She blushed as Jack turned and settled his cool gaze on the pack and lighter in her hands. She went with her jangled nerves, used them to make her stammer real. “I—I need a s-smoke.” She welcomed the downright amused brow that followed. The one that asked, Now? It succeeded in firing the temperature in her neck to roasting—and let him know that, no, she had not had a chance to throw the switch. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“Hell, Rurik. Let her have one. I could use one myself. ’Specially since it’ll be the last smoke and all.” He pointed his chin toward the far side of the howitzer. “We should probably take it over there, though. Away from the powder.”
Rurik’s grin should have startled her, but it didn’t. He really should have melted that cross down and capped those teeth a long time ago. “A last cigarette to go with the last screw? To repay the debt for a careless bullet in Mostar?”
Jack held the man’s gaze. “You gonna have another chance?”
His grin actually split wider. “Why not? It will take ten minutes to ready the weapon. I have always said you should take your pleasure when and where you can. The when is now and the where must be within my sight, not the shadows. But first, your pistol if you will…and that blade you like to carry.” Rurik waited as Jack tossed his Beretta and switchblade over. The man pocketed both, then waved Youssef off. “Remember, my friend, the smoke and pleasure only. For old time’s sake. Your last supper, if you will. You and I both know an accidental fire will prevent nothing. Farid assures me the warhead will still explode. The damage may not be as great, true—” He shrugged. “But the end result will be the same. My goal will be met.”
Jack nodded as he slipped a cigarette from the pack along with the silver lighter from her hands. He nudged her toward the center of the barn, beneath the howitzer’s massive barrel, careful to keep his body between Rurik and Youssef as he stopped to light the cigarette. The scarlet tip glowed as he inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs long enough for her to locate the emergency transmitter and throw the switch.
Rurik was wrong. They didn’t have ten minutes. They now had five. She hoped. Dani forced herself not to cough as Jack’s smoky breath filled the air between them as he bent to fondle her bottom while he pretended to kiss and nuzzle her neck.
“If we have to, we torch the straw.”
She knew what he was asking. Was she with him? It was 500,000 innocent residents of Sarajevo—Muslim and scattered Christians alike—or it was the five of them. This barn. And, if they were lucky, 100,000 of those citizens. Rurik was right, a fire would engulf the warhead along with the bags of gunpowder and ignite both. A split second later, there’d be nothing but a five-mile-wide crater where the barn should be. But enough of Sarajevo and her citizens would be safe to make it worth it.
“Okay.” She clenched her fingers around the lighter, hiding it as Jack tugged her T-shirt out of her jeans. She couldn’t help it, she flinched. Surely, he didn’t actually intend to—
His breath filled her ear. “Relax. Work with me, honey.” A moment later, smoke filled her lungs as he brought the cigarette to her mouth. Piercingly aware of their audience, she let him slip the end between her lips. She’d never know how she managed not to wheeze and choke as the smoke seared into her mouth and lungs, then out. But she did. Jack leaned down to capture the remaining puff along with her grimace with his mouth.
The kiss was pure ash at first, nasty and stifling, but then it was all Jack. Dark, heady and very smooth. Just as he had on that narrow bed he took his sweet time, delving deep inside her mouth as the howitzer’s diesel engine fired to life behind them—his slow, languid kiss matching the sluggish churn of the track’s internal hydraulic system as it turned over and warmed the pressurized oil needed to raise and aim the massive barrel. She was dimly aware of Jack switching the cigarette to his left hand as he worked her belt with his right.
No, not her belt. His. The knife concealed within. She forced herself to do as he’d asked, dragging her hands to his waist as Jack deepened the kiss and groaned loud enough for the Bosnian bastard now leering two feet away to hear.
“I should have charged you more, I think.”
Jack ignored Rurik, working the buckle loose as they continued to kiss. Her fingers finally cooperated with her brain and she managed to unbuckle his as well. She started in on the buttons beneath, praying he’d hurry up and get to that damned knife before she got to him. They reached their respective prizes at the same moment. His buttons now undone, she held his pants up for him as Jack slid the knife from its sheath with his right hand, still kissing and caressing her with his left.
His left? Then where was the cigarette?
And then she smelled it.
“Fire!” The shout ripped out across the barn as Youssef jerked the Makarov from behind Zorah’s disheveled back. That was as far as the thug got. A split second later, the blade that’d been in her belt speared the man directly above his left eye—piercing Youssef’s skull to plunge deep into his brain. He didn’t even scream. He simply fell, any thud masked by the howitzer’s engine still growling behind them. She spun around to help Jack take out Rurik. She didn’t get the chance.
Neither did Jack.
They stiffened together as the shot reverberated through the barn, displacing the track’s rhythmic rumble for a brief, deafening moment, then Rurik joined his henchman, falling face first into the straw. Before Dani could blink, Jack shot across the barn and reached Zorah, the Makarov still pointed straight out from her heaving chest, hanging above the flames.
The flames.
Jack grabbed the pistol and the woman’s shawl. By the time he’d joined Dani at the fire, she’d stripped off her T-shirt. Together they thrashed the flames spreading across the concrete floor, devouring scattered ancient straw, mold and all. A pair of bare, swarthy arms joined them, shirt in hand. Then another pair and another. And another. She jerked her gaze up, half-expecting to discover C’emal alive. No such luck. But she did welcome the squad of half-dressed American soldiers turned fire-stompers beating out the remaining flames alongside an ethnic Muslim she didn’t recognize. Hamid and the cavalry had arrived.
And the fire was out. It was over.
Jack buttoned his pants as she stood. From the look that flashed between him and Hamid as he buckled his belt, Jack was going to have explain his state of undress eventually. She did not want to be around when he did. Jack captured her gaze and stripped off his T-shirt, tossing it to her along with a devilish wink before he turned to link up with Hamid. The men headed across the barn to check the warhead and seal the crate so they could get it and the bags of gunpowder under lock and key. Anywhere but here.
Someone must have been assigned to kill the howitzer, because the roar of diesel engine died out. Adrenaline still simmering though her veins, Dani dropped Jack’s singed T-shirt and donned his fresh one as she headed across the barn. She found Zorah slumped on a pile of straw. “Are you okay?”
“C’emal. After all our plans. He is…” Dani’s heart broke as the woman’s tears slipped free, finishing for her.
“I know.” She did. It had taken her eleven years to find Jack, even though he’d been right in front of her face the entire time, or at least near her side. She could have lost him just as easily tonight. She wrapped her arms around Zorah, holding her tightly as the woman’s sobs broke free. “I’m so sorry.”
“Dani?”
She raised her head. But Jack was looking at Zorah, not her. Hamid stood beside him.
Jack smiled. “One of the guys located our friend. He’s got a nasty knife sticking out of his chest, but the medic thinks he’ll make it. Anyone want to hitch a chopper into Sarajevo?”
Zorah blinked up at Jack for a full two seconds. On the third, it sank in. She shot to her feet and threw herself into Jack’s arms. By the time Hamid led her out of the barn, everyone was teary, including Jack. Dani turned to follow Zorah to check on C’emal and thank him when Jack stopped her. His smile faded a
s he snagged her hand with one of his and cupped her cheek with the other.
“What’s wrong?”
“You should probably hitch a ride, too. I just got off the phone with the embassy. They’ve got a guest.” Even before he squeezed her hand and nodded, she knew. “It’s your father.”
Chapter 8
Across an empty, darkened ballroom with his back to her, he should have looked like any other soldier in Army Greens. But he didn’t. She’d recognize that stiff, unyielding stance anywhere. Even here, in Bosnia. Jack was right. Ol’ Ramrod-and-Ruthless himself had flown halfway around the world just to track her down. Amazing. Hell, she couldn’t even get the man to drive a hundred miles to visit her at boarding school. Maybe she should shower first. At least change into the uniform the marine escort had offered. Oh, hell. She stepped into the room before she chickened out, wincing as her tennis shoes squeaked.
That was all it took. He spun around. But he didn’t say a word. It was too dark to make out more than the flash of triple stars running across his shoulders—and those didn’t reveal any clue as to his mood. She locked her spine to attention and marched forward, stopping five feet away, just shy of a pair of hardwood chairs left beside the French doors.
“Sir.”
He returned her nod. “Danielle.”
The seconds ticked out the silence—just like whenever they got together. It was usually like this too, with him in uniform and her feeling like a basic trainee washout. Before long they were into a minute, then two. Screw it. She was tired. Jack was on his way, if not already here. Not exactly eager for the scene she was now enduring she’d disobeyed the general’s implied orders and headed to the hospital with Zorah. While she was there, she’d even made a call to her command and spent an hour or so coordinating Farid’s takedown. Okay, two hours. All right, so the sergeants she’d gone in after were already tucked in their unit’s welcoming arms, safe and sound. But from the black leather bag blending into the dark beside the chairs, it looked as if her father hadn’t even unpacked, much less settled in.
Another minute of silence and she’d truly had enough.
She cleared her throat. “Well, general, it’s…been a long day.” Now there was an understatement. “I’d like to find a shower and a cot before it gets any longer.” Nothing. Fine, she’d had enough anyway. She executed an about face and stepped out—
“Turn on the light.”
She stopped, stared at the French doors now to her left. She leaned over and twisted the dimmer switch beside them, wincing as light from half a dozen chandeliers flooded the room. She took a deep breath and turned…and nearly gasped out loud.
“You look like hell,” he informed her.
Yeah? Well, he didn’t look so great either. His Greens might be crisper than they’d ever been, the silver that passed for hair cropped shorter than usual, but the jagged lines tracking across his forehead and down his cheeks were anything but. They were fresh, too. She’d swear the man had aged eleven years in the past eleven months. And he’d been crying. Though his steel-blue eyes were bone-dry now, they were bloodshot and puffy. Only two things made this man look like that. Tears and Scotch. She’d never known him to indulge in either one except on the anniversary of her mother’s death.
No, her mother’s exceptionally brutal murder.
During the chopper flight, she’d figured out what Jack had been trying not to tell her. He’d been right about that, too. It did help her understand. She just didn’t think it could change anything. Hell, look at them. The way her dad’s gaze was fused to the bruises on her face, they were both thinking it.
So say it. She drew in her breath.
“Mom wasn’t just murdered. She was raped, too.”
His eyes weren’t dry anymore. They were glistening. He didn’t cry though. But that wasn’t new. He never did when he knew she was looking. His heavy sigh flooded the room instead.
“Jack told you.”
“No.” Not in so many words. “He tried really hard not to.” Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how hard. “But this was…a difficult case.” Lina. No, even as hurt and angry as she was with her father, he didn’t need to hear that. She swallowed the pain and regret and chose her words carefully, knowing if they were ever going to get past this, ever heal, it would have to start now. “Jack did push it though. He pushed me to talk to you. I think—I hope—it was because he cared too much to walk away. I’m also thinking…hoping…that someone else came here…is here…because he cares, too.”
Relief swamped her, displacing the biting fear as her father nodded. “He does care.”
Just say it. “We’re not just talking about Jack, are we?”
“No, we’re not.” But then that damned awkward silence settled back in and they weren’t talking about anything anymore. As usual, neither of them seemed able to cross it. She swore her father was as relieved as she when the marine who’d shown her in entered the ballroom. The sergeant apologized for the interruption and greeted her father first, then held up a slip of paper in his gloved hand.
“A message, ma’am. From Special Agent Gage.”
Special Agent who? What? For the first time since she’d entered the room, she was truly glad her father was standing in it. While she was busy gaping, he retrieved the sheet and dismissed the sergeant. “I take it you didn’t know.”
She shifted her gape to him.
“Guess not.”
She blinked. “Jack left Delta?” Duh! How many special agents had she met in Special Forces? But…why? More importantly, “When?”
“Couple months back.”
“How many?”
“Nine. But he put in his request earlier.”
Even before she asked, she knew. But she still asked. She had to be sure. She swallowed hard. “How much earlier?”
“The day after you two wrapped up the murder-for-hire assignment. I’d stopped by his office to ask him to lunch. To see if—” He broke off, ran a hand down the silver at the side of his head. “That’s not true. I wasn’t interested in lunch. I was interested in answers. I saw you two out by your car that morning. I wanted to know his intentions.” It was one thing to hear from Jack that her father had seen that steamy kiss. It was quite another to stand in front of the man and look into those steel-blue eyes while she heard it from him.
She flushed. “And—ah—what were those intentions?”
His gaze turned so desolate she almost took the question back. Especially when her father turned slightly to retrieve his hat from one of the chairs and stare at the gold leaves embroidered along the brim. “Jack asked for permission to marry you. I told him…” He traced his fingers around the edge, then dragged his stare to hers. “I told him he could have it—”
“If he got me out of the Army.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
She nodded. It was all she could give him.
He took it. “If it helps, I’ve finally admitted that I’m the one who drove him out. I think he’s always known it would come down to you or me. And I’ve always known you would win.”
“This isn’t a contest, dammit. And Jack’s no prize.” It wasn’t until it came out that she realized how bald it sounded. But it succeeded in lightening the moment and, frankly, they both needed it. Though slight, they shared their first smile in years. “You ever tell him I said that, I’ll shoot you.”
“Coming from an expert shot, I’ll take that seriously.”
“You’d better.”
Her father’s smile faded as, once again, the silence settled in. The seconds ticked off until she couldn’t handle it anymore. She had to know. “What happened?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You left. He’d gotten the invitation to work for the State Department the year before. I know, because we discussed it. He was flattered, but he wasn’t interested. We never said it, but we both knew why. I’ve always known. Even before he did. I’d been there myself with your mom. If I was the man you both deserved, I’d have pus
hed it. But I didn’t. I knew Jack would never make you choose between him and the Army. I guess I was holding out for someone who would.”
There wasn’t much she could say so she waited. He turned his hat in his hand and stared into it for a good minute. He finally sighed and met her gaze. “That day in his office, Jack told me he was going to take the job. After the way I’d seen you two kiss, not to mention his stated intentions, it didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t getting out of the Army. He was getting away from me…so he could finally go after you.”
He dropped his stare again. This time, he kept it fused to his hat as he continued, “I’m sorry I’m not as brave as you. If I were, I’d have accepted your choice years ago. Logically, I know you’re not her. But the older you got, the more you started to look like her, and, well, the more confusing it got. And the more terrifying. At first, I didn’t tell you because you were too young. And then I couldn’t tell you because I’d never told you. But when I got word you were missing…possibly raped and murdered like her…and I didn’t even know you’d gone in, much less had a chance to say g-goodbye—” He broke off. The knot in his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He finally tore his gaze from his hat and met hers square on. “I’ll try harder, honey. I swear it. On your mother’s love.” Once again, the silence settled in. But this time something came with it.
Tears.
She watched, transfixed as they welled up in those stark blue eyes, until he’d hoarded so many, they finally spilled down. She swore she could feel every one of them searing into her heart. She stepped forward without thinking and reached out, capturing them as they continued to slide. Or she tried to. There were too many. So she stepped closer and slid her arms around his neck and pulled him close. He stood there for what seemed like eons, and then he snapped. When his arms came up to crush her to his chest, she started crying. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but eventually they both realized it’d been long enough. They pulled away at the same time.
In Love and War Page 22