by Bruhns, Nina
And not just for the great sex.
But to feel his arms around her, smell his comforting scent, lay her head on his strong, broad shoulder. And one last time feel what it was to be loved by a man who’d rocked her world and changed her profoundly, from the inside out. Even if he was a goddamn bastard.
She sighed inwardly. So much for keeping her emotions out of this crazy relationship.
Too bad he was so good at keeping his locked up as tight as his heart.
SIXTEEN
“SO what on earth made you choose to visit the Sahara Desert for your vacation, of all places?”
Kick’s arm stiffened on the seat back behind her as Rainie looked up from her second glass of excellent French wine. He’d told everyone about their cover: tourists and guide, lost from their bigger group. Yeah, like anyone would believe a man with those muscles and deadly eyes could be a simple tour guide.
But the friendly question had come from Margit, the plain and very sweet Danish doctor she’d borrowed clothes from, and everyone was curiously awaiting Rainie’s answer. She had to work not to let the truth show on her face—that it wasn’t by choice she was here, and it sure as hell wasn’t a vacation.
“Well. Um,” she wavered, “you probably wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
Naturally, that just made them all the more curious.
“Oh, no. Now you have to tell us,” Nathan Daneby said. He’d been acting squirrelly all evening. Like he had something on his mind. He’d also been trying to draw out Kick, but to no avail, either. “That’s far too intriguing a statement to leave us hanging like that.”
Kick turned to bore holes in her with his sharp gaze. “Yes, do tell,” he said in a tone that she knew really meant, “Tell, and your career as a nurse is toast.”
Okay, now what? She cleared her throat. And went with the angle she’d been thinking a lot about today. “The truth is . . . my therapist recommended it.”
Everyone’s eyes widened. Including Kick’s.
Okay, so she hadn’t had a therapist in years, but when she’d had one, he had suggested she should take a road trip in order to work on some of her bigger fears. Like riding in cars and going outside a one-mile-square safe zone. She hadn’t heeded his advice, of course. She’d dealt with the grinding fear in other, easier, ways. Instead of challenging them, she’d organized her life to avoid them altogether. It hadn’t been until she’d landed—literally—in this unbelievable situation that she’d been forced to deal with her well-hidden but all-too-real neuroses in earnest. God, she hated when she ignored advice and it turned out to be right.
“Your therapist?” someone asked.
She cleared her throat again. “Yeah, I, um, suffered a trauma when I was young, the consequences of which have somewhat . . . limited my life. He encouraged me to overcome my irrational fears.”
Margit grinned with incredulity. “By driving around the Sahara looking at caves?”
“Well, actually, that was Kick’s idea,” Rainie said, glancing at him. Well, it was the truth. She could tell he really wanted to scowl at that, but didn’t dare. “Wasn’t it, sweetie?” she asked innocently. Ha. Take that and smoke it.
Nathan Daneby gave a dry bark of laughter. “Figures you’d come up with something so bizarre, Jackson.”
“You two knew each other before the trip, then?” Virreau asked, refilling her wine. Kick put a hand over his glass when it was his turn.
“Sure,” she said, sending her lover an I-dare-you-to-disagree smile. “We met speed dating.”
“Speed dating?” Margit asked in her delightful accent. “What is that?”
Rainie explained, which had all the Europeans shaking their heads over the pathetic love lives of Americans. “Kick was the most interesting man there by a mile,” she said with a wink.
The two female doctors giggled appreciatively. Virreau snorted under his breath.
“So you let him sweep you away to the Sahara.” Margit sighed. “How romantic.”
Nathan Daneby got the strangest expression on his face. Alert, almost hopeful.
“Well, as it turned out,” Kick said gruffly, “not so much.”
Everyone sobered at the reminder of their supposed “accident” and the emergency that had brought them to the DFP camp.
“Speaking of which, I should go and check on Marc,” Rainie said, stifling a yawn. The company was convivial, but she was about to fall over from exhaustion. The wine hadn’t helped any, either. She rose to her feet. “See you all tomorrow.”
Kick quickly followed suit. “I’ll go with you.” He paused and turned back to the others. “I’ll be leaving very early in the morning, so in case I don’t see you again, thanks for helping us. Especially for saving Lafayette’s life. I can’t thank you enough.”
“What? You’re leaving?” Daneby said, obviously shocked. “So soon?”
“Have to. The tour must go on.” Kick gave a wry smile. “My company will be in touch to arrange for Marc’s evacuation back to the States, and—”
Nathan gave his head a shake. “Yes, of course, but I thought we could catch up before you—”
“What about Mademoiselle Martin?” Virreau interrupted. “Will she be leaving with you?”
Kick sent him a dark look. “No, she has graciously volunteered to accompany Lafayette home.”
“Oh! What a shame,” Margit said. “To come all this way and miss seeing the cave, and all the other wonders of Egypt.”
“Yes, I really wish I could stay, but . . .”
“Nonsense,” Margit said. “Then you must. In a few days Mr. Lafayette will be well enough to travel alone. And just think what your therapist will say if you abandon the trip now.” She looked positively Machiavellian as she said it.
Rainie pursed her lips. And thought about all those travel posters tacked up on her apartment walls. This trip was a far cry from those glamorous images. But still . . . By leaving, she really was wimping out. On levels she didn’t even want to think about.
Maybe the other woman had tickled her inner imp. Or the three glasses of wine had robbed her of her good sense. Or maybe it was the thought of never seeing Kick again . . . or the way he had studiously avoided speaking to her, or barely even looking at her, all evening. The man was truly insufferable, and she dearly wanted him to be as tormented as she was.
“Maybe you’re right, Margit,” she said. “I should stick it out and rejoin the tour with Kick.”
“No,” he said emphatically. So emphatically, everyone turned to stare at him. He shifted defensively. “Maybe your phobias aren’t so far off the mark,” he said brusquely. “We’re in the Sudan now, and the Sudan is a dangerous country, nothing like Egypt. Plan a trip to see the wonders of Yosem ite instead.”
“And will you be my guide there, too?” she asked, batting her lashes. Baiting him.
His eyes narrowed. “We can talk about that,” he said, herding her not-so-gently toward the door, “later.”
Eduardo jumped up and hurried after them. “I go with and show where you to sleep.”
After saying their good-byes to everyone, they dutifully followed the young UN guard to a small cluster of canvas tents on the far side of the compound. The night was still warm, but a breeze had kicked up, stirring the dust and rippling the tent roofs like a school of olive green stingrays. Luckily it was coming off the desert, putting the refugee camp with its ripe smells downwind.
“I’m sorry it not so fancy,” he said in cheerful apology when he lifted their tent’s flap to reveal the inside, which was big enough but bare of anything within its drab canvas walls save two cots under mosquito nets, a few blankets, and a rickety stand with a pitcher of water and two chipped glasses.
But to Rainie, anything resembling a bed looked like paradise. “No, it’s great,” she assured him.
It was only when she and Kick were making their way to the hospital building to look in on Marc a few minutes later that it occurred to her how narrow those cots were. Kick would bare
ly fit on one, let alone have room for company.
Well, damn.
“I hope you weren’t serious about coming with me when I leave here,” he said, breaking the somewhat tense silence. “Because it’s out of the question.”
“I know,” she said. “You’ve made that quite clear.”
He shot her an exasperated glance. “I’ve got a job to do, Rainie. This is hard enough. There’s no room for—” He cut off abruptly with a jetted breath. What had he been about to say? Distractions? Meaningless sex? Her? All of the above?
What. Ever.
Maybe the narrow cots were a good thing.
And as for her imagined fantasy vacation, that’s all it was. A total, foolish fantasy. The reality of this nightmare trip didn’t even come close. It was scary, dirty, and awful, and her supposed guide was being a pill.
“I could have sworn you were desperate to get back to New York,” he said with more than a touch of aggravation.
“Oh, I am,” she assured him. And she was. Very desperate.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“No problem. No problem at all.”
She had no clue why she was reacting this way, pushing it—him—like this. It was almost as though, now that she’d overcome her first big fear, some inner demon had been set loose, urging her to go all the way. To take them all down while she had the chance, every last one of the debilitating suckers, so she could finally live a normal life. A life without any limits on what she could do or where she could go or whom she could trust, due to her own irrational panics. Most of all, a life without Kick freaking Jackson and his heart-crushing emotional indifference.
“Good,” he said. “Because you’ve got no freaking chance.”
Didn’t she freaking know it. She halted and turned to glare up at him.
“What?”
“Let me make this as clear as I can, Kick. I have no interest in going anywhere with you. None. In fact, I wouldn’t go with you if you were the last man on earth and begged me to.”
With that, she spun and kept marching toward the hospital, leaving him trailing in her dust.
She didn’t look back and he didn’t call after her. Big surprise there. But she heard his crisp bootfalls follow in her wake all the way to Marc’s bedside.
To her relief, Marc was awake.
“Hey, you,” she said with a big smile. “How are you feeling?”
She sensed the heat of Kick’s presence behind her.
“Like crap warmed over,” Marc said with a valiant attempt at a smile back. “But it’s good to be alive. For a while there I thought . . .” His words trailed off and his eyelids dropped for a moment.
“We would never have let that happen,” she assured him, taking his good hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
He opened his eyes and they softened. “I believe you.” His gaze shifted behind her. “So what’s the plan, mon ami? When do we get going?”
Kick moved forward to stand next to Rainie. He surprised her by saying, “I’ve already contacted STORM Corps and alerted them to the situation.”
When had he done that? He must have borrowed the camp radio and called them while Rainie was helping with Marc. Or maybe when she took a shower earlier.
“As soon as you’re fit to travel, they’ll send a helo in for you and Rainie.”
The other man’s brows shot up. “Mais, non! I can’t be pulled out! You need me to—”
“You’re in no shape for a mission, my friend,” Kick interrupted. “You’ve been officially recalled.”
“But who will be your backup?” His eyes flicked to her. “Rainie?”
“Hell, no!” Kick said.
Marc frowned. “Have you forgotten this was designed as a three-man operation? How the devil will you, one man alone—”
“I’ll manage,” Kick interrupted. “You just concentrate on getting better, for the next mission.”
Marc shook his head. “Going in alone will be suicide. You know that.”
Kick shrugged. “Yeah, well.”
Rainie whirled around to face him, aghast. “What? You’re still planning to die out there?” He’d said that before, in New York, but since then, to her relief, he’d seemed to change his mind and to be determined to survive. Why had he changed his mind back again?
He looked at her indulgently. “I take that chance on every mission I go on, sweetheart. It’s what I do.”
Swiftly, her horror turned to fury. She pressed her lips together. “No. Not anymore. You quit that job. They’re forcing you to do this, and—”
He grasped her upper arms. “No. They’re not. I could have gotten away from them before taking off, if I’d really wanted to. Admittedly, you were—are—a complication. But now you’re safe.” He took a deep breath. “I have to do this, Rainie. Not for them. For me.”
“But—”
“Hell, you’ve seen how I live. Looking over my shoulder, angry at the world, killing myself slowly with pain pills.”
He didn’t say it, but she could see it in his eyes. And all at once, she understood. The real pain wasn’t out here in the world; it was on the inside. In his heart. His soul. Her own heart broke at what she saw in the depths of his haunted eyes.
“What’s the fucking point of it all?” he muttered.
She put her hands on his arms as he held her. “The point is to be alive. If you’re alive, there’s always hope, Kick. Hope for something better.”
He shook his head but avoided her gaze. “Not always.”
She stared at him and her soul filled with a sudden, blinding anguish. Jesus. And she’d thought she had hang-ups. Her fear of life was nothing compared with this man’s. What the hell had happened in his past to make him this way?
But he was wrong. So very wrong. Life was always worth living, in spite of the nightmares. Because with a little courage and a lot of help from your friends, you could conquer those nightmares. You really could. She was living proof.
She drew herself up and gathered her courage. How much worse could it get than it already had been?
“Well, I disagree,” she said determinedly. “And I’m going with you. To make sure you don’t die.”
His lips turned down. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
“Hell, yeah, I mean it.” There was no way she could let him face his formidable demons alone—because she was sure that’s what this was for him, a way to prove to himself he was worthy of life. Not a chance she’d leave him, not when he’d always been there for her when she’d been forced to face hers. Not a chance she would let him choose death. Besides . . . he needed her. He might not see it, but he truly did.
Sure, she was terrified. Heck, yeah. But for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. Fear would not stop her from doing the right thing. Not this time.
She turned back to Marc. “What do I have to do? What do I need to learn?”
Kick grabbed her shoulders and spun her back. “What part of no way in fucking hell don’t you get?”
“Well, apparently not the fucking part,” she said tartly, and wrenched out of his surprised grip to turn back to Marc. “Now. If you’ll just tell me—”
“Baby, anytime you want to fuck, just say the word,” Kick growled behind her. “But you are not—”
“She’s right, you know,” Marc broke in quietly.
Kick pointed a finger at him. “You I don’t need help from.”
“Donc, yeah. Listen to me.”
She took a step away. Kick looked like he was about to have an apoplectic fit. “Have you lost your mind completely? She is an untrained civilian. One with major head issues, at that. I don’t care if these tangos blow me up or slice me to ribbons. But not her.”
“Think about it, Kick,” she argued. “I can—”
“No!” he roared, then glanced around and lowered his voice to an intense growl. “You are not coming on the mission . Not if you’re the last person on earth and you beg me,” he added with a cutting glare at her.
/> Okay, ouch.
“What about your tour guide cover?” Marc asked, his hushed voice a sea of calm in the storm of wills raging between her and Kick. “I saw that photo in Forsythe’s file. What happens to Rainie after you leave the camp without her?”
Her attention pricked at the mention of Forsythe. Photo? What file?
“I’ve already taken care of that,” Kick gritted out. “She volunteered to accompany you home.”
Marc slowly shook his head. “And when they—when he—starts asking her questions? Hell, he’s already suspicious. How long do you think it’ll take him to figure out what’s really going on? You honestly think that I—that we—will live long enough to get on that transport home?”
She straightened. Huh? What was going on? “Wait. We’re in danger here? At the DFP camp?” She blinked at them in disbelief. “From who?”
Kick ignored her questions, his face twisting into a portrait of hostility as he regarded Marc like a thundercloud.
“Alors,” Marc said, lowering his voice further yet, “surely, he already suspects us. If I keep pretending to slip in and out of consciousness so I’m not a threat, I have a fifty-fifty chance of getting on that STORM helo intact. But if you leave her here, the odds go down dramatically. For both of us.”
Her alarm was growing by the second. “What the hell are you two talking about?” She spoke in a loud whisper, matching the cue of the men.
Kick paced away and then back, hands on hips, glaring at Marc. “You’re assuming he is the traitor. But what if he isn’t? That FedEx plane wasn’t shot down by accident, you know. And he was genuinely surprised to see us.”
“Who?”
“Did you contact STORM directly to request extraction, or through Zero Unit?” Marc asked.
“Directly. I don’t trust anyone at ZU.”
“Then we’ve all still got a fighting chance. But only if you get her out of here.”
Locked in a staring match, they were deliberately shutting her out of their plans. God, she hated that. Just like the flipping male doctors in the ER. She thrust her fingers into her hair and pulled at it in frustration. “Will you two please stop talking in riddles and tell me what the hell is going on?” It came out louder than she’d intended, causing the men to glance around worriedly.