Fight Fire With Fire.

by Amy J. Fetzer

  “I changed my mind,” he said sleepily, pulling her onto the sofa with him.

  Safia didn’t bother fighting it and went willingly, needing his arms around her. He shifted her back against him, his body curling around hers and she settled with a slow breath. She’d never been so comfortable in her life. “I could get used to this so easily.”

  “That’s the idea, love.” He kissed her temple and snuggled warmly, yet as Safia drifted into an exhausted sleep, she realized for the first time in years she experienced a bit of role reversal, feeling truly safe and protected. So rare, she thought, and she wanted to keep it close; it smothered the loneliness she could never escape.

  Singapore City

  Barasa crossed the avenue, dodging late night traffic. Neon lights and music colored the darkness, creating a hazy shield over the ugliness. The streets were thick with squalor and the sordid that came out at night, he thought, spotting hookers pulling young men in as the last customer passed them in the doorway. The aroma of frying food mixed with heat and sweat. It was the reason he’d discarded his suit for a Philippine barong, the whispery thin fabric showing his sleeveless tee-shirt beneath. Yet it clung, his cotton trousers feeling heavy. Tall buildings hemmed in the heat, and most vendors had huge fans blowing the hot air and streamers. He thought of Vaghn in the air-conditioned hotel room, under tight guard and the care of a doctor. Keeping the man sedated with a little morphine gave Cale the quiet he coveted. Moving him quickly was easier with him in a wheelchair, the sympathy alone getting them into hiding quickly.

  He spotted the sandwich shop, the fruit vendor before it just closing up. Halfway to his target, he stopped to buy a newspaper from a stand, and look back down the street. His contact would certainly have protection with him, he thought, then continued walking. Cale wanted no one to witness the meeting.

  He strolled another block, buying a drink, and making his way nearer to the shop. He ordered from the street window, then stepped back, sitting on the short cement wall and opening the newspaper. A few moments later, a man in a green tee-shirt and black shorts ordered the same meal. When he turned from the window, he met Barama’s gaze, then sat beside him. He crossed one leg at the ankle, and held it there. The man had followed his instructions to the letter.

  “We want it now,” the buyer said.

  Barasa turned the page, and said, “Learn some patience.”

  “Arrangements have been made for transport.”

  “Then change them. I’m not overnight express.”

  The man glared, his clean-shaven face showing jagged scars on his jaw and the lack of sun on his smooth skin was obvious. “You go back on this and we’ll kill you.”

  Barasa scoffed. Everyone threatened him with death. “Then neither of us will have what we want.”

  The vendor called his order number and Barasa closed the newspaper and folded it, then went to the window and took his order. He looked back at the man and said, “Have you seen this evening’s show?” His buyer frowned, then looked toward the coast. The spinning lights and fires were barely visible even at this distance. “That is proof of its power.”

  The man cursed in surprise, still staring.

  Barasa grasped the white paper bag, then tucked the newspaper under his arm. “Don’t summon me again,” he warned. “I have several buyers who’d be interested in taking your place.”

  “Then we expect to be repaid.”

  Barasa looked at the man probably five years senior, and said, “Then perhaps you should consider it a deposit for the demonstration?”

  The man’s face flamed with anger, but Barasa turned away, strolling casually, yet noticed the two men flanking him, one across the street, the other ahead a few yards. He smiled to himself and continued, intentionally coming close to his watchers. When one brushed against him, Cale ignored it, walking past the threshold of a dingy hotel.

  Rahjan stepped out, meeting his gaze briefly. “I told you,” he said, then headed in the opposite direction, toward the buyer.

  “Discourage them only.” He didn’t want his buyers dead, simply warned back. The stalling was for his own benefit. He had yet to see this weapon, hold it, and until then, it didn’t exist. For him, the only exchange in the bargain was in his bank account and the lives of three men.

  Marina Bay

  Singapore

  The sun was hinting on the horizon when Safia woke. She lay still, absorbing the incredible comfort of Riley wrapped around her. She’d never wanted to just sleep near Antonio, she thought, mentally comparing. In fact, she was usually out the door before he woke. But she didn’t want to greet this day if it meant losing the closeness she hadn’t had . . . well, since taking this job, she thought back. Frowning, she felt the prickle of her isolation and inched closer to Riley.

  She heard the coffee maker click on, and tried to disengage herself from him, but he squeezed back.

  “A wee bit longer,” he said sleepily and she smiled, closing her eyes and settling in again.

  Sleep nearly overtook her again until he whispered, “Why did you do this?”

  She stirred, and turned a bit to look at him. “The CIA?”

  He nodded and simply waited. His blue eyes were so intense right now, and she thought, he doesn’t have the right to know, but then, the words just spilled.

  “My mother was a teacher at the embassy, Dad was the U.S. Ambassador to Egypt.”

  His brows rose high. She tried to focus on his face and not the memories suddenly crowding her brain. “He was controversial, always talking about bringing Christian, Arab, and Muslim together for cultural discussions. Some didn’t want that and thought a bomb in his staff car would shut him up.”

  “Mary mother,” he said softly.

  The familiar ache started tightening in her chest. “They were on their way to pick me up. I was at a boarding school, a senior. My little sister was with them.” She inhaled a shuddering breath. “The killers were house staff. They knew every move we made. I witnessed it.” He didn’t comment, his thumb rubbing slowly over the back of her hand, mimicking the little circles she was drawing on his chest.

  “I wondered why not me too. My sister was waving out the window. The car was coming toward me outside the school. When the explosion detonated, it was a block away. Nanya was still waving when her arm was ripped off.” She shifted on the sofa, fighting the urge to leave, to duck and hide from the images she couldn’t smother. “All at once I was alone with just a lot of stuff that used to be my family. I caught some debris and was hospitalized. A neighbor took me in until I went to college at the University of Maryland. Then I applied to the Company.”

  “And you went after the killers?”

  She tipped her head back and met his gaze. “Not at first. I had a lot of psych evaluations because of that though. I found them living rather well in Syria. They’d progressed to killing a few hundred at a time by then.”

  “That’s a long time to be so alone.”

  She cocked a look at him. “Who says I was?”

  He arched a brow. “Is there some bloke I should be challenging?”

  She busted with laughter, touching the side of his face.

  “You’re one of a kind,” she said, searching his gaze.

  He grinned. “That’s what me Mum says.”

  She shifted on her back and her breath caught when he slid his hand across her stomach. It made her more aware of him, and that he touched her with an almost natural ease. “My director said one of your team is married to Alexa Gavlin.”

  “Yes, Killian. You know her?”

  “We were both trained by Lania Price.”

  Riley muttered a curse.

  “Ahh, so you’re acquainted.”

  “She blackmailed Killian into going after Alexa. When that didn’t work, she sent a contractor after Alexa to cover her tracks.”

  Safia hadn’t heard all the details, but enough to know that Lania Price’s method of intelligence gathering had finally caught up with her
. “Well, she was a flaming bitch with no soul,” she said and he chuckled lowly. “She had me tossed in a cell for two weeks in the jungle, and I wasn’t left alone.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I wish.” She told him of her imprisonment and what she thought was her first elimination. “There’s not a moment of those days I don’t recall. I can smell the cell, the mud, him. I can see his shoes, his bruised face.” She shook her head. “That’s one bastard I’d have no trouble double tapping.” She recited the details, unleashing it softly, and it wasn’t until he brushed a folded handkerchief along her cheek that she realized she was crying. She curled into him and he simply held her, rubbing her spine. She thumped his shoulder, angry all over again. “Guess I haven’t dealt with it well.”

  “I’d disagree.”

  “You’re always disagreeing with me.”

  He rubbed her spine for a few moments, then said close to her ear. “Who else do you work for?”

  She leaned back, met his gaze. “You know this is classified, right?”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  She hesitated for a second. “Any intelligence agency that needs my skills.” He only nodded and she reared back a bit when a thought occurred. “How’d you know?”

  “Access to more Intel than I’ve ever seen started me wondering. Then there was the motorcycle.”

  “Cool ride, huh? The latest from R&D.”

  “I’d love to get a look at it.” She frowned. “I’m an electrician.”

  She patted his shoulder, smiling. “Good to know you have something to fall back on if this Dragon One thing doesn’t work out.” He chuckled softly. “Coffee’s ready,” she said, her eyes flicking toward the kitchen that seemed miles away.

  “I’m certain we can find something else that tastes far better,” he said before his mouth covered hers.

  Oh yeah, Safia thought, throwing her leg over his hip. Delicious.

  He palmed her behind, the thin black cloth a weak barrier, his warm hands slow and subtle. Safia experienced a shudder of pleasure as his hand swept up her spine and under her tee-shirt. She wanted to rip off her bra and give him better access, and she pushed her hips into his, his hardness flush against her center. Her control slipped a little more, and her hand sculpted his chest, seeking, and when her hand covered the bulge, he moaned and his kiss grew stronger.

  “You’re madness,” he whispered feasting on her throat, her mouth, as his hands mapped a rough ride over her body, hunger barely tempered.

  “Then go a little crazy with me.” Even as she said the words, she knew she wanted more from Riley than a little foreplay on the sofa. But for now, this would do.

  Somewhere in the South Pacific

  In the rear of the open safari cart, Odette leaned her head back against the seat cushion. It was a short ride from the airstrip and the driver kept an even speed on the narrow road. The shade tarp above her snapped with the wind, her silk blouse fluttering around her throat. She was tempted to remove her jacket, but she wanted to look her best. The early morning sunlight popped in soft flashes between tall coconut trees, the fallen fruit already collected this morning. When her driver slowed, she sat up, checking her appearance. She waited till the cart stopped and he was coming toward her before she slid her legs out and stood, then reached for her handbag.

  He wore a broad smile.

  “You saw it?” she said.

  “It was spectacular, my dear, well done.”

  Odette walked into his arms and felt the instant comfort of his strength. He patted her back gently, then leaned back to look her in the eye. He smiled, kissed her forehead, then steered her up the stone walkway toward the tea service waiting on the veranda. She took her seat on the far side of the table, smoothing her skirt before she sat, then snapped out her napkin and dragged it over her lap.

  On a small pedestal table behind her, a bouquet of fresh cut flowers filled the covered porch with fragrance. She unbuttoned her tailored jacket and slipped it off. A servant moved to take it and she sat back, her hands limp on the armrest. She closed her eyes briefly, allowing her familiar world to envelop her and calm her anger to nothing. She’d been homesick, she realized, and didn’t want to leave again for a long while.

  Servants neared, pouring tea, offering her favorite little chilled crab sandwiches. She glanced at him, smiling her thanks as she selected one. They didn’t need to speak just yet, and she hoped that like her, he’d missed the peace and routine they shared. He folded his hands over the head of his wooden cane. He rarely needed it, but the panther head molded in silver brought him the same comfort, she supposed, that he did to her.

  “You mustn’t be angry with Barasa.”

  Her mood instantly changed, fresh anger pricking her spine and she straightened in the chair. “He failed and brought notice.”

  “On himself,” he stressed. “We can keep it that way easily. It was essential that you and the American never be together any place that wasn’t completely secure.”

  It was for her benefit, she understood that, but somehow it felt as if he lacked faith in her abilities to do it herself. She added cream and a dip of sugar to her cup and she stirred, watching her moves.

  “He was a decoy” he reminded, “but I believe he can maintain his level of security.” His shoulders shifted beneath the batiste lawn shirt she’d bought him in Belgium. “If not, he does not land. Simple.”

  “He has already sold his weapon.”

  His thick silver brows rose. “Then he sells air.” He laughed under his breath, settling in the high-backed chair. With his straw hat tipped down a bit, he reminded her of an ancient emperor and not for the first time. Perhaps it was the almond shape of his eyes, or the carefully manicured beard reflecting the Manchu dynasty.

  “Selling the weapon is his choice, and his concern, not ours. As long as he refrains from delivering it till our day, it’s of no consequence.” He waved a hand as if to sweep the subject aside, yet he waited for her agreement.

  She nodded, aware that it was her own ego that had taken a slap and little more. Her solace was in the final outcome of his plan.

  “But . . . I will give you what you desire.”

  Her gaze flashed to his as she bit into the crustless sandwich. She chewed, and swallowed before she spoke. “As if any man, forgive me but I must include you as well, would know what I truly desire.”

  Even she didn’t, because she had everything she needed to be happy right here.

  He tilted his head, his eyes shaded by his straw hat, yet his mouth curved. “You want to punish Barasa for his failure. And his disrespect of your authority.”

  Barasa’s refusal to obey her instructions didn’t anger her as much as his disbelief in her skills. “He failed and it forced us to ignite the prototype.” It was part of the agreement. Fail and you get nothing, including your life. The incentive was in the millions the professor offered and delivered. Yet on that, they’d disagreed. She thought it no better than throwing his money into the sea, but he’d insisted that the financial temptation would be irresistible to both the scientist and Barasa. With the threat of elimination if they failed, Barasa didn’t hesitate. Yet the arms dealer had a trail, and the explosion was not enough proof the American agents were dead. She wanted assurances that nothing Barasa had done would lead here.

  “You haven’t answered me,” he said.

  She glanced, popped the remains of the sandwich into her mouth, then used the napkin. His chuckle was barely audible, but she caught the shake of his shoulders.

  “Yes, you do know me well,” she said, then lifted her cup and saucer.

  Odette sipped her tea, and stared out over the magnificent landscape that always soothed her. The aroma of Chinese Oolong tea filled her senses. She thought of Barasa and his arrival. And she smiled.

  “If you two are done necking like teenagers,” Riley heard Max say, then grinned when she ripped out of his arms. When he expected her to end on the floor,
she swiped her hand under the cushion as she knelt, then aimed a Glock.

  “Whoa!” Max pointed to himself. “Friendly, a friendly!”

  She lowered the weapon. “Sorry.” Flicking the safety on, she pushed it back under the cushions.

  Riley laughed more to himself. “Wound up a wee tight this morning, are you?”

  “Yes, quite nicely, thank you,” she said for his ear alone, letting her hand slide provocatively over his chest as she stood.

  Riley swung his legs over the side, but didn’t stand. He’d crack in half if he did. She knew it too, her smile like a cat with a mouthful of cream as she walked to the kitchen. He watched the tight behind he’d had in his palms a moment ago.

  Max winked at her as she went to the cabinets and grabbed mugs. “You could have cleared your throat or something,” she said, pouring coffee for all three.

  “A man needs Kevlar around you. Have you considered decaf?” Max leaned over and added cream to one of the pair she held. “He’s Irish.”

  She walked to Riley, handing him a mug. He took it and tossed a pillow over his lap. “Not a word,” he warned.

  “The advantage of being a woman. No evidence. Though . . . I’ve a mind to take you yonder, suh,” she said, affecting a perfect southern accent. “And have my delights with you.”

  He reared back, smiling.

  “Or would you rather be hearing something a wee familiar?” she said with an Irish burl.