Dangerous To Love

by Toni Anderson, Barbara Freethy, Dee Davis, Leslie A. Kelly, Cynthia Eden, J. Kenner, Meli Raine, Gwen Hernandez, Pamela Clare, Rachel Grant

  The sweltering night air seemed to rise another five degrees. She grabbed the bar menu from the table and fanned herself with it, taking a deep breath as she did so, willing herself to maintain a serene façade. She couldn’t fall apart here, not in front of Dr. Hill. As soon as she had the translation, she’d go straight to her hotel room and indulge in a nice, private freak-out.

  She and Todd had been together for ten months. Her souvenirs from their relationship included a blight on her academic record, the knowledge her advisor still didn’t believe she was innocent, and a mug shot.

  * * *

  Ian wished he could claim he saw the fist coming, but he didn’t. He was as shocked by the punch as the man who received it. But then again, like the man who’d been hit, Ian had been distracted by the woman’s cleavage and hadn’t been paying attention to her hands.

  She’d stepped over the man while cradling her fist, appearing somewhat dazed by the whole encounter, yet unapologetic and unafraid. If he were prone to hyperbole, he’d declare himself in love. As it was, he’d admit to being intrigued. Okay, and maybe in lust.

  Medium height with long, straight, dark hair, a curvy build, and a deep summer tan, she was pretty enough, but until she’d taken the swing, her looks had been overshadowed by her tall blonde friend who now followed her to a table at the edge of the dance floor.

  There was something hot about watching a woman unrepentantly deck a man and walk away without so much as a backward glance. She dropped into a chair and fanned herself with a menu, her skin glistening in the sweltering heat.

  Sadly, he wasn’t here to watch the woman. No. His job was never that enticing. He was waiting for the Kurdish rebel to show up, and he was getting damned impatient.

  His partner on the op, Zack Barrow, was positioned closer to the dance floor and spoke to him through a hidden earpiece. “Fucking hot how she decked that guy and walked away. I think I’m in love.”

  Zack didn’t have a problem with hyperbole. Typical rookie.

  Ian lifted his drink to hide his barely moving lips and murmured, “She’s a distraction we don’t need.” To everyone else in the bar, Ian was the bearded, hardened loner in the corner, drinking the night away in seclusion.

  “It’s not like anything else is happening here. Where the fuck is Hejan?”

  “He swore to his God he’d make the drop tonight. He’ll show.”

  “I don’t trust him. He was a poor choice to turn—too much of a wild card.”

  Zack wasn’t wrong—Hejan had always been high risk and never would have been Ian’s first choice to double—but the Kurd was well connected and had something to atone for. Both traits made him an ideal spy. Hejan had come to him, which was always suspicious, but then, everything in Ian’s line of work was suspicious. “He knows the game and the stakes. He’ll show up.”

  The stunning blonde said something, and the brunette with the mean right hook offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her large, wide eyes. In Ian’s ear, Zack let out a low whistle. “Both women are hot.”

  “I don’t give a shit if you want a threesome. We’re not here to watch women.” He said the words to Zack, but they were a reminder to himself as well.

  “Hejan is wasting our time. Face it, Ian, he played you. He’s probably making the drop somewhere else.”

  If Zack’s statement were true, then months of careful work would come to nothing. This wasn’t an acceptable outcome. Besides, Ian knew Hejan. “I’ve never been this far wrong about an informant before.”

  Zack chuckled. “The great Ian Boyd finally crashes and burns. I’m glad I’m here to see it.”

  “Fuck you,” Ian said without heat.

  “I bet Hejan can’t lead us to the courier any more than I could.”

  There Zack was definitely wrong, but Hejan was Ian’s asset, and Zack was only here tonight as backup. He knew minimum details.

  “Keep your panties on. The night is young.” But silently Ian acknowledged he was worried, and not just for the op. The Kurdish rebel carried a microchip several factions would kill for, and his tardiness was a very bad sign.

  * * *

  “How the hell did Todd even know I’d be at this nightclub?” Cressida asked.

  Suzanne patted her hand. “Everyone on the excavation knew we were coming here tonight. Maybe Todd spoke to one of them. How did he leave the US, though? I thought they seized his passport when he was arraigned. Do you think it means he was acquitted?”

  Cressida grimaced. “God, I hope not.”

  “Maybe you should have asked him before you took that swing,” Suzanne said dryly.

  “When I saw him, I didn’t think. I just…reacted.” She dropped her head in her hands. So much for appearing serene.

  Suzanne stood and waved to the cocktail waitress. “We need a round of Tic Tac shooters. Stat.”

  “I’m not drinking,” Cressida said. “I need to keep my guard up with Todd here. Shit. When Dr. Brenner finds out Todd is here, he’s going to freak. He still doesn’t believe I’m innocent.” She’d have changed advisors if she could, but none of the other professors had wanted her either. Dr. Hill wasn’t part of the department, though, and she knew him personally thanks to her internship with Naval History and Heritage Command the previous summer, making him her ace in the hole.

  Until now.

  “Everyone on the crew saw you deck Todd. It’s obvious you aren’t exactly chummy with him. You’ll be fine.”

  Cressida massaged her temples. “Dr. Hill, who will have the ultimate say on my grant proposal, witnessed me decking my felonious ex-boyfriend in a Turkish nightclub while I’m visiting on a student visa sponsored by the university and the MacLeod-Hill Exploration Institute.” She flopped backward in her chair. “I’m totally screwed.”

  “Chill, Cress. You punched Todd. So what? We all wanted to deck him after the crap he pulled. So it happened in Antalya and not Tallahassee, no big deal. It was dumb of Todd to come here.” She paused, and her brow furrowed. “Why the hell did he come here?”

  Cressida leaned back in her chair, tilting her gaze to the ceiling. She’d give anything to be anywhere but in this nightclub right now.

  This summer in Turkey should have been the perfect escape from the ugly events of spring. The project was ideal: excavation of an Iron Age shipwreck in the Mediterranean. Run by Dr. Brenner, her graduate advisor, it was her chance to win back his trust and that of the other students from her program. Best of all, Dr. Patrick Hill—the oceanographic explorer whose institute was the primary source of funding for the Iron Age shipwreck excavation—was here for a few weeks, giving her an opportunity to impress him before her proposal even landed on his desk.

  Bottom line, Todd should be in jail for grand larceny right now, not in a nightclub in Antalya, Turkey, ruining her send-off as she left the project for a week to gather data for her grant proposal.

  This research would form the foundation of her dissertation. It could make her reputation. Make her career. For a scholarship student who craved respect—and who’d nearly lost both thanks to Todd—this was her one chance to prove herself. Her one chance to be somebody.

  But the rat bastard was here, ruining everything. Again. She curled her fingers into a fist, ignoring the pain the movement triggered in her sore hand.

  The waitress arrived with their shots. “Your drinks were paid for by a guy at the bar.”

  “By the guy she punched?” Suzanne asked with a frown.

  The waitress shook her head. “Not him.” She nodded toward a cluster of people at the bar. “He’s American. Green shirt, toward the end.”

  Cressida studied the group, surprised to see Dr. Hill had moved to the bar and fit the description. Suzanne’s eyes widened. “The one in the tan slacks? Tall, handsome, early forties?”

  The waitress nodded.

  A drink sent by the bigwig was unprecedented. But why? Was it a joke? A kiss-off because Cressida’s chances of receiving the desperately needed grant were now nil?


  Suzanne, clearly not freaking out about the situation in solidarity with Cressida, nodded to Dr. Hill and raised her glass in thanks. Dr. Hill’s mouth curved in a slow smile. He raised his own glass in silent toast.

  In that instant, Cressida’s fears about Dr. Hill evaporated. “Suz, Dr. Hill just gave you the look.”

  Suzanne downed the shot in a single gulp, then met Cressida’s gaze. “Yes. He did. I’m going for it.”

  “No way.”

  “Why not? His divorce went through months ago. I don’t have a grant proposal under evaluation. I’ll be defending next spring, and Dr. Hill and his foundation have nothing to do with my dissertation or research. Plus he’s hot, and I’ve had a thing for him for years.”

  This was true, Suzanne had been unabashedly jealous when Cressida met him during her internship. “He’s a bit older,” she pointed out.

  “Too old for you, sure. But I’m on the other side of thirty. Hill is only a year or two older than my ex.”

  Cressida gave Dr. Hill her own nod of thanks, then took a sip of her shooter. He tipped his head in acknowledgment, but his smile was entirely different from the one he’d given Suzanne. Good. Not just good. Perfect. She might survive this horrible evening after all. If only the translator would show up, she could head to her hotel room and get a few hours sleep before her early flight.

  Suzanne stood. “I’m going to go talk to Patrick.”

  Cressida laughed. “He’s Patrick now?”

  “Well, if I’m considering having sex with him, I really shouldn’t think of him as ‘Dr. Hill’ anymore.”

  Cressida smiled and shooed her with a wave. “Go. Hit on the world’s foremost oceanographic explorer. Leave me all alone after what I’ve just been through.”

  “If he’s upset you punched Todd, I might be able to convince him not to tank your grant.”

  “Well, in that case, give him a blowjob, and tell him I suggested it.”

  Suzanne winked at her. “The things I do for friendship.” She crossed the bar with the confidence of a woman who always got what she wanted, and Cressida admired her self-assurance.

  Alone at the table, she glanced around the noisy nightclub. It was a beautiful, sultry night in a hot, beguiling place. It was a shame that in this moment, it was the last place in the world she wanted to be.

  She pulled out her cell phone. They were seven hours ahead of DC, meaning it was around three in the afternoon there. She tapped out a quick text to her friend Trina, telling her Todd was in Turkey and asking if she could find out if he’d been acquitted.

  As she waited for a reply, she watched Suzanne and Dr. Hill—Patrick—on the dance floor. With Suzanne’s entertainment for the night set, she would happily leave, but she still needed the translations.

  “My uncle pulled strings to get me out of the US before the trial.”

  Cressida jerked her gaze up to see Todd on the other side of the table. She again curled her fingers into a fist. “I don’t give a damn.”

  He shrugged. “I’m here because I have unfinished business. With you.”

  She jumped to her feet and planted both fists on the table. She enunciated each word carefully. “You do not have unfinished business with me. Our business ended the day you stole from the department.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Porter? Is this man bothering you?”

  She turned to see Hejan, the translator. The wiry Kurd stood in a broad, menacing stance. Todd was bigger, but somehow Hejan managed to look meaner.

  She smiled, grateful he’d arrived. He was late, but still his timing was perfect. Her conversation with Todd was decidedly over.

  Todd let out an angry roar and slammed the table into her hip. Knocked sideways, she fell, landing hard on her side on the foul nightclub floor. Stunned by Todd’s sudden violence, she was even more shocked when she twisted around to see he held her translator by the throat.

  What the hell?

  Todd was many rotten things, but he’d never been violent. In decking him, she’d been the one to cross that line. She surged to her feet, ignoring the pain in her hip, determined to intervene before Todd hurt Hejan. Strong arms grabbed her from behind, stopping her. “Let me go!” She struggled against the person who held her.

  “Never get in the middle of a dog fight,” the man said in a low tone that didn’t disguise his American accent.

  It was over in a flash. One moment, Todd’s hands were wrapped around Hejan’s neck, the next, Todd was being shoved toward the entrance by Hejan, who held a knife to his throat. Hejan ejected Todd from the club, then turned to face the packed room of frozen onlookers. The sharp tip caught the light as Hejan sheathed the blade in a practiced, unconscious motion. The shiny surface was clean and bloodless.

  He hadn’t hurt Todd, he’d just gotten rid of him. Shocking, but efficient.

  She had trouble breathing as she took in how deftly and quickly Hejan had wielded the vicious blade. If she’d stepped in, she could have been seriously injured, or at the very least, she’d have thrown off Hejan’s smooth timing.

  The arms that had held her were gone, and she twisted to face the man who’d stopped her, but there was no one behind her. She scanned the faces of several men who sat alone or in groups, wondering which one had stopped her, but no one met her gaze. All eyes were on Hejan as he crossed the lounge to her side.

  She almost wondered if she’d imagined it—the chokehold, the knife. It was crazy. “I’m sorry,” she said to Hejan, knowing how vastly inadequate the words were.

  The young Kurd shrugged like it was no big deal. The other patrons returned to their revelry. The world resumed spinning.

  She didn’t know what else to say. She reached for the table and pushed it back to line up with the others that ringed the dance floor. Hejan dropped into Suzanne’s vacated chair at the same time Cressida resumed her seat. “I’d offer to buy you a drink,” she said, “but you’re Muslim.”

  He smiled. “I’ll have a gazoz.” He signaled to the waitress and ordered the local soda. Task completed, his gaze flicked down Cressida’s side. “Are you okay?” he asked in a low, raspy voice she could barely hear under the loud music. Todd had hurt him.

  “I’m fine,” she lied even as her hip throbbed.

  He reached into a thin satchel he wore slung across his chest, plucked out an envelope, and handed it to her. “A write-up of my translation and a digital recorder on which I recorded translations of the map in Kurdish, Turkish, Arabic, and Farsi so you can hear the pronunciation. Each language is in a separate file directory so you can easily play the place names for locals when they don’t understand you.”

  “I’ve never considered using a digital recorder like that. I can see how that will be helpful. Thank you.” It was brilliant, actually, but she worried how much it would cost her. “I must owe you for the recorder. They aren’t cheap.”

  He waved her off. “The university provided it. You must return it when you come back next week, or they’ll bill you for it.”

  She let out a small sigh of relief. She’d return it first thing because free was the only price she could afford. “Perfect.”

  Next, he slid a small card across the table. “My brother’s phone number.”

  She tucked the card away, grateful for it. Hejan’s brother, Berzan, had agreed to act as her guide and translator for the week. A guide was vital for this trip because southeastern Turkey—which bordered Iran, Iraq, and Syria, and was far more conservative than the western part of the country—could be considered unsafe for almost any American, especially now, with ongoing fighting with ISIS along sections of the Syrian border. Add to that the fact that she couldn’t speak Kurdish, Turkish, or Arabic, was a woman traveling alone, and her trip was risky at best.

  She’d spent the better part of six months planning this excursion—made thankfully cheaper because she was already in the country for the underwater excavation—and had no choice but to make the trip alone. At one point she’d planned to ask Todd to join her, but that s
hip had crashed, burned, and sunk. Of course, once she’d learned that he was a thief with shady Jordanian connections, she had to wonder if he’d had ulterior motives for being interested in studying ancient illicit trade routes in Kurdish territory.

  * * *

  Ian couldn’t believe it. The woman with the mean right hook was the next link in Hejan’s cell. He’d been ready to believe Hejan had only intervened because she needed help, but then Hejan handed her an envelope with a mark on the corner. The signal the envelope contained the microchip.

  Hejan hadn’t told Ian the courier would be unwitting, which meant this woman could well be a true conspirator who’d knowingly accepted the job of delivering the microchip to the leader of a Kurdish terrorist group. It rankled that he’d considered her attractive when it was possible she was a traitor.

  “Are you certain she’s American?” Zack asked through the earpiece.

  “Her accent is American.”

  “That can be faked.”

  Ian studied her again. Turkey had a wide range of ethnic groups with an equally diverse set of physical attributes. The woman’s dark hair and deep tan could easily pass for Middle Eastern. She bore a strong resemblance to the actress Natalie Portman, who, if he remembered correctly, was Israeli. But the way the woman moved, the way she talked, even the way she punched… Her mannerisms were all American. “Not under stress like that. She wasn’t faking; she wanted to stop the fight. No way could she have hidden an accent.”

  Twenty feet away, the pretty traitor tucked the envelope into her purse. The packet stuck out of the small bag, easy picking for a brush drop.

  Ian spoke softly into his drink. “Can’t get a read on this. It’s so…blatant.”

  “Get her picture so it can be run through the known associates database.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. He’d been at this far longer than Zack and didn’t need to be told his job. Rookies. “Already sent it.”

  Hejan and the woman chatted for several more minutes, then she yawned and glanced at her watch. Hejan nodded and stood. She caught the eye of her blonde friend and waved.