She blew out her breath. “I’m ready.”
To her surprise, Zorah touched her arm.
Dani blinked, stunned to see the bleached towel in the woman’s outstretched hand. “Are you sure? Youssef will—”
“—not know. Not if you lay the towel out to dry before the sergeant—before he…” Pity filled the woman’s dark-brown eyes, softening the lines a decade of war and not-quite-peace had etched into her forehead and about her otherwise attractive mouth. “Return the towel when I come for you in the morning.”
“I will. If anyone complains, I’ll tell Youssef I insisted.” A glimpse in the mirror assured her she needed a nice fat bruise on the right side of her jaw to balance out the lump on her left, anyway. Jack’s hand had left the barest splotch of red. While her jaw was grateful, her cover might not be. They might have fared better if he’d struck harder. Dani wrapped the towel around her torso and tucked the end between her breasts, then dragged her hair in front of her shoulders to cover the rest of her exposed flesh. What she could. “Thank you, Zorah.”
Dani padded down the hall alone, reaching the door at the end far too quickly. Sergeant Jackson’s door. Evidently Jack had revived an uncompromised cover he’d used in and around Sarajevo and after the Bosnian civil war—that of an artillery sergeant of low morals. Given Rurik’s collection of ethnically diverse thugs, it made sense. Sergeant Jackson had been known to steal weapons and ammo from NATO bunkers and then funnel the goods to all three sides within the Bosnian conflict: Croatian, Serb and ethnic Muslim. If the money was good, Jackson didn’t care who bought. And no one would question the shady sergeant’s interest in female slaves. Not with a shameful number of UN peacekeepers up to their tarnished blue helmets in the practice.
A practice she was supposed to be investigating—not joining, especially on the unfortunate end.
I told you so.
Dani slapped the phantom recrimination aside and shoved the bedroom door open. Before she could step over the threshold, an iron hand whipped out, locking about her wrist and jerking her inside the room, straight into a brown, T-shirt-clad chest. Before she could protest, Jack’s hungry mouth crashed on to hers, swallowing her gasp as his tongue invaded her mouth. He consumed her second, deeper gasp as he ripped the towel away. He dumped the towel at his combat boots and replaced it with his hard, muscular arms. She was dimly aware of his body shifting as well, as if he was subtly using his length and bulk to shield her now-naked flesh from…who? Rurik?
The coarse chuckle behind Jack confirmed it.
Jack ignored it, appearing to lose himself to lust as he raked the fingers of his right hand through the length of her damp hair to knead and cup her breasts. The pad of his thumb scraped her nipple. To her utter humiliation, it stiffened. She responded by jerking her right knee up as she slammed her hands into the man’s granite chest—for Rurik’s amused benefit, as well as her hijacked pride. Unfortunately, Jack had eight inches of towering height and a much thicker set of muscles on her. He used every one of them to his advantage, too.
She was pinned. All her futile resistance had done was settle her intimately between Jack’s thighs as he sealed her back against the wall. The chill sent goosebumps rippling down her body—until Jack shifted again, this time bracing his forearm to the wall above her head so he could gain deeper access to her mouth. Just like that, the months seared away. The numbing loneliness and constant heartache that had dogged her since, followed. They were back on Jack’s bed, tangled up in his dark-blue sheets, sweat slicking their bodies as they fed the frantic need within each other. She could hear his hoarse encouragement, feel him driving in and out—feel herself clamping around him as she’d tried to keep from splintering into a million pieces because it was just too damned soon. He’d felt too damned right.
The memory had burned in so completely, she clutched Jack’s shoulders as he tore his mouth from hers, instinctively protesting as he scraped his lips and scruffed jaw across her cheeks—until she felt his ragged breath in her ear.
“Dani…he’s gone.”
The fantasy evaporated as quickly as it had flashed to life. Unfortunately, the traitorous desire didn’t. Unspent passion continued to race through her veins at double-time, every drop still headed low, to her core, as she struggled to regain control over her errant lungs. It didn’t help that Jack’s breathing was as harsh and unsteady as hers. Or that his biceps were rigid with restraint as he pushed off the wall. Off her.
Despite the curtain of hair concealing her breasts, the chill returned. The goosebumps followed. A disloyal flush seared them off as Jack’s still-smoking stare followed the tide to her waist, then lower. The jerk. She didn’t care if he’d spent the past year so deep undercover that an eighth of an inch of ankle peeking out from beneath a burka would’ve turned him on. Because of some bastard’s jollies, she was the one standing here, stark-naked and exposed, beneath her ex-lover’s stare, not him.
Somehow, she managed to infuse the steady cool her skin and nerves lacked into her voice. “May I have my towel?”
Jack’s gaze snapped up, his confusion at her anger unmistakable as he blinked off his own remaining passion. What had he expected? Open-armed gratitude? Or was he honestly waiting for her to part another set of limbs?
“Well? I had to beg for that scrap of cloth. May I have it back…or do you plan on making me beg too, master?” She’d never know where she found the nerve to casually rake her hair behind her shoulders, much less stand there as her nipples puckered beneath his dark, riveted stare, but it worked.
The unflappable Jack Gage actually blushed. He stunned her again by peeling off the T-shirt to his camouflage fatigues, thrusting it into her hands as he spun away to lock the door. She wasn’t about to turn it down. She donned the shirt in two seconds, disconcerted to discover Jack’s lingering warmth and subtle musk had enveloped her as well. At least the differences in their heights allowed the hem of his shirt to skirt the upper portion of her suddenly pathetically weak thighs. Now if she could just scrounge up a pair of—
“Here.”
Dani snatched the ball of gray from mid-air, donning the running shorts as Jack crossed the room to switch on a small AM radio. As luck would have it, one of Sarajevo’s more modern and erotic sevdalinkas filled the room as he stepped away from the dresser. The folk song’s refrain of unrequited passion grated across her nerves as Jack turned to stuff a spare uniform into the duffel bag at the foot of the bed. A twin bed. Great.
Could this case get any worse?
She should have known better than to ask. Definitely not before she risked her first real look at Jack since he’d strolled into that kitchen half an hour ago. Eleven months might have passed since she’d located her spine, locked it into place and walked out on this man, but he hadn’t changed a bit. He was still as gorgeous as ever. Jack’s thick black hair was still cropped on the army-long side, lightly tapered at the sides and back of his head. The morning-after scruff covering his strong cheeks and square jaw added just the right touch of rogue his singleton Delta assignments usually required. And his body…
Despite her attempts to prevent it, her breath bled out. Without his T-shirt, it was toe-curlingly obvious every inch of Jack’s torso was still honed to perfection. He closed the duffel and straightened. She heeded the warning, bracing herself as Jack turned and caught her gaze. It was a good call. Damned if his eyes didn’t still remind her of deep molasses. And damned if they didn’t still have the power to suck her right in, to make her wish she could spend her entire life right here, just like this, lost in this dark, sweet craving.
But the longer Jack’s densely lashed gaze held hers, the more she was forced to admit the preceding months had wrought changes in him. There were fine lines at the corners of his eyes now, as well as beside his lips. Last winter, when Jack had turned thirty-one, his temples hadn’t contained a hint of silver. They did now. But there was something else too, something she couldn’t put her finger on. Whatever it was, it was c
onsuming him. She was certain of that when he stepped forward, then faltered to a halt.
She stiffened as it slammed into her. Fear. Jack was afraid of something. Had something happened after she left the kitchen? Lina. Or was it one of the other girls? Apprehension surged into panic as he took another step, then stopped.
“Dani?”
She swallowed carefully. “Yes?”
“Did they—” He broke off and this time, he swallowed. Hard. “Were you—” She swore she could feel him choking on the rest. On the terror. He reached out and trailed his thumb down her cheek, the pain in his eyes deepening to agony as he reached the marks Youssef had left on her neck. She knew what he was trying to ask, what he needed to know. He closed his eyes. This time, he didn’t even attempt to voice the words. But she could hear them. His heart was screaming them.
Had she been raped?
“No.”
His lashes flew open.
She stared into the shock and the disbelief—the blinding hope—and reached up to squeeze the hand still cupping the curve of her neck. “I swear, no one touched me. Not like that.”
“How? Why?” For the second time in over a decade, Captain Cool flushed. Amazing. He cleared his throat. “I don’t understand. I know these men. You’re not as young as Rurik and Youssef prefer, but you’re not—”
“—exactly a sagging hag, either?” The sarcasm dripped out before she could stop it. Regret slapped into her as the tide spreading up his neck deepened to scarlet. She had no right to throw what had transpired in that kitchen in his face. She’d worked undercover long enough to realize Jack had had to establish up front he was as much of an asshole as the rest of Rurik’s goons. It was the only way to protect both their covers. If she was lucky, it would also protect her from Youssef’s rutting interest. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I realize how you’ve scripted this—us—and so far, it’s working.”
Especially that kiss. Rurik had to have bought it. She had. That was the problem. Eleven months and one hell of a betrayal later, and Jack still had the power to affect her. Fortunately, there’d been enough adrenaline flowing through both their veins at the time for her to blame a hundred kisses on.
“Dani, I—”
She stiffened as he reached for her, deliberately ignoring the hurt washing into those dark pools as she quickly stepped out of his reach. She covered her body’s infuriating need to crawl right back into those rock-solid arms with a shrug. “Really, I’m fine. Other than the fact that my cheek still hurts and my neck—” Just like that, the desperation ripped in. The sudden, overwhelmingly primal need for air. She closed her eyes instinctively, dragging her breath in slow and deep as she struggled to convince herself that she still could. Through the entire agonizing draw, she could still feel Youssef’s thumbs clamping down on her windpipe, still see the bastard’s satanic grin as he squeezed off what he’d hoped was her final breath. It was the last thing she remembered before blacking out.
She opened her eyes as Jack growled.
“I swear, I’ll kill that son-of-a-bitch if he so much as touches you again.” The fury throbbing within his voice was dangerous. Almost as dangerous as that kiss had been. It seduced her. Promised an unconditional love and support that would never be there. Not for her. Not from him. She’d discovered that the hard way. But at least the memory of the shame had succeeded in erasing the terror of this morning.
“Yeah, well. Take a number.” She took another step, increasing the distance between them along with her resolve as she forced a smile. Pleased with the result, she even managed a shrug. “At least you bought me before the jerk made good on his promise to complete the job. Daddy should be thrilled. Hell, he might even put you up for another medal.”
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Denial? Anger? After all, she’d never confronted Jack or her father about what she’d overheard. Frankly, she’d been too ashamed. But what she hadn’t expected was this pregnant silence. Even through the final, lingering notes of a Kalesijski Svuci ballad, she could hear it. Oh, God. Had something happened to her dad? “Jack…what’s wrong?”
“Your father. He doesn’t know you’re missing. As far as I know, no one at SOCOM does.”
She sucked in her breath as the panic crashed in. It didn’t make sense. Her father wasn’t some dime-a-dozen Pentagon general. He was the Special Operations Command’s commanding general. If her father didn’t know she was missing, who the hell did? How had Jack even known where to look for her? She reversed her progress, closing the distance to ensure their conversation stayed beneath the grating folk song that kicked in next. “I don’t understand. I thought that’s why you were here—to track me down when my transmitter didn’t go live.”
“Nope. But I did send a text message to my own contact though my cell phone when Rurik headed downstairs to settle a scuffle between his men, just in case. Hamid’s a Bosnian foreign service national investigator. He’s a good man. I dealt with him in Mostar after the war. Hamid’s probably already passed the update to your commander. You still with Executive Support?”
Bemused, she grabbed the set of dog tags off his duffel as she nodded. They matched the fictitious Sgt. Jackson.
“Good. That’ll make it easier to consolidate our backup.”
“Fine by me.” The cell phone Jack carried was bound to be encrypted. It wouldn’t even arouse suspicion. A shady artillery sergeant with a secure phone in his possession and a 9 mm Beretta strapped to his hip was one thing; an International Red Cross worker with either was another. But if Jack hadn’t been sent in after her, what was he even doing back in Bosnia?
As he had more than a few times during the husband-and-wife murder-for-hire case they’d worked together in the States eleven months earlier, Jack read her mind. “Weapons.”
Damn. “Rurik’s buying?”
He nodded. “Word on the street is the man’s attempting to coordinate an all-out attack on the U.S. embassy in Sarajevo. Unfortunately, he hasn’t ordered anything yet. When he does, I’ll have a better idea of what he’s already got. Together with his wish list, we should gain some insight into his plans.”
Dani sucked in her breath. This was big. Very big. And very dangerous. No wonder her father had sent Jack. It didn’t matter if the man was disarming a bomb with five seconds left on the clock or stalking his way through the sleazy underbelly of the terrorist world that thrived on constructing them, Jack Gage was always cool. Always in control. She might have spilled half that bucket of water when she’d spotted him in the kitchen, but what she’d lost in liquid, she’d gained in hope. With Jack on the job, she was all but on her way back to Ft. Bragg.
The bucket. The water well. She fused her stare to Jack’s. “The barn.” Like Rurik’s plans, it was huge. Large enough to hold a tank if need be—or worse. And it was under armed guard.
He nodded. “I know. I saw the patrol on the way into the house. Did you get a look inside?”
“No. But I might be able to the next time I’m sent for water. Maybe in the morning.” Zorah had already informed her that as Sgt. Jackson’s personal slave, Dani was expected to serve his every desire from tonight on. That meant she didn’t dare leave the room until sunrise at least. Not with every man waiting to see how long Jack would keep her abed. Among this rutting crowd, if she left the room early, it would be a direct reflection on Jack’s manhood. From the way Jack had shifted his stare from the claustrophobic twin bed to the blaring radio, she knew he was thinking the same thing. He was also remembering.
Another bed, another night. Two exceptionally eager lovers. They hadn’t parted until dawn then, either. Both of them exhausted from lack of sleep and four hours of near-constant exertion. The alarm had startled them out of the latest leg of their erotic marathon, forcing them to bring the night to a mind- and body-shattering end. A quick, mutual shower ensued, followed by what had to be a record donning of camouflage BDUs for both, then a soul-searing kiss at her car door—seconds before he’d promised a replacement fo
r the makeshift meal they’d forgone as well as the now that we admit we’re attracted to one another, where do we go from here? conversation that should have followed.
If it had, they might have been able to save themselves the awkward tension pulsing between them now.
He cleared his throat. The terse, familiar sound snapped her back to the utter humiliation that had come after that steamy night. She turned, pacing the length of the tiny room even though she knew she’d be forced to turn around when she reached the door and head back to the bed. Back to Jack. She filled her lungs with air blessedly devoid of his unique musk and slowly retraced her steps until she reached the side of the bed. Despite their painful past, they had the present to deal with.
Rurik. For Jack’s undercover mission, as well as hers.
“I’m working the M.A.S.H. case. Two female sergeants from the 42nd Field Hospital disappeared a week ago. They’d been assigned to NATO for almost eight months. For the last six, the sergeants had taken to volunteering at a women’s health clinic in Sarajevo. The last time anyone saw them, it was dusk. They were en route to their barracks from the clinic on foot.”
His brow shot up. “At night? Not smart.”
She shrugged.
“What about you?”
“Apparently not so smart either.”
He grabbed her hand. “You went out alone at night in Sarajevo?” He would think the worst, wouldn’t he?
She jerked her fingers from his and stepped away, anxious to reclaim the distance she’d yielded. “I said not so smart—I didn’t say stupid.” Then again, maybe he and her father were right. She shoved Lina’s sobbing from her head and skirted Jack’s imposing torso, wrapping the metal chain to his dog tags around her left hand as she sank on to the mattress. “My cover’s with the International Red Cross. I stopped by the clinic yesterday on my day off and told the staff I wanted to help. Everyone seemed so sincerely committed to helping the women regain their dignity that by evening, I was reconsidering my initial suspicion that someone on staff was involved in the sergeants’ disappearance. Until it was time to go.”
In Love and War Page 15
