That was okay with Ian. And he wouldn’t mind at all if the man would take his hand off the small of Cressida’s back.
The possessive feeling was probably a residual effect of being responsible for her safety for so long.
Yeah. He couldn’t swallow that lie, but if Cressida noticed his reaction, maybe she would.
Logan glanced down at the YPG rebels who waited, and waved to his team. Three men stepped forward, each carrying a large cardboard box, which they passed down into upraised arms.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“We’re paying the ransom.”
“Ransom?” she asked, her voice pitching higher than usual. “Weapons?”
Logan shook his head. “Food. Aid for families caught in the middle. And we’d have brought the supplies even if they hadn’t asked—err, demanded.”
She smiled, leaning into Logan, and the man draped his arm around her shoulder and steered her to the Humvee. “Get inside. It’s armored. You’ll be safe. I need to talk to Boyd.” When she started to protest, he added firmly, “Alone.”
With a frown, she climbed into the vehicle, and Logan turned to him.
Ian nodded to the last of the boxes as it was handed off. “What’s really in the boxes?”
“Like I said, food,” Logan answered. “Raptor doesn’t deal in arms.”
“Anymore,” Ian couldn’t help but add.
Logan nodded. “Not since Rav bought the company.”
Ian smiled as the soldiers loaded the boat. “Did they really demand a ransom?”
“They did. They weren’t afraid to seize an opportunity. Civil war does that.”
Ian silently agreed. If the women who’d picked them up from the steppe had for one moment considered Ian a threat, they’d have shot him in an instant. It didn’t take balls to make a soldier. Far from it. All you needed was desperation, and beheadings by ISIS and a chemical weapons attack on civilians launched by their own government made for a highly desperate population.
“Keith wanted me to warn you, odds are when we land at Andrews, you’ll be taken into custody. Cressida’s word will go a long way toward swaying the attorney general to get involved, but…she doesn’t have the best track record, and there’s only so much Dominick can do. The CIA and FBI don’t always play nice.” Logan’s gaze flicked to the boat. “This is your chance to disappear quietly. We can say there was a firefight during the crossing. You fell in the Tigris.”
Did Logan want him to take this out?
More important, was it what Ian wanted?
If he stayed, he could go after Zack. He had a place in Cizre. He could finish the mission.
Odds were, if he stayed, he’d never clear his name. He’d disappear into the Middle East, never able to return home. The world, his boss, his Delta Force team, they’d all believe him a traitor. But he could still gather intel for his country. It would just be delivered through different channels.
He had no doubt Cressida would try to clear him. With the chip, she might even succeed. But if she didn’t, if she couldn’t, he’d never see her again.
Stay or go?
“I’m going home,” he said firmly. Strange to call it home. He didn’t have a clue where home was.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Erica Scott’s unexpected guests set her teeth on edge. But then, she’d always considered Dr. Patrick Hill, the executive director of the MacLeod-Hill Exploration Institute, to be something of a self-aggrandizing braggart, and she was biased against Cressida’s friend Suzanne, ever since learning the woman had abandoned Cressida in a bar in Antalya so she could hook up with Hill, right after Todd Ganem appeared.
What kind of friend does that?
The same kind who was now making Cressida’s ordeal all about herself—her fear, her worry, her distress over the bestie she’d ignored as soon as Hill was in the picture. Erica wondered if Suzanne was similar to Cressida’s mother. As a woman who also had mother issues, Erica did understand why Cressida would befriend her.
But still, the woman took drama to a new level, and she wondered how Cressida put up with Suzanne’s aggravating narcissism. Erica had no patience for narcissists, and this couple was a dynamic duo of self-absorption. They also weren’t hiding their disappointment that they’d been shunted in Erica’s direction, rather than visiting with the attorney general, the senator, or even the Raptor CEO.
Frankly, Erica wasn’t all that thrilled to be stuck with them either, but someone had to keep these two entertained and away from Keith, who was in constant contact with Sean while the field operative managed an extraction that included passing through ISIS-held territory in Iraq.
Erica shook her head and stepped into the kitchen to grab cheese and crackers for her guests. She was still baffled as to how her life could include spies, mercenaries, and extractions of friends from the Middle East. She was an underwater archaeologist for the US Navy, married to a tech security expert. Their lives should be bureaucratic and normal, maybe even appear a little dull—although life with Lee would never be dull.
The front door opened. Lee was home. Thank goodness. Someone to share her misery over having to deal with Hill and morning sickness at the same time. She popped a dry cracker into her mouth before delivering the platter to the living room and greeting Lee with a kiss.
He smiled down at her, but there was something in his eye that sent a shiver of fear up her spine.
“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Lee asked their guests.
Suzanne let out a slight sniff. “If it has to do with Cressida, we have a right to know.”
Lee didn’t bother to lessen the coldness of his stare. “It’s personal and none of your business.”
Wow, and here Erica thought she had limited patience for Suzanne. Of the two of them, Lee was the diplomat. This must be big. She cast Suzanne an apologetic look she didn’t feel and followed Lee into their bedroom.
He pulled her into his arms the moment the door closed. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with them, Shortcake.”
She tucked her head against his chest and listened to his firmly beating heart. “Cressida crossed the river? They made it okay?”
“Yes. They’re driving to Erbil now.”
“Then what’s wrong? Is Cressida hurt? Is there a problem with ISIS?”
“Sean says she’s fine. Boyd didn’t take the out. He’s coming back with her.”
“That’s what we want, right?”
“I think so, but it’s a mess. Boyd is wanted for three murders in Turkey, and Curt just learned Turkish authorities intend to charge Cressida with the murder of Hejan Duhoki.”
“But…Hejan was alive when Cressida left the hotel room.”
“That was according to Boyd, who they think is her accomplice. Apparently, on the day of his death, Duhoki stole a large chunk of money from a relief organization. No one knows where the money is, but he stored the retrieval information on a USB drive. They’re saying Cressida killed him, took the drive, and jetted off to Van with Boyd to collect the money.”
* * *
The jet was the most beautiful hunk of metal and machinery Cressida had ever seen. It was bigger than she expected for a private jet, but then, according to Sean, it had long-range capabilities, and could fly from Erbil to DC without the need to refuel. Plus it was part of the Raptor fleet of jets, so while it was at the highest end of privately owned aircraft, it was outfitted to carry mercenary security teams in and out of war zones. Inside, it was divided into sections: the cockpit; the main cabin with a conference area at the front consisting of a circular table and six seats, followed by three rows of seats to hold nine more passengers; a mini galley on one side behind the rows, and a lavatory that included a separate shower stall on the opposite side; and finally, the entire back quarter of the jet was a plush private cabin for dignitaries taking advantage of Raptor’s private security arm.
Trina had flown on the jet with Keith once on a business trip to Rio—as one does when one is datin
g the CEO—and had told Cressida that after enjoying a private cabin, flying coach would never be the same. Cressida had laughed and called her spoiled, and Trina didn’t disagree.
Now that Cressida viewed the luxurious cabin herself, she had to admit, this kind of comfort would be something she wouldn’t mind getting used to. She flicked a glance in Ian’s direction, well aware that part of what Trina had enjoyed about the flight probably had more to do with Keith’s presence than the fact the mattress was made of memory foam.
Well, Cressida had every intention of claiming the cabin—after a week of sleeping on rocky ground, small cots, and hard pallets, a fancy mattress sounded like heaven—but she had no intention of sharing it with Ian. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him, it was that she didn’t want the heartache and regret that would come later.
It didn’t take long to prep for the flight once they were all on board. Their group included two pilots, Sean and three Raptor operatives, plus Ian and Cressida. In the main cabin, they took seats around the conference table as they taxied to the runway.
“What’s with the door?” she asked. “I’ve never been on a jet with a door that slides to the side like that.”
“It was retrofitted to open in-flight for jumps,” Sean said. “An unusual feature for this type of aircraft, but necessary to deposit operatives in hot zones.”
She nodded and shivered. Jumping out of an airplane had never been on her to-do list. She glanced at the men seated around the table. All were former military of one branch or another, and she knew Sean had been a SEAL, like Keith. “Am I the only one here who doesn’t know how to jump out of a plane?”
The men all glanced around the table, speaking some silent alpha-male language she wasn’t privy to, then in unison, all five nodded.
A reminder she wasn’t of their ilk.
When sitting inside a private jet fleeing the Middle East in the middle of the night, accompanied by a spy and several mercenaries, one might be prone to reflect upon the choices that had gotten them there.
Choices like Todd. Or the decision not to tell anyone about the map. Or her plan to find the tunnel on her own, when she could have invited Todd or Suzanne or any number of students who would have happily participated in the project.
If she hadn’t been so secretive, Hejan wouldn’t have been able to set her up. Ian wouldn’t have had reason to follow her. She wouldn’t have been mugged. She wouldn’t have shot a man in the throat.
As the plane reached cruising altitude, the men around her talked shop. Ian offered minimal details to Sean on their activities after they disappeared in Van. For him, the mission was still classified. Burned or not, he couldn’t talk about it.
Cressida, under no such restrictions, had already provided her version of events on the long drive to Erbil and had little to add to the conversation. She stood and stretched. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to claim the bed, if that’s okay?”
Sean nodded. “It’s yours. Trina called dibs on it for you.” His smile was warm. Friendly. She’d always liked Sean. For a hard-core military man, he wasn’t nearly as closed off as some former Special Forces men she knew.
In the private cabin, she crawled into the comfy bed but wasn’t really tired. She didn’t know what she was. After days of being on the run and on edge, she could let her guard down. At last.
She wasn’t sure she knew how.
Even when she slept today in the YPG house, her sleep had been light. Guarded.
Back in her old life, when she was too wired to sleep, she’d pick up a book and read until three a.m., enjoying someone else’s scary adventure from a safe distance. She glanced at the bookshelf and laughed, seeing Keith’s hand at work in the books they offered guests on the plush private jet. True to form, the small library was mostly nonfiction military accounts and arranged according to the Dewey decimal system.
Keith Hatcher, mercenary CEO, closet librarian.
There were a few romances in the fiction section—mostly books by Trina’s favorite author, Darcy Burke—interspersed with the political thrillers Keith favored. Cressida was decidedly not in the mood for a thriller, and frankly, the idea of a romance depressed her. Not that she’d be able to focus on a book right now anyway.
She turned off the light and lay down on the bed, determined to try to sleep. But the dark cabin turned into the dark tunnel, and she spent ten minutes trying to banish the feeling before giving up and turning on the bedside light again.
She was too wound up, too haunted by the events of the last days, to rest.
There was a stack of Raptor stationary in the drawer of a mini writing desk. Cressida pulled out a few sheets and grabbed a pen, then settled on the bed with the paper braced on a hardback book.
When she was a girl, she’d kept a journal, until One found it and cruelly mocked her childish hopes and fears. She’d never again been able to commit her innermost thoughts to paper. Hell, One might even be the reason she’d been so secretive with her dissertation research, burying the information on her own computer’s hard drive.
She crumpled the paper without writing a word and chucked the pen across the room at the same moment the door opened.
“Ow!” Ian said. “I guess I had that coming.”
Her heart pounded at the mere sight of him. It wasn’t good how much she wanted him. “Don’t you know how to knock?”
“I didn’t want to wake you if you were sleeping.”
“Liar.”
“Yes, I am. A damn good one too. But not this time.”
“Then why are you here?”
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I like watching you sleep.”
The statement was so bald. So open. She had to believe it. “You’re here to watch me sleep? That’s a little creepy.” Not really, though. Not after what they’d been through.
“When you’re asleep, you aren’t glaring at me. You aren’t sad. You aren’t angry. You’re just beautiful. When you’re sleeping, I’m not fucking up and pissing you off.”
She didn’t like the fluttery feeling his words triggered in her belly. Giving in would give him the power to hurt her. “Except for the creepy part about watching me sleep.”
His smile lit his eyes. Damn, he was one gorgeous man. He must have shaved in the lavatory while she prowled in the bedroom and tried to sleep, because his beard was gone. She’d liked the rugged beard that scratched against her skin, but now that it was gone, her fingers itched to stroke his smooth cheeks. A fire lit low in her belly as she imagined the soft slide of his bare face against her skin.
He was once again the intensely handsome man she’d glimpsed in a crowded airport terminal, and all the possibilities of that moment, when they’d been complete strangers, came flooding back to her.
Oh damn. Resisting him—if he’d entered the cabin with thoughts of seducing her—would be difficult. Saying no to him now would hurt nearly as much as saying yes, then having him disappear from her life.
He took a step closer, and she held up a hand. “Stop. What are you doing here, Ian?”
“What did you mean when you took down Zack and you said you’d promised yourself you’d never do that again?”
Oh shit. He really knew how to zero in on the weak links in her armor. She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Will it ease your conscience if you hold me and listen to my sob story? Is that what’s in it for you? A chance to rack up bonus points so you can later tell yourself you treated me kindly even as you rejected me? Because I have no interest in sharing my darkest memories with someone who has every intention of walking away from me at the first opportunity.”
He took another step toward her. “No. That’s not what I want. I want the name of every man who has ever hurt you, so I can hunt each one down and make him pay.”
The fluttery feeling in her belly imploded at that, and her breath hitched as she tried to get her traitorous body, that damn traitorous heart, under control.
All she’d eve
r wanted was for someone to treat her as if she mattered. To have her back. To look at her as Ian did right now, as if he truly, deeply cared about her.
“I will not accept just a week, Ian. I deserve better than that.” And she meant it. No more devaluing herself when it came to relationships.
He sat on the bed next to her and reached for her hand. “I know that. And I know you deserve way better than me.”
She wanted to interrupt him, to tell him he shouldn’t devalue himself either. But she had a feeling he was about to say something far more important and didn’t dare derail him. As it was, her heart pounded so hard, it threatened to drown out his words.
“I’ve never been in a position to offer more than a fling, and I’ve never met anyone I wanted for more than that even if I could. My life was the Army, and then the CIA. Sure, other men had families. Lives. Wives. But I’ve never really had anyone except the best friend whose grandmother taught me Turkish when I was a boy. He died in a training accident when we were nineteen. He never even made it out of boot camp. It was a dumb, horrible waste.”
She gasped, recognizing he covered a world of pain in those blunt words. “Were you there? Was he in your unit?”
“No. I was already in Afghanistan. He joined a year after me. Between losing my best friend and then losing members of my team in combat, I stopped…caring isn’t the right word… I’m still human. I care. But I did what I could to cut myself off from caring too much. I would lay down my life for any of the guys on my Delta Force team—they remain my closest friends to this day—but do you want to know how long it’s been since I’ve even emailed any of them?”
She nodded.
“Two…maybe three years.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I threw myself into my life as a covert operative. I stopped being a friend or making real friends. You pretty much nailed it when you asked if spies could have friends. I’m sure some do. But I’m not one of them.”
He threaded his fingers through hers, staring at their entwined hands, not meeting her gaze. “I’m not a spy anymore. I haven’t quite come to grips with that yet. Even when I was in the Army, I was running covert ops for Delta.” He shook his head. “But I’m out. I’m leaving the game. Staying in would cost too much. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me when we land. I could be arrested and disappear into a secret CIA prison, or I may find myself exonerated, but with no job. No prospects. No home. No friends.”
Dangerous To Love Page 280
