Heart of a Hero

by Sara Craven

  If the deal had not gotten under way within a week, Eric knew he would probably be a dead customer and Dawn along with him. It would mean they had been made.

  Chapter 5

  “How beautiful!” Dawn rarely gushed, but it was hard not to when flying fairly low over the blue Aegean and its green and white dots of paradise. “I’m coming back here for vacation one day.”

  “Yeah, you should take a yacht tour to Marathi. That’s fantastic and fairly inexpensive,” Eric advised. “Not too touristy or cluttered.”

  She turned to smile at him. “I take it you’ve been here before?”

  He nodded and pointed out the window. “That speck off to the right is Horio, I think. Used to be a sponge-harvesting island, but most of that trade moved to Florida when the sponges died out here.” He buckled his seat belt.

  “Have you spoken with Mercier?” she asked, more interested in the mission now than the sight below.

  “While you were sleeping. He ran the name Quince through all sources and thinks he might have a hit. A Greek by the name of Stefan Cydonia, a mercenary known for his involvement in weapons dealing. He’s dealt in uranium and some other components used to make WMDs, too. If it’s him, he’s an arrogant bastard. Cydonia is Latin for quince.”

  “So he’s suspect because he’s a Greek, his name means quince and this meeting is ostensibly set for somewhere in the Greek Isles?” she asked. “Makes sense to me.”

  “He was involved in an illegal arms deal years ago in Baden-Baden, Germany. We had some pretty good intel on that, but he managed to escape. That’s how he got on our ‘to watch’ list and gained probable credit for some other deals in the same vein.”

  “I’m impressed. Do we have his address, by any chance?”

  Eric shook his head. “No luck there. No usable photos, either. He has managed to stay off the radar for nearly a decade.”

  “What else do we know about him?” Dawn asked, intrigued and eager to know who they were up against.

  “Very little, but Jack’s working on that. We’ll be landing soon.”

  No sooner had he said that than their captain announced they were approaching the international airport in Athens.

  Two other men accompanied them on the plane, both very large bodyguard types wearing regular business suits and the traditional headpieces of Eric’s bogus homeland. One was called Ressam. He was a dour man with darting eyes and quick movements. He reminded her of a ferret.

  The other, Eric introduced as Clay Senate, a fellow Sextant agent also in disguise going by the name of Adil. It was impossible to determine what his nationality might be. He stood well over six feet tall, had a light reddish-brown complexion, wise gray-green eyes and faintly oriental features. His formidable height and build were reassuring, and he was definitely an easy guy to look at. Pity he was so stoic and never smiled. She hoped that was just part of his current disguise and not his real demeanor.

  When Eric warned her not to speak with either man except in an emergency because it was forbidden, Dawn knew the ruse had begun in earnest. She was now Aurora, wife of Jarad Al-Dayal, wealthy oil magnate and closet terrorist.

  The private jet impressed Dawn, as did the clothing she had been provided. In the smaller piece of her Vuitton luggage that he had told her to open, there were a couple of the traditional robes Eric had warned her she would have to wear, but also included were casual outfits appropriate for a vacation in the warm climes of Greece and the islands.

  At Eric’s direction, she had napped in the cabin at the back of the plane, which contained a bedroom with a king-size bed sporting satin sheets. She had showered in the fantastic bathroom with its gold fittings and fancy soaps, amazed that the bronze tan he’d sprayed on her didn’t seem to fade at all. Then she had applied her makeup—heavy on the kohl shadow, as Eric had suggested—and dressed in lightweight summer slacks and a pink silk tank top. Her strappy little sandals probably cost more than her entire wardrobe back home.

  Eric was resplendent, dressed for show as a young oil tycoon from the Middle East. The dark mustache was new and looked perfectly real and at home above his finely sculpted mouth. What a change from the handsome but terse government agent she had first met in that interrogation room. Then later, at his place, he had become that teasing, slightly rowdy blond jock. Was that his natural self, or yet another guise?

  She reminded herself once again that she must keep in mind how easily this guy switched gears. How could any woman ever trust a man like Vinland? She still had no idea who he really was at heart or what the heck he was going to do next. Maybe that was the main part of his charm, that unpredictability.

  But for now, Dawn knew she was completely in his hands whether she liked it or not. “Where do we go first?”

  “Through security, then customs. Then we reboard for the flight to Leros.”

  Eric adjusted his ghutra. “Remember you are supposed to be Andorran. When you speak, use English with a Spanish accent. English will be our common language since it’s the one I would be most likely to know with my Oxford education. You’ll have to suit up before we deplane. Where’s your stuff?”

  “In the bedroom, laid out on the bed. You’ll have to show me what goes where.”

  He smiled rather evilly, teasing her again. Dawn knew it was his way of trying to put her at ease, so she didn’t even pretend to take offense.

  “You’d better wear this, too,” he said, reaching under his robes to retrieve a small box. In it were a gold band and an enormous diamond solitaire. He slipped both on her finger.

  She stretched out her arm to view the rings from a distance. “Tell me this rock is not the real deal.”

  “Oh yes, darling. Only the most ostentatious for my missus,” he assured her. Then he grinned. “On loan with the rest of the bling-bling, so don’t lose anything down a drain or you’ll be in hock for life.”

  “The clothes are loaners, too, right?” she asked.

  “No, those are yours.”

  Dawn’s eyes widened as she looked at him in wonder. “Really?” She ought to protest, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Though she had seen only a portion of the things someone had packed for her, those she had seen were absolutely fantastic. Expensive. Gorgeous. Made her feel like a million. Looking that way was the whole point, of course.

  She chalked it up to a clothing allowance that beat all. Or maybe hazard pay. She’d probably earn the new duds in spades before this was over.

  Twenty minutes later, they landed and were greeted by several official-looking men wearing suits.

  Covered head to foot in blue, heavily embroidered flowing silk, Dawn kept her gaze lowered. Her face, hands and feet were the only parts of her visible to others. She stayed in Eric’s wake while he hammed it up in his new role. He gave the word pompous new meaning, but certainly looked grand enough to carry it off with panache.

  After they entered the building, she experienced a few minutes of apprehension when they were separated. A female attendant guided her to a private room where Dawn was politely, but very thoroughly, searched. Not a pleasant experience, but tolerable. The wait to get back to Eric and their two bodyguards seemed interminable, but she guessed that was to be expected, too.

  She thought she noted a look of relief in his eyes when she rejoined him later. Or maybe he was only squinting from the contacts he was wearing. She missed the glasses.

  She blinked and looked down at her hands with their newly tanned skin, natural-colored nails and enormous diamond, and didn’t recognize them as her own. This was too weird.

  The short flight to the island of Leros and limousine trip to the Milos hotel proved uneventful and was virtually silent. Surprisingly, she missed the easy banter with Eric. But the bodyguards sat across from them, vigilant and fierce-looking as Dobermans. Even though Dawn knew whose side they were on, their somber presence discouraged any conversation.

  When she and Eric were alone at last, Dawn quickly removed the confining outer garments and drew in a
deep breath. They were staying at a new and very exclusive hotel near the black-sand beach. The place must have been constructed especially for visiting royalty. Though the outside looked relatively modest and in keeping with the simple local architecture, the interior was downright fantastic.

  “This place would wow Trump,” she muttered.

  Eric tossed his head-covering onto the sofa of the sitting room and glared at her. “Silence, woman!” he snapped, then covered her mouth with his hand to keep her from spouting the sharp comeback she had in mind.

  Dawn realized at once he thought the place might be wired. He moved his hand and gestured to one of the doors leading off the sitting room. In the bathroom, he turned on the shower and left it running.

  Immediately, he moved close to her, embraced her carefully and whispered into her ear, “Wherever we are, assume that everything we say and do is monitored. Especially here. The Milos is the only five-star around and the one in which I, as Al-Dayal, would be most likely to stay. If our rooms aren’t bugged, then we’re dealing with amateurs.”

  Dawn nodded, trying to ignore the closeness of his body, his exotic scent and the feel of his palm on her cheek. She could kick herself for not thinking of wires first thing. It was a simple matter for a bribed employee to plant listening devices. That could have been the porter who accompanied them to the room with their luggage, a concierge ordered to dash up to see that all was in order, or whoever had delivered the fresh arrangement of flowers minutes before they arrived.

  Eric continued, his voice barely audible, his fake mustache tickling her ear. “Stay in character. Always, unless I invite you out of it. I’ll decide when it’s safe.”

  She nodded again, not minding his orders in the least. He was running the op and he knew best.

  Eric drew back, still holding her, and gave her a tight smile. “All right. Do not forget.” Then he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and looked pensive. Tension played between them like a high-voltage current.

  Dawn became very aware of his hands on her, the subtle catch in his breathing, the intoxicating sandalwood scent of him this close to her. His gaze prowled over her like a hungry lion.

  Suddenly, he released her and left her there alone, quickly closing the door behind him.

  Something had happened in that brief span of time and Dawn could not explain it. Sexual attraction peaking big-time, of course, but more than that. It was as if she had felt his thoughts, his worry, even a fear that he was getting too close to her and yet not close enough. Or maybe she was projecting her own thoughts onto him because she was so reluctant to admit they were hers.

  She shook her head to clear it and went to the sink to splash cold water on her face. Must be a bizarre case of jet lag, she figured. That man was seriously meddling with her objectivity and professionalism. It had to stop.

  Eric felt a little more in control as he set up the laptop he’d brought with him. He sent e-mails to several contacts in Iran, a few to Saudi Arabia and a couple to various places in Europe. The messages were not important, merely for show should anyone tap into what he was doing. Unnecessary detail, maybe, but he liked to be thorough.

  Later tonight, he would log on to the address furnished in the message from the seller. Instructions for the next leg of their trip could come through, then. If not, he would know he was being checked out very thoroughly. His identity would be verified with former photos and disinformation Sextant had circulated for this very purpose.

  Someone would surely be comparing the fingerprints that were on file as Al-Dayal’s with those he had provided on everything he had touched since entering the hotel. Dawn’s had been erased from her actual records completely and replanted in all the right places. If the one doing this deal had the resources, this portion of the mission could take several days.

  The concierge called and offered to set up a sightseeing expedition for the Al-Dayals tomorrow. Eric pretended to vacillate. Should he allow his beloved wife the exposure? He even asked how private they would be.

  The concierge insisted they would not be troubled by the rabble of tourists or jostled by the locals. In the end, Eric reluctantly agreed to a day of fun, sun and freedom from his spouse’s usual confinement. He was the soul of benevolence, the man had told him.

  Yeah, right. Eric figured Dawn would kick his butt if he left her in the room while he went out to play sheikh. Besides, this could be the setup for contact with Quince.

  “Aurora!” he called to her through her bedroom door. “I have wonderful news. Come here.”

  She entered, wearing a bright summer shift the color of raspberries. He smiled at her as a fond husband might. “Would you care to go sailing?”

  “Oh yes, master,” she answered with only the smallest trace of sarcasm.

  He shot her a dark look of warning.

  She smiled innocently and sat beside him, her hands folded primly on her knees. “Where shall we sail, Jarad?”

  “About the islands,” he replied. “Perhaps we shall find a secluded beach and go for a nice swim. Would you like that, my heart?”

  “Oh, above all!” she cried, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

  Eric could have spanked her. Damn, she was overacting. Overacting to a wild and delicious degree, he realized as he abandoned himself and enjoyed her mouth to the fullest. His entire body reacted with a vengeance, blood rushing south from his brain like a tidal wave.

  He broke the kiss, then took another angle, pressing his chest to hers until they were nearly reclining on the sofa. Only when he felt the increased pressure of her palms against his chest did he relent.

  Damn, she was hot. And he was hotter. Both were hyperventilating.

  She laughed as she escaped his clutches and danced back into her bedroom, shaking her finger at him over her shoulder. A quicksilver imp, that girl. And wicked.

  For a minute, he was tempted to follow, just to see where things might go. But he knew how out of hand he had gotten with just the kiss, so he stayed put.

  No matter how many days it lasted, this was going to be a long, long assignment.

  The next morning, in deference to her role, Dawn donned modest white slacks and a loose, flowing shirt that covered her arms. She knotted her hair in a bun at her nape and covered most of it with a floral scarf in soft pastels—colors she could never have worn comfortably as a redhead.

  From the jewelry case someone had provided along with the new wardrobe, she chose gold hoop earrings and numerous bangles for her wrists. She looked prim but fashionable, she thought, as she examined her image in the mirror. Rich, too. The clothes were fantastic, their labels indicating that whoever bought them had pulled no punches where price was concerned. Had Eric chosen these and ordered them? The only opportunity he’d had was when she slept at his house. Maybe Mercier was responsible.

  When she emerged from the bedroom, he smiled his approval, slipping a cell phone into his shirt pocket. He had also dressed in white, wearing shorts, a knit shirt and sneakers. It emphasized the darkness of his skin. The man looked scrumptious, but she decided she preferred him blond and without facial hair.

  He stood immediately, resting his hands on his hips as he appraised her. “Excellent choice of apparel.”

  “Gracias. May we go now?” Dawn could not wait to get out of their rooms, or the goldfish bowl, as she was coming to think of it. Having to be seriously conscious of every single move and sound she made was driving her crazy.

  He reached for her hand and she gave it. The warmth of his palm and those long, strong fingers laced between hers felt reassuring. Confidence seemed to emanate from his pores and bolster her own. Not that she didn’t think she could handle the mission, but she knew she could never have done it on her own. He knew all the ropes. Master, indeed.

  Clay Senate, or Adil, as he was to be called, and Ressam joined them at the elevator. Dawn lowered her gaze to the floor, but only after a lightning-quick assessment of the men who would protect them. Ressam
had left off his ghutra. Clay kept his. Both men wore slacks with floral cotton shirts worn untucked to hide the weapons she knew they carried. Covered up as she was, she felt naked without hers.

  She remained silent while Eric barked a few terse instructions to the men in Farsi. Were there cameras in the elevators, too? she wondered, then decided they were assuming so just in case there were.

  Maybe with so many international travelers and no rules governing surveillance, the nooks and crannies of everywhere contained wires and cameras.

  God, this was not what she had expected or trained for. Undercover work was not her forté. She much preferred doing sanctioned breaking and entering. Even the official hacking she had done on the computers back at headquarters before being transferred was preferable to this.

  Surely on the sailboat it would be safe to be themselves again, at least for the duration of their day trip.

  As if he had read her mind, Eric spoke. “Live it, Aurora,” he said quietly as they exited the hotel and headed for the car that she supposed would take them to the marina.

  Well, that killed that hope, Dawn thought. She had to become Aurora with no hope for a rest until this was over. “Yes, Jarad,” she replied softly. “With relish, I promise.”

  “Good little wife,” he replied under his breath. “Allah be praised.”

  Necessary role-playing aside, Dawn heartily wished she could kick him in the shins.

  Chapter 6

  “The Angeline? What a lovely name for a boat,” Dawn said softly as she stepped carefully on board the sailing yacht. “She is very beautiful.”

  Eric had gone ahead of her. Ladies first did not apply as far as he was concerned. He appeared to be enjoying this charade of theirs to the max.

  Dawn had kissed him last night, not just for any cameras that might be running, but also to show him he wasn’t calling all the shots, at least not between them. The problem was that the kiss had backfired on her and she had almost lost control of it, along with her good sense. The man was no novice when it came to lip-locks, that was for sure.