by Pamela Clare
Shanti tried to understand. “Why do you keep doing it? Why not leave and find a job that doesn’t risk your life or place you in conflict with others?”
“This is the only thing I’m good at.”
Shanti shook her head. “I don’t believe that—not for a minute.”
“I don’t have a college education. I signed up straight out of high school. When I left the army, I didn’t know what I was going to do. I was lucky to know one of the guys who works for Cobra. We served together. He got me this job.”
Connor never used the term Delta Force and rarely mentioned the branch of the special forces in which he’d served. Technically speaking, the Unit didn’t exist.
“Now you’re out here risking your life again.” She pressed her fingers to the bullet scar on his chest. “You’ve been hurt so many times. Where did you get this one?”
“Mosul.”
She ran a thumb over the deep graze on his right shoulder. “This one?”
“Fallujah, I think.”
How could he not remember?
She traced a finger over the scar on his belly, the muscles of his abdomen tightening at her touch. “This one looks new.”
“I took a round to the gut last November. Some warlord tried to abduct a client and ambushed us at the airport in Mazar-e-Sharif. I think most of us got shot in that one. Jones took a round to the lung, came close to dying.”
“That’s awful. Is the client okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“Did you sit in her bed when she had nightmares, too?”
“Tower did.” But Connor seemed distracted now, his gaze on her lips.
“Connor?”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
“God, yes.” He drew her close and took her mouth with his.
Shanti’s thoughts scattered, her breath catching as Connor brushed his lips over hers again and again, each caress making her pulse skip. He drew her closer, one big hand splayed across her back, the hard feel of his body sending shivers through her. But still, he took his time, teasing her mouth with his, nipping her lips, tracing their curves with his tongue until she trembled and burned.
He drew back, looked down at her, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark. “Shanti.”
For a moment, she was afraid it was over, that duty or conscience or some misplaced sense of gallantry had gotten the better of him. Before she could protest, he slid a hand into her hair, angled her head—and claimed her mouth in a slow, deep kiss.
Oh, yes!
She slid her hands up his bare chest and over his shoulders, arching against him, reveling in the feel of him, inhaling his male scent.
He groaned, his hand fisting in her hair, gentleness giving way to need. The intensity of his kiss left her breathless, his lips pressing hard and hot against hers, his tongue teasing hers with insistent strokes.
Arousal lanced through her, turning to liquid fire in her belly. Hungry for more, she kissed him back, challenging him for control, playing with him the way he’d played with her—nipping his lower lip, exploring his mouth, tasting his tongue.
He let her have her way—for a moment.
When he reclaimed control, she surrendered gladly, feeling delightfully overpowered and deliciously feminine in his arms.
He cupped one of her breasts through the thin cotton of her nightgown, ran his thumb over its puckered nipple, making her gasp. Then his lips came down on her pulse, pressing kisses against the sensitive skin of her neck.
All at once, he broke the kiss and withdrew his hand. “Shanti, I can’t … I shouldn’t… If we don’t stop now...”
Shanti’s body ached, her pulse thrumming for him. “But I don’t want to stop—not yet. Don’t you want this?”
He looked into her eyes, his gaze burning. “God, yes, but I’m breaking a half-dozen rules by being with you like this.”
“I won’t report you. Who’s going to know?”
“I’ll know.” He ran a thumb over the curve of her lower lip. “I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize your safety or happiness.”
She knew she was pouting, but she didn’t care. She was wet and achy for him, and it had been so damned long. “Your refusal to continue kissing me is definitely injurious to my happiness.”
He grinned, chuckled. “Now the attorney comes out. Can we negotiate? When we’re back in The Hague, and I’m no longer assigned to your protection detail, I’ll be more than happy to spend a night kissing you for as long as you want.”
That was probably tomorrow.
She could live that long, couldn’t she? “I’m going to hold you to that.”
Connor woke up in a foul mood, edgy and frustrated. He hadn’t slept much, but he wasn’t tired, unspent sexual energy more potent than caffeine. He got up, dressed, and brushed his teeth, marveling at his stupidity, his lack of self-control.
He had gone into Shanti’s room last night—and he’d kissed the hell out of her.
To be fair, he hadn’t gone in there intending to kiss her. He’d heard her cry out and had thought at first that something had happened. When he’d realized she’d had a nightmare, he’d stayed to help her get past it.
That makes it worse, you idiot, not better.
He was in a position of trust. He was the head of her security team, for God’s sake. She’d been vulnerable and afraid.
She wanted it. You know she did. She asked you to kiss her.
She’d kissed him back, pressing her body against his, arching into his hand when he’d touched her breast. Hell, she’d gotten pissed off when he’d finally stopped.
That doesn’t change anything.
Fuck.
He couldn’t think of the last time he’d wanted a woman like this. Every cell in his body ached for her. And now he was hard again.
Good job, dumbass.
He rinsed his toothbrush and packed his gear, doing his best to get his head out of his crotch and on the job. He was dressed, ready to go, and no longer erect in time for their morning strategy session, which he considered something of an achievement.
The others shuffled in, everyone making straight for the coffee.
Corbray and Tower joined them from DC and Denver, respectively.
Corbray started the meeting. “We’re pulling you out. The ICC agrees that Bangladesh is just too hot for Ms. Lahiri right now. They want her and the phone back in The Hague as soon as we can make it happen.”
Cruz raised his hand. “Why do they need the phone? They’ve got the videos and the stills. That ought to be enough to pull a warrant on this asshole.”
Shields took this question. “There’s a chance that they can use the IMEI number on the phone to trace it to a specific soldier. If they can prove the phone belonged to someone who serves under Naing, that’s another piece of evidence.”
“Then it’s worth it,” McManus said. “We need to put this whoreson away.”
Tower took them through the plan. “Our helicopter will be waiting at the airport. O’Neal, you and the asset and two others from your team will fly out on the bird to Dhaka. The rest of you will drive there in the vehicles. The jet, which is currently over the Pacific, will meet you in Dhaka and bring you to the Netherlands.”
Corbray took over. “No one is to know she’s leaving—not the hotel staff, not her UN contacts at the camps, not the witnesses, not even her interpreter.”
They were just picking up and leaving.
It made sense.
“There’s not much room on the helo, so our gear will need to go with the vehicles. The vehicles will leave first and drive toward the camps at the same time as yesterday. O’Neal, you, Cruz, and Jones will drive Ms. Lahiri and her bags to the airport when they’re out of sight.”
“What about the phone?” Connor asked. “If the asset keeps it with her and they’re tracking it, they’ll know she’s not in the vehicles. Could we send it with our gear?”
“The ICC wants us to treat the phone like an additional asset.”
Connor didn’t like that. They were risking a living, breathing woman for the phone. Sadly, this wasn’t his decision to make. If it were up to him, they would shred the damned thing. “Copy that.”
Shanti stared at Connor. “We’re leaving right now?”
“We’re not notifying anyone, not even the hotel staff.”
“I sent Pauline an email last night telling her I didn’t think I would be coming to the camp today because of the changing security situation and asking her to cancel today’s appointments. Is that a problem?”
“Did you tell her you’ve been recalled and are leaving the country?”
“No.”
Connor nodded. “I’ll run this by Shields, but I think we’re okay.”
She glanced back at her suitcase. “What’s going with me, and what’s going with the rest of the team?”
“Your bags go on the helicopter.”
“So, we’ll be in The Hague tomorrow?” She hadn’t forgotten the deal they’d made last night.
“Yeah, if we stay on schedule.” His mind was clearly on security, so he didn’t seem to catch her meaning.
“You haven’t forgotten our … arrangement?”
Lips that had kissed her senseless curved in a slow, sexy grin that made her shiver. “I haven’t forgotten anything. Pack. We leave in forty-five minutes—and bring a headscarf.”
“Forty-five minutes?” She stared after him as he left her room, heard him chuckle.
She moved as quickly as she could, folding her saris, gathering her toiletries, choosing what to wear. She packed her laptop in her suitcase and zipped the soldier’s phone carefully in her handbag. She remembered what it had been like to climb into the helicopter the other day and skipped the skirt suit and heels for a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and her boots. She tucked some bottled water into her handbag, along with her encrypted cell phone and some candied almonds. She managed to gulp down some cha and scrambled eggs, take her malaria pill, and brush her teeth before her time was up.
She stepped out of her room to find that Quinn McManus, Thor Isaksen, and Lev Segal had already gone in the Land Rovers. Elizabeth and two members of the computer team were staying behind to operate the drone that would see Shanti safely to the airport and to break down and pack up the computers.
“How are you getting home?” Shanti had come to like Elizabeth and to respect her skills. She didn’t want to say goodbye.
“We’ll catch a commercial flight back to the US tomorrow.”
Shanti hugged her. “Thanks for all your help yesterday, and thanks for all you’ve done to keep me safe.”
“You’re welcome.” Elizabeth hugged her back. “You just get that bastard, okay? The world doesn’t need men like him.”
“I’ll do my best.” Shanti stepped into the elevator with Connor, Dylan, and Malik, who carried her bags.
She wanted to make a joke about how she could get used to traveling like this—men to carry her luggage, helicopters waiting for her at the airport, private luxury jets—but they were all business now, just like they’d been on the trips to and from Kutupalong. At first glance, they looked like tourists—jeans, casual button-down shirts left unbuttoned and untucked over black T-shirts, baseball caps on their heads. But hidden beneath the button-down shirts were shoulder harnesses and weapons.
When the elevator doors opened again, she expected to see a shiny, black Land Rover. Instead, a green auto-rickshaw waited for them. She understood why they’d chosen this vehicle. It might not be bullet-proof, but it would blend in with the hundreds of others just like it on the roads.
“It’s been a while since I’ve traveled in one of these.”
Connor helped her in. “We’ll need you to sit in the back and wear that headscarf. Cover your face if you can.”
She did as he asked and found herself sandwiched once again between Dylan and Malik. She supposed she ought to be nervous, but she wasn’t.
Hadn’t they kept her safe so far?
The gate went up, and they drove out onto the streets to be swallowed up instantly by traffic, auto-rickshaws, bicycles, pedestrians, vendor carts, and buses all vying for space on the crowded roadway.
Shanti inhaled the familiar scents, a sense of sadness settling over her at having to leave so quickly. When she’d first heard she’d be coming here, she had hoped to visit her father’s cousins. She would just have to come again.
It didn’t take long to reach the airport. They entered through a controlled gate and drove straight onto the tarmac, where Cobra’s helicopter was waiting for them, its rotors running. It was smaller than the UN helicopter had been.
“Heads on a swivel,” Connor said to his team.
He led Shanti straight to the helicopter and helped her climb in, the two of them taking their seats while Dylan and Malik got her bags out of the rickshaw. “Buckle up.”
It all happened at once.
The helicopter starting to lift off without Dylan and Malik. Connor drawing his weapon. The co-pilot firing at Connor. Connor slumping to the side, blood spilling from his head. The co-pilot firing at Dylan and Malik below.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Terror slid through her veins, her heart beating so hard it hurt.
She’d been abducted.
Connor was dead.
She was alone with his killers.
10
Shanti trembled in fear, her mouth dry, her pulse like thunder in her ears.
No! Connor! Oh, God.
But she didn’t have time for grief because, at that moment, the co-pilot turned and pointed his pistol straight at her.
She shrank back into her seat, hands raised, sure she’d taken her last breath.
The man spoke to her in English. “You be a good girl. Don’t make me kill you.”
He climbed into the back, and for a moment, Shanti was sure he meant to open the door and dump Connor’s body. Instead, he took Connor’s radio and went back to his seat, listening via Connor’s earpiece and laughing with the pilot about something. She couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other. Maybe they were on a private channel.
“Bastards.”
But they could hear her.
“Watch your mouth, Ms. Lahiri.” The pilot turned just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his face.
“You?”
It was the Indian pilot who’d flown the UN helicopter.
He chuckled. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You flew the helicopter the day those two men fired that grenade at us. Did you know they were going to do that?”
“Of course, but they never planned to hit us. It was supposed to frighten you away. No one wanted to hurt you. Sadly, you’re stupid and chose to stay.”
“But why? You work for—”
“I work for money. The pilots who were going to fly you today developed fatal headaches, so I took the job.”
Shanti stared in horror as the two men laughed. “You killed them?”
“They were in the way.”
Whoever the poor people were, they had worked for Cobra and had been sent here to protect her. Now, they were dead.
Shanti sat there, shaking, adrenaline making it hard to think. The helicopter had almost reached the Naf River now. They were flying her to Myanmar.
Of course, they are. Think!
They were going to take the phone. They were going to take the phone and kill her just like they’d killed Connor and the pilots and…
Connor’s words from last night came back to her.
You have to make your peace with death. Then the fear disappears.
A man who isn’t afraid of dying is dangerous.
Make your peace with death. Make your peace with death.
How the hell did a person do that?
She didn’t want to die.
Neither did the Rohingya men, women, and children in those villages.
They’d wanted to live as desperately as she did. They’d had hopes and dreams. All of that had be
en stolen from them. Life didn’t matter to Naing and his men. It didn’t matter to the two men in front. Killing her would be easy for them.
A man who isn’t afraid of dying is dangerous.
A man who isn’t afraid of dying … can think and fight.
Shanti’s pulse slowed, and her fear began to lessen, replaced by a strange sense of power. Connor had died fighting to protect her. Now, she would fight to defend herself—and to bring his body home.
She glanced over at Connor, pain splitting her breastbone to know he was…
She stared.
His chest moved slowly up and down.
He was breathing!
Thank God!
Relief flooded her, warm and sweet.
But how?
He’d been shot in the head. No one survived that. Unless…
Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Still, the bastards in front clearly believed he was dead. They hadn’t searched him for weapons or tried to restrain him. If he moaned in pain or regained consciousness, they would kill him.
Oh, no, they won’t!
She reached over, took his hand, gave his fingers a squeeze—and she saw.
His gun.
It had fallen to the floor of the helicopter behind his left foot. They must not have noticed it, or they would have taken it away.
Or maybe they think you’re too afraid to do anything with it.
Quietly, carefully, she reached over with her leg, caught the weapon with her heel, and slowly pushed it toward herself. With the earphones on and the thrum of the rotors, not even she could hear the quiet sound of the firearm sliding along the floor.
The two men pointed toward something in the sky just ahead of them.
Cobra’s drone.
Shanti saw her chance.
She bent down, grabbed the pistol, tucked it beneath her.
The gun was heavier than she’d imagined it would be, but she had it now. If they tried to shoot Connor again…