by Rachel Grant
“Dimitri,” he corrected. He had a perverse desire to be called by his real name, even if only in anger. “And you don’t get to call anyone. You can email, but I read every email coming and going.”
“Fuck you, Dimitri.”
“I’d love to. But I have a feeling that isn’t what you meant.”
She glared at him.
He reached toward her, not even sure what he intended. He just wanted to take the fear from her eyes. To assure her she was safe with him.
She slapped his hand away. “I told you not to touch me.”
He dropped his hand to his side and held her gaze. Last night, he’d taken her against the shower wall. It had been as hot and intense as any sex he’d ever had. His cock thickened with the memory.
If she ever realized exactly how much she turned him on, he was doomed.
Her gaze flicked downward, and her body stiffened, but she didn’t step back. Her nostrils flared, and she took a deep breath.
If he had to guess, he’d say she was turned on in spite of her fear. He filed that away under facts about Ivy to be used against her.
She stepped closer to him, as if drawn like a magnet. But then she moved to knee him in the balls. He blocked her—his actions pure autopilot. In a flash, he had her pinned flat on her back on the teak deck, his body straddling hers.
Shit. What had he done? He’d cushioned her landing with a hand behind her head, but still.
She pushed at his chest, her eyes wide with fear.
He did not get off on restraining women. He rose to his knees and raised his hands to shoulder height, as if she’d pulled a gun on him.
She surprised him, and next thing he knew, he was the one on his back on the teak, and she was above him, straddling his hips.
Her breathing was heavy as she stared down at him. He kept his hands up and open. Full surrender.
His damn erection increased at the feel of her nestled against him. He willed it to go the fuck down, but then her eyes narrowed even as her nostrils flared. She didn’t move from the intimate position. Instead she shifted her hips, increasing the friction.
“Well played,” he said, his voice coming out hoarse. “I’m at your mercy.” And he was. He wouldn’t hurt her, no matter what she did to him. He needed her to know that. He didn’t want her to fear him.
Light flared in her brown eyes. “You were a damn fine lay, Dimitri Veselov. It’s a shame you’re a dirty fucking spy.”
He flashed a weak smile. “Does it help that I’m trying to reform?”
One corner of her mouth kicked up even as she took his hands and pinned them above his head. The action brought her breasts inches from his mouth. He didn’t mind that at all. “It might’ve if you also weren’t a dumbass and abducted me. That sort of cancels the reformation out.”
“Well, I’m taking you back to Palau. And you were never tied up. I never threatened you or held a gun to you. I even made you breakfast with champagne and bacon. It’s not my fault you didn’t eat.”
“You’re a regular fucking saint. And you didn’t mention bacon.”
He laughed. Oh, thank God her spirit hadn’t left her. The last thing in the world he wanted was to break her. Seeing her cry as she sat at the foot of the guest bunk had cut deep furrows of remorse into his soul. “You say fuck a lot.”
She frowned. “Huh. You know, in my regular life, I don’t swear all that much. She leaned down until her lips hovered over his. The shift in position ground her crotch against his erection. He groaned at the sensation.
Her smile was pure cold wicked. “I guess you just bring out the fucks in me.”
Dirty talk and her pussy pressed to his cock. His erection thickened. Shit.
He did not want her to know how she affected him.
She held his gaze. Fighting the urge to tease her clit by rocking his hips caused sweat to break out on his brow.
“What are you looking for? Why is it so important you’d kidnap me and CAM?”
Much as he appreciated her interrogation methods, he couldn’t reward her with an answer. “I can’t tell you.”
“I’ll know what it is if we find it.”
“We’ll cross that ocean when we come to it.”
She released his hands and rocked against his cock, testing her power. And maybe her own limits. His control broke, and he reached around to cup her ass in both hands.
She peeled his hands from her body. “I said no touching.” She leaned down again, her beautiful face hovered over his. Her sexy scent had a blinding effect. He just wanted to close his eyes and breathe her in.
“Here’s the deal, Dimitri. I can touch you whenever I want, but you can’t touch me at all. Ever.”
“So you get off on torture?” Sure as hell that sounded like she intended to torture him.
“You get off on kidnapping women?”
“No.”
“Well, maybe I get off on not being a victim. Right now, I’m in control. And you will obey, or all deals are off.”
So much for keeping her from knowing how much power she held over him. But she was calmer now. Her breathing was easier. He should have let her pin him to the deck from the get-go. “So I never get to touch you. Not even to go down on you? I hear I’m good at it. I have a five-star review on Yelp.”
She laughed at that, then sat up straight again, but rose to her knees, breaking contact between his erection and her hot center. “Ahh, dammit. Why did you have to go and ruin this by not being Jack?” Her voice was weary, pained. “I liked Jack. He was fun.”
“But I was never Jack. If I’d stayed Jack, I’d be lying to you right now. Would you prefer that? Ignorance of who you’re dealing with?”
“I’d prefer if you’d never lied to me to begin with.” She stood and brushed off her lightweight hiking pants. “Is there a real Jack Keaton? I can’t imagine he’s thrilled you stole his identity.”
He pushed to his feet. “I didn’t steal his financial ID, just his name and military background.”
“Still, he’s going to be surprised when the FBI shows up at his door.”
“There’s no door for them to show up at. I was told he’s sailing around the world. Out of touch. By the time the truth is discovered, this could all be over.” He itched to smooth the lines of worry from her brow, to promise again that he’d protect her from the real threat. But she’d established the rules, and he had to follow them. “Until then, can we call a truce?”
She sighed. “This isn’t a truce, but it also isn’t war.”
“An alliance, then?”
“I doubt it. I don’t trust you. We’re going to have to take this one hour at a time, but if you don’t restrain me, and never threaten me again—”
“I never threatened you.”
“Really? ‘I will drop you on an uninhabited island in Malaysia’ isn’t a threat?”
He frowned, then inclined his head. “Okay, I threatened you.”
“Yeah. You did. If you can avoid threatening me for the next hour, I won’t initiate lockdown on CAM. Yet.”
He gave her a sharp nod. That was the best he could hope for. Well, that and that she’d torture him a bit. “Email your boss. She’s got to be antsy because she hasn’t heard from you yet.”
“I will, but first I need bacon.”
She delayed the email just long enough, operating on the hope that a Navy team would come to her rescue simply due to the long silence. It would have been a win/win scenario. No CAM lockdown. No uninhabited-island stranding. Just rescue and Death Valley in custody.
“Quit stalling, Ivy, and email your boss. We need to warn Ulai.”
With his promise not to threaten her, she was testing his limits, but those words brought her up short. If anything happened to Ulai, it was her fault for not having warned him.
Not surprisingly, when she logged into the closed email system, which was as bare-bones as an old DOS terminal, there were several emails from Mara, all with pleas to know Ivy’s status.
Oh, Mara, if only I could tell you…
She replied quickly to the first one: I’m safe. Writing up a more detailed reply now.
That would ease Mara’s fears and buy time for Ivy to construct a carefully worded message.
“You’re going to have to lie to explain the delay in contacting her,” Dimitri said. He’d positioned himself next to Ivy on the bench seat, with just a hair’s breadth between their shoulders and thighs. He was keeping to the deal and not touching her while still monitoring her every keystroke. “Tell her you had a problem with the satellite uplink.”
She nodded. It was the only viable excuse.
Her email was short and to the point. They’d left port last night to ensure her safety in case the two attackers who’d escaped from the mangrove swamp knew which boat was Jack’s. She’d been exhausted to the point of passing out last night and feared she’d enter the wrong codes and accidently initiate the lockdown program, so she slept a few hours, then had trouble with the uplink this morning.
She finished with:
Someone needs to warn my seaplane pilot, Ulai Umetaro, that PH’s cronies could target him. I didn’t think to warn him last night and am worried.
Through the wonders of technology in the new millennium, Mara’s reply came from halfway around the world mere minutes later:
We received word this morning that Ulai Umetaro’s hangar and his living quarters were broken into, but neither Ulai nor his seaplane were there. He took off for Kayangel an hour before dawn. He phoned in to say Jack Keaton woke him last night before you departed and told Ulai that he was taking you out to sea for your protection. Once we had that information, the SEAL team in Guam was told to stand down, but we’ve been monitoring your location, just in case. Surprised Keaton didn’t tell you.
Ivy felt the blood drain from her face, making her dizzy. He’d known Ulai was safe all along, and even that Mara was likely to presume Ivy was safe as well. There’d been little chance of a team of SEALs swooping in to save her.
“You manipulative bastard,” she said through a clenched jaw.
“You said I couldn’t threaten you. So I made you worry about Ulai.”
With shaking fingers, she typed yet another lie to her boss, the woman who’d given her a chance when so many believed she was complicit with her ex-husband.
I was in bad shape last night and didn’t think to ask him this morning—too busy trying to get the uplink to work. It’s been…stressful.
Mara’s reply was swift.
Believe me, I understand. You’ve been through an ordeal. Take a few days off. Right now, I’m hearing from the brass that they want you to stay and complete the project. Would Keaton be willing to provide your security? He’s being lauded as a hero after last night.
She rubbed her temples. Was Dimitri working with the men who’d attacked the party? Was it all an elaborate ruse to ingratiate himself to her and NHHC?
“If I were part of the group, I never would have told you my real name. Plus I had everything, including your complete trust. Why would I fuck with that by bringing you out to sea, if I were one of them?”
His words were proof he was good at reading her, or at least knew which avenues her thoughts would take. But wasn’t that what a good spy did? Weren’t they excellent at reading people and anticipating their actions and choices? Or rather, according to a coworker’s boyfriend, that was what a covert case officer—someone who ran spies—did. And Ian Boyd would know, as he’d been a case officer for the CIA when he helped take down Patrick.
Was Dimitri the equivalent of a case officer in the GRU? That would mean he recruited spies—convincing people to betray their country and provide intelligence to the enemy. The only person here he could be recruiting was Ivy, and the minute she gave him access to the mapping database, she would be committing treason. Ian had told her the spies he’d recruited had been willing. Several were volunteers. Ivy was neither.
She sighed. Her every response to Mara was just buying time. Time to figure out what Dimitri’s game was. Time to find an escape, because she had no intention of betraying her country. She began typing.
Dimitri is eager to provide security and has already offered his services.
“Change the name to Jack.”
“Sorry. That was unconscious on my part.” She corrected—or rather, edited—the name. He’d seemed affected by her tears earlier, and it wasn’t hard to produce another one as she told her boss she’d accepted “Jack’s” offer.
Before she hit send, she flicked the keys so the computer’s camera snapped a picture of her and Dimitri. The sound was off, so there was no telltale snick, and his gaze had shifted to her wet cheek.
A few more keystrokes and the photo attached. The no-frills program didn’t have a mouse interface, and attachments didn’t appear as icons. Unless he was familiar with the system, he wouldn’t know to look at the bottom of the screen for the attachment log. Her heart pounded at the risk she was taking. She made it look like she struggled with the last line of the email and typed, deleted, then finally signed off and hit send.
Her heart pulsed erratically, and her face flushed. She wasn’t cut out for spy work, but she managed to show him a defiant gaze, passing off her wild heartbeat as anger at being forced to lie to her boss.
He reached out to wipe the tear from her cheek, but she flinched backward and gave him a stern look.
He dropped his hand. “Give me two days, Ivy. Just two days, and either you can tell your boss everything, or you’ll realize I mean you and the US government no harm. I love America, probably as much as you do. It’s the home I wish I could have.”
“Yet you’re making me betray my country.”
“No. I’m just going to look over your shoulder as you do your job. You aren’t doing anything wrong.”
She tapped the screen, pointing to a key line from Mara’s email as she read the words aloud: “Right now, I’m hearing from the brass that they want you to stay and complete the project.”
Those words had sent a prickle up her spine and were part of the reason she could produce that distracting tear.
“Mara has been requesting funding for this mapping project for years with zero results. Then all of a sudden, four months ago, the Pentagon made it a big priority and said they wanted me to field-test CAM—in Palau—ASAP. I told them I was at least six months out from being able to field-test, but they insisted. I worked night and day to get CAM ready right up until I boarded my flight. Now the Pentagon wants me to stay, even after I was assaulted and threatened by terrorists associated with my ex? That doesn’t add up. Even if they don’t give a crap about my safety, they care about CAM. Why do you think my government wants me to stay?”
He shrugged.
“Who are you working for?” she asked.
“I can’t answer that.”
A tiny bubble of hope popped. Of course, if he’d been working for the US government, he’d have told her in an attempt to gain her trust. But still.
“Thor had a Russian accent. Is he with you?”
“No. I told you that already. I had nothing to do with the men who attacked the party.”
“Forgive me for not believing you. You have a history of lying.”
He shrugged again. “Lying is in my job description.”
She cleared her throat. “My job description includes mapping wreckage from the Battle of Peleliu for Naval History and Heritage Command—but ultimately, my boss on this is the Pentagon. What are the odds the Pentagon funded this project in such a hurry because they’re also hoping I’ll locate something specific in the Rock Islands?”
He let out a reluctant sigh. “I’d say the odds are high. You see Ivy, you’re the perfect spy. Because you didn’t even know you were one.”
Chapter Nine
Mara Garrett stared at the computer screen. Ivy’s emails didn’t sound like Ivy. Everything about this was off. Of course, she’d been assaulted and had taken off in the middle of the night without seeing a docto
r or talking to the police beyond a phone call. The trauma of it all was likely catching up to her.
But still, it had taken her hours to get in touch, and Mara found it hard to believe Ivy had that much trouble with the uplink. Ivy could make a toaster talk to a coffeemaker, networking them through the microwave. Hard to imagine anything less than a catastrophic crash could take her hours to fix, and when she did run into glitches, she was the type to go into detail over what the problem was, not realizing that Mara’s brain blanked out the moment the explanation got technical.
It just wasn’t Ivy. Which meant there was something wrong.
She reread the last email for the third time. Formal to the point of being stiff. They’d passed that stage of their email communications when CAM had crashed and Ivy worked sixty-eight hours straight to fix it. Or rather him. Ivy had made it clear in her hilarious, ranty emails sent during the coding marathon that CAM was male in her mind. He was a bad, obnoxious, boastful boy who made all sorts of promises but failed to deliver. And then, when her bad boy started working again, even exceeding her expectations, he was all muscles and abs and bytes and bits.
Ivy on a rant was one of Mara’s new favorite things.
She’d wonder if the emails really came from Ivy, except the biometric coding would make it hard for anyone to pretend to be her, and there was just enough Ivy in the word choices.
She scrolled down the last message, and her eye landed on the attachment list. Ivy had sent a jpg file?
She opened the attachment and studied the photo. There went her doubts about the email coming from Ivy. Her brown eyes looked haunted, and a tear ran down one cheek. The photo wasn’t posed. It was a quick snapshot of Ivy with a man by her side, neither one of them looking at the camera. It was almost as if neither of them knew the computer camera was even activated. Yet clearly Ivy had known. She’d attached the photo.