Page 7

As the sun set, Ian looked around his rooftop perch.

All set for the night to come. Should be quite a show.

There was nothing quite like sitting smack dab in the middle of a war zone to get the adrenaline pumping.

He, not for the first time, doubted that Uncle Sam was paying him enough to hang his ass out to dry like this.

Latest intel reports from higher headquarters said rumors were rumbling about some sort of coordinated attack against the United States, originating somewhere in North Africa.

Which was interesting. The western intel spotlight was shining so brightly on the Middle East right now that a camel couldn’t take a dump without someone in D.C.

knowing about it. An attack generated from a less closely watched place like Sudan spoke of a sophistication and understanding of western methods that was, frankly, alarming.

Where was Piper right now? He hadn’t seen her for a week, and God knew, he’d kept an eye peeled for her ever since their epic encounter at his place. He still dreamed of her every night. Hot, sweaty, wake up with the mother of all hard-ons dreams.

But since that one time when their ships had crossed in the night—or more accurately, collided in the blinding light of day —she must have been laying low. Way low. Or maybe she’d actually taken his advice and gone home?—

--Nah. She was too stubborn for that.

As for him, he could only explain away their hook-up as a bout of temporary insanity. His life had no room for a woman in it, let alone a relationship.

Sure, he thought about life after the military, sometimes. Finding a nice hypothetical woman, settling down, and having some rug rats. But he didn’t get distracted in the middle of a dangerous as hell op in the one of most deadly corners of the planet.

At least, not until Piper Roth had looked at him through a sniper’s scope.

Was she still out there in the city, somewhere?

Hopefully she was done for the day, tucked safely in her hidey hole.

Except knowing her, she was out here somewhere, too damned close to the action for her own good.

He’d sent an e-mail back to Navy Intel asking who she was but had never gotten an answer.

Which was a partial answer in and of itself. His guess was CIA.

Although, she was hotter than any CIA agent he’d ever met.

That crowd tended to go for low-key, understated looking people.

The kind who could slide under the radar without attracting attention.

But not Piper. She looked like a television version of a spy with that sleek body, fashion model face, and come-hither sex appeal.

God knew, she’d blown his mind. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had his fair share of hot chicks. All he had to do was go to a known Special Forces bar and the groupie babes lined up, panting to have sex with a real, live SF operator.

Of course, Piper Roth wasn’t just a CIA anomaly. She was a complete anomaly in the entire male bastion of Special Forces operations. How the locals hadn’t already made her for a woman was beyond him.

He wished her luck remaining anonymous. And he wished her back into his bed. Fiercely. Desperately. But he would have to actually know where to find her to be able to hook up with her again.

He’d promised himself he would stay away from her and the danger she posed.

But he’d broken down after two days and two sleepless nights and gone to the hidey hole he’d walked her back to that first day.

She had either taken him to a decoy location or she’d packed up and moved on.

Either way, she’d disappeared from the radar in Khartoum.

What was her story, anyway? Where did a hot number like her learn to shoot like a sniper?

What drew a woman to this sort of danger?

His baby sister, Katie, had insisted on getting involved with a dangerous man and his even more dangerous life, but the whole McCloud clan was soldiers and adventurers.

Katie was bound to absorb some of the adrenaline junkie tendencies of her family. What was Piper’s deal?

As the sun completed its blood red descent in the west, the day’s last dust devils wound down. He propped his binoculars on the edge of the roof and waited for the latest horror to unfold. It didn’t take long for the show to start.

The first act unfolded innocently enough. A pair of black-robed, veiled women hurried home with plastic bags of groceries . It was nearly time for evening prayers, and a car with markings of the religious police turned onto the boulevard, cruising slowly.

The vehicle stopped abruptly beside the women. A man jumped out. Started screaming. Ian couldn’t hear all of it, but it sounded like some sort of tirade about showing too much flesh.

Huh? Both women were in full black moving object mode . Voluminous robes, head scarves and face veils swathed both women. Apparently, however, the taller one’s robes were too short and too much of her ankles was exposed.

Ian snorted at the cop’s hysteria. Must be some set of ankles. Asshole .

The religious cop whipped out a cane and took a vicious whack across the back of the knees of the tall woman.

Her legs collapsed out from under her, and she cried out.

The thug hit her several more times while the other woman flinched away in terror.

The rattan cane bent like rubber under the force of the guy’s blows, emitting an ominous, buzzing whine as it whipped through the air.

Damn, he’s hitting that woman hard. He’ll kill her if he hits the wrong spot.

A new player entered Ian’s circular field of view. A running figure dressed in black slacks, black turtleneck, slouchy hat, and a black flak vest made a flying tackle that sent the cop to the ground. A second religious policeman piled out of the car aggressively.

Here we go .

This was just the sort of incident that could blow up into a mob scene.

He adjusted the binoculars to a wider field of view.

The first cop and the mercenary who’d tackled him engaged in a short, grossly one-sided fight.

Seconds later, the unidentified foreigner stood over the cop, who writhed on the ground in pain.

Ian got his first good look at the unidentified attacker.

Shit .

He knew that profile. He’d watched it over fruit and crackers at his table. Watched it writhe in his bed in the throes of pleasure. Piper. What in bloody hell was she doing?

The second cop took a swing at Piper’s back with his cane, but her reflexes were superb and she ducked under the blow, spinning and coming up with a sharp jab to the guy’s gut.

Piper started yelling in Arabic. Holy Christ. She was berating the religious cops .

Nonononono. Not good. Shut your mouth, chica . But no matter how hard he mentally exhorted her to stop, she continued. In fact, she gathered steam as she got in the cop’s face. And her voice started to rise in pitch toward shrill.

Fuck. In a second, everybody within earshot would figure out she was a woman beneath that soldier’s garb. Then they’d all turn on her.

Please, honey. Shut the hell up!

When backup for the cops arrived, the authorities were going to beat the living shit out of her. And when they made her scream, all doubt that she was a woman would be erased. Then she was fucking done for.

The Sudanese residents sure as hell weren’t going to help her. Nobody messed with the religious police. The locals might be happy to slaughter each other like sheep, but they were all good Muslims when the religious police were around.

Damn, damn, damn .

Panic built in his gut as the disaster unfolded below. Piper was going to die. Or if she was unlucky, she wouldn’t die. At least not right away. Not before they tortured and debased her in the most inhumane possible fashion.

He could say a lot about the overall level of ignorance in this town, but the bastards were freaking geniuses when it came to thinking up creative ways to torture another human being in the most barbaric possible fashion.

He had to do something . Pressure built in his chest until it felt like his ribcage was going to explode.

Time slowed to a crawl as he weighed the options.

He’d always been a proponent of keeping work and his personal life separate, and here was exactly why.

Save the woman he’d slept with, or stay out of trouble, stay invisible, keep doing his job and just observe.

But Piper was forcing his hand. He couldn’t let her die… or worse.

Dammit, he had to let her go down to whatever fate she’d written for herself. He had a duty to his career. Hell, his country. The proper thing to do was sit tight right here and let the chips fall where they might…

…and fuck it. He so wasn’t going to do the proper thing.

Spy or not, independent operator or not, interfering with his mission or not, Piper was an American national.

And a woman. He couldn’t sit here and watch them beat, torture, and kill her because she was too stupid to keep her big, fat mouth shut.

He was going to save her, and he was going to blow his own cover in the process.

His bosses were going to be royally pissed.

Shut. Up. Piper .

Nope, she didn’t hear him silently shouting at her one last time. Crap. And now she had a finger under the cop’s nose and was shaking it at the guy.

They would flay her alive right there in the street. She’d be lucky to live long enough to get hauled off to jail and passed around among the guards. As a western woman, she would be classed a whore and used as such.

Swearing in a continuous stream, he jumped up and bolted for the stairwell.

He had an idea, but it all hinged on getting to her before another carload of religious cops arrived.

He raced down to the street, sprinting for all he was worth toward the crowd gathering around Piper and the two cops.

He shoved forward, knocking people out of the way like bowling pins.