Blacklisted: Blacklist Operations Book #1

by Lauren Devane

  That’s when Oliver stepped out from behind a tree and dragged a knife across her throat.

  Aidan jolted awake in the dark, then stilled, not wanting to wake Sophie. She’d turned in the night and was plastered against him, her head tucked under his chin and their legs tangled together. The room was cool; she must have been seeking his warmth.

  He enjoyed being close to her for longer than he should have, then slipped from the bed and dug in his bag for a black pot of cream. Sitting next to her, he worked it into her metal torn wrists, then her face. She stirred.

  “What’re you doing?” she mumbled, her voice husky with sleep.

  “I’m taking care of you. Go back to sleep.” By the time he’d finished rubbing in the balm, she’d already fallen back into whatever her own dreams were. He replaced the pot in his bag, then stretched out next to her again, silently willing his own dream not to come true.

  Nerves overtook him in the dark and he scanned the corners of the room repeatedly. Nothing was there but shadows and dust.

  When he opened his eyes again, it was morning and Sophie was gone. Panic raced through his limbs, propelling him out of bed. Before he could reach the door, Aidan heard a thump in the bathroom and spun around.

  He heard a muttered curse, another thump, and then Sophie burst into the bedroom.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” she said, laughing and pushing her wet hair out of her face. “Now that you’ve decided to wake up, could you help me figure out how to turn off the shower?”

  “How did you get away from me?”

  “It wasn’t hard,” she said, and her lips tilted up in a smile that transfixed him. Aidan realized that the cream had worked. Her pale skin no longer showed the effects of the abuse she’d suffered at his hands, and he was grateful.

  “Explain.”

  “You were dead to the world, Aidan. I told you that you needed sleep. I just pushed your heavy arm off me and took a shower. Now please go figure out how to fix it, spy guy.”

  “You’re in a good mood this morning,” he said, suspicious.

  “I’ve decided to just be optimistic about this whole thing,” she said, running a thin white towel over her hair. “Maybe you won’t have to kill me and you’ll stop this horrible thing that you won’t tell me about.”

  “Sophie…”

  “No,” she said, cutting him off. “Maybe then I can stop being worried that it’s an atomic bomb or something that’s going to kill someone I love.” She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and crossed the room to pick through the bag he’d packed for her.

  She pulled lipgloss from a side pocket and slicked it over her lips. Aidan watched her with interest, enjoying the slight smile that clung to the corners of her mouth. Intriguing swatches of pale skin showed above and below the threadbare towel she had wrapped around her body. He could see the shape of her breasts pressed against the fabric.

  When she turned around to pick out clothes, he saw the perfect curve of her ass and his erection roared to life.

  “I’ll fix it now,” he said, walking into the bathroom. After looking at the pouring water for longer than necessary to let his raging libido cool, he admitted that he couldn’t fix it. “I’d need tools,” he yelled into the bedroom. “We’ll just tell them about it on our way out.”

  “Just ask the concierge for a wrench,” Sophie said. “I really hate wasting water like this.”

  “I’m not sure I could fix it.”

  “If you can get your hands on a wrench, I might be able to.”

  Deciding to call her bluff, he called down to the office and asked if they could get a wrench. The man who offered the phone agreed and, moments later, was at the door with a large, rusted wrench.

  Torn between whether he should laugh or attempt the repairs after she failed, he handed it to her. It wasn’t that women weren’t handy—his mother was better at home repairs than his father. It was that she, Sophie, wasn’t going to be able to fix it. She’d struggled to unbuckle her seatbelt when they’d arrived at the hotel, and seatbelts were surely less complicated than showers.

  Of course, he didn’t want to dim the megawatt smile she’d flashed when she came back into the bedroom after her shower. Deciding he’d be magnanimous, he walked into the bathroom to check on her progress.

  The water was off. She was rubbing something that smelled like lemons into her hair, scrunching the strands in her fingers.

  “It feels so good to be clean,” she said. “Did you want to take a shower before we go?”

  “Sure,” he said, smiling at her admiringly. “Nice job fixing the shower.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “My dad was handy.”

  “Let me know when you’re done.”

  She laughed, and the sound shot straight to his loins. “I’m not a little girl, Aidan. Just hop in the shower while I finish doing my hair.”

  He hesitated, then pulled his t-shirt over his head. She watched him in the bathroom mirror, undisguised interest in her bright eyes. When his fingers went to the waistband of his black boxer briefs, she bit down on her firm lower lip. He turned his back to her so she wouldn’t see how she affected him.

  Lord, the man was sexy.

  Sophie knew not to let her thoughts get tangled up like this, but he was right there and his firm, muscular back was positively lickable. Heat gathered low in her belly while she covertly watched him in the bathroom mirror.

  When he turned his back, slid off his boxer briefs and stepped into the shower, she trembled with longing, then disappointment that she could no longer watch him.

  She’d woken up in a fine mood. Sophie could open her lips freely, rotate her jaw without pain and actually looked like someone other than a walking disaster victim. When she woke to his hands on her the night before, she’d almost panicked. Realizing that he was taking care of her had helped eliminate the last of the fear that had solidified in her gut from the moment she’d seen him in the mirror.

  Maybe healing her didn’t make up for the injuries he’d inflicted, but she couldn’t blame him for what he’d done. In his position, she might have done worse.

  “When you’re done, I’m ready. But you have to promise that we can stop and get something to eat on the way.”

  “We’ll see,” he said, his voice muffled by the water.

  She dropped the towel by the bed and pulled on her most comfortable panties and bra, then yanked on a jean skirt and a white tank top over them. Slipping her feet into a pair of sandals from the bottom of her suitcase, she studied herself in the dusty mirror. Mascara and blush would go a long way, she supposed, but she didn’t look so bad.

  Remembering the cool air of the night before, she pulled a soft green sweater from the bag. The jeans and t-shirt she’d been wearing since they left went right into the trash. If she never saw them again, it would be too soon.

  Chapter Nine

  “I’m seriously hungry.”

  Aidan jumped when she spoke. For three hours, she’d been staring at the window, just watching the cities and fields fly by. He’d tuned the radio to a station that played music in English so that he knew she’d understand it. Desperate to make up for lost time, he pushed the gas pedal down harder.

  “What languages do you speak?”

  “I’m pathetic at French, but I can manage some Italian. My German is weak. I didn’t learn any as a kid, so I’ve kind of picked them up while teaching.”

  “Why didn’t you learn any growing up?” He knew her adoptive father traveled all over the world.

  “Aidan, I’m so hungry that my stomach is starting to digest itself. Can you please stop and get me some food, and then I’ll answer any questions you have about my language skills or lack thereof?”

  “I just want to leave this place behind before we stop,” he said. “I was here last year and I didn’t make any friends.”

  “How is that even possible?” she asked, her wide-eyes making his lips twitch.

  Another hour passed in silence. The sun start
ed to sink down below the mountains, streaking the sky with reds and oranges. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a more beautiful sunset. It would be even better, she knew, if her stomach was full. Sophie had never been one to skip meals and eating only soups and breads for four days had taken their toll on her internal balance. She wanted a steak, maybe some couscous.

  “Aidan,” she whined, running both hands through her hair to pull it away from her face. “I am so hungry that if you don’t pull over in the next hour and let me eat something, I will find some way to wreck this car and get food on my own.” He hadn’t cuffed her that day, had wanted to see if she’d play nicely with him, so she knew she was capable of doing it. Not that she would. Probably not, at least. He though she had more sense than that.

  The year before, he’d walked away from Oliver and started fighting again. Some of the other fighters had better form, but he tore through them one by one, intent on his personal mission. When he’d finally gotten the invitation to fight in Iran, he thought that he’d reached the end of years of busting knuckles and other men’s faces in order to find the one man he hated more than any other.

  But Bartek hadn’t been there. Aidan had beat his opponent into unconsciousness, battering the man’s cheekbones until they cracked under his hands. What they’d finally pulled him away from was less a man than a pile of meat and bone, stinking and bleeding on the concrete floor.

  After that, he’d decided to let go of finding Bartek—until he’d been recruited to fight in Moscow. He’d been so damn close.

  Aidan was grateful that Sophie had finally stopped asking him what was happening, even while it made him aware of how out of place she was in his world. He would have begged, cajoled or threatened information out of his captor. She worried about filling her stomach.

  During a lull in the advertisements, it growled audibly. “Fine, damn it,” he said. “I’m going to stop.”

  Sophie smiled, but didn’t say anything.

  Ten minutes later, he pulled into a town that was nicer than the one they’d stayed in the night before. Sophie thought that it might even be a tourist destination.

  “Where are we?” The architecture was an intriguing mix of ancient and modern. Between brick and concrete stores were beautiful mosques decorated with tile or carved from marble. Her artist’s eye was captivated, and she decided to return one day so that she could take pictures.

  “We’re in Qom.” She repeated the word and smiled, watching groups of happy people enter restaurants or browse vendor’s carts. It reminded her of San Francisco in some ways, and the sweet ache in her chest was welcome.

  “I’ve never been here before,” she said.

  “We’ve about an hour and a half from Teheran. You know where that is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Qom is interesting. You teach art, so I guess you’d know it better than me. But a lot of the holy places here have really detailed designs. Does that interest you?”

  “Yes,” she sighed, watching another domed mosque fade behind her. “I wish we could stay. Have you been before?”

  “I fought here last year.”

  “Fought?”

  “I fight. Cage fighting.”

  “Why? That’s a violent hobby, especially for someone with your job.”

  “I have my reasons.” His tone didn’t encourage questions, but Sophie had to know.

  “What are your reasons?”

  He sighed, then his shoulders tensed. “My sister was kidnapped 13 years ago. Katherine was 10 when someone grabbed her off the street on her way home from school.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sophie said, overwhelmed. “That’s terrible.”

  “It wasn’t a good year,” Aidan continued. “Mom pretty much broke for a few months and I don’t think Dad slept until he passed out.”

  “Did they ever find out who did it?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “A man named Bartek. One of those Russian fuckers with more money than common fucking sense.”

  Sophie felt a chill race down her spine and curl up at the base. “Did you find out why?”

  “I still don’t know,” he admitted. “The orders came directly from the man himself, but his organization never dealt in children. My dad raided every fucking brothel he could find for years and came up empty. She just disappeared.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I’m still sorry.” Her hunger has disappeared, leaving her stomach a hollow cavern filled with ice.

  “Anyway, I started fighting because Bartek is impossible to get to. Paranoia, bats in the belfry, whatever. The point is, unless he notices you on the fighting circuit and invites you to work for him, you’re not getting close.”

  “You’ve tried?”

  “More than once.”

  “Are you good at fighting?”

  “I’ve only lost twice,” Aidan said, in a tone that was neither boastful nor humble. His words were just fact. “Once was early on when I faced someone better than me. The other time was in Moscow a few weeks ago. Damn it!” He slammed his fist against the driver’s side window.

  “What?”

  “If it wasn’t for fucking Veronica, I’d have had Bartek. He’d have called me up that time and I could have put the fucker in a pine box. He always meets with the champions But I had to go try to protect the man Veronica killed. It was all for nothing.”

  “God, I’m so sorry, Aidan. I can’t imagine how horrible it was.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” His face told a different story. Agony covered him, though he only watched the road. “Anyway, the fight in Iran didn’t go very well. I lost my fucking temper and almost killed the son of a terrorist group. That’s why we need to eat and get the fuck out.”

  “Because you almost killed someone a year ago?”

  “Because his father isn’t the forgiving type.”

  Sophie wanted to wipe the sorrow from his eyes, but didn’t know what to say. Losing someone you love hurt worse than acid. “Have you spent a lot of time here?”

  “I was here for a few weeks.” He shouldn’t be talking about this. Oliver would beat the shit out of him. “A friend and I had a job—“

  “What—“

  “Don’t ask. I won’t tell you. But we lived in Iran for a while and saw some of the country. There’s a mosque two hours south of here that has no history. No one knows how it was built. People come from all over the world to make guesses, to try and chip off a piece of the foundation for study. It’s heavily guarded. I thought my friend was going to shit himself, he was so happy to finally see it in person. He’s a big fan of mysteries. Watches the History Channel when he can.”

  “What made you want to see it?”

  “It’s there, I guess. What do you mean?”

  “Well, your friend likes mysteries. What do you like?”

  “I guess I like discoveries. The mystery doesn’t matter so much to me. I have to be able to work it out. Like you. You’re a mystery that I need to make a discovery.”

  “How so? Am I the mystery of the girl who was vacationing comfortably?”

  “Listen. I just…it’s complicated. I thought I was doing the right thing. But now I see you—you, not her.”

  “The woman you accused Lyle of training?”

  He pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant, then turned off the engine. “No point in arguing about that. You obviously aren’t going to believe me. And I know I’m right.”

  “Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do.”

  “Are you interested in hearing this or not? It’s kind of a limited time offer.” He reached in the glove compartment and pulled out his wallet, shutting it with a snap.

  “Talk on.”

  “We tracked Lyle’s calls and found that Veronica had moved from Moscow to Dubai. We hoped she still had the package. Oliver sent me after it, and her, with orders to do whatever was necessary to stop what’s coming.”

  “Which is?”

 
“Don’t get greedy. Anyway, it got personal. She killed my friend Dima, cut his throat and left him for dead. He was a nice man, Sophie. Didn’t deserve to die and she still killed him like a hog for the slaughter. Veronica made sure I wouldn’t get the information I needed. She’s a bad guy.”

  “No gray?”

  “Not with her. Bitch. I’ve been three steps behind her for too long, content to play the game. Didn’t hate her, you see, until now.”

  “Was the man she killed a friend?” She reached out and put her hand on his.

  “In the way of being.” He knew he should pull away but he liked the feeling of her soft hand warming his.

  “I’m sorry, Aidan.”

  “I’m sorry, too. It’s my fault you’re involved in this. You don’t deserve it.” He shook his head, looked off into the increasing dark. “It’s your damn hair. Long and golden, like hers. Even the way you move, fluid.”

  “Ballet.”

  “Yeah, wish I’d known that last week.”

  “Thanks for taking me to get food.”

  “I should have planned for something sooner.” Sophie was relieved to see the tension melt from his face when he scanned the street and saw no potential threats. His shoulders relaxed and his lips softened.

  “Do you really think she was at the hotel?” As soon as the words left her lips, she wished she could pull them back in.

  “Yeah, probably. Or maybe you were the diversion and I was supposed to realize it before I made contact. Thing is, Veronica would have noticed me tailing her. She’s not stupid enough to miss that kind of surveillance.”

  “But I am?”

  “Art teachers aren’t supposed to notice a tail, Sophie. You’re not stupid. You’re just…sweet.”

  Sweet, she thought. He thinks I’m sweet. Suddenly depressed, she climbed out of the car and walked around to meet him. The scents of meat and spices wafted from the open doors of the restaurant, leading them in. Aidan took her arm and guided her toward the front doors.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “That’s classified information,” he said with a smile. Sophie laughed and pushed through the door. Inside was chaos. Most tables were full of people in robes who spoke while they ate, gesturing with hands full of lamb or flatbread. The lighting was dim, thanks to the small lamps hanging from the ceiling. A low beat pumped from discreetly placed speakers, giving the entire room a festive atmosphere.