Heatseeker (Atrati)

by Lucy Monroe

  “Your daddy is not going to let you come back and run the ranch.”

  “I’m a mercenary, not a cowboy.”

  “Oh, you’re still my cowboy, but you’re my partner, too.”

  “Then no more taking unnecessary chances with your life. You have a partner … a life partner … depending on you.”

  “I’m good at what I do.”

  “You’re the best, but I’m not going to lose you now that I’ve got you back.”

  “I’ll be more careful.” Neil grinned. “Can you get naked now? The clock is ticking.”

  Wyatt tore off his clothes and then stood there, his whole body vibrating. “I’m afraid to touch you, afraid I’ll wake up and this won’t be real.”

  That was the second time Wyatt had said something like that. “You dream about us getting back together a lot?”

  “For an interminable year, those have been the only good dreams I’ve had.”

  “You have a lot of nightmares?”

  “Memories … the look on your face when I told you about my engagement.” Wyatt swallowed convulsively and turned his head away. “I’ll never forget that.”

  “Yes, you will.” Neil turned Wyatt’s head back to face him with a hand on his chin. “Look at my face now, and dream about this.”

  He let all the love and bone-deep happiness he felt in that moment show in his eyes and the smile he didn’t even try to dim.

  Wyatt’s breath caught.

  Neil pulled the other man’s head down, their lips coming together in a kiss so profound, it felt like vows were spoken.

  Wyatt lifted his head, his breath coming unevenly. “I bought a little place in New York.”

  “Upstate?” Neil couldn’t picture his cowboy living in the city.

  “Yeah, but it’s still New York.”

  “Good.” Neil had never pictured himself living in New York, but he wasn’t overly attached to his apartment in Maryland.

  As long as he and Wyatt were together, out in the open, the where didn’t really matter.

  As an Atrati, he spent at least half the year away from home, anyway.

  Wyatt shook his head, his smile crooked. “You can be really dense for such a smart man.”

  “Calling me names is not going to get you laid.” Though Neil wanted the other man so much, if they didn’t move this into the next stage soon, he was just going to tackle Wyatt to the bed and be done with it.

  “Baby, I’m trying to ask you a question here.”

  “You are?” And then Neil got it. “Oh! I mean … well, damn it, ask, then.”

  “I’m a little nervous.”

  “You’ve got experience,” Neil snarked, but the bitterness that might have been there even the day before was gone from his voice.

  “Not in asking someone I love more than my own life, more than my old dreams, more than the regard of my family, to marry me.” Oh, shit, he was going to cry. “Neil, I love you with every little bit in me. I will always be there for you if you let me; as long as it is within my power, I will never let you down.”

  “Yes.” Neil absolutely believed the other man.

  “Wait. Are you saying you’ll marry me?”

  “Yes.” He threw his arms around Wyatt, knocking the muscled former Marines MARSOC soldier onto the bed. “My dad is going to be so happy.”

  Wyatt laughed, right before nearly kissing the life out of Neil. Kisses led to caresses. Caresses led to rubbing, and rubbing led to climaxes that left the rafters shaking from their shouts and a hot, wet mess on their bodies between them.

  Wyatt looked down at Neil, his gray eyes soft with love. “Mine. My beloved is mine, and I am my beloved’s.”

  Neil felt tears prick at his eyes. “For a lifetime.” “You’re not getting rid of me through eternity, either.” Wyatt leaned down and kissed Neil, his touch as gentle as the passion had been feral. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for not giving up on us.”

  “Never.”

  Neil smiled.

  Jamila returned from the depths of the house where she had been with Mrs. Abdul since arriving in her torn clothes and Chuma’s suit jacket. Despite the late hour and everything that had happened that night, the young Egyptian woman looked tired but composed.

  Mrs. Abdul had given her clothes to wear, and Rachel was surprised to see that they were more Western than Moroccan.

  But Jamila appeared comfortable in the Dior skirt that hit her calves only a couple of inches above the ankle and complementary long-sleeved raspberry-colored blouse by the same designer. It was by no means a revealing outfit, but it showed that Jamila wasn’t seeking to hide behind the djellaba and khimar she could have worn.

  Mrs. Abdul patted the young woman’s shoulder. “You remember,” she said in French. “The words I spoke will be as true tomorrow as they are today.”

  Jamila nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude and a peace that shocked Rachel.

  Turning to Rachel, the younger woman even managed something very near a smile. “Madame Abdul has taken care of all my concerns. I am ready for our flight to Egypt.”

  “I didn’t know she preferred French.” Though some Moroccans did. Rachel turned mystified eyes to Mrs. Abdul. “Thank you for caring for Miss Massri.”

  She said the last in French, her accent not nearly as natural as Mrs. Abdul’s.

  “There is nothing for which to thank me. She is a remarkable woman and will one day make her mark on this world, I think.”

  “I’m sure you are right.”

  “She will heal. In all ways,” the older woman said obliquely.

  Rachel’s heart constricted in thankfulness. “That is very good to hear.”

  They were settled on the private jet when Jamila asked, “Do you know if my father has learned of this night’s events yet?”

  Rachel turned to Kadin.

  “Abdul’s man reported that Dr. Massri returned to the hotel and has gone to bed. It doesn’t look like he’s going to discover anything until tomorrow, but by then all he’ll find is an empty house,” Kadin told Jamila.

  “So, he will have no knowledge of what has become of Abasi or Mr. Lavigne?”

  “Nothing he can confirm. Dr. Massri will probably think the worst when he realizes Giroux is gone, as well, and his cohorts don’t answer their phones.”

  “But will he believe the worst in that they are dead or the worst in that they have absconded with me and left him for some nefarious reasons of their own?”

  Kadin shrugged as if he didn’t think it mattered. “You’re pretty good at coming up with possible scenarios. That’s a valuable skill.”

  “My father has always said I have too much imagination.”

  Neil said, “Dull people often say that of the highly intelligent.”

  Rachel was sure he had plenty of experience on that score.

  “My father is very smart. He is a doctor, after all.”

  “He doesn’t appreciate your worth—that makes him ignorant in my opinion,” Cowboy said, his satisfied glow making Rachel smile.

  It was clear that the two men had reconciled and both were incredibly happy about it.

  “It is good of you to say so.”

  “I have a habit of speaking the truth, ma’am.”

  Jamila giggled and shook her head. “You are from the South, yes?”

  “Actually, sweet thing, I’m from the grand state of Texas.” Cowboy was playing up his accent and making Jamila smile.

  “You Atrati are special men,” Rachel said quietly to Kadin.

  “You think so?” he asked, the question carrying a heavier meaning than the words implied at first.

  She could see it in those beautiful brown eyes that had mesmerized her since she was a prepubescent girl.

  “I do.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “I hope so.” The words came out as a whisper against his lips as he moved close enough to kiss.

  He completed the move, giving her a kiss that had more promise t
han heat.

  Jamila gasped beside her, and Rachel looked over. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have—”

  “No. It is all right. You Americans are freer with your affections than we Egyptians, but there is such gentleness in this big man when he touches you. It is good to see.”

  Rachel reached out and took Jamila’s hand. “A good man tempers his strength.”

  “And a strong woman seeks a good man in her partner.”

  “Yes.”

  Jamila nodded. “It is as Madame Abdul said. Strength is in the decisions we make.”

  “We all make mistakes.”

  “Yes, it is how we respond to those mistakes that defines our character.”

  “Mrs. Abdul tell you that, too?” Neil asked with warm curiosity.

  “Yes. She is a very wise woman.”

  Everyone nodded, though Rachel doubted any of them had realized quite how invaluable that woman would be to them.

  The flight to the airstrip outside of Helwan was a little more than five hours, and they arrived in the wee hours of the morning. Rachel had tried to sleep and had managed to doze in fits and starts but didn’t feel particularly rested when the plane touched down.

  Jamila had slept a lot more peacefully beside her, not waking once and barely shifting as the small Lear jet carried them to their destination.

  Jayne wanted to go directly to Chuma’s house. Cowboy offered to go with her as backup.

  Because they had Jamila with them, Rachel wanted Neil to come to the Massris’ house as extra protection for the young woman. He’d readily agreed. And Kadin had approved the plan.

  Upon arrival, Jamila showed Neil to her father’s office, where he immediately began a dump of the man’s hard drive.

  She then led Rachel upstairs to her bedroom, where she withdrew a small thin packet from between the mattress and box spring. “This is the key.”

  It looked like a sheaf of papers, but Rachel didn’t doubt the other woman.

  They returned to the office, which Kadin had clearly been searching. A framed Salvador Dali print hung out on a hinge from the wall.

  Behind the painting was a state-of-the-art biometric-access panel.

  Looking not in the least startled by what Kadin had discovered, Jamila opened the satchel she carried. She pulled out a clear sheet with a brown circle about half an inch in diameter in the center.

  Jamila approached the retinal scanner and put the clear sheet in front of her own eye. Blue light flashed, and then a green indicator light flashed in the lower right corner.

  She went back to her little cache, pulled out a flattened rubber glove, and then very carefully pulled it on over her own hand. She then pressed the index finger against the finger pad. A second green light flashed.

  A whirring sound came, and then part of the wall simply swung outward, revealing a room no more than four feet deep that ran the entire length of Dr. Massri’s office.

  “How did you figure out how to do that?” Rachel asked, more than a little impressed.

  “I have a friend on Facebook. He has odd ideas about alien conspiracies but tremendous knowledge about security features.”

  “Why did you even look for the hidden room?” Kadin wanted to know.

  “I came into my father’s office once when he was in there. That door in the wall was open, and I could hear him moving about. I am not allowed in his office, but I thought he was out of the house. He had not even locked the door.”

  The man had been too sure of his daughter’s obedience.

  Neil whistled appreciatively. “But you liked your bits of silent defiance, didn’t you? Just coming in here to prove that you could.”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t let him know you’d seen him in the secret room,” Rachel guessed.

  “Naturally not. He would have beaten me for being in his office to begin with. How much worse would the beating have been if he thought I had discovered something he hid from everyone else?”

  “You are going to make one hell of an agent when you finish university,” Neil said, his voice laced with an appreciation echoed in Rachel’s own heart and clearly in Kadin as well, judging from the look he gave the younger woman.

  “I believe I will enjoy the challenge of it.”

  “Have you gone through the files in here?”

  “I only discovered the room a few weeks ago. It took me some time to get both a high-quality image of my father’s eye and his fingerprint. And I do not have a great deal of time in the house alone.”

  Neil picked the lock on a filing cabinet but did not open the drawer when the lock popped. Rachel looked at him inquiringly.

  “I make it a rule not to underestimate the wariness of my quarry.”

  “You think he set a snare on the cabinet?” Jamila asked. “My father is very arrogant. He will have assumed that this room is sacrosanct.”

  Neil shrugged, examining the cabinet closely. “It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

  Jamila seemed to consider that, and then she nodded. “Let me look, if you will.”

  Neil could have refused. Jamila was not trained, and she was barely twenty, but she’d proven she had a keen intellect and understood her father’s mind.

  “He likes Chinese puzzle boxes. I give him a new one each year for his birthday.” She examined the solid wooden filing cabinet. “I never told him, but I always did the puzzles before giving them to him.”

  More silent rebellion.

  “You are so much stronger than I gave you credit for,” Rachel said, her voice tinged with awe and remorse for her own assumptions.

  She still didn’t regret refusing to flip the young woman. If Jamila had been caught trying to spy on him by Dr. Massri, what had happened to his daughter earlier tonight would seem like a walk in the park by comparison.

  “I spend so much of my time keeping up the obedient and meek-mannered façade, I do not drop it for casual friendship.”

  Rachel would bet the other woman didn’t drop it for good friends, either. “Does anyone in your life know the real you?”

  “Abasi. He said he liked my spirit and understood why I hid it from my father. It gave him some kind of satisfaction to know my father was unaware. Now I understand that Abasi looked forward to breaking me. But he did not.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  Jamila pressed what looked like a solid piece on the cabinet, and it slid inward. Then she pressed against the side opposite, and another piece popped out. She frowned in concentration at the cabinet and then smiled. “It is modeled after the box I gave him five years ago.”

  Jamila dropped to a squat and pressed one of the decorative carvings at the base, and the second drawer down popped open two inches.

  “Step back, honey. If he went to the trouble of making the cabinet like a puzzle box, it’s definitely linked to a nasty surprise for anyone who doesn’t know the secret.”

  Jamila’s brow furrowed. “But it is open.”

  “Let’s not take a chance on faulty wiring.” Neil patted her shoulder. “Great job, by the way. You’ve got an amazing memory.”

  Jamila’s smile said she was proud of herself, too.

  Five minutes later, Kadin and Neil had removed a small bomb wired to the top drawer. It was set up so that it would have gone off if they’d opened that drawer instead of the second one down first. And the access drawer had been designed not to open from the outside. Only the series of moves Jamila had made would pop it open from the inside.

  Without following that sequence, the C–4 would have exploded and destroyed the files, as well as most likely killing whoever opened the drawer.

  The idea that Jamila might easily have been that person made Rachel go cold inside.

  But she couldn’t dwell on what-ifs. It was time to do her job. “We’ll take the files and go over them later.”

  “This is not legal, is it?” Jamila asked, not sounding particularly bothered by the fact.

  “It’s not protocol search-and-seizu
re, no, but considering the imminent threat to our national security your father poses, our methods will not be held against us,” Rachel said. “Besides, you gave us permission to come into your home, and, as a resident, you opened the locked entries.”

  “I like that.”

  “Working at this level has its perks,” Rachel agreed.

  “Along with its dangers,” Kadin cautioned. “Those pictures Chuma showed you of Rachel were from when your father’s men had her incarcerated and were torturing her with a car battery.”

  Jamila looked at Rachel, her expression concerned. “They hurt you.”

  “Yes.” Rachel wasn’t going to deny it. Jamila deserved the truth.

  “That kind of torture, it brings great trauma to your mind and body.”

  “It does,” Rachel admitted, for the first time making no effort to hide how bad it had been.

  She didn’t want Jamila thinking the job she wanted when she graduated from college came without its costs.

  “But you survived.”

  “Only because Kadin and his team got me out. My plan was to tip sideways into the urine-and-water mixture on the floor when they were shocking me and fry my own brain.” Not to mention her nervous system and heart. “Before I gave up my cover.”

  Kadin jerked. She’d told him this, but hearing it again wasn’t sitting well with him.

  She understood that. He loved her.

  Funny that she would realize it before acknowledging her own feelings, but the certainty had been growing since he’d arrived at Terne Lavigne’s mansion to help her rescue Jamila. He had never once tried to tell her she couldn’t or shouldn’t get the other woman out.

  He’d only pointed out the potential cost of doing so.

  And he’d never refused to help her. He’d put his own career on the line just as she’d done for Jamila.

  Rachel had come to accept that he was motivated not by a fantasy but by a love that had never died. She could believe in it because hers hadn’t, either. Despite everything.

  It never would. She loved Kadin Marks today. She’d loved him ten years ago. And she would love him ten years from now.

  She honestly didn’t know what was going to happen between them, but that tiny spark of hope she’d thought snuffed out was burning brighter and brighter with every passing moment.