by Rachel Grant
She glared at the flimsy tent entryway, and Cal could guess at her thoughts. But he also knew she was too professional to flee. She would never abandon her mission, and Cal was a major piece of it. No matter how much she wanted to leave him to rot, she wouldn’t do it. So she directed her anger at the tent flap she wouldn’t use. She was trapped by circumstance and duty.
Thunder rolled in the distance. The storm was back. Further trapping her.
Days ago, she’d admitted she was falling in love with him. Last night they’d made love in this tent, and yesterday he’d had her against a tree. In the rainforest, he’d started imagining a future that included her.
Now she wanted nothing to do with him. Were her feelings for him dead, killed in an instant? Or in a coma, able to be awakened, revived?
Regardless, he deserved it. And it gutted him to know he’d hurt her.
Not telling her about the money hadn’t been payback. It had been…stupid ego. Casting himself as her protector, shielding her from knowledge he’d thought would weaken her.
Freya Lange didn’t need a protector; she needed a partner. He reached out to her, but she jerked away. “Don’t touch me!”
The expected rejection still triggered an ache. “I’m sorry.” They were the only words he had. And they were true and deeply felt.
“In Dar, I told you the truth about my mission,” she said softly. “From that moment forward, I’ve told you the truth about everything, even classified details I could have withheld. It would have been nice if you’d treated me with the same respect.”
“I should have told you. I didn’t at first because I didn’t know what to believe.” He kept his voice low. “As I told you before, I took the mission because SOCOM wanted me to spy on you. They wanted to know why you had so much autonomy within your organization. So when Pax told me you were suspected of stealing half a billion dollars, I couldn’t just blow it off. I had to be certain you were innocent, and frankly, I wasn’t. Not then. But I protected you by keeping our location secret.”
He risked touching her again and planted his hands on her shoulders when she didn’t pull away. “Pax warned me they were going to declare me AWOL if I didn’t check in. I’ve thrown away my place on the team. I face jail right along with you. I’m risking everything for this mission. For you.”
She shrugged. “Your superiors will protect you. They ordered you to work with me. Your ass is covered.”
That could be true, but SOCOM also could have fried him. He’d disobeyed an order. Even if delivered by Pax, it was an order.
“Regardless of how you feel about me,” Cal said, “we’re in this together. We still have to work together if we’re going to get out of this alive.”
“I tried to leave you in Dar. You could be back at Camp Citron with your team right now.”
“But I’m not. I chose to stay with you. You need me.”
“No. What I need is a partner who tells me everything. Who doesn’t think I’m fragile. Because right now, the only thing that’s broken me is knowing how little you respect me.”
“Don’t respect you? Sweetheart, I think you’re amazing. I’m in awe—and a little terrified—of what you’re willing to risk. I’m the chickenshit here because I’m afraid of how I feel about you. Afraid to care. Afraid to love. Because, damn, you go all in. Mission first. Mission last. Mission only. And I will lose my shit if something happens to you.”
“Please. Don’t start lying now. We both know you don’t like me because—and I’m quoting here—I ‘lie, manipulate, and bend people.’ Sure, you wanted to screw me, but you also said that if we fucked during the mission, it would mean nothing to you.”
He’d known those words would come back to bite him in the ass from the moment he’d uttered them. “I was lying then—to you and myself. I’m not lying now.”
“So, what, you’re saying you love me? Please. I’m not that gullible.”
“I’m not bullshitting. I don’t know what I feel for you, but it’s more than lust. More than friends with benefits.” It was the truth. He was as confused about his feelings for her as he was about quantum physics. He found the concept of quantum theory fascinating, but couldn’t explain it to save his life, no matter how many times his brother broke it down for him. Unlike his brother, his brain wasn’t wired that way. His brother might be able to write a mathematical proof that explained why when he was with Freya, the world felt more vivid, intense, and real, but that geometry was beyond him.
But he didn’t need a mathematical proof to know what he felt for her was significant. “My chest hurts, knowing I’ve fucked this up. Knowing I’ve hurt you. And when this feeling doesn’t hurt—in my chest, my mind—it soars. I think of you, and I’m flying high. I’m with you and my body buzzes in a way I can’t explain, especially given the situation we’re in. How the hell can I be feeling this way when we’re fleeing through a rainforest, on the run from mercs and rebel groups and Russian Mafia and who knows who else?
“How could I have felt satisfied when we left Gorev’s yacht? But I had you by my side, so I was. You were safe and strong and clever and amazing.” He placed his open palm behind her head, pulling her closer so she’d look up to meet his gaze. “I just know that when I’m with you, I get a charge of energy, pleasure. A zing that’s missing without you. And when I’m inside you, I feel a connection. More than sex. Deeper. More intense. More than I expected. More than I want. You’re addictive in a way that scares me. You’re like a drug I’ll never get enough of. I want that zing. That intensity. The thrill of being with you. In you. And that scares the hell out of me given the risks you take.”
A tear spilled down her cheek.
He wiped it away with his thumb, still cradling her head, then leaned in. “I’m not bullshitting. I want to go to Langley and castrate Seth Olsen for everything he’s done to you. I wish I’d arrived in time to spare you from having to kill Harry.”
“Dammit, Cassius. I want to be angry so I can keep my heart out of this. That way it won’t hurt so much later.”
“It’s too late. For both of us. There was no going back from the moment we kissed in that damn elevator. No going back when we practiced touching in Kenya. No going back after we sparred in the gym and I couldn’t hit you because I couldn’t not see you as the woman I’ve wanted since we first locked gazes at a meeting in SOCOM headquarters.” His lips brushed over hers. “There’s no going back for me, Freya. I know because I fought this every step of the way. But here we are, and I’m all in now.”
Her arms slipped around his neck, and she tucked her head against his chest, looking down so he couldn’t see her face. His heart pounded as he waited for her response, but she didn’t owe him an answer just because he’d accepted his feelings.
If they were out of sync, it was his own damn fault for not acting in Gbadolite, when she’d said she was falling for him.
“I feel like I could shatter right now,” she said at last. “I guess this means you’re right and I am fragile.”
He tightened his arms around her, closing his eyes, loving the feel of her in his arms, against his body. “Sweetheart, you are harder than a diamond and a thousand times more precious. You’re the strongest person I know. Fierce. Determined. But if you do shatter, I will hold you until you’re back together.”
She lifted her head to face him. “Make love to me, Cassius. Make me come apart in a good way.”
He wanted to. Lord, how he wanted to. But they’d both regret losing sight of the mission. Their responsibilities. “Later, I will give you everything you want. But right now, we need to contact the CIA and SOCOM.”
Her face flushed, and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “Shit. You’re right. Jesus. I’ve never been this incompetent before.” She pushed away from him. “What the hell am I doing? We found yellowcake, and I’m—”
He cut off her self-recriminations with a hard kiss on her lips. “Stop. This isn’t exactly a normal mission. It’s personal in a way neither of u
s anticipated. You’ve become a victim of Jean Paul Lubanga and Seth Olsen. You were attacked by a fellow agent. It skews everything. We haven’t been in a safe place to contact superiors before, but now we can.”
She nodded. She handed him the computer with the write-up she’d completed as the barge was pushed down the river. “Let me know what you think.”
The two-person tent was a narrow half dome, leaving scant few inches between them as he sat with the computer on his lap on his side of the pallet, and she lay beside him.
He got to the section where she outlined how she’d found and recovered the money. The number of zeros hit him once again. A hundred and fifty million had gotten away.
With that kind of money in his accounts, Lubanga didn’t need a coup. He could buy a bunch of real estate anywhere and start fresh. But Congo had so much more. He couldn’t remember the estimates of how much wealth was in the ground in Congo, but it had to be in the trillions.
He glanced at Freya. She tracked those sorts of stats. “How much mineral wealth remains in the ground in Congo?”
“The most often quoted figure is twenty-four trillion dollars, but that estimate was years ago. Most minerals have only gotten more valuable since then.”
Yeah, that was motivation for Lubanga to stay in the game even with this payout. Cal studied the numbers on the screen. “I’ve never understood the lure of extreme wealth—I mean, if I can be happy in a tent in one of the poorest places on earth, why would I need several hundred million dollars?”
“You’re happy right now?”
“I know everything is stacked against us. We’re stranded for who knows how long. But we’re safe. We’re together. We’ve got food and shelter. Yeah, I’m happy.” He met her gaze. “I’d be even happier if this was a real vacation. Some time off to explore Congo. Make love to you under a waterfall in a rainforest.” He smiled, his gaze raking her body. Later. Later he could have all of her.
She ran a hand down his thigh. “A shame we can’t keep a few million and just disappear. After we’re done exploring rainforests and waterfalls, we could escape to a private tropical island.”
“It would be great for a vacation, but we’d both get bored in two weeks.”
“True. You’re such a people person, you’d miss training locals, miss your team. I’d miss being part of the intelligence community. Miss solving puzzles.” She sat up and leaned against him. “When I first joined the operations division, I missed being an analyst. I thought I’d like being out there, gathering intel, but it was the puzzle afterward I enjoyed more. Looking at the pieces and trying to figure out what it meant. Joining SAD and working with SOCOM helped. The missions were intelligence based, acting on intel that had been gathered, and some, like sending Bastian and Brie to Morocco, required me to do a quick analysis—no time to wait for Langley to spend months pondering the situation—to determine the action. I know my role with the CIA is over. I’ll be lucky to escape prison. But a part of me has this dream that when all is said and done, I’ll be able to stay on as an analyst. I’m good at it. I never should have left that role.”
“You’re good at this too,” he said. “Look at how far you’ve gotten us, on a mission that was originally just intended to copy a computer hard drive in Dar es Salaam.”
“But look at what I missed. I didn’t see Seth’s betrayal. For all my vaunted skills at reading people, I didn’t see that coming.”
“Seth used Harry as a shield to blind you. You were so focused on what Harry might do, you couldn’t see Seth. He knew how to play you because he’s been in this business far longer than you. Plus, he’s the one who trained you.”
She nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” She sighed. “So what do you think of the write-up? Should I send it?”
He read the final paragraphs, the speculation that Fitzsimmons was using the school as a cover for diamond mining. He frowned. “Is there a connection between Olsen and Fitzsimmons?”
“I don’t know. But the CIA will. Their background checks are unlike anything else, and they’re ongoing. If Seth has business with Fitzsimmons, someone will find it.”
“If they believe you enough to start looking.”
“Yeah. I think they will, if they find the yellowcake. If they don’t, I’m screwed.”
“We’re screwed.”
She shook her head. “I won’t let you take a fall with me, Cal. I’ll confess and say I took the money if I have to, just to convince them you’re innocent.”
Fear shot through him. “You will not.”
“You don’t have a choice in this.”
“Hell, yes I do. And you aren’t going to lie to protect me. Ever.”
“I’m not going to let Seth destroy you too.”
He could see in her eyes she meant it. His greatest fear was that he couldn’t save her from herself.
Freya took a deep breath and hit Send. She’d set up a Virtual Private Network—VPN—to hide their location, but she had no doubt the CIA would crack it and find them. She just hoped it would hold up for a few days. Regardless, it was done. She’d told the CIA she’d killed Harry and left his body on an African savannah.
Savannah. Sort of fitting, when she thought about it. She’d cut herself off from the horror of that day, the look in his eyes as he expressed his intent to rape her again and kill her. She set the computer aside and pulled her knees to her chest, determined to hold back the sob. She wouldn’t break down now.
Cal’s arm came around her, pulling her to his side. “It’s okay to cry. I was wrong in calling you fragile, and crying wouldn’t make it so.”
She leaned into him, even as she gripped her legs even tighter, hugging herself while closing her body to him. “I’m afraid to dive into the horror right now. Like I might not be able to pull out. I have to function. Later, when we’re home, then I can fall apart.”
“I’d like to be there, to hold you when it happens.”
She lifted her forehead from her knees and faced him. “No. I…don’t want you—or anyone—to witness that.”
He was silent for a long time, and she guessed he was coming up with an argument for why she shouldn’t shut him out, and her heart sank a little at the idea that even her mental breakdown had to be on his terms.
She was so not cut out for relationships.
“Okay,” he said softly. “All I care about is that you take care of you. I hope you’ll let me in—so I can be there for you—but if you need space, it’s cool.”
And just like that, his understanding broke her. Like a dam pummeled by floodwater, she couldn’t maintain the wall she’d built around her heart. It shattered, leaving the pounding organ exposed to abuse.
Cassius Callahan was inside her barriers. She had no defenses left.
She planted a hand around his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him with a raw passion she’d tried to hold back. His tongue slid into her mouth and claimed her as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life.
Noise outside the tent was slow to get her attention, but it dawned on her that the tone of the words being spoken by their neighbors was alarming. They broke apart, both looking toward the zipped door of the tent.
She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “What’s going on?”
“Soldiers. Looking for someone.”
Darkness had fallen, but they could see the glow of a light through the thin tent fabric. The soldiers were downslope, closer to the river.
She reached into her pack and pulled out the passports they were using for this leg of the journey. They wouldn’t help much if they were looking for a white female. Freya was the only white woman on the barge.
Cal listened to the shouts outside and frowned. “They’re looking for an FDLR spy.”
Shit. Had the woman she’d spoken with earlier reported Cal to authorities? Or did others on the barge suspect him of being a Hutu nationalist?
Or that could be an excuse, and it was really Lubanga’s men, searching for both of them.
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She tucked the computer back in her bag. Her heart pounded in the sweltering enclosure. The soldiers drew closer to their tent, shouting orders. One by one, people responded, giving their names and destinations—words she could understand no matter the language spoken.
They would reach their tent soon. They’d have to step out, submit to inspection. She reached out and took Cal’s hand, lacing her fingers between his. They’d come too far to give up now. She looked at her pack, where her pistol was tucked in a hidden pocket. When the soldiers unzipped the flap, she could shoot. Striking first could be the only thing that saved them.
But if they were looking for Cal on a tip from one of their fellow travelers, then they were just soldiers doing their job, protecting the citizens of DRC from an organization that was responsible for multiple terrorist attacks in the eastern part of the country.
They couldn’t shoot soldiers in cold blood. They weren’t the enemy.
How far away were they? How many campers remained to inspect? They were on the edge of the camp. The last tent before the tall grasses gave way to the jungle. She grabbed a knife, ready to slice open the back of the tent. They could slip out into the thick vines. Hide in the shrubs. They would have their packs at least.
But no tent. No food. No motorbike. Escape from here was a last resort.
A man said something in a language she didn’t recognize. More shouting was followed by a grunt of pain and a woman’s shriek.
Cal stiffened beside her. It went against his nature to hide inside while a woman was being hurt. Beaten?
But just as they’d had to do in Dar es Salaam when the poor young woman was about to be raped, they could do nothing. She reminded herself of the barrels of yellowcake. The planned coup. This was bigger than one woman’s suffering, and if they stepped in to help now, much more could be lost.
The soldiers barked more orders, but their voices faded as they moved away. The woman’s shrieks turned into quiet sobbing.
“What happened?” Freya whispered.
