth on the verge of sharing confidential information. “But he’s not the one trying to kill you, Tess. Turik is. He’s the one who took that shot, not your brother. I can’t reveal how I know that it wasn’t Clint who set you up; I just do. Trust me.”

  Tess nodded, her expression bleak while she contemplated the video.

  “Pizza okay?” he tried again.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Clint seemed to be forgotten, at least, for then. Food was a definite hook for this sexy fish. Lee rolled the stress off his shoulders. Good enough. Pizza would work.

  “What kind do you like?” She rose from the coffee table, glancing sideways, her body all kinds of slinky. Definitely slinky. “I’ll bet you’re a combination guy, heavy on the ham, Italian sausage, and pepperoni, maybe bacon, too. No anchovies. Extra cheese? Mushrooms?”

  His gut clenched at the way she sidled toward him. Damn. She’d hit all his culinary weaknesses, except for the anchovies. He actually liked them.

  Her tongue slid over her bottom lip before she headed his way. “Do you like a thick crust? A stuffed crust? Dripping with cheese? All moist and tender and succulent? Huh?”

  Damn. This woman changed gears quickly. The way she drawled out succulent stopped him cold—ah, hot. Definitely hot. Violet-blue eyes held him with a black magic kind of a spell. She was still a couple feet away, but damn, he was frozen in place and going nowhere fast. All the intel in his top-secret mental vault was in danger of being revealed. “Or do you like it thin and hard? Crispy? Crackly?”

  Man, everything off her tongue sounded just plain naughty. A man’s heart should be smarter, but even his breathing seemed impaired. His brain sure was.

  “And beer. I’ll bet you’re the kind of guy who likes a schooner of ice-cold draft with your steaming slice of hot, melting pizza. Lots of it in a frosted mug. Always Heineken? How about Dos Equis? Coors?”

  Honestly, all he heard was steaming—hot—sex.

  The phone clattered to the floor. Heck, it could’ve floated to outer space for all he knew. She made pizza and beer sound erotic as hell. She might be talking food, but her body was saying something else. The sash on her robe hung loose, revealing another meal. The thermostat in the room must’ve failed. Lee fought the urge to strip his shirt off again.

  “Umm, yeah. Beer.” Not one of his more intelligent statements.

  “And garlic bread, all buttery and salty?”

  He licked his lips. Buttery. Salty. Sweaty.

  She took another step, her voice low, and her lovely hips swaying. Heck, all of her swayed and tantalized. She’d turned fluid, warm and inviting, buttery and salty. The svelte seductress was back, and damn, she was already on top of him and rocking his socks off. He licked his lips again before it dawned on him that his mouth was hanging open. He shut it.

  “I like pizza,”’ he admitted hoarsely. There was no way to sound smart. She stalked him, but he had yet to take one step back.

  Her hand lifted to his chest, and he let her touch him again, square on the thin red line that went from below the hollow of his neck to his navel. Nizari had never cut deep enough to kill, only enough to make a man bleed, cry, and suffer. Tremors roared up his legs, over his butt, and on up his back. Client/agent rules flitted around his head like they might be important to someone, somewhere.

  “Don’t,” he offered quietly, trying to salvage his tattered professional persona. “You’re my client. Let’s just eat and call it good.”

  “I bet it’ll be more than just good,” she whispered, her breasts on the verge of spilling into his hands. He’d catch them, oh yes, he would. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Lee Hart.”

  And when did a guy refuse that kind of offering? Once again, she was up on her tiptoes, and he automatically did the gentlemanly thing. He crouched to her level like a dumbass that said one thing and did another. He warned her off even as he pulled her forward, his body and his hands on automatic pilot. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “I think it is,” she coaxed, her fingers shooting unseen sparks all the way to his groin. “You’re my Alexander.”

  Whatever that meant. Alex Stewart was Alexander—not him. The scent of this woman filled him, and he was losing ground fast. Too fast. The pizza had better get there soon. Oh wait. He hadn’t ordered it yet. Lee gulped. He was a dead man.

  “Tess,” he whispered, because his commanding voice had turned tail and run, the coward. “Stop. I can’t do this. I’m not ready.” And this isn’t real. I’m still dreaming. No woman wants a guy like me.

  She stopped, but by then she was inches away, and his brain was dying from lack of oxygen. Thinking was hard, umm, difficult, oh hell—everything was hard.

  “Besides, you’re in my care. My professional care,” he emphasized, knowing he needed to step back. Wishing he could.

  She nodded, her eyes still fixed on his. The light in them changed from predator to beguiling. “I understand,” she whispered with a small nod. The rivers of ebony curls nodded, too. “Really, I do. Some days I don’t feel like I belong anywhere, either. It’s like everyone knows what happened to me, like the whole world stood there and watched while they beat me nearly to death, but no one was brave enough to lift a hand to help. Like no one cared. Like what those cruel men did to me was insignificant.” Her long fingers trembled on his chest. “And I’m angry and hurt all over again. I don’t understand cruelty or war or... anything. Some days I don’t know who I am. That’s why I steal from them. I can’t let them win. I have to be me again. You understand, don’t you, Lee?”

  Once again—direct hit. He lost the war right then and there. This crazy, foolish, risk-taking woman knew him inside out. She’d read him like sh
e’d written his playbook. His hands slid down her arms to her slender waist. He took possession of her body and pressed her under his chin so he didn’t have to look into those compelling violet blues. Her robe had parted, her bare breasts pressed against his T-shirt again. Against his chest. Her heart pounded, hot and steady. He squeezed her so she couldn’t feel him shaking.

  “You’re taking yourself back by just being here,” he said as the lovely smell of shampoo filled his nostrils. “It’s a slow process. Just don’t stop being brave. Keep yourself safe and alive. That way they can’t win.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers splayed on his shoulder blades. “I’m not that person they left behind that day. I’m stronger. So are you. It’s been four years for me.”

  “Me too,” he acknowledged. That she and he had tangled with Nizari and both survived around the same timeframe was a freakishly bizarre coincidence. “May,” he pinpointed the month.

  “Yes,” Tess whispered, her breath feather-soft on his neck. “The end of May, four years ago.” A shudder raced over her shoulders, the kind of shudder a guy like Lee instantly smothered with his big hands. Logic gently nagged she might still be playing him, but he couldn’t deny the scars on her back nor that she seemed to know what he’d suffered on a fundamental, maybe even an elemental level. As if she’d been there in the cell when it all went down.

  “Tess, I’m sorry. I’m really not ready for... whatever’s going on between us this evening,” he repeated. What an odd thing for a man to admit, but it was true. Lee Hart didn’t do one-night stands. Ever. As difficult as this was, he would walk away from this tempting offer. He would lift his mind out of the gutter, take his mental hand off her ass, and be a good and decent man. Any minute now.

  She let him off the hook even as she hugged him tighter. “I feel like I already know you, like we’ve done this before.”

  “We do have a couple things in common. That’s all,” he rationalized. It made sense. Were all trauma survivors linked like he and she seemed to be? Could they read each other’s minds like she seemed capable of doing to him? Maybe…

  Minutes passed and his heart calmed. Having something so uniquely tragic in common with Tess helped. He couldn’t explain it, but holding her and knowing what she’d lived through was a powerful balm. She wasn’t disgusted to touch him any more than he was to touch her. He could almost believe he was human again. Maybe even worthy.

  She looked up from her very secure place in his arms, pulling him in with just the blink of her lashes. “You order the pizza. I’m going to wash my hair before it comes. Sound good enough for now?”

  He nodded. She had to go. He had to let her, so, he did. He released her slowly and took that all-important step back, his heart not pounding quite as hard nor hurting as much as he’d expected. She offered that smile again, that soft lift at the corners of her mouth.

  “I’ll order pizza,” he growled to confirm his wavering conviction.

  And then I need a cold shower.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lee might not be ready for sex, but she was. The moment she doffed her robe, Tess stepped under the warm shower spray and let it caress the parts of her back and sides where his hands had just been. She didn’t need to wash her hair. It just seemed that he needed space, so she gave it to him.

  The hot water felt good, soothing all those too-eager parts of hers back into normalcy. Not climbing up that handsome rugged body had taken every last shred of her willpower. Never before had she wanted to assault a man for purely sexual reasons. The stark reality of all that longing and sexual tension she’d stifled for way too long swept through her like the water sluicing over her shoulders. Everything about Lee Hart declared him an honorable man. He might see himself as damaged. She didn’t. Not. One. Bit.

  Tenderness for him welled up inside along with a powerful dose of wanton lust. How she could feel two such powerful feelings for this stranger amazed her, but he was right. They didn’t really know each other. She needed to calm down before she got herself in trouble.

  With her hands to the tile below the showerhead, she gathered her wits and let her mind wander to his nightmare and the scars on his back. Nizari had been methodical in his torture. It must’ve taken days. The very real possibility that the same perverse madman linked her and Lee stole her breath. Hasim Nizari. The most evil of the Taliban.

  The thought of his cold-blooded cruelty brought shivers even in the steamy shower. Tess scrubbed her arms. She’d never get clean enough or far enough from the memory of that awful day. For all her tough determination, that shattered part of her still remained, tucked inside and scared to death it could happen again, that he could order her bound and beaten anytime he wanted.

  She comforted the weaker person she once was. Take a deep breath, Tess. Think of something else. Fight back. Steal another treasure. Prove you’re smarter than he is. Never let him win.

  Another deep breath in and her thoughts shifted to Agent Lee Hart and the adorable look on his face when she’d tried to seduce him. Ah, the man’s willpower was stronger than she’d expected, probably the best thing given their circumstances. She didn’t need the complications of a good man in her life. And Lee Hart was a good man, an honorable man who just happened to be her bodyguard. Nothing more. They had an amicable situation between them. That was all. She’d stay on her side of the room. He’d stay on his. They’d eat pizza and watch television together for the rest of the night. Nothing else. It just wasn’t meant to be.

  She blew out another soul-cleansing sigh, poured a dollop of shampoo into her palm and began to wash her hair. The clean fragrance of Lily of the Valley soothed her anxious spirit. Only one thing worked better to center her soul. She opened her mouth to sing. A gospel song came out. The words of the hymn filled her private sanctuary of steam, and once again, she was saved.

  The worries of the day slipped away. She was Tess Culver again, the cat burglar of Kabul, the invincible, a troublemaker to the notorious Taliban, a woman who’d found a way to strike back at the tyrants who pillaged and raped the weak. She didn’t have to prove anything to anybody but herself. The weight of past memories lifted. She raised her voice to God. “I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind...”

  Tess sang the first verse of the beloved hymn through as she washed and rinsed her hair. Slippery suds slid down her body and into the drain. She pictured that wicked day and all the sadness of it going down the drain with the suds. The steam and heat felt good, easing aching muscles from her adventurous night before. When she applied the last of the crème rinse, fresh lavender and mint filled the room. She took a deep whiff and began the song again, belting out, “Amazing... grace...”

  Tess paused. Had the bathroom door just closed with a quiet click? The shower curtain revealed a shadowy figure beyond her sanctuary. Lee? She peeked around the curtain, keeping herself covered and blinking the water out of her eyes. It was him all right.

  He stood there, his arms crossed and his chest heaving. “You’re singing.” His voice was tight with accusation and some other emotion she couldn’t identify. How that big strong guy could look so vulnerable ripped her heart out. It seemed Lee still floundered through the muck inside his head where his past reality had been viciously jerked away from him. He was still trying to catch hold of the person he used to be. Half of him was Peter Pan, the other half, that annoying shadow he’d never be able to stitch to the bottom of his feet again. He couldn’t step forward while that elusive part of him was stuck in a past that didn’t exist.

  Extending her hand, Tess gulped, but offered him the company of her steamy sanctuary. “I like to sing when I’m happy. Join me?”

  He looked so angry standing there glaring at her, his chin to his chest, licking his lips like he was. She waited. Did he want to shower with her or not? Did he want her to shut up and stop singing? Tess couldn’t tell. She curled her fingers urging him forward. “Come on, Lee.”

  Of all things, a wave of fear sliced throu
gh her brazen confidence. The man honestly commanded the space around him. He was dressed. She was not. Not a good combination. Angry energy filled the tiny room. He looked fiercer than before, as if confrontation with a naked woman took all of his courage. Dark emerald eyes skated over her breasts and down her belly to the juncture of her legs.

  She bit her lip and gulped, waving him forward instead of covering her nakedness or crossing her legs to hide what he’d already seen. “We could sing together,” she offered timidly. “The song could use a good, strong baritone. Come on in. The water’s fine.”

  The crazy man pushed the curtain aside, and just like that, he was in the shower with her. Fully dressed. Gray running pants and T-shirt. Gray socks. Staring at her, the water dripping down his face, over those hostile brows and off his nose. His brows spiked and veins etched his forehead. Fiery green eyes scorched her naked body down to her bare toes.

  “You look a little overdressed,” she murmured, suddenly more shy than she’d expected to be and more than a little afraid. Hadn’t he just very definitely said ‘no’? Then why was he there? What did he really want? Intimidation? He had it in spades. Was this when he might hit her?

  “Sing,” he ground out, his nostrils flared as the shower drenched that tousled head of reddish brown hair, darkening the fire in it, but not the flames burning in his eyes. Silvery rivulets ran down his face, sluicing off his cheeks and dripping along the hard edge of his jaw.

  “Okay, umm, is ‘Amazing Grace’ okay?” She used her softest voice to calm him as she took back her control. The line about music taming the savage beast came to her. Lee definitely had the savage beast routine down, but she was willing to bet this entire tough-guy act was one big bluff. Darkness coiled beneath those thick, tensed muscles, but Lee hadn’t hurt her before. He wouldn’t hurt her now. He was just tormented by devils he couldn’t wrangle, emotions he hadn’t come to grips with.