by Rachel Grant
She smiled. She had a beautiful smile—full, engaging, warm, with perfect white teeth on display. This surprised him, but then he hadn’t seen her smile like this in the bar last night.
“Research,” she answered.
“Research for what?” he pressed. She was determined to be taciturn, but engaging with people who didn’t want to be engaged was his specialty. And he could do it in six languages.
“For my dissertation,” she said with a hint of pride in her voice.
“What are you studying?”
“Underwater archaeology. Specifically, illicit trade routes through Turkey, Iraq, Iran, and Syria, as observed by mapping shipwrecks in the Mediterranean and the utilization of Byzantine-era aqueducts and cisterns. It’s part of a larger evaluation of trade in the Middle East but my focus is primarily on the illicit routes that may have led to the downfall of civilizations.”
Ian smiled. Her desire to be reticent was overwhelmed by her desire to impress him. She had a strong need for male approval. This was going to be easy.
And, in all honesty, he was impressed.
He flipped through the book, which appeared to be a lengthy academic paper. He glanced again at the cover. “INA?”
“Institute of Nautical Archaeology—it’s part of Texas A&M University.”
“Is that where you’re a student?”
“No. I’m a grad student at Florida State.”
“Gainesville?” he asked, knowing he was wrong and wondering if she would bother to correct him. After all, she didn’t want to talk to him.
“Tallahassee.”
He suppressed a grin. He was in, and they hadn’t even reached cruising altitude yet. “Right. Good football team. The Seminoles.”
She nodded. All at once she seemed to realize she’d told him too much. She gently took her book from his hands, opened it to her bookmark, and settled back in her seat.
He’d give her a few minutes. Let her get lulled by the fact that he wasn’t pressuring her to talk. But he couldn’t give her too long. He intended to have dinner plans with her before they landed.
He pulled out his own book—written in Arabic—and settled back to read. With his peripheral vision, he saw her eyes widen when she took in his reading material. She hadn’t asked him for details on his work or where he was from, and now he’d laid the bait to make her curious. Hopefully, the same insecurity that made her want to impress him would go into overdrive now that she knew he was no dummy.
He glanced sideways at her and tossed her an absent smile, the look of a man engrossed in his reading. She smiled back and resumed her own reading, a light flush on her smooth, tanned cheeks.
She really was lovely. How had he missed the slant to her eyes last night? Brown but flecked with amber and framed by long, elegant lashes, her eyes were downright mesmerizing up close.
Prior to this job with the Company, he’d served in the Army with Delta Force, working covert ops for the military. In all his years of undercover work, he’d never slept with a target for his job. It had never been necessary and, technically, couldn’t be required. But he’d always known there might come a time when sex would be a logical action to maintain cover.
In short, for his country, he was a willing soldier, but that didn’t mean his body was a mindless patriot and, given the types of women he’d dealt with on covert ops, more often than not, sex wasn’t a tool in his arsenal.
Could he take one for Team USA if this mission required it?
He had no doubt he could muster the necessary patriotism.
Twenty minutes after takeoff, the flight attendant arrived with the beverage cart. Cressida ordered coffee, but John touched her hand and said, “Let me buy you a drink as thanks for trading seats with me.”
She shook her head. “It’s still early, and I’m short on sleep. One drink and I’d go down for the count.”
After they both had coffee and the flight attendant had moved on, John said, “You’ll have to let me take you out in Van, then.”
She frowned.
“You don’t like that I’m being so forward,” he said.
“I’m surprised by it. You don’t know me. I could be married. Or have a boyfriend. Or I could be gay. Or crazy. Or any of a dozen other things.”
“I know you aren’t married.” He glanced at her left hand and raised a brow.
“Too easy. I’m an underwater archaeologist. I’ve been diving on a shipwreck twice a day for the last two months. The married crew members don’t wear rings so they won’t lose them in the Med, and after eight weeks, there’s no tan line or cheater imprint.”
“Yes, but no married woman in her right mind would fly into Eastern Anatolia alone without a wedding band.”
Her mouth snapped closed. “Okay. So I’m not married. But I could have a boyfriend. Or be a lesbian.”
He shook his head. “Definitely not a lesbian. That was obvious right away.”
She felt her face flush. Okay, so he’d caught her admiring his muscles. But, damn, he had a nice body. No harm in looking. “And the boyfriend?” she asked, feeling like a glutton for punishment.
“Well, if you have one, then I have an hour and a half to determine if it’s serious and I should back off.” His voice dropped so low she could barely hear him over the whine of the jet engine. “So, is there a boyfriend?”
It wouldn’t hurt to flirt a bit, would it? Her ego was still sore from Todd’s betrayal. They’d supposedly been in love, yet he’d implicated her in a felony to save his ass. “No. No boyfriend.”
Definitely no boyfriend.
Ian’s lack of success in securing a date—or at least a phone number—by the time they landed in Van had him on the ropes but not defeated. She’d responded in all the right ways, but he hadn’t closed the deal.
The woman was an interesting mixture of cautious and rash. She’d been sloppy in giving a fake name when her real one had been broadcast over the loudspeaker in the boarding area, but earned kudos for being aware she should be protective of her identity and destination.
That clumsy fake name argued for innocence. A player would have been aware her name had been announced in the crowded terminal. Only an innocent would think no one would notice.
“Because we Americans need to stick together,” he said, holding out his business card. “Call me if you need anything.”
She thanked him and tucked the card into her purse.
“If you decide you’d like company, my evenings will be free,” he added.
She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As long as she stayed in Van, tailing would be easy. He’d identify her hotel and get a room there as well. Tonight they’d find themselves at the same restaurant, and he would continue to wine and dine her. He’d planted a bug in her book and could safely hang back in the airport. He wouldn’t lose her unless she was on to him, in which case he had far bigger problems.
Inside the terminal, she paused to scan the arrivals area. She frowned, clearly disconcerted at not seeing…whoever she’d hoped to see. She faced Ian and pasted on a false smile and said good-bye, then headed to an information desk. He hung back, cell phone pressed to his ear, and watched her with his peripheral vision. He listened via the bug, which transmitted directly to his phone, as she asked about hotels in Van.
Tourism was rare in Eastern Anatolia, which meant she wouldn’t have trouble booking a room in one of the nicer hotels. The man at the desk recommended an old hotel near the lakeshore. Ian called and booked a room before the clerk finished translating the options to Cressida. He headed to the taxi line.
Several minutes later, she emerged from the terminal and he smiled and raised an eyebrow while nodding toward the half-dozen people who separated them in the growing line. “We could share a ride?” he offered.
“We might be going in different directions,” she said with a sexy, crooked smile.
“Do you think I care?”
Her pretty eyes flashed with amusement. “Thank you.�
� She left her spot in the line. The moment she stepped out, Zack and two others stepped in behind her.
“Only if you promise to join me for dinner,” Ian added before she slid into the line at his side.
She glanced at the ever-growing line. “Seriously?” she asked.
“Yep. Dinner. I know a great local spot. No one makes better içli köfte in Van. You’ll love it.”
She shook her head in exasperation. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
He laughed. “You sound so thrilled.”
“Maybe this is better?” She placed a hand on his chest. “Thank you, John. I’d be delighted to have dinner with you.” Her voice was a soft, sexy rasp.
Damn. She was good at turning on the sexy.
Maybe too good.
Chapter Six
Cressida pursed her lips as she considered her wardrobe options. She was meeting John in the lobby in ten minutes and everything she’d packed except the blue cocktail dress—which wasn’t an option in a region in which she’d need to wear a headscarf more often than not—was bland. Her clothes were perfect for a woman who didn’t want to be noticed.
But she wanted John to see her. Hell, she sort of wanted to see John. All of him. And she didn’t really mean the sort of part.
Apparently, taking a nap after her long, brutal night had woken her reckless side.
She dressed in beige slacks and a blue cotton button-down shirt, then made a face at her boring reflection. She’d been foolish to agree to dinner. She should be playing it safe. John Baker didn’t exude safe.
With a deep breath, she left the security of her hotel room, grateful for the five hours of sleep that had restored her humanity, even if it meant she hadn’t made it out to explore the city. At least she’d be sharper than she’d been on the flight.
As if. Just looking at him made her tongue-tied.
She stepped out of the elevator into the lobby and scanned the room. No sign of John.
She felt a familiar ache in her belly. She’d been stood up before. It was a bleak, worthless feeling when a date didn’t bother to show. She’d give him five minutes, then she was out of here. She had her pride. And she could take smug satisfaction in knowing he couldn’t track her down to apologize, should he want to. He didn’t know her real name.
Two minutes into her small grace period, he stepped into the lobby, and her mind went blank. Holy crap. He was even better looking than she remembered. How was that possible? Surely he’d made a deal with Hades or something, because no mere mortal had the right to be that hot.
He crossed the wide, open floor to her side, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he smiled. “Sorry I’m late. I was delayed by a call from my boss.”
This was a first in Cressida’s world. She didn’t think any of the men she’d dated knew the definition of the word “sorry” let alone would employ it in a sentence. Yet this man dropped it when he was only two minutes late. She liked that. Probably more than she should. “Oh? Is it past six? I hadn’t realized.”
He laughed. “Liar. You’re a scuba diver. Timing is everything to you. A minute too long at the wrong depth is trouble in your world. It spills over into your daily life, and you’re punctual to the minute, I bet.”
She frowned, but not in displeasure. He’d pretty much nailed her with that assessment. “How do you figure?”
“You check your watch constantly.” He touched the spot between her brows. “And you get an adorable wrinkle here, when you are delayed—like when the cab was stuck too long at an intersection.” He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, “It makes a man wonder if you time everything.”
Her entire body flooded with heat at the innuendo. As if that wasn’t enough, his lips brushed her ear. “Lavender,” he murmured. “Nice.”
She shivered. She should be put off, but that recklessness that had been eager for this dinner now considered skipping the meal all together. She might need to thank Suzanne for throwing a box of condoms in her suitcase when it hadn’t occurred to Cressida she might want them.
She was here to gather information for her dissertation, she reminded herself, which would start when she spoke with Berzan after he got off work this evening. No sex with John Baker, no matter how well this date went.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
He pulled back. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” she said truthfully. She’d had only a paltry pastry this morning at the airport and had woken from her long nap feeling ravenous.
He held out an arm. “The restaurant I mentioned is only a few blocks away. You up for a walk?”
“Absolutely.” She took his arm, enjoying the feel of his firm bicep and the crisp, soapy smell of his skin. The sultry evening air enveloped her in a warm embrace.
They reached the restaurant, a small, cozy space she would never have guessed was a restaurant from the tiny sign and storefront. Inside it smelled heavenly, roasting meat, spices, and flatbread. The savory scents reminded her just how hungry she was. They were seated quickly, and John conversed with the host in Turkish, who nodded and smiled and then disappeared into the kitchen.
“The food here is more Kurdish than Turkish, so I ordered some samples for you to try. Hope you aren’t feeling homesick for a burger and fries.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m game to try new things. It all smells wonderful.”
“They don’t usually serve alcohol here, but the owner has a few bottles of wine he keeps handy for non-Muslim friends. They have a nice Italian wine that goes well with the lamb köfte.”
She cocked her head, impressed by the fact that he was considered a friend by the proprietor. “Do you come to Van often?”
He shrugged. “Now and again.”
A man came to their table and greeted John warmly. John introduced Cressida, startling her when the fake name was the only word she’d understood. Damn. She should probably tell him the truth. She held out her hand to the proprietor, but the man smiled and crossed his arms.
“He offers no offense. He’s devout and can’t touch a woman who is not part of his family after washing, before prayer. And the Mu’adhin is about to deliver the Adhan for Maghrib.”
Cressida nodded and smiled. “I understand. It’s nice meeting you.”
The man beamed and spoke rapidly to John before nodding to her and leaving.
“It’s going to be hard for me if I don’t have a translator, isn’t it?”
John nodded. “Not many speak English here. You haven’t arranged for a translator?”
“I did, but he’s working right now, so we haven’t connected. I’m hoping to hear from him tonight, after he gets off work.” She leaned forward. “It’s a shame you’ll be busy with your job, or I’d offer you the money I was going to pay Berzan.”
“Berzan?” he asked.
“He’s the brother of a man I hired in Antalya for some translation work.”
John’s eyes flattened, but the look passed so quickly she almost wondered if she imagined the cold, hard look. But the chill that trickled up her spine said it had happened.
The waiter arrived with the bottle of wine followed rapidly by the tray of samples John had ordered, and the unsettled feeling passed.
As she tried each item, John explained the dish, warning her before she sampled the raw meatballs—the Turkish version of steak tartare—in case she was likely to react to the dish.
The waiter returned, and John ordered more food based on her preferences, then taught her the names of the dishes she’d enjoyed the most. Heat infused her as she faced him across the intimate table and sipped her wine. How far should she let this go?
“Tell me about your research,” John said. “What do you hope to find in Van?”
“I won’t be staying in Van. I’m heading south.
“South? There isn’t much south of here. Except Syria.”
She pressed her lips closed and wondered how much she should tell him. “There’s a lot of real estate between Van
and the border.”
“And you expect to find…?”
“Nothing during this trip.” That was mostly true. “I’m just here to line up contacts. Pave the way for conducting a Lidar survey of an area where I hope to find things next year.”
He raised an eyebrow. The simple gesture was infused with sexuality. “Lidar? What’s that?”
“It’s a type of remote sensing. With Lidar, you measure distance by illuminating a target with the laser. The reflected light is analyzed. It was developed in the ’60s, but the technology has really improved. The applications for archaeology expand every year. With a Lidar survey, I’ll be able to find cisterns and underground aqueducts that were lost over a thousand years ago—ones I believe were an important part of illicit trade routes.”
“You’re talking about the Silk Road?”
“I’m talking about a Silk Road bypass.”
John sat back in his chair. He looked impressed. “That would be something.”
She leaned forward, warming to the subject, which, after all, had been her obsession for months. “I think dyes, precious metals, gems, spices—you name it—were traded using underground passages. With Lidar mapping, I can find those cisterns and aqueducts and prove my theories.”
“You really think there are hidden tunnels in the Eastern Anatolia hills?” His tone was skeptical.
“Have you ever heard of the Gadara Aqueduct?”
John shook his head.
“It was Roman, built to supply water to the city of Gadara in modern-day Jordan. It’s the longest known tunnel from antiquity. Construction began around AD 90 or 100, and it took a hundred years to build. The underground sections are sixty-six miles long. The tunnel is about two meters tall and one and a half meters wide.”
“Yes. But people know about it. You know about it. Nothing that big could remain hidden for two thousand years.”
She grinned. “That’s where you’re wrong. Gadara was discovered in 2004. By an archaeologist.”
That handsome mouth curled into a sexy smile, and his eyes lit with warmth that said he didn’t mind being told point-blank he was wrong. “Seriously?”
