by Louise Dawn
“I told him that you’re a talented graphic designer and the loveliest friend a girl could have.”
Ah hell. Abby couldn’t stay mad. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that her life was so screwed up. Lizzy took that as a green light, promptly leading her to an open spot. On the way, Abby greeted Lizzy’s other friends. After slipping off her sunglasses, she went back to skewering John with an assessing stare. Lizzy threw her arms around Abby’s neck and whispered, “Turn around, buttercup.”
She turned to scowl, but all that registered were disturbing moonstone eyes. A lightning-quick assessment of the threat revealed an athletic built demigod, head lowered as he glanced at her from under his brows. He watched her with such stillness and yet she sensed tremendous icy energy swirling beneath the facade, ready to suck her in. Those deadly eyes ramped up his jarring intensity.
“Ab-cakes, Max Hansen works with John. Max, this is Abby Evans. She’s a fellow American, and my rock in this crazy country.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Max Andersen used Hansen as a cover name. A background check by potential targets revealed a fully developed Max Hansen entity in the field. Max expected her reluctance—gaining her confidence or trust would almost be futile given what they suspected she was. Now as Evans stood in front of him, Max saw a glimpse of something else, uncertainty or interest maybe? Couldn’t be, but he could try his level best at charming the fuck out of her. Give it the old heave-ho and see where it led.
Evans was distractingly flawless in person. He’d seen a dated photo in her file and observed her at a distance but this close…sooty lashes framed ivy-green eyes and her skin glowed. A refreshing and mutely elegant tall drink of water. Dark blue jeans molded her ass beautifully, a white blouse clung to perfect curves. Two delicate gold chains adorned her slender neck, tangled and fighting for rights to her exquisite cleavage. He clasped her hand firmly, and the jolt of awareness was unexpected. Her hand jerked indicating she had felt it too. Fuck.
Evans shifted. “Um, excuse me?”
His gaze shot up and collided with hers. “Did I say that out loud? Double fuck.”
The corner of her mouth quirked, and she slid her hand out of their electric grip. Lizzy flitted off to grab menus, as they stared awkwardly. Time to play.
Evans slipped past, and Max touched her hand with the back of his. She froze, and he leaned in, speaking above the din. “Here’s the thing. I was caught unawares, just as you were. John told me about the blind date as you walked in. I’m not looking to hook up in any capacity—work is my priority.” Max stroked his thumb over the edge of her wrist, feeling a tremble, she liked that. “You’re beautiful.” His warm breath feathered her ear. “But I’m no idiot; I see you have no desire to meet someone. How about just a friendly meal and you need never see me again.”
Max let go. Her pretty lips parted, and her tongue darted out to lick a shapely lower lip. His eyes tracked the movement and rose to hers. Desire flashed before her walled serenity slammed back in.
“Max, is it? Thanks for clearing that up. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She politely smiled and headed to the ladies’ room.
Max paused to get his shit together. He’d deliberately tried to rattle her and succeeded, yet his own reaction pissed him off. Her silky skin and delicate scent drew him in, and that look in her eyes…
“Yo, Max, you gonna order or what?” Johnny yelled over the table.
Max lowered himself onto the bench as Johnny shot him a questioning glance.
◊ ◊ ◊
The toilet cubicle felt safe, super safe. Abby had never been this shaken by a man and in such a short amount of time. One minute of conversation and she was ready to toss all caution to the wind.
Breathe, Abby. Don’t think about him. Focus on getting home and preparing for the mission ahead; you don’t need or want a man. Especially not a man like him. There’s no future for him in your existing world. He’ll end up very dead. Abby took another minute before heading back.
Max sat next to her open seat, his capable-looking hands playing with the paper from his straw. Her stomach did a flip. Abby slid in and opened a menu, studying it solemnly. She knew La Coraggio well and occasionally grabbed a bite to eat during the week when the place was quiet. Still, the menu gave her an excuse not to look to her left, at that rugged profile and sensuous mouth with that nibble-inducing, full lower lip.
Max glanced over at the menu she held up like a shield. Abby surreptitiously hid a stained fingernail.
“What’s good here?”
Max’s deep voice jarred her out of her reverie.
“Everything,” Abby answered. Your sexy, rippling, very male forearms…
“Yeah, but what would you recommend?”
Abby gnawed on her lip. Just answer, and he’ll quit. “The vitello or the polpette.”
“Come again?”
“The veal or the meatball pasta. They also have excellent lamb chops on the specials menu. You can’t go wrong with any of their pizzas either.”
He skewered her with a killer smile. Jeez, talk about Nordic god dimples. He was leaner than his wrestler-built friend John but just as lethal looking. Wowser. Abby took a slow breath and leaned over to chat with Lizzy.
◊ ◊ ◊
She’d effectively dismissed him. Max wasn’t a natural flirt, but for him that was a first. Evans’s unflappable demeanor was a definite challenge.
Once everyone had ordered, Max tried his hand again, asking her what she did for work and for fun. Evans’s terse answers would have any man running. Max plugged on, smiling, touching her arm, staring into her eyes. Evans concentrated on the dish in front of her, and fair enough, it looked sumptuous. Tagliata beef filet baked in the oven—with garlic, rosemary, and balsamic vinegar. It wasn’t one of her recommendations to him—gee, thanks. His meatballs were great, but nothing compared to the juicy steak gracing her plate. He was staring morosely at Abby’s dish when she surprised him with a question.
“Are you from the Western states? We have a similar accent.”
“Yeah.” Max purposely didn’t elaborate. “But I’m sure both of us have also taken on some local African slang over the months of living here. Can’t be helped.”
“Do you work with John?”
“I run my own business as a subcontractor. John and I have worked together on many occasions.”
“What do you do?”
He took his time, wiped his mouth with the napkin before placing it back in his lap. His cover story could stand up to intensive background checks by the enemy. “I provide protective clothing to military and police around the world.”
“Like uniforms?”
“Boots, uniforms, gloves, helmets… Clothing needs to be climate- and situation-specific, designed for a particular use. For instance, fire-retardant boots for riot control and protection against Molotov cocktails. Kevlar gloves that may vary in the field. Lighter bulletproof vests that still offer full protection.”
She played with the stem of her wineglass. “Interesting. I guess you’ve served in the military?”
“I did. I left two years ago.”
“Were you Army? Navy?”
“Army but nothing too glamorous. I never really served in the field. In layman terms I provided and built security for all US assets and bases that enemies might want to target. You could say I was a security expert.”
He watched carefully for any reaction. A shift in posture, turn of her hand, any suspicious eye movements. Khalid would love to get his hands on a US security expert who’d supposedly built clandestine military facilities. A perfect honey trap to lure Khalid out of hiding.
Evans smiled. “Well, good for you and thank you for your service—you may not have served on the front lines but I’m sure you’ve made a difference.” A skinny dude on the other side of her asked a question and Evans promptly turned away.
Nothing. Zippo.
Terrorists could mask body language but never fully hide their tells. Max was an expert on
spotting ticks and nuances. Was Evans that good at masking her interest? He exchanged a look with his team member, who’d also picked up on her flawless delivery. Evans could be biding her time, possibly contact him for a date, set him up as a mark.
She’d be signing her death warrant along with the rest of her terrorist cell.
◊ ◊ ◊
It was time to leave, but Max’s fierce stare whenever he spoke kept Abby anchored to her seat. He kept touching her hand and even used his thumbnail to rub off a smidge of acrylic paint on her knuckle. The man used his hands a lot and not in a fidgety way. Nervous energy was not a synonym for Max Hansen. His movements were conservative and deliberate; that exacting control made her feel safe. She hadn’t felt safe in a long time.
Abby stared out into the night, beyond the noise and the laughter. Time to stop pretending, time to stop flirting. The last time she flirted with a man, it had almost gotten her killed.
His magical fingers touched her again. “Are you okay?”
She turned to his handsome face with a heavy heart. “It was lovely to meet you, I wish you luck in your military clothing business.” She squeezed his hand, not wanting to let go. “Please keep safe and tell John to treat Lizzy right. She’s a chatterbox, but she has the biggest heart.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Max squashed a smidgen of guilt. The fallout would most likely crush her friend. Max failed to establish a strong enough connection. He swore softly as Lizzy and Johnny said their goodbyes. There were other ways to run into her; they’d adjust the schedule.
Clenching his jaw, Max forced himself to remain seated, mentally going over where he’d gone wrong. The hum in the café worked on his nerves. Needing space, Max shifted dinner plates. There, lying under a napkin, were her aviator sunglasses. She’d worn them on entering the restaurant. Evans didn’t seem like the type to forget things. Were they purposely left behind or was it an innocent mistake? With only one way of finding out and hoping to catch the elusive Evans before she left, Max picked up the shades and headed for the exit.
◊ ◊ ◊
Chilled air whispered through Abby’s silken shirt as she made her way to her little Ford. The sweet night was a small memory to tuck away. Thoughts of Max made her want to turn back, instead she wrapped her arms closer, grimacing at her tiny car sitting desolately at the back end of the lot. Abby opened the door and was slammed forward. Her head bounced off the edge of the car roof, and an arm pulled her up against a hard chest as a gloved hand muffled her scream.
“Not a word, bitch.”
The gravelly voice was hot on her neck. The brutal stranger licked her ear, and revulsion made her lightheaded. Blood trickled from her hairline. God, was this a hijacking? Terror made her squirm. He twisted her with such violence that an elbow cracked painfully against the car. Wedged in the door with no room to move, Abby searched for an opening. A knitted balaclava hid the assailant’s face and beneath it, black paint masked his features. A black hoodie covered the rest. Something snicked and pricked her side. Vision tunneled as the horror slammed home.
“Move or scream, and I’ll gut you like a fish.” He wiggled the knife for good measure. “We’re going for a little ride.” He unclamped her bruised lips.
“The car…take the car…”
His erection pressed against her thigh. “I don’t want to ride the car, sweet thing. I want to ride you.”
Rubbing against her, he shoved his face into the side of her neck, biting down hard. At her yelp, the knife nipped her stomach. From a distance they looked like lovers, making out. No one would suspect a thing. If they drove to a second location, she was as good as dead. Abby wanted to throw up all over the hideous mask. Through the haze of adrenaline, she remembered the Taser tucked into the inner bucket of the door.
The knife slid up as she purposely collapsed, and her attacker was forced to readjust. “My head—I think I’m going to vomit.”
“Stand up, now.” His hand gripped her hair. Abby closed her hand around the Taser and rammed it deep into his balls, pulling the switch. The brute howled, stumbled back but didn’t collapse. Car keys lay somewhere on the ground. Abby shoved past and freedom lasted only a heartbeat. He dragged her back and wrenched the Taser away, before shoving it into her side. Agonizing pain had her collapsing onto the asphalt.
“Fucking bitch! If you’re going to use a Taser, get a stronger one next time.”
Chapter Four
Where the hell had she parked? Max made his way through two rows of vehicles before shoving in his comms.
“Where’s Evans?”
Donnie’s voice barked in his ear. “It’s a clusterfuck, someone’s just jumped her.”
Max stilled. “Where?”
“Back of the lot. North side. Should I break cover?”
Max took off. “Negative. I’m closer. Be ready in case I need you!”
He moved soundlessly, spotting the distant figures. Was the son of a bitch her contact?
“Are they having a meeting?” Max barked.
“Not unless the agenda includes sexual assault and bashing her head in.”
Anger gushed. The fucker was dead. Could she have parked any farther away?
The bastard dragged Evans up by the hair, and all hell broke loose. Max choked on impotent rage, pushing his limits in a full-out sprint. They were gonna watch Evans die. The fucker rammed something into her side. A knife? She collapsed like a wet rag, and her head bounced off the tarmac. Exploding with wrath, Max tossed the sunglasses aside as a van pulled up. Max dimly heard the exchange as he narrowed in.
A gruff voice yelled from the van. “What the fuck happened!”
“Change of plans,” the perp answered, picking up a knife off the ground, then dragging Evans towards the vehicle.
Not on Max’s watch.
The driver yelled out, “Behind you!”
Max brought the attacker down hard, wrestling the knife away with a few deft moves, but the son of a bitch was quick. Military training. He tried to flip Max over. Max countered the move. The bastard kneed him in the ribs and reached for a black object on the ground. Taser—too late, Max shifted sideways, and it glanced off his arm, the pain paralyzing for a brief second. His opponent used the advantage, bucking him off. As Max flew back, the fuckhead expertly rolled away and dived into the van. Tires squealed as the vehicle raced away.
Lying on his back, Max swore up at the night’s sky. Team members yelled through comms, checking if he was okay and he gave them a quick thumbs-up. Slater appeared a few feet away, breathing heavily. Max gave him a brief nod, and the Ranger disappeared into the shadows.
Rolling over, Max stumbled towards her still form. Blood covered that beautiful face. Max swept back her hair, first checking for life, then for injuries. Gash above her temple, a knot forming on the back of her head. He ran his hand down and around her waist, feeling for the stab wound. Donnie spoke, “He jabbed her with a Taser, not the knife.” Max let out a breath. Evans whimpered and stirred.
“Stay still, sweetheart, I’m calling an ambulance.”
Evans grabbed at him, trying to focus. Max stroked her cheek before pulling out his phone.
“No. No. Please. No ambulance. I’m fine…fine, I swear it.” Shoving his hands away, she pushed herself up. “I need to go. Help me, help me get out of here, please!” Panic fueled her frantic desperation.
With a sinking heart, Max knew why she avoided the authorities. No red flags for Miss Abigail Evans, who couldn’t be caught before completing her mission. The violent urge to shake sense into her wouldn’t help. If Evans was indoctrinated, she wouldn’t stray from her macabre task. Feeling ill, Max let go and she stumbled. He turned his back, as Evans staggered around, gathering her belongings.
A small crowd grew, as a mall security guard headed their way. Grow some balls; this is a way in. He’d help Evans but refused to analyze the twinge of relief at the prospect of spending more time with her. Fuck that. She was nothing more than a target, one planning a de
spicable act. Pivoting around, Max was appalled to see her seated in the car, trying valiantly to slip the key in the ignition. He opened the door and knelt down.
“I’ve got this.” Max covered her shaking hand. “I’m driving.”
With a gentle nudge, he drew her out and guided her to the passenger side. A couple of witnesses saw the tail end of the fight and the security guard pushed for answers. Max told the guard it was a mugging, and he was taking her to the hospital. Rent-a-cop asked her a few questions and she answered woodenly.
Max ignored the man’s grumblings, as he secured her seatbelt and gently cupped her face. The translucency bothered him. He checked the head wound; bleeding had almost slowed to a stop. She needed a decent medical, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle for now. If she deteriorated, Johnny would conveniently drop by. Or a visit to the ER was on the cards.
“Abs, I need your address.”
A blank stare. Max waited and asked again. He knew where she resided but couldn’t give the game away.
After licking her swollen lips, Evans whispered it, and he sprang into action, swiftly moving around to the driver’s side and activating the GPS as cover. Max cranked up the heat, checking the rearview mirror for unwelcome tails. The team would take care of any, and maybe get answers to this mess.
His mind raced as he floored it towards the freeway. This wasn’t a random hit or a hijacker taking a chance. If it was planned, what the hell was the motive? Why injure or kill a useful operative? Had she betrayed Khalid? Was she trying to escape the cell? Hope surged. Max moved on to other possible scenarios and quickly dismissed the possibility of another elite team moving in. A trained professional might snatch the target but wouldn’t sexually assault her.
MIT2 needed details on what the bastard did to her. The nature of the attack pissed him off.
Evans sat ramrod straight, trying to hold herself together with a gargantuan effort. Any other woman would be a blubbering mess. Max hoped she’d release some of that robotic control that defined every aspect of her life. He could handle the hysterics. As adrenaline levels dropped and the body relaxed, it was a natural process to release emotions. Evans needed that good cry. As a soldier, he’d learned to deal with the aftereffects of adrenaline and trauma over the years and developed other coping mechanisms but understood the body’s natural need for release.
