by AJ Quinn
“Why these five?”
Jessie smiled. “Because it’s my job to analyze threats and make determinations. And in a who’s who of arms dealers, I’d put these five at or near the top.”
“Any reason in particular?”
“A few, actually. They’re all well connected. Each is capable of moving everything from assault rifles to tanks and rockets to military fighter planes. And they have no known allegiance to any group or cause. They’re simply businessmen. Entrepreneurs in a supply-and-demand business.”
Her description didn’t rate a full smile, just the barest hint, but there was a flicker of amusement in Darien’s eyes. It was faint, Jessie mused, but she decided it counted as a smile and still rated it as progress.
“And does anyone stand out?”
“If I go with my gut, I’d have to say the Russians. They’ve got well-developed networks in both Europe and the US, so for that alone, they bear watching. And they seem to have easy access to an endless stockpile of weapons, both former Red Army and US made.”
“Then I guess we’ll be paying extra attention to the Russians.”
Moving closer to the table, Darien’s eyes carefully scanned each photograph before stopping at the second one from the right. Jessie glanced at the image that was holding Darien’s attention and got a quick impression of long pale hair and light-colored eyes in a narrow face.
“Ivan Sakharov,” Jessie said. “Now, he’s a real sweetheart. In the past few years, he’s managed a rather rapid ascent in the Russian mob chain of command. It’s rumored he’s added human trafficking to his repertoire, and he’s known for catering to any and all tastes through a pair of brothels he owns. He’ll move anything for a price. Drugs. Weapons. Children. With Sakharov, it doesn’t seem to matter. Do you know him?”
“Yes. And you can take him off your list.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because he’s dead.”
Something in Darien’s voice, cold and confident, had Jessie turning to look at her more closely. She waited, thought Darien might say more, but she remained silent while Elle’s hands flew over the keyboard. Knowing Elle, Jessie surmised she was navigating through CIA data files searching for corroborating information.
After a minute or so passed, Elle waved her hands dismissively at Darien. “She’s wrong, Jess. There’s nothing here. Nothing whatsoever to substantiate Sakharov’s death. Nothing to indicate he’s anything but alive and well and living somewhere in Eastern Europe. I’ve got his last known location in Prague if you’re interested.”
Darien turned and stared at Elle intently. “Your information needs to be updated,” she said in the same tone she might have used to discuss the weather. “Sakharov was killed three days ago. Near the Tajikistan-Afghanistan border.”
“How do you know?” Jessie asked quietly, not taking her eyes off Darien’s face, watching her expression shift into an unreadable mask.
“Because Ivan Fyodor Sakharov was the last job I completed three days ago before coming to Paris. I know he’s dead because I killed him.”
*
“Jesus, she’s a mercenary.”
Elle’s poorly timed remark seemed to echo as a heavy silence fell over the room. Darien saw Ben grimace and Jessie wince. But neither intervened and a wave of conflicting emotions crashed over her.
She knew she couldn’t afford to react in anger. So, at least for a moment, she bit off a curse, squared her shoulders, and stood stoically, pretending that what Elle said didn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.
But the words cut deep.
To hell with that.
As the last thread of her control snapped, she turned and took a step toward Elle with menacing purpose, causing her to jump to her feet, stumbling as she backed up until she was pressed against the wall. Darien watched the color drain from Elle’s face. And then she took another step forward, intent on getting even more up close and personal.
“I get paid for providing my expertise. Just like you do,” she said, forcing her voice to remain mild, but ensuring every word was clearly articulated. “None of us would be in this line of work if we didn’t believe we were making a difference. The only difference is that you do it only for the CIA, while I do it for a number of intelligence agencies that utilize my skills. Including the CIA.”
Elle crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I just—”
“Right now, you just need to listen. For the time being, Ben has arranged it so we have to work together, which means we’re both going to have to learn to live with it. So you need to lose the attitude, the distrust, and all of your agency need-to-know. You may see everything as black and white, but for me, and for most of the world, it’s gradations of gray. You’re going to want to think about that before you rush to judgment anytime soon.”
Elle shot a look of desperation over Darien’s shoulder, as if seeking divine intervention. An instant later, Jessie stepped between them before things got more out of hand, and Darien heard Elle release a shuddering sigh of relief.
Jessie stood squarely and met her gaze head on. “Darien, you have every right to be angry, but Elle didn’t mean—”
“Actually, yes she did,” Darien said quietly. “And I’m not angry. But if Elle has a problem with who I am, what I do, or who I do it for—if either of you has a problem, for that matter—then feel free to leave because in case Ben didn’t make it clear, this is my home. Find somewhere else to stay and someone else to help you. Just leave me the hell out of it.”
“Darien—”
“This isn’t up for discussion. You’re here because you need help and because Ben seems to think I can provide it. Fine. I’m not sure how, or for how long, but I’ll do my best. What I won’t do is stand in my own home and be judged or found lacking for decisions I’ve made in the past or things I’ve had to do—things you know nothing about. My reasons are my own, and you’d be wise not to venture too close because this is the only warning you’ll get.”
She paused midstream and closed her eyes. The headache that had been creeping in at the edges of her vision was suddenly pounding, threatening to overwhelm her. She needed to end this quickly and find a quiet place where she could lie down in the dark until it passed. And then she needed a good night’s sleep.
Aware that Ben was watching her a little too closely, Darien swallowed the nausea rising in her throat and focused on her breathing. Slow, steady, deep. One, two, three. Feeling slightly better, she forced herself to finish.
“You don’t have to decide now. Take tonight to think things through. If I find you’re still here in the morning, I’ll take it to mean you’ve decided to stay in spite of my questionable moral character. We’ll put this little interlude aside and simply move forward. And if you’re not here, well, it really doesn’t matter. Am I making myself clear?”
Squaring her shoulders, Jessie stared at her for a long moment before releasing a softly spoken, “Yes. Quite clear.”
Behind her, Elle nodded mutely while keeping a safe and deliberate distance between them.
Feeling vaguely mollified, Darien backed away. Avoiding Ben’s probing gaze, she tried to keep her temper in check until she could leave the room. She knew she had pushed Jessie and Elle hard enough and it was time to back off. With visions of her bed and the relative darkness of her room enticing her, she headed for the stairs.
She almost made it. But then she heard Elle call out to her.
Stopping shy of the first step, Darien turned. Just beyond Elle, who had come into the hallway, she could see Jessie. Standing in the doorway with uncanny stillness, simply watching her. She forced herself to keep just as still. Tried to read between the lines while she waited to see what Elle wanted.
“I just want to say I’m sorry. I know I don’t have a lot of experience to offer and sometimes my mouth moves before my brain engages. But I’m a really good tech and…and I really didn’t mean to insult you.”
“I
t’s all right, Elle. Life’s full of disappointments. I’ll live.”
Elle swallowed nervously. “So you’re saying we’re good?”
“We’re good. Everyone’s entitled to one mistake. The key is to learn and not make the same one twice because when you’re in the field, you seldom get a second chance.”
“All right”—Elle ran a nervous hand through her hair—“but, you know, just in case. What would happen if I were to mess up again?”
Darien sighed. “Elle, you have no idea what you’re playing with. And you really don’t want to find out.”
Chapter Five
Jessie didn’t remember falling asleep.
By the time she had dragged herself to the bedroom she was using, she’d been at least two hours past running on empty. Stripping as she entered the room, she’d tossed her clothes on a chair, indulged in a bath, then threw herself naked and still damp on the bed with a satisfied sigh.
She had intended to close her eyes for only a minute or two—no more—and then she’d get up, find a clean nightshirt to sleep in, and get ready for bed. But when she opened her eyes, soft morning light was spilling in through the windows, while the heady scent of fresh-brewed coffee wafted in the air.
God, she’d kill for a good cup of coffee. She grimaced half-consciously, knowing the scent of coffee she’d picked up meant she’d be settling for the thick, bitter brew Ben made if he got up before she did.
Was there still time for a quick shower? The clock on the bedside table indicated it was not yet six, and since Ben was already up there was no rush to get downstairs. She made time.
Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed in jeans and a navy cotton T-shirt, she wandered down to the kitchen, stopping just short of the door. Maybe there was still hope for a decent cup of coffee.
Darien was standing at the center island, harmonizing softly with some classic rock song as it seeped into the room from unseen speakers. She appeared to be completely absorbed, focused on cutting a fresh-from-the-oven baguette, if the aroma was anything to go by, and filling a basket she had placed on a tray beside a carafe of coffee. She then added an assortment of sweet rolls and a bowl of freshly cut fruit.
The sight of food stirred Jessie’s appetite. If she was honest, almost as much as the sight of Darien’s angular face, lean body, and long jean-clad legs.
Elle was right. She was stunning.
But if she had taken Ivan Sakharov out as she claimed—and there really was no reason to doubt her—then she was also an extremely dangerous woman. Jessie only needed to look into her savagely bright eyes to see that. The one thing she hadn’t anticipated was the keen awareness that filled her every time she looked at Darien Troy.
It was almost as if some part of her recognized Darien, had known her for years. Which begged the question, why? Or more specifically, why now? And why her?
She didn’t really want to dissect the heat Darien’s presence generated, but she couldn’t help asking. What was it about timing that made it so hard to get right? Because she knew with certainty she would not be acting on whatever she was feeling anytime soon—if at all. The job at hand was too critical and needed everyone fully engaged, not distracted by thoughts of a much more private nature.
And as a rule, she didn’t mix work with personal matters.
So, for the time being, she remained where she was. In the hallway. Content to watch Darien take the song through to the finish.
One moment, Darien’s hips were doing a little bump and grind, keeping time with the music as she bent behind the island. In the next instant, she straightened and spun around, aiming a SIG Sauer at Jessie’s chest.
“Whoa.”
She really needed to remember Darien killed for a living. Jessie automatically raised her hands and froze, not daring to move. Barely daring to breathe, while keeping her eyes fixed on the business end of the gun. “Darien, it’s just me, Jessie. We’re on the same team, remember?”
It was probably only seconds, but it felt like a lifetime before Darien raised an eyebrow in a perfect arch and lowered the weapon, smoothly sliding it back into an ankle holster. “Sorry. You surprised me. Must still be tired. I’m not used to having anyone around other than Ben and even then—”
“I’m sorry as well.” To her chagrin, there were nerves in her voice. She watched Darien break off a hunk of bread and drizzle some honey on it before holding it out like a peace offering.
“Thanks.” Jessie accepted the offering, took a small bite, then quickly found herself wolfing down the rest before licking honey off her fingertips. “Damn, that’s really good.”
“The bread comes from the bakery down the street. The honey’s white tupelo and comes from your Florida Panhandle. Ben’s hopelessly addicted to it, so I try to keep some on hand.”
“I can see why,” Jessie said, filing away the small personal revelation for a time when she could consider what it told her. “I really didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I’ve tried to be the first one up in the morning for the last few days. Mostly it’s to make sure I’m the one making the coffee, because Elle is as challenged as Ben in that regard”—she shrugged—“not that I’m much better.”
“A lightweight,” Darien murmured. “Who would have thought?”
Jessie’s eyes widened slightly as she weighed the obvious attempt at humor. “Yeah, maybe, but I consider morning coffee a sacred ritual. It’s the only thing that gets me going, and none of the other members of the last team I worked with could make a decent cup either, so I’ve done without for a long time.”
“Where was that?”
“Islamabad. Elle and I were part of a team there for most of the past year. We were finally heading stateside when the two of us got pulled into this.”
“Let me guess—by Grace?”
There was the smile again. A simple curving of Darien’s lips and an unexpected flash of dimples. But it was as powerful as the first time. Possibly even more potent than Jessie remembered, because she momentarily lost the thread of conversation.
“Jesslyn?” Darien narrowed her eyes and glanced at her quizzically. “Was it Grace that stopped you from going home and sent you and Elle here?”
Jessie swallowed, moistened her dry lips, and found her voice. “Yes—yes, she did. And she left us with no choice in the matter, I might add. No choice at all. She might be my mother, but saying no to the deputy director is considered a career-limiting move.”
“In other words, it’s still what Grace Lawson wants, Grace Lawson gets. It’s nice to know some things don’t change.”
“You really do know my mother, don’t you?” Jessie found herself laughing. “Speaking of getting what you want, what do you suppose it would take to get a cup of that coffee? Because after putting up with what Ben and I have been making for the past few days, I’m desperate enough to beg if what’s in that carafe tastes anywhere as good as it smells. And it smells heavenly.”
“Begging’s not required.” Darien offered another smile. “And I promise it’ll taste even better than you’re hoping.”
Jessie’s eyes fastened on Darien’s mouth, and she was left wondering how often she used that particular expression. Because it was powerful and dangerous and could make someone easily believe they were the center of her universe. “I don’t know about that—I’ve got pretty high hopes.”
Without saying another word, Darien reached for the carafe and began to pour coffee into a mug while Jessie waited impatiently, all but grabbing for it when the mug was finally full. She brought the coffee to her lips, inhaling the rich aroma just before she took a tentative sip, and released a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a moan.
“Problem?”
“God, no,” she breathed. “This is perfect.”
*
Perfect.
Darien heard the word and had to agree. Although Jessie’d probably only managed a few hours of sleep, the shadows visible on her face the previous evening had lessened and to her ever-wat
chful eyes, Jessie looked refreshed this morning.
And lovely—especially during that instant when she had found herself staring and swore she could see a fire burning visibly in Jessie’s eyes. Swore she could feel the heated flush as it spread across Jessie’s cheeks.
Darien tried unsuccessfully to look away as she realized just how edgy Jessie made her feel. She made every sexual urge Darien usually sublimated with work cry out for attention.
Her reaction surprised her, but deciding to ignore it for the moment, she took a breath. Then another. But as her gaze moved over Jessie’s face, she saw the tip of her tongue peek out as she licked her lips, and Darien felt an unexpected quickening deep in her blood, lighting something she hadn’t felt in quite some time. The air sizzled, making it hard to draw a deep breath. And harder still to resist the urge to reach out and touch.
Not good. Especially considering who her mother is. “I’m glad you like the coffee. But if I can make one suggestion?”
Jessie blinked. “A suggestion? Sure.”
“I suggest in future you don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Darien’s voice dropped to a heated whisper. “Like you want me.”
Jessie swallowed visibly. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Lie to yourself if you choose, but don’t lie to me,” Darien said. “You know it’s what you’re doing. It makes me question just how strong your sense of self-preservation is. So I think it’s only fair to warn you that if you choose to take this any further, you’re going to find out I’m not nearly as civilized as anyone you might be used to.”
The impulse to touch, to kiss, happened fast. Without taking the time to think through the consequences, she pushed away from the counter and deliberately walked around the island until she was standing in front of Jessie. So close she could see the pulse quicken at her throat, smell her cool and feminine scent, feel the heat radiating off her body. She ran an index finger in a slow, sensual glide across Jessie’s full lower lip, along her jaw, and down the side of her neck.