Fever Zone: Danger in Arms Series, Book 1

by Dees, Cindy

  As the sun set, Mike 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 rumbled 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 the 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 couple of weeks, 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 one of the most deadly corners of the planet. 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 and fashion model face and come-hither sex appeal of hers.

  God knew, she’d blown his mind like no other female. 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.

  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 already. 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 were soldiers and adventurers. Katie was bound to absorb some of the adrenaline junkie tendencies of their family. What was Piper’s deal?

  As the sun completed its final, 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. Mike 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.

  Mike 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 was hitting that woman hard. He’d kill her if he hit the wrong spot.

  A new player entered Mike’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. Mike 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 Roth. 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.

  He bellowed in Arabic, “These police are El Noori stooges! They came into this neighborhood to attack Dharwani women. They misuse their position to show disrespect to our women and blaspheme the name of Allah. They are frauds!”

  The crowd froze in shock. And then a low, angry buzz began to build.

  He gestured toward the tall girl and her companion whom Piper had saved. They cowered against the building at their backs, trapped by the gathering crowd and unable to make an escape. “Are we going to let El Noor’s men cane our women in the streets as if they are common whores? These are God-fearing women, and those animals would abase our wives and daughters! Will we let those black-hatted bastards rape them next?”

  The buzz grew into a roar. The crowd heaved and swayed around him, growing quickly as people melted onto the street and joined the seething mob. Other voices began to shout insults at the two religious policemen. The crowd began to jump up and down in a tribal ritual as old as Africa, the entire mob circling slowly to the left. The rotating crowd collapsed in upon itself in a crushing mass of grabbing hands and violent intent.

  He looked around frantically for Piper. There. He spotted her just as someone banged into her from behind. She went down to her knees. Frantic, he jumped forward, dragging her to her feet as the crowd surged around them. Fuck. She’d lost her hat and her blond hair spilled down around her face in a blatantly feminine display. Thankfully, the crowd was too focused on the religious police to notice her. Yet. A mob like this could turn in an instant.

  “We need to get out of here,” he shouted at her in English over the din.

  “Ya think?” she shouted back.

  He spared a scowl for her and shouldered his way through the mob.

  Screams erupted from the center of the enraged ring of locals. The crowd roared and nearly knocked him off his feet as it heaved forward. Someone must have hit the religious cops. Once the mob saw blood, the feeding frenzy would begin in earnest. He only hoped he and Piper were far enough from the epicenter of the violence to avoid the fallout. If El Noor was smart, he would attack this instant. Hell, the crowd would turn on itself, it was so blindly enraged.

  Mike used his height, bulk, and sheer brute strength to muscle a path through the crowd. Piper clung to his belt like it was her only lifeline. Which probably wasn’t far from the truth. They burst clear of the mob. Dusk was settling around them.

  “C’mon,” he growled. What in the hell was he supposed to do with her now? Her cover was blown. The locals knew she was a she, and furthermore, that she was a foreigner. He had to get her off the street and properly robed ASAP, before the mob he’d stirred up turned on her.

  Swearing under his breath, he started out toward his place. He’d paid enough protection money to the locals over the past several months that she ought to be safe there.

  “Where are we going?” she panted, hustling to keep up with his running stride.

  “My place.” They ran for several blocks, until things quieted around them enough for running to draw more attention than walking. He slowed to a rapid walk.

  “Don’t you want to stick around and observe the situation?”

  “That’s what I was doing when you decided to play Rambo,” he retorted dryly.

  “He was beating that girl for showing her ankles! She explained to him that she’d grown taller recently and her family couldn’t afford longer robes for her. Somebody had to do something!”

  “And that somebody just had to be you?” He felt a certain reluctant admiration for her courage and commitment to doing the right thing, but not if it was going to get her killed.

  She scowled. “Look. I just blew my mission and probably my career. But an innocent girl’s life was at stake.”

  “I know the feeling,” he snapped, the syllables as bitter as the metallic dust in his mouth. “You just screwed up my mission, too.”

  By the time his bosses at Defense Intelligence got a replacement observer read in and placed over here, EL Noor’s Palestinian contact would be long gone. And the U.S. would have no idea where or when he or any other terrorist planned to strike.

  He’d gotten confirmation from a local source that a Palestinian had been seen in Khartoum recently. And rumor had it the Palestinian was on El Noor’s payroll. Some kind of scientist. Nobody seemed to know what kind of scientist, however. Mike’s local informants were just beginning to trust him enough to fork over timely and legit intel. He was close to finding out what El Noor was up to. Very close. He felt it in his bones.

  And now he was going to have to fucking bug out and abandon the whole op because Piper couldn’t keep her damn Pollyanna streak in check.

  He turned around abruptly and she ran right into his chest. He grabbed her upper arms and yanked her up against him, nose to nose, snarling furiously, “Some girl getting a beating is kid stuff in Khartoum. She was probably lying there thanking her lucky stars that he didn’t chop her feet off. She wasn’t fucking worth blowing your cover—and mine—over.”

  “That’s cold hearted of you,” she snarled back.

  “Get your head out of your ass or get out of here, Pollyanna. This is no place for do-gooders or hot, single females.”

  He released her with a little shove and whirled away from her. He stomped off toward his hooch. Right now, he didn’t give a damn if she followed or not. Let Darwinian selection do its thing. If she was too stupid to live, this place would most certainly oblige and remove her from the gene pool.

  “Where are you going now?” she asked from beside him, sounding aggrieved.

  “To pack my gear and leave. Because you blew my goddamn cover.”

  “You’re the one who charged in to the rescue. I didn’t ask you to bail me out.” This time she was the one grabbing his arm.

  He stopped again. “Uncle Sam writes my paychecks. It’s my job to protect idiots like you from yourselves!”

  “I didn’t ask for your protection!”

  “That doesn’t relieve me of my duty.”

  “Now who’s being stupid? You’re standing on a sidewalk in plain sight announcing at the top of your lungs to everyone within earshot who you are!”

  She was right, and that didn’t help his foul mood one damned bit. He swore under his breath and stormed away from her, but froze one block shy of his digs. Very slowly, he plastered himself against a wall in the deep shadows of an alley. Something was wrong. He observed the street before him carefully.

  “What do you see?” Piper breathed from behind him.

  “Nothing. And that’s what worries me. It’s too quiet.”

  Thankfully, she didn’t make any ignorant comments about quiet being a good thing. Something was off. He felt it deep in his gut. But what?

  A lone figure came into view, shuffling down the street.
He knew that odd, halting gait. The blind charwoman who cooked his breakfast each day, squatting on the edge of the road beside a small wood fire. Ever since soldiers had put her eyes out a few years back, day or night made no difference to her.

  “Mala,” he whispered as she drew near.

  She swerved into the alley and whispered back, “Monsieur Mike?”

  “Oui. C’est moi. Could you step closer where you cannot be seen, please?” He added playfully, “I promise, I’ll behave.”

  Mala swatted at his upper arm, striking it unerringly. “Who de foreign lay-dee wit’ you?” she asked in her pidgin English, showing long teeth, yellow even in the last dregs of twilight.

  Piper scowled. “How did she know I’m foreign?”

  He suppressed a grin. Mala’d confessed to him once that the scents of soap and deodorant on foreigners’ skin gave away their nationalities. But he wasn’t going to be the one to share the hag’s secret.

  “What are you doing out on a night like this, ma chère?” he asked. “You know to stay inside when Dharwani and El Noor tangle.”

  She shook a skinny finger with knobby knuckles at him. “To stay indoor, hidin’ like a rat, da rat gotta wish ta live.”

  “True,” he replied wryly. “Still. Do you need me to walk you home? A pretty young thing like you has no business teasing the boys like this.”

  She cackled at that. “No, no. You take-a d’advantage of ole’ Mala, met’inks..”

  “Damn. You caught me.”

  More cackling. ”’Tis I who do you da favor dis night.”

  The grin disappeared from Mike’s face instantly. “How’s that?”

  “Me hab’ message for d’ foreign woman and huh’ man.”

  Mike frowned. Piper’s man? Not. “What’s the message, Mala?”

  “Someone wanna talk ta youze. Jus’ talk.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “His word on it, Monsieur Mike.”

  “Who?”

  “Dharwani.”

  “Sifwan Dharwani? In the flesh?”

  The charwoman nodded. “Dat girl you save. His sister’s daughter. He wanna t’ank you right.” Her sightless eye sockets turned unerringly toward Piper. “Bof’of ya.”