One thrust, and he’d be in deep.
She whimpered at the torment, and he chuckled. Her hands stroked his delts, shifted to cradle his neck, then slid over his shoulders to his back.
White-hot pain sliced through him. He jolted backward, unable to stop himself. Her warm fingers had rubbed his raw, burned flesh.
Chapter Seventeen
“I’m sorry!” Cressida stared in shock as John’s face lost all trace of color. She’d hurt him. She knew he’d been scraped when they tumbled on the rocks, and now she wondered if he’d been hurt worse than that. He hadn’t said a word. There’d been no blood on his shirt, but then it had been dark, and she hadn’t really looked.
“You were hurt in the blast, weren’t you?”
“I’m fine. Just give me a moment.”
Thinking back, she realized that when she’d pulled back the shower curtain, his head and shoulders had been coated in shampoo. Whatever hurt him so badly, she hadn’t seen it. And then there was the frigid water. Maybe the apartment did have hot running water, but he’d chosen cold for a reason.
He still held her. She wiggled against him. “Put me down. We’ll finish this later.”
“No. I’m fine.”
She cupped his face and kissed him, then pulled back. He was still erect and seemed to mean it when he said he wanted to continue, but she was more worried than aroused now. “Put me down and turn around. Let me see.”
She gasped when she saw the burn. No wonder it hadn’t bled. On his left shoulder blade, a strip of skin one inch wide and three inches long had burned, blistered, and popped. “Holy shit. That must hurt like hell.”
“I’ve been able to ignore it. Except when it’s touched or hit by hot water.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She gingerly probed the healthy skin around the burn, exploring the reddened, puckered edge.
“That bad?”
“Worse. It’s a second-degree burn—nearly third. You should have told me.” She felt terrible realizing he’d finally been cooling the burn and she’d interrupted.
“We needed to get here as fast as possible. No time to fuss.”
Guilt swamped her. “You got this protecting me. I was under you while debris rained down.”
He turned in the small shower stall to face her and cupped her chin. “This is what I do, Cress.”
The way he said it triggered a tide of emotion. The last thing she needed was to start thinking there could be more here than sex. More than comfort between two people who’d been through something together.
He touched the evil eye pendant that rested against her breastbone. “Beautiful pendant—much higher quality than the usual tourist offerings. But I don’t think it’s helped us much.”
She let out a distressed laugh. “Yeah. Total juju fail.” Unease settled through her. It was odd to stand naked in the shower with him while he studied a charm given to her by a dead man. A terrorist. Who’d been murdered in her hotel room.
She’d lost her mind. She never should have stepped into John’s shower. But she’d wanted a mindless escape, to return to the moment when he’d kissed her and they’d been ready to move the action to the bedroom except thick black smoke had interrupted them.
She stepped back, out of the shower. “I should bandage your shoulder. Does this place have a first aid kit?”
“Yes.” He unrolled the condom and dropped it in the trash, then flashed her a smile. “I hope you have more of those.”
Heat gathered in her belly at his mention of their unfinished business. “I do.”
He brushed his lips across hers in a quick, warm kiss. “Good.”
She grabbed a towel from the shelf and thrust it into his hands. “Cover up before I forget you need a nurse and not to play doctor.”
He grinned. “You first.”
“I’m going to take a quick shower. When I get out, I expect to find you naked—but only from the waist up—and belly down on the bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned on the water, grateful for the hot spray. She’d felt a sudden chill at the idea of how close they’d both come to getting blown up and needed the heat of the shower to wash away both the grime of the explosion and the fear.
The room was a sea of steam by the time she emerged. She toweled off, then ran her fingers through her hair to detangle it. Her brush was in her suitcase in the main room. She’d thought to bring a condom into the bathroom, but not a brush. Yeah, well, priorities. She had them.
She stepped out of the bathroom. As ordered, John was stretched out on the bed. His feet were at the head while his cheek rested on a pillow at the foot. He’d turned on the TV to CNN International and had positioned himself to watch on his belly, and then fell asleep during her lengthy shower.
Damn. Could she fail him any more? She’d promised to tend his wound and instead took a shower and had a pity party while he waited. Now he was finally resting, and cleaning the burn would wake him.
He’d laid first aid items out on the dresser. She grabbed saline solution and cotton swabs. On the TV, images of the aftermath of the explosion at the checkpoint filled the screen. She knew the explosion would be news but was surprised to see it on the international channel. She hit the volume button so she could hear the British newscaster’s voice-over.
John stirred as she dabbed at the burn with the solution, but he didn’t wake. The information on the news was as expected. Speculation of a terrorist attack. A Kurdish separatist group named as the likely perpetrators with additional speculation that it could be a new branch of ISIS.
Wound clean, she broke the seal on the antibiotic ointment and applied it to his skin. John woke fully, a soft smile on his handsome face when he shifted his sleepy head to meet her gaze. “How long have I been out?”
“Only ten or fifteen minutes.” She finished spreading the cream and pulled out a gauze bandage. “How’s the pain?”
“I took a painkiller. Non-prescription, but still, stronger here than we have in the US. So not bad.”
She smiled. “I’m glad.” She ripped off strips of tape and secured the gauze. “You hungry?”
“Starving. There’s some canned food in the cupboards.”
“Sounds delicious.”
He laughed, then his eyes lit with heat. He plucked at the towel she wore around her torso. “You didn’t get dressed.”
She shrugged.
On the TV, footage of a Turkish official making a statement condemning the attack was interrupted. The image flipped back to the anchor desk. “We have a startling development in the Turkish bombing investigation.”
John’s focus was on the TV as he said, “We can get groceries after we both sleep for a few hours.”
She nodded, more focused, like him, on the TV. “What do you think is going on?”
“We received an anonymous tip,” the anchor said, “that a suspect in the bombing is actually a CIA operative who allegedly turned double agent.”
Shock made air whoosh from Cressida’s lungs. “Your associate is CIA? I thought he worked for Raptor.”
The reporter continued, “With two anonymous sources confirming the information, CNN has decided to disclose the man’s identity, because he’s armed and dangerous and may have already killed one Turkish soldier.”
John lunged for the TV. A picture flashed across the screen. Cressida caught a glimpse just before John hit the power button and the image disappeared.
The picture hadn’t been of some man she’d never seen. No. The picture had been a snapshot of a bearded John Baker.
Chapter Eighteen
Ian stood in front of the TV, frozen. Shocked. Stunned. Rocked to his core. Never in all his years as a covert operative had he ever imagined what this moment could or would feel like. He’d been burned. His life’s work gone in an instant.
He’d been labeled a terrorist. A double agent. A traitor. Bile rose in his throat.
Every faction would now be gunning for him. Shoot to kill.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, he had Cressida to deal with. Turning off the TV had been a stupid mistake. It hadn’t prevented her from seeing his picture and hearing the lies, but it had stopped him from finding out what had been disclosed.
Cressida pummeled his good shoulder, demanding answers. He brushed her aside and hit the power button on the TV.
“—Ian Boyd is considered armed and dangerous,” the news anchor said as another picture of him appeared on the screen, this one from when he was in the Army and beardless.
Shit. He was well and truly cooked.
“Boyd has been an employee of the United States Central Intelligence Agency for the last five years. Prior to that, he served in the military. He received several medals for his service and served as an operator with the US Army’s secretive tier-one counterterrorism unit popularly known as Delta Force.”
“They left out my years in college,” he murmured. “You’d think they’d be all over my Middle Eastern studies degree.”
Cressida glared at him. She was afraid, but he gave her credit for not showing it. She grabbed clean clothes from her suitcase and marched into the bathroom.
The layout of the small room came to mind. Crap! There was a window to the courtyard behind the ground floor apartment. He tried the knob. Locked. “I’m not a double agent, Cressida. Zack is. Open the door. We need to talk.”
“I’m getting dressed.”
“And I’ve seen you naked. So open up.”
“No.”
“Then step back, because I’m busting the door down.” He kicked the knob. The frame splintered, and the door swung wide.
Cressida’s head and shoulders were through the high window. She was halfway to freedom but struggled to get her knee up so she could straddle the ledge.
“Sonofabitch. I don’t need this,” he muttered as he grabbed her hips. She kicked backward, but he cinched his arms tight, preventing her from hurting him as he dragged her back through the window. “Cool it. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She twisted in his arms and pounded on his chest. When that failed, she landed a blow on the bandage.
Pain exploded. White light flashed behind his eyes. He dropped her and staggered backward. She landed on her ass at his feet. Her eyes were wide, round, and full of nut-grinding fear.
He struggled to breathe as his nerve endings flamed. He slumped down against the doorframe. Cold sweat gathered at his hairline. He faced her across the short stretch of floor. “Don’t. Do that. Again.”
“You lied to me.”
“Of course I did.” Pain receded by slow millimeters.
“You don’t even feel bad about it.”
“No. Why should I? I was doing my job. For Uncle Sam.” He shrugged and added, “You lied about your name.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a traitor.”
“Then explain why the first time I saw you, you were hanging out with a terrorist.”
Her eyes widened. “You were there?”
“Of course.”
She dropped her head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. “Am I your mission?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“There’s a microchip with information vital to Hejan’s group. He gave it to you. My mission was to follow the chip.”
She lowered her chin, meeting his gaze. “How do you know Hejan gave me anything?”
“Hejan had turned against his group. He was gathering intelligence for me. For the CIA.”
She fixed him with a glare. “If you’re a double agent, I won’t shed a tear when you’re caught and killed.”
For a cat with her paw caught in a trap, she was awfully bold. And equally likely to bite him. “Do I need to sleep with one eye open?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t beat me, Cressida. I’m not just CIA. I’m Delta. I’ve run ops. I’ve killed for my country. A few hours ago, a man died while I protected you. I could have saved him. I chose you. So keep in mind that a wisp of a young scholar won’t get the best of me, no matter how beautiful. No matter how much I want to fuck you.”
Her eyes widened at his blatant declaration. “Was your plan to screw me so I’d be lulled into submission? Was this some sort of twisted James Bond thing?”
“I hit on you on the flight and at dinner for the job. The kiss in the elevator was also on Company time. But the rest has been because I’m a man and find you attractive. So shoot me.”
“I intend to.”
He laughed at that, his gaze scanning her from head to toe. “I’ve never slept with anyone who didn’t know my real name.”
“What, do you want a medal? And you didn’t seem to hesitate in the shower.”
He shrugged and leaned his head back against the doorjamb. “A beautiful, naked woman who I very much want to fuck stepped into the shower with me. I’ve never claimed to be noble. If you hadn’t touched the burn, I’d have slid deep inside you and would have enjoyed every hot thrust. You would have too.”
Her pupils dilated. In spite of everything, his words aroused her. Hell, him too. Raw honesty was a heretofore unknown turn-on. The way her cheeks flushed with desire every time he said he wanted to fuck her just made him want to keep saying it. “I didn’t plan to seduce you. Hell. I’m not the one who brought the condoms. But I still want to fuck you. Very much.”
She cleared her throat. He loved the way she did that and wanted to keep making her throat dry with desire. It was the only thing that sounded remotely good in a world where he’d just lost everything that mattered to him.
“Who are you working for?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Up until about ten minutes ago, the CIA. Now, apparently, I’m a free agent.”
“Al-Qaeda? Kurdish separatists?” She paused and sucked in a sharp breath. “ISIS?”
He sighed. She was determined to steer this conversation in non-titillating directions. “Hejan was a Kurdish separatist. I was his case officer. His manager.”
“The story you told, about how you learned Turkish, was that true?”
“Yes. And I did grow up in Chicago.” What could he say to gain her trust? It was going to be a long-ass journey to the consulate if she fought him the entire way. “Like yours, my mom was a single mother. And like you, I don’t know my father’s name. But I can do you one better. My dad was a john. My mom’s sick joke was to name me after him. Ian is John in Gaelic. So my preferred alias isn’t just a convenient common name.”
He kept all emotion out of his voice as he told her that. Hell, he’d never told anyone that. Not even Altan, his best friend and next-door neighbor who’d known exactly how his mother earned the money to pay for her ever-increasing addictions.
“Where is your mother now?” she asked.
Ian shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t give a damn.” He lifted his chin at the condemnation in her eyes. “Don’t judge me, Cressida. She doesn’t deserve my consideration.”
Those beautiful brown eyes cast downward. “I’m sorry,” she said, with a slight catch in her voice.
He gave a short, sharp nod and swallowed the lump in his throat. He could go days, weeks even, without thinking of his mother and preferred it that way.
He slowly rose to his feet, reaching out a hand to pull her up. Not surprisingly, she refused his help but stood anyway. “Microwaved canned beans are waiting for us. And now that you know who—and what—I am, it’s time you tell me everything Hejan told you. Zack drove us to ground instead of killing us for a reason. My guess is you know something or have something he wants. Did Hejan give you anything besides the digital recorder?”
* * *
It took all Cressida’s willpower to keep her face blank and not touch the evil eye pendant. She didn’t trust John—dammit, Ian—not by a long shot. She’d tell him about the pendant only if she decided she could trust him.
Ian’s question clicked everything into place. Aside from the digital recorder and the translated map—which had been taken from her hotel r
oom in Van—the only other item Hejan had given her was the pendant. He’d given it to her in private and had been particularly tense about it. The pendant was important. But why? What made it special?
Maybe when John—crap, Ian—was asleep, she’d be able to check it out.
She ate her beans and told him about Hejan. What else could she do? She couldn’t run. He’d stop her before she made it to the door. She was entirely dependent upon him.
Stupid of her to choose to seduce him rather than grab his money and gun and run while he was in the shower. Such a fool. Had she ever trusted a man worthy of the sentiment?
Since she was seventeen and harbored a shameful crush on Three, she’d traveled a straight path to destruction with the men she wanted. She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back against the head of the bed. “Can we watch the news? I want to know if they mention me.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re stuck with me either way.” His voice had hardened. Ian had a different voice and manner than John. Ian was harsh. Suspicious. Angry.
She had her own anger where he was concerned. “You could have stopped me, you know. When I left the hotel last night to meet Berzan, I still had the digital recorder. I’d have given it to you. You could have prevented all of this from happening.” The accusation burned in her throat. “You probably could have saved Hejan too.”
“My job wasn’t to save Hejan.”
She shivered at the way he said that. “What was your job?”
“My job was to follow you, witness the drop, and follow the next link in the chain to the top.”
“I was bait.”
He cocked his head. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“When you put a worm on a hook and dangle it in front of a hungry fish, it’s bait.”
“Not always.”
“When does bait want to be pierced with barbs and eaten?”
His gaze narrowed. “When it’s a lure, with hidden barbs, embedded, part of a beautiful, vicious design. I had no idea what you were, Cressida. I still don’t.”
“I’m not a fucking lure.”
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