Meltdown

by Gail Barrett

  Cupping her face with his hand, he fused his mouth to hers. They had no future together. No forever. He’d soon go back to his flight squadron, and she’d return to her lab.

  But he would make damned sure she remembered him when she did.

  Zoe fell headlong into Coop’s kiss, surrendering to the hunger that had plagued her all day. His mouth was hot, potent, perfect, making her blood sing, driving every sane thought from her mind.

  She’d been craving him for hours on end now, thrilling to the pitch of his graveled voice, the heat in his pewter eyes. How he could affect her so strongly she didn’t know, but a single glance from those carnal eyes made her want to strip off her clothes and give him anything he desired.

  She caressed his rock-hard jaw, loving the scrape of his emerging whiskers, the delicious feel of his arousal pressed blatantly between her thighs. But they couldn’t do this. They had to make plans, stay on guard against the terrorists. And they were in Rider’s house, in his office. He could walk in at anytime.

  She wrenched her mouth away with supreme effort. “Stop. Rider might see us.”

  But Coop tightened his grip on her hips, his eyes almost angry in their intensity, and she wondered if he’d refuse to let go. Then he slid his mouth down her neck, sending shivers splintering through her nerves, and she closed her eyes on a moan.

  “Coop,” she tried again, her head lolling back, her mind fuzzy with lust. “We really have to stop.”

  He worked his way back to her mouth, murmured against her lips, while his hands slid around to her breasts. “What happened to the daring girl I knew?”

  She managed a breathless laugh. “I was never that daring.”

  He lifted his head, and his eyes scorched hers, fueling a rush of heat in her blood. “Pretty damned close.”

  His low words thrilled her. And she knew that it was true. She had been more daring back then—never reckless, just less inhibited. She’d let herself let go and acted on impulse, certain Coop would keep her safe.

  His eyes flared even hotter. His obvious hunger fueled hers. It shocked her that she wanted to yield in this, that she wanted to forget the world, forget that Rider could walk in at any moment, and simply surrender to Coop. “I…”

  Coop’s hands slid under her shirt, and the warm, callused feel of them obliterated her thoughts.

  And then his mouth returned to her throat. She tipped back her head, trembling from the surging desire.

  “Relax,” he murmured, his voice guttural. “He’s gone. He went to pick up some things and make calls.” His hands slid back to her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples into pebbled peaks. “We’re alone.”

  Alone.

  He tugged off her T-shirt and tossed it aside, then made short work of her bra. He pulled her hips even closer, securing her against his hard length. Intense pleasure streamed through her veins.

  Then his mouth went to her breast, the sensation made her knees buckle. Shuddering, she plunged her hands through his hair to hold him firmly in place. The sight of Coop’s mouth on her breast, his darker skin contrasting with hers, was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.

  He licked his way up her throat to her mouth, making her too boneless to stand. His kiss deepened, one strong arm keeping her upright, while his other hand undid her shorts.

  Her shorts and underpants dropped to her feet. He slipped his hand between her legs, touching her most sensitive part.

  She froze, excitement rocketing through her, the sensations so electric she couldn’t move. She clutched his arm in a death grip, frantic to keep his hand right there, while she whimpered against his mouth.

  His low laugh turned into a growl. And she realized he was still fully clothed. It made her feel brazen, heightening her excitement, like a fantasy come to life.

  He broke the kiss and lifted his head. The pupils in his eyes had dilated, the silver receding to rims. He dropped back into the chair, pulling her atop him, adjusting her knees so she straddled his thighs.

  Her face warmed. She felt exposed, aroused, bold.

  “I need to look at you,” he said, his voice gruff. And for an eternity, he slid his hands over her skin, tracing the curve of her breasts, making her nipples draw even tighter, lingering on her shoulders, her belly, her hips.

  His breath roughened. The skin on his cheekbones turned tight. And she watched him watch her, trusting him completely, his hunger adding to hers.

  Her body burned for him, wept for him. Her breath rasped in the silent room, as if she’d run in the heat for miles.

  And then he lowered his hand, touched her most sensitive part, and the orgasm slammed into her fast. She stiffened, cried out. And he pulled her head down to his, stifling her cries with his mouth, stroking her faster as she shivered and shook.

  She couldn’t wait anymore. Desperate, she unsnapped his jeans, her hands fumbling as she worked the zipper, easing the tight fabric apart. She freed him, took his long, hard length in her hand, then rose to her knees. “I need you,” she whispered, her own voice raw. “Now.”

  He pulled her hips down, entering her so deeply that it drove the breath from her lungs. And the next orgasm began to consume her, this time harder, stronger, great riveting waves of it, rolling through her like a nuclear blast. She squeezed her eyes closed, bright lights bursting behind her eyelids, experiencing the most intense pleasure she’d ever felt.

  Dozens of heartbeats later, the explosions subsided. Coop rested his forehead against hers, and she squeezed him back, still breathing in uneven gulps. She trembled, shivering as she came down from the furious rush, her emotions spinning out of control.

  How could she ever let this man go? She loved him. She wanted to spend her life in his arms.

  As if reading her thoughts, he cupped her head and urged her mouth down to his. The kiss was tender now, soothing, but then it morphed into something different, almost sad. He ended the kiss, gave her neck a regretful squeeze, evoking a feeling of loss.

  Of course, they had to stop. She was naked. Rider would return any minute now. And they couldn’t afford to waste precious hours lingering in each other’s arms while the kidnappers’ deadline approached.

  She scooted off Coop, pulling on her shirt and shorts, while he rose and adjusted his jeans. Then his gaze connected with hers. And the guilt in his eyes filled her with a stabbing sense of dread.

  And she couldn’t ignore the signs anymore. Something was bothering him. Something she knew instinctively she didn’t want to hear.

  “Listen, Zoe…” He shoved his hand through his hair, and his gaze sidled away from hers. “I need to tell you something. About the airstrip, about why I was there.”

  The front door slammed. His head swiveled around. “Rider’s back.”

  “I know.” A flutter took flight in her chest. What did he want to say?

  He turned back to her then, and his rough hands bracketed her face. He lowered his head and kissed her, tenderly this time, almost reverently, and a terrible ache wedged in her throat.

  And then he broke the kiss and lifted his head, his eyes reflecting regret. “I’m sorry, Zoe.”

  Sorry? “For what?”

  But instead of answering, he turned on his heel and left the room, his shoulders hunched in defeat.

  And she watched him go, her body still trembling from his lovemaking, a horrible certainty lodged in her chest.

  Because she had the feeling he’d just said goodbye.

  Chapter 13

  Coop’s mood plunged as their plans took shape, turning his temper downright foul. He didn’t want Zoe delivering the ransom. He didn’t want her anywhere near those lethal men. And he didn’t want her to find out why he was here.

  But he couldn’t stop the truth from emerging now.

  “So what do you think happened while you were in Syrian airspace?” Rider asked him. The topic had shifted from the logistics of rescuing Shaw to figuring out who in the government they could trust. And Zoe had listened intently, her eyes clou
ding with confusion as they discussed the complex case. And he knew she was adding up details, noting discrepancies from the version he’d told her—and would soon realize that he’d lied.

  His regrets building, knowing he was about to destroy Zoe’s remaining illusions, he shifted his gaze to Rider again. “We must have flown over something sensitive. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

  “What part of Syria?” Jared White, a big black man with a linebacker’s neck, spoke up. White sat next to Alex Herrera, the other man Rider had brought onboard. Both men wore military-style survival vests and carted bags of weapons and gear. Coop knew nothing about them save their names, but if Rider trusted them, that was enough.

  “We penetrated their airspace just off the coast, around the port of Latakia,” he said.

  Rider muted the television he’d turned on earlier, leaving the channel on news. He tossed down the remote, leaned forward in his seat. “All right. Let’s run with that. Let’s assume you flew over something near the port, something that someone wanted hushed up. You think it was nuclear?”

  “It must have been.” He leveled his gaze at Zoe. “They sent me to the airstrip to watch for Shaw right after that, so I’m guessing the events are linked.”

  She blinked. All color leached from her face. Her eyes darkened, filling with a myriad of emotions—shock, bewilderment, hurt. And then a wave of dull pink rose from her neck to her cheeks, and she jerked her head away.

  Coop closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing he’d messed up. He should have told her the truth once that plane crashed. By trying to spare her feelings, he’d ended up hurting her more.

  And he’d hoped… He exhaled and scrubbed his face with his hand. Hell, he didn’t know what he’d hoped. They had no future together, whether Zoe despised him or not. It shouldn’t matter what she thought.

  But it did.

  His chest balled tight. Knowing nothing he could say would change her opinion now, he focused on the other men. “If I understand Shaw’s process right, you need two things to make it work—the information on that flash drive and nuclear waste.

  “Let’s assume that our pursuers are terrorists who want to make a bomb. And let’s say they couldn’t get the material locally—here in the United States—because security’s too tight. It makes sense that they’d turn to the international black market. We know there’s orphaned nuclear material from the former Soviet Union floating around. So if they located some waste, they could have trucked it into Syria via Turkey.”

  Rider leaned forward. “And from there they shipped it to the States?”

  “It’s a guess.”

  “A damned good one.” Rider looked at White. “We’ll need to check satellite imagery for that time period, find out which ships entered the Syrian port.”

  “I’m on it.” White whipped out his BlackBerry and thumbed the keys. His low voice murmured as he placed a call.

  “White has a contact at Buckley,” Rider explained.

  Coop nodded. The Colorado Air Force base was home to both the National Security Administration and the National Reconnaissance Organization, along with other intelligence groups. If images of the Syrian port existed, they’d be there.

  “What about the photo we took of the guy in the ghost town?” Coop directed the question at Herrera, a tall, lean man with a ponytail. “Any idea who he is?”

  “Not yet, but I should get some feedback soon.”

  Coop braved a glance at Zoe. She huddled on the couch, looking shell-shocked—her arms crossed, her body curled tightly inward as if to fend off a blow.

  Then she turned her head, and the abject misery in her expression wrenched him apart. And a hard, hollow pit formed inside him, the truth of how badly he’d hurt her right there in her wounded eyes.

  He stared down at his hands, unable to deny how thoroughly he’d screwed up. Zoe had counted on him, believed in him, and he’d betrayed that trust—just as her grandfather had.

  “Check any foreign vessels that came into western U.S. ports,” Rider said to Herrera, and Coop dragged his attention to them. “Then we can cross-reference the list with ships that were in Syria at the time. Assuming they made a legal stop.”

  Herrera’s fingers flew over his laptop’s keyboard. “When would the ship have arrived?”

  Coop exhaled, forcing his mind back into the game. “It takes about a month to get to California from the Middle East. So within the last week.”

  “Assuming they landed on the west coast,” Rider said.

  “Yeah.” They didn’t know anything for sure. They might be completely off track. But they had to start somewhere.

  White’s phone chimed. He tugged it out. “Yeah? All right. I’ll stand by.” He clicked off the phone and looked up. “The satellite imagery from that day wasn’t archived. He’s going to keep looking, pull some strings if he has to, and call us back.”

  Coop frowned. “Why wouldn’t they have been archived?”

  The big man shrugged. “It could have been a glitch in the system. Or someone buried those images to keep them out of sight.”

  Coop’s mind whirred over the facts. “The State Department was in the Mideast then, engaging in high-level talks. So if there was something sensitive on those images, they might have wanted them buried, at least until their talks were done. That’s why they shipped me out.” And it wouldn’t be the first time the government had turned a blind eye to something to suit its needs. “The question is how far up the chain this goes.”

  “And who had the pilots killed,” Rider added.

  “Yeah.” Coop thinned his lips. He hadn’t forgotten that part. “Shaw wouldn’t have that kind of clout. Someone in the government has to be involved.”

  Zoe abruptly rose and stalked off. Coop watched her head to the kitchen, her shoulders stiff, her movements jerky, and the tumult inside him grew. He couldn’t leave her like this. He had to explain why he’d deceived her. She might not want to hear it, but he owed it to her to try.

  He got to his feet and followed her steps. She stood at the sink, facing the window, a glass of water in hand.

  He stopped several feet behind her, not nearly as close as he wanted, but knowing she’d object if he reached for her. “Zoe…”

  Her spine went ramrod straight. She finished drinking the water, deliberately set the glass in the sink, then slowly turned around. Her eyes burned with anger, accusations, pain.

  He felt the blow clear to his heart.

  “I’d like to explain,” he said.

  “Explain?” Her voice rose. “Explain what? Why you lied to me? Why you made up some story about being on leave when you were investigating my grandfather all along? How can you possibly explain that?”

  “I wanted to tell you the truth.”

  “Right. And that’s why you kept lying, even after I told you he’d been kidnapped. You used me, Coop. You wanted to get to him through me.”

  He couldn’t deny it. He gripped the back of his neck. “I did a lot of things wrong. I know that. But I never wanted you to get hurt.”

  She made a sound of disgust.

  “I mean it, Zoe. I got a signal on your cell phone near the ghost town. I would have reported you then if I hadn’t cared.”

  “Cared?” Her voice trembled. Twin spots of color flagged her cheeks. “So what was the plan, then? Wait until I’d found the flash drive, then seduce me into giving it up?”

  He exhaled heavily. “Come on, Zoe. You know I’d never do that.”

  “I don’t know anything about you, except that you lied. You’re just as bad as my grandfather. I can’t trust either one of you.”

  Her bitterness whipped into him, but the vulnerability in her eyes tormented him more. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He hadn’t wanted to end things like this. Hell, he didn’t want to end this at all.

  “Hey, Coop,” Rider called from the living room. “Come see this.”

  Their eyes held, her pain palpable, regrets tearing hi
m to shreds inside. He wished he could crank back time and redo the past. He wished he could spare her this pain.

  “I know you don’t believe me,” he finally said, the heavy ache expanding in his chest. “But I never meant to hurt you. I was only trying to keep you safe.”

  He turned and left the kitchen, self-loathing dragging his steps. He couldn’t win with Zoe. Every time they got together, he messed things up.

  “We got a match on that photo,” Rider said as he drew close.

  “Who is it?” Trying to summon some enthusiasm for the case, he joined the men now huddled around Herrera’s laptop. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zoe come into the family room and plop back into her seat.

  Herrera pointed to a mug shot on the monitor. “Abdul Mu’ti Halabi, a Syrian terrorist. We’ve been tracking him for awhile. He trained with al-Badr in Pakistan and heads an al-Qaeda splinter group called The Third Crescent. They claimed credit for that hotel bombing in the south of France last year.”

  Coop leaned toward the laptop, his attention snagged. “I remember.” The bombing had slaughtered dozens of innocent tourists, gaining media attention throughout the world.

  “He was last spotted in Morocco with Daleel Wasem and Waajid Kassab.” He flipped the screen to two more photos. “Look familiar?”

  Coop’s blood chilled. “Yeah. They were at the ghost town—and in the alley at the motel. Any idea what they’re doing here?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s big. They met with some high-placed al-Qaeda operatives in Rabat, then disappeared. Internet chatter’s been heating up, and Intel’s been scrambling like mad. The whole Western world’s on high alert. And there’s more.” Herrera flipped back to Halabi’s bio. “He studied at the University of Manchester in the United Kingdom. He majored in nuclear physics.”

  Which meant he could decipher the data on that flash drive.

  “Wasem and Kassab both trained in Afghanistan,” Herrera continued. “Wasem trained at Al Farouq. He’s a computer scientist. Kassab went through Derunta and specializes in making bombs.”