by Cherry Adair
Kane raised a brow. "The lady'll be a while."
"I will wait."
Kane bent to look through the viewfinder. "Suit yourself." His heartbeat kicked up a notch or two. Damn. What could be better than this? Combining his two loves. Photography and annihilating tangos. Life was great when everything came together.
He'd had his doubts, still wasn't 100 percent sure that when push came to shove AJ could do her job. But he was with her. Between them, the job would be done. And done right.
Raazaq would be wary after the attempted hit the other day, But there was nothing that would make him suspect a beautiful model. The net was in place.
Kane adjusted the focus and pulled back for a full-length shot of her. His lips twitched. Peeking from beneath the hem of the delicate concoction she wore were heavy, lace-up boots. The look was sexy, in your face, and provocative.
"Cross your right arm over your chest." He raised his voice so she could hear him. "Cup your left shoulder, and tilt your head back a little. Little more." Her breasts moved beneath the thin fabric of the dress as she shifted.
Kane was surprised Raazaq—and he didn't doubt for a minute that Raazaq was inside the air-conditioned vehicle—hadn't fallen out of the limo by now. "Good. Good. Hold it."
She gave no indication that she was aware of the man beside him. Her gaze didn't so much as flicker to the dark windows of the limo.
"Okay, now toss your head. Give me some movement—something with your hair."
AJ scooped up the long slippery strands and gathered the copper mass on top of her head. Arms raised, head back, she made every nerve and cell in Kane's body jump to attention as he imagined that cool flame blanketing his body. His hands itched to touch her soft, smooth skin.
He lost his own focus and had to readjust and realign to bring her back into the camera's focus. Enough of this crap.
He fired off a quick succession of shots. Women's Wear Daily was eager for anything he sent them. He'd kill two birds with one stone. And Kane suspected that these shots of AJ Cooper wearing some of the top designers were going to be his best work to date. The camera loved her.
And God help him, he wanted her. In print the photographs of her would be combustible.
She was the center of attention but wasn't the least bit self-conscious. He suspected she'd prefer being dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and wearing her ass-kicking boots while she tromped through the woods. The Messrs. Badgley and Mischka would be rolling their eyes if they could see AJ in their creation. The hem of the dress was liberally coated with taupe-colored sand, the flounces slightly wilted in the heat. Kane was pretty sure they hadn't imagined an impatient tomboy wearing such a feminine gown. Seeing AJ Cooper in the froufrou creation was actually quite captivating.
"Tilt your head to the left—Stay."
She froze in place, but her pale eyes sparked irritation and heat at the command. "How much longer?"
"Till I say we're done."
He set the camera on the tripod and strode across the scrub grass to the large shaded awning where she stood.
"Now what? Don't mess with my makeup anymore," she warned, taking a step back and crossing two index fingers as if to ward off a vampire. Her hair tumbled down her back and slithered over her shoulders. "If it's melted, we're done."
"Don't look so hopeful," he chided. "It's waterproof, and we're almost done." He resisted moving a curled strand of hair off the gentle swell of her breast. "Raazaq is sitting in that limo salivating. No. Don't stiffen up. Relax." Kane tunneled his fingers through the roots of her hair at her temples and spread the warm, fragrant mass over her shoulders like he'd been itching to do for the last hour. She'd been doing fine on her own, but damn it, he wanted to touch her. Had to touch her. Her hair felt as fine as warm silk as it brushed his hands and wrists.
"Pretend that's your lover watching you." He draped the strands artistically over her left shoulder to curve against her breast. And cover the scar. The back of his fingers brushed against the sharp point of her nipple. They both drew in a breath.
"Kane—"
"I want him to want you more than his next breath," he told her roughly. "I want him to think sex when he sees you. Hot. Wild. Steamy sex." Just words, he reminded himself. Just words. No physical reaction necessary here, Wright. A pheromone thing. His body tightened, just the same.
"Why can't he think dinner?" AJ inquired a little breathlessly as he walked behind her. She tilted her head to watch him warily. "What are you doing?"
"You're playing a role, Cooper. Sexy siren. Immerse yourself in the part. Become it. Be it. Think sultry. Think hot. Think bare naked skin to bare naked skin." If she got any hotter, Kane thought, they'd both burn to a crisp.
"I'd rather think about a dip in the hotel pool followed by room service," she said with amusement.
"You can't look sexy if you don't think sexy." He ran his hand around her waist from the back. His fingers splayed across the warm, smooth skin of her stomach. He knew a sudden, overpowering urge to brush her hair aside and press his mouth against the vulnerable skin of her nape.
She shivered at the intimate touch of his hand. "Of course I can," she said firmly. "Don't tell me every underwear model is thinking sexy thoughts when she's posing in nothing but skimpy underoos and a pair of wings! She's thinking of a Big Mac, and supersized fries."
Kane stood directly behind her. "Forget about food for a few minutes," he told her dryly. He ran the flat of his palm up, over her diaphragm. The sheer fabric bisected her plump breasts in a cross-her-heart X, leaving tantalizing triangles of flesh bare. "Close your eyes and take a deep breath."
He felt her drag in a shuddering, deep breath, and presumed her eyes were closed. Her skin felt unbelievably soft, and as smooth and warm as slightly damp satin as his hand skimmed the flat plane of her stomach and glided up her midriff, then moved smoothly between the plump mounds of her breasts.
"You're beautiful. Feel it," he said against her temple. "Sexy. Confident in your own sensuality. You love sex. Want sex. Crave sex—"
"Sex as a disguise?" she asked, her voice low and husky. "I bet those classes are packed with female operatives."
"No classes. But don't underestimate the power of sexual attraction. Cooper. Armies have been conquered and countries lost for it."
Kane forced himself to remember that he was doing this for the op. A disguise was only as good as the person believing in it. He'd given dozens of lessons to rookies on the art of camouflage, disguise, and sleight of hand, ways to blend with their surroundings. This was just another training exercise.
Except that he'd never been quite so aware of the fragrance of a rookie's skin, or become so in tune with her every breath. "You have to project sensuality. Cooper. Feel it from here." He pressed his flattened hand against the erratic beat of her heart. "And especially here." He touched his chin to the crown of her head. "Disguise is 50 percent mind games."
"Are you doing this to make your pictures turn out better?" she asked thickly. "Or for Raazaq?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah wh—" The back of her head thumped onto his chest as he slid his left hand around her waist, and spread the fingers of his right hand between the soft mounds of her breasts. "Jesus God, Kane. Do you know what you're doing?"
He was swimming in shark-infested waters. "I'm trying to make you feel sexy."
"And—" She cleared her throat. Her rose-scented hair tickled his chin. "And do I?"
"Oh, yeah."
"From in here, too. You'd better stop that pretty soon." She lifted her head from his chest and he felt the loss. "Don't look now," she sounded out of breath and a little vague, "but we have a fascinated audience."
"Hold that look," he told her, then strode back to his equipment and the loomer.
"Still here?" Kane asked the trout companionably.
"Mr. Raazaq gets impatient."
Good, he thought. Impatient meant careless. And careless for Raazaq meant dead. "Who's Raazaq?" Kane asked carelessly. "Your driver?"
<
br /> "Mr. Raazaq is my boss. He is…"
Kane waited a beat, still peering through the camera at AJ. Jesus. She had "look sexy" down pat. "He is…" A Terrorist? Evil personified? The anti-Christ? He clicked off a quick succession of shots, before AJ forgot what she was about, and he forgot to breathe.
"He is Mr. Raazaq," Trout Face repeated.
"Yeah?" Kane said absently.
"It has been an hour."
"Maybe your boss needs to come talk to the lady himself," Kane told him, still clicking shots as fast as he could. Damn. The light on her face was perfect. Diffused by the awning, it accented the honeyed tone of her skin and turned her haute fire.
The camera loved her. He zoomed in. Just her mouth. Soft. Plump. Damp.
After several long seconds, he remembered he was supposed to be taking pictures. He clicked a succession of shots of her mouth… and struggled to get his brain back where it belonged.
"Don't think she'll be that impressed your boss sent you," Kane told Raazaq's man. "No offense. But look at her." And I'd better not. "Think she's used to waiting for a guy?"
He was talking to air. Kane shot a glance over to the right. Fish-faced goon-boy was lumbering back to the shiny black limo. Kane returned his attention to the camera and gave her curt instructions for another fifteen minutes before calling, "Okay. That's it. Change, and we're outta here." Kane raised his voice slightly.
AJ heard him just fine. His voice was deep and rich and perfectly pitched to carry.
The bodyguard type had returned to stand watching her. A long-stemmed rose in his hand.
AJ ignored the guy in the suit, only too happy to get back into comfortable clothes. Kane had hired several young men who, at his signal, started removing the shade canopy, and were helping him load the car.
Feeling a little like a mother hen followed by her chicks, she moved quickly across the parking lot to the small tent to change, followed by a gaggle of pushing, shoving, giggling kids.
She paused as the limo driver stepped in front of her, brandishing the long-stemmed flower like a sword. He shoved it at her chest. "Mr. Raazaq would like you to join him for dinner this evening."
AJ took the stem of the wilted flower. In this heat she knew just how it felt. "I have no idea who Mr. Raddeek is. But thank him for me, sugar, and tell him I'm busy tonight. Maybe another time." She turned and waved at the man concealed behind the blackout windows in the car. "We're at the Auberge du Lac. Have him call." She didn't wait for a response but sped up, a flock of kids, two dogs, and a braying donkey in tow.
It was customary to refuse a first invitation in Egypt. Raazaq would have been more suspicious if she'd immediately agreed to dinner. He'd call. She'd go.
She understood that she'd been sent to do this job because of her sharpshooting skills. But if she could manage to eliminate Raazaq in the most expedient way possible and divert suspicion to someone who worked for him, all the better.
Poison or a bullet. Either way, the job would be done.
Dead was dead.
There was no wiggle room. No room for failure.
The poison inside her gold earring was slow-acting. Depending on the man's body weight, anywhere from five to nine hours. AJ and Kane would be back in Cairo while Raazaq breathed his last.
They would wait for intel of his death and then leave on the next flight out.
Quick, and relatively easy if everything went according to plan. If not, there was always the Dragunov and a fast bullet.
She wouldn't miss.
Not again.
"What are you doing in there?" Kane called from outside. "Digging a tunnel to China?"
"Changing. You might as well go ahead and load the car. And turn on the air conditioner, would you, please?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She was more than happy to strip off the chiffon dress and change into a cool floral skirt and T-shirt, though they didn't look any better with her boots. Feeling a bit more like herself, she packed up her makeup and emerged from the tent into the heat of the late afternoon.
"Thank you." She indicated to the two men hovering outside that they could take down the canvas tent, then went over to the car where Kane waited for her.
The limo was gone, but the rest of the onlookers were still milling about in a wide semicircle. Reluctant to leave and miss anything interesting, but now hot and bored, they wandered about, chatting, eating, and staring at her.
AJ opened the door and slid into the cool interior. "He took the bait." She twisted the hot weight of her loose hair up, pinning it on top of her head with a pen she found on the console.
"Without a doubt." Kane started the car. "We'll keep a low profile until he surfaces again. Let him cool his jets until then. Make him more eager. Less observant."
She leaned her head back on the seat and turned to look at him. "God, I can't wait to get started."
The cool breeze from the air-conditioning ruffled Kane's hair about his strong face. He turned to glance at her. "You're looking forward to it?" The words were simple enough, it was the subtext that made the blood rush to AJ's brain.
It made sense that he'd continue to need reassurance, but knowing it was his right to ask didn't diminish AJ's surge of righteous anger. "Yes," she said shortly. "I'm looking forward to it. I want to do my job."
The op depended on her reasoning ability and quick reflexes. He was her partner. Their lives depended on her. He had to be able to predict her behavior in a crisis situation. Hell, they both did. But she wasn't asking him every second of every day if he could do his job.
"I understand that the great Kane Wright is infallible, invincible, and damn well perfect. But the rest of us lowly humans make mistakes, I made mistakes. I won't make any more. Let's move on."
"You won't be killing this man through a rifle scope. Cooper. It'll be up close and personal. If you don't get him first, he'll sure as shit get you."
"Have I given you the impression," AJ demanded through clenched teeth, "that I'm half-witted? I was shot in the chest, not through my brain."
"You were pronounced dead."
"Yeah, but I didn't stay dead, did I? See? Even almighty God-like beings like doctors screw up. Because here I am, hale, hearty, and rarin' to go. You bet your sweet ass I can't wait to kill the sick son of a bitch. He needs to die, and I have to prove myself to every gun-toting good guy in the free world that I'm just as good as they are. Not perfect. Just good at what I do. I've waited my whole life to prove I'm more than two boobs and a pair of long legs. I'm not going to blow this. Is that enough damn confidence for you, Mr. Always Right?"
Heat shimmered ahead of them on the dirt road. Behind them was a dust cloud containing their enormous band of followers. Somewhere out there, their prey was unaware of just where his dinner invitation would lead.
"You'll have your chance," he said calmly. "And believe me, Cooper, I'm not anywhere close to being perfect." He steered the car down the middle of the road to avoid the line of people on either side, waving as if they were a parade. "Tell me what happened that day."
"What day?" AJ said offhandedly.
"The day you died."
Crap. She'd known he would dig away. "It was hotter than the hobs of hell that morning." AJ leaned forward, damp palms clamped between her knees. Her heart raced. She stared with scratchy dry eyes at the sandy road ahead, seeing instead sagebrush and scrub. Different sand. "A hundred and eight. No shade. Five-day field trip where we had to find food. Water. Survive on our wits." She snorted a laugh. "We'd gone up there unarmed."
The sun had beat down on them fiercely. "It was day four. None of us knew what a five-day field trip with Curtner could possibly be like. He was a sadistic son of a bitch, and proud of it. We'd had target practice the day before, six hundred yards. Not all the rookies had a good eye. Some of us didn't get 100 percent of our targets. Curtner was going to make us stay up all night until all eight of us got it picture perfect—100 percent bull's-eyes, 100 percent of the time.
"I'
d never been that tired in my life. The heat. The flies. The ass yelling and screaming at us nonstop—We were all hungry and dying of thirst. He wouldn't let us sleep, eat, or drink until we did it as a team. We were up on that ridge for fourteen hours."
"No water for fourteen hours?"
"Not a drop. Forrest eventually passed out from heatstroke. Curtner went ballistic. Went for him with those big, bad-ass boots of his. The kid didn't stand a chance. The screaming and yelling were bad enough. But Forrest was down and out. He couldn't defend himself—I saw red, and went for Curtner. Took him down." AJ squeezed her eyes shut.
"It happened so fast. The others were still blindly trying to hit those targets. I had Curtner in a headlock and was so angry I couldn't see straight—"
"You were in the line of fire."
She shuddered. "Oh, yeah. Worse, Stillwell and Evans charged in to the rescue—"
"Whose?" Kane asked dryly.
"Mine," AJ told him tightly. "Mine." Curtner was disciplining her in the only way he knew how. With his fists and feet. But at least he'd left Forrest alone while he concentrated on her. "They were both killed by friendly fire. Both of them. Jesus God."
Kane frowned. "I read the report. That wasn't it."
"I know." Curtner, with nothing more than a bloody nose, had claimed she hadn't liked being out of her comfort zone. Then told everyone she'd gone apeshit, tried to beat the crap out of him, and pulled him into the line of fire so he would be shot. The other two men had come in to pull her off, and gotten shot for their pains.
"It was a little difficult putting a stop to the rumor while I was unconscious in the hospital. By the time I was released, the story had morphed into something else entirely."
She glanced at Kane to see how he was taking this. Probably thinking the same thing many other T-FLAC operatives had thought. Hotheaded, temperamental, female operative.
Even though the incident had happened over three months ago, she was still fighting to maintain her place and dignity with the others. Still trying to overcome flinching every time she heard a gun discharge, for God's sake.
"Why didn't the men report what'd really happened?"