Page 12

He felt her smile in the dark as warmth and amusement rolled off of her. An urge to pull her close and kiss that smile into oblivion nearly overcame him. But no, he was not going to repeat their last adrenaline-fueled hook up. He knew better.

But damn, he’d missed her.

Maybe he just missed human contact with someone who had something in common with him. The same language, the same country, the same political allegiance. But still. It didn’t hurt that a friendly face came packaged in such a sexy body that was all fiery female.

Mentally fighting a surreal battle with himself over sex or no sex, he climbed the staircase and unlocked the upstairs door, letting them into his abode.

Piper sighed in relief behind him. The soft sound fluttered down his spine like a lover’s touch. It was gentle and feminine in the midst of his hard-edged, razor-sharp world. Foreign. Fantastic. Frightening.

He felt as if he was falling in slow motion, gradually losing his mooring to reality.

Women did not exist in his world, nor did he let outsiders of any gender into it.

And yet, Piper was sliding past his defenses seemingly without effort, as easily as breathing.

With each inhalation, he was drawing her a little deeper into his life.

And it scared the living crap out of him.

They’d made it out of hell alive and cheated death. Moreover, they’d found each other again in the midst of the chaos. How many more miracles could one night serve up to them?

Piper was really getting tired of stumbling into the middle of freaking gun battles.

And she was equally tired of being rescued by Ian McCloud.

Not that she wasn’t grateful for the rescues, but she wasn’t exactly an amateur.

She’d been an undercover field observer for the CIA for a few years, now.

She’d just never worked in a place like Khartoum.

Most of her jobs to date had involved long hours staring through binoculars at low-value targets and days upon weeks of mind-numbing boredom. This place was anything but dull. And not just because Ian McCloud had blasted into her life like an erupting volcano and completely taken her by storm.

He was a problem on several levels. First, she hated the idea of not being able to take care of herself.

She’d learned a long time ago the only person she could depend on was herself.

People made promises they couldn’t or wouldn’t keep.

Hearts got broken, and bad things happened to girls who trusted too much.

Second, her job was to be invisible. She’d been sliding around town giving vaccinations and vitamin shots to children, and no one had paid the slightest attention to her. She was just another goody-two-shoes NGO aid worker.

But Ian saw her with a clarity and completeness that was alarming.

Most men didn’t give her the time of day.

He’d not only stripped away the layers of her deceit, but he’d instantly recognized and exploited her emotional neediness.

No other guy had gotten her remotely near a bed, let alone naked and screaming in one, almost before she knew his name.

Ian McCloud’s ability to bust through all her defenses like they were flimsy toys scared her to death.

And now she was alone with him again. After nearly dying. Chock full of adrenaline and relief surging through her veins. And horny as heck , she reluctantly admitted to herself. Or maybe it was just the company that put her in such a state.

She let her Tavor rifle slide to the floor. Her ammo belt was abnormally light as she unbuckled it. She’d used most of the ammunition stored in it. It landed beside her weapon with barely a sound.

Ian moved around quietly in the unlit apartment and it dawned on her he must be using his night optical devices again. Frustrated at the thick darkness, she listened hard. It sounded like he was covering the windows.

A match flared. The gentle glow of an oil lamp flickered to life. She watched Ian replace its glass globe, and soft light diffused his hidey hole. Yup. Big pieces of plywood covered every window.

By lamplight his place looked mysterious. Exotic. Sensual. Of course, the warrior standing in the middle of the space might have a little something to do with that impression.

She watched, enthralled, as he pulled two glasses out of a cabinet and set them on the table. A liquor bottle thunked down beside them. He poured healthy shots of clear liquid in both glasses and handed her one. In honor of the vodka, she muttered in Russian, “ Na zdorovye .”

“To your health as well,” he replied.

Spoke Russian, did he?

She slammed back the vodka, grimacing as it burned her esophagus from one end to the other. He held the bottle out and she held her glass up to him for a refill. She waited until he’d poured himself another shot, and they clinked glasses. She tossed back the second dose of liquid fire.

The first shot destroyed enough nerves to make this one go down considerably less painfully.

He held out the bottle questioningly, and she shook her head. “Are you trying to get me drunk, McCloud?”

His voice low and rough, he answered, “Now why would I do a thing like that?”

Her eyes narrowed. He wasn’t trying to get into her pants again, was he? Not that she would put up much of a fight if he tried.

He surprised her by asking, “How’d your conversation with Dharwani’s wife go?”

“Informative. Women in this culture see and hear everything.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked casually. “Like what?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” she answered reproachfully.

He sprawled on the couch, the bottle dangling from his fist, looking so tasty she could hardly stop herself from jumping on him and devouring him. “Aww, c’mon, Piper. You know I’m one of the good guys.”

“I know you’re good in bed. I don’t know the first thing about your moral compass or political affiliations.”

He raised the bottle to her in salute. “Good in bed, huh? You’re not half bad yourself.”

She flopped down beside him. All the running they’d done earlier was starting to catch up with her as exhaustion made her limbs heavy. Or maybe it was just the vodka slamming her. He was so trying to get her drunk.

But speaking of information picked up at Dharwani’s, she blurted, “What did Dharwani whisper in your ear after supper that made you look so grim?”

He shrugged and took a pull straight from the bottle. “Sorry. Classified.”

She lifted the bottle out of his hand and took a swig. “I’ll tell if you’ll tell.”

“You first.”

“Nope,” she replied. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

“Well then, by all means, let’s fix that.” He took a drink and passed the bottle back to her.

She tipped it to her mouth, and without warning he reached over and nudged the bottom of the bottle upward, sending a gush of vodka down her throat.

She choked and coughed but swallowed most of the fiery alcohol.

In seconds, her head began to spin and a sensation of floating a few inches above the sofa kicked in.

“You are a bad man, Ian McCloud.”

He grinned, flashing her his sexy dimples. Those things should be registered as lethal weapons. “I am bad, aren’t I?” He lifted the bottle out of her hand and took another pull. “But not so bad I’d let a lady drink alone.”

“Gee. That’s downright gentlemanly of you.”

His smile widened. “You bring out the best in me.”

She shook her head at his line of bull. He was a charming devil, all right. Emphasis on devil.

Ian surprised her by saying, “Dharwani told me the Palestinian I’ve been looking for is being called The Scientist by locals. He was spotted in Khartoum some weeks ago but appears to have left town. Dharwani suggested I follow the money trail to find him.”

He’d been tracking a Palestinian, huh? The Scientist? The Terrorist, more likely. But hey. Ian had finally trusted her enough to tell her something about his mission here.

‘Bout damned time . A cozy feeling that had nothing to do with the vodka’s heat spread through her.

She reciprocated in kind. “The Americans I’ve been tracking call themselves PHP. I spotted them in a hotel in downtown Khartoum last week, but Fatima—which is to say, Dharwani—doesn’t know who they’re here to meet.”

“Maybe you should follow the money trail on them, too,” Ian suggested.

She shrugged. “Not my area of expertise.”

“Tell your employer to track it down.”

She shrugged. She wasn’t in the habit of telling her boss what to do. Ever.

He frowned. “Your targets are Americans, huh? Not many of them have business in this part of the world.”

“Hence my interest in why a pair of bubbas from Idaho would come to Khartoum.”

Ian looked startled. “Bubbas from Idaho? Wow. That is weird. And you’ve got no idea why they’re here?”

She shook her head. She did, in fact, have a few ideas, but none she cared to share with anyone.

“What were they up to back in Idaho?” Ian asked.

“Putting out poorly punctuated pamphlets about returning America to the values that made it a great country, starting with getting rid of all modern technology,” she replied. “And with a healthy dose of racism and xenophobia thrown in.”

“Luddites, huh?”

She shrugged. “The original 19 th century Luddites in England smashed textile machinery that replaced human artisans. To date, the PHP haven’t shown any inclination to resort to violence.

But this little junket to Sudan make me wonder if that’s about to change.

Hence, my interest in what they’re doing here. ”

What does PHP stand for?”

“Patrick Henry Patriots.”

“Hmm. He was a bit of a radical in his day.”

She replied, “Although he was stridently opposed to federal government, he never actually advocated terrorism.”

“What about the whole, ‘Give me liberty or give me death’ speech?”