In Love and War

by Lovelace, Merline; McKenna, Lindsay; Irvin, Candace

  Good God, he was. Why? Stranger still, whatever had been in his mind’s eye when she’d shoved Youssef’s behavior in his face was back. For the second time, she had the feeling he was holding out on her. But as she opened her mouth to question him, someone pounded on their door, then bellowed through the wood.

  Rurik.

  The doorknob twisted through a wider range of motion than it should have as Rurik pounded on the door again. The bastard was using his key! She jerked her gaze to Jack’s, shoving the pack of cigarettes into his hands as his swift nod confirmed her suspicion. The door swung open with the next series of thumps.

  The man feigned surprise. “Excuse me. The lock must be broken.” Nope, no Academy Award nominations there. Rurik Teslenko’s acting was as rotten as his teeth.

  She didn’t bother disguising the glare she shot Rurik. In deference to their covers, she turned a meeker glance on Jack. “I’ll help Zorah with the water as you ordered.” She headed for the door before Jack could pretend to change his mind.

  “Dani?”

  Damn. She stopped, turned slowly back. Waited. Relief washed through her as Jack nodded his permission—until he tossed the pack of cigarettes toward her.

  “You forgot these.”

  She caught the pack instinctively—and promptly tossed it back. “Thank you, Sergeant. But I’m trying to quit, too.” She crossed the room, careful to give Rurik the respectful berth he believed his due from the inferior sex. She needn’t have bothered. Rurik had latched on to the fact that Jack knew her name.

  His decaying grin settled on Jack with grudging admiration. “You do persuade better than Youssef, my friend. You will have to tell us exactly how you accomplish this.”

  Dani ignored Jack’s dry response as she snagged the bath towel Zorah had loaned her off the back of the chair and stepped out into the darkened hallway. Jack might not be a criminal, but he could be an arrogant bastard all the same. No wonder Delta had assigned him this mission. The man fit in far too easily. She hurried to the kitchen. If she was lucky, she could forge an inroad with Zorah, convince the woman that despite the rare trust Rurik had placed in her, she didn’t fit in. Dani reached the dimly lit kitchen less than a minute later.

  Unfortunately, Zorah wasn’t there. The back door was slightly ajar, too. Odd. The day before the door had been locked whenever the kitchen was empty—from the outside. She’d checked. Not that she’d had any plans to escape, even before Jack’s arrival. But Zorah didn’t know that. Nor did it seem in the woman’s nature to be so careless. Especially with the radio droning faintly from the guest room above. Dani folded the bath towel and crossed the freshly swept tiles to lay it on the kitchen island, even more intrigued when she spotted the empty pails beside the stove. Zorah couldn’t have gone for water, not with all four pails accounted for. Rurik would be bellowing for his breakfast soon. So why wasn’t the woman busy making it?

  Dani grabbed the opportunity to find out. She hooked a pail over her arm and retrieved the spare kerosene lantern from the shelf above, lighting the lamp with a match as she stepped out onto the path to head for the water pump behind the barn. Ten steps across the cold gravel, she realized how great her opportunity was. The sun might be below the horizon, but there was enough of a glow bleeding up that she should have noticed someone guarding the dairy barn. So far, no one.

  Ten more steps confirmed her excitement. The armed thug she’d noted the day before was definitely missing. And there was still no sign of Zorah. Another thirty paces and she was at the man’s post—and definitely alone. She glanced at the house. Though the windows on the western side were open to take advantage of the breeze, none of the rooms were lit. Jack had even turned out the light in theirs. Nor was she able to detect any motion within. She spun around to the front of the barn. To those massive sliding doors and the iron links looped about the handles. To that gleaming padlock. Do it.

  She dropped the pail onto the grass and stared at the lamp for all of two seconds before extinguishing the flame. While she could have used the flame to peer inside, it also served as a beacon. She set the lamp down beside the pail and tiptoed over the remaining gravel, wincing with every crunch that echoed across the grass. The double doors had been hung from a single rail running across the top. She tried the padlock just in case. As expected, it refused to budge. She tried the left door next. That did budge, but by less than three inches. There wasn’t enough give in the chain for more. She jerked the chain in her frustration—and the door moved. At the bottom.

  The track at the top had allowed the twin slabs to move away from the barn by a good eight inches at the base. More than enough room for her face. She shot over to the far left only to freeze as she noted the haphazard line of nail heads embedded down the door’s frame. Unlike the rusted heads on the wooden doors themselves, these nails were new. She tucked the discovery in her brain, slipping her fingers beneath the bottom edge of the slab as she dropped to her knees. She ignored the splinters stabbing into her fingers as she wrenched the door away from the frame and wedged her face into the opening. Damn. Nothing but dank shadows. She should have risked the lamp.

  Five more seconds of squinting and she blew out her breath and sucked up her disappointment—and stiffened.

  She purged her lungs and closed her eyes, focusing all her senses on her next breath. Her next sniff. Her stomach lurched as the unmistakable, acrid mix of diesel and gunpowder seared into her lungs along with the stench of old manure and moldy straw. She jerked her eyes open and stared in vain. She couldn’t see a blessed thing. But she did hear something. Crying? She closed her eyes again, this time tuning in to sound instead of scent. There…just beneath the buzzing of nocturnal insects. Someone was definitely crying. Or rather, trying not to. Lina?

  No, that didn’t make sense. The muffled sniffs and hiccups weren’t coming from inside the barn, but outside. Near the back, near the well. Lina had been beaten much too severely to take on the task of hauling water a day later. It had to be one of the other girls. One of Rurik’s thugs must have decided to ignore the moratorium on rape. Her gut told her she’d located the missing guard as well. Dani shoved the barn door against its frame and stood to scoop up the lamp and pail. Jack might not be able to risk interfering, but she sure as hell could. And this time, she wasn’t drugged. She stalked around the side of the barn, picking up steam as she rounded the final corner only to jerk to a stunned stop two feet from the heated couple.

  The bearded guard froze along with the woman in his arms.

  “Zorah?”

  The woman’s inky hair might be tumbling down her back in disarray, her blouse and the scarf around her shoulders twisted and disheveled, but they hadn’t gotten that way against her will. Dani blinked as the guard jerked his arms from Zorah’s shoulders as if he’d just realized he’d been cradling the woman to his chest like a lover he adored and not some mere vessel for sexual release. By the time the guard sucked in his breath, almost all the blood in his face had drained down past his beard, leaving his normally swarthy complexion pale and waxy as the silence strung out. The thug was truly terrified—of her. A mere woman.

  It would be laughable if she didn’t know what this jerk did for a living, or at least, what he turned a blind eye to. The guard tensed as Dani opened her mouth. She didn’t blame him. If she screamed and Rurik deigned to investigate, which would be worse? Getting caught raping the man’s off-limits cook…or making love to a woman as if she was an equal?

  Dani closed her mouth and waited instead. His shirt still hanging half out of his trousers, the guard finally took a step forward, his gaze wary and fixed to hers. And then it wasn’t. Even before that dark stare jerked past her shoulder and turned frantic, she heard it too. Or rather, him. Youssef. The bastard was bellowing for Zorah, demanding his breakfast like the royal advisor he thought he was. And he was dangerously close.

  Dani weighed their collective options against her case as well as Jack’s and made a split-second decision. She shoved the empt
y pail into Zorah’s hands. “Get dressed. Fix your hair. Then fill this.” She turned to the guard. “Get back to your post—and shove your damned shirt back in your pants. I’ll stall him.” She whirled about before either of them could argue and struck out around the side of the barn, the cold lantern all that stood between her and the smack that would undoubtedly follow.

  If they were lucky.

  Two steps later, she slammed into Youssef’s iron chest, deliberately swinging the lantern up into the side of the barn with enough force to shatter the glass. Kerosene splashed into his eyes. A second later, the thug’s eyes slammed shut as his fist slammed into her. White-hot pain exploded in her jaw. It ripped into her scalp next as Youssef grabbed a fistful of her hair and used it to pull her close. Her ears still ringing and vision still fuzzed from his punch, she couldn’t make out his features clearly, but she could damned sure smell his putrid breath as he vented his twisted opinion of her and every other woman born since Mohammed. She could have handled that. Hell, she was handling it. Until the moment he mentioned Lina’s name—and promised her the same sadistic fate.

  That was when she lost it.

  She jerked her right knee up in the classic move her self-defense instructor had taught her when she was eight years old, slamming it squarely into the bastard’s groin. Satisfaction seared through her as Youssef doubled over and bellowed like a bull who’d just been gelded. Unfortunately, he’d hauled the bulk of her hair with him as he hit his own knees. He shifted his grip as he staggered to his feet and used her hair to slam her head into the side of the barn. By the second whack, her eyes were watering. By the third, she’d decided that Jack was right after all.

  She should have taken the damned cigarettes.

  Chapter 5

  The second Jack saw Dani’s head hit the side of the barn, he knew—Youssef Ben Adnan was going to die. Now. He didn’t even bother drawing his 9 mm from his holster as he raced out of the compound’s kitchen leaving Rurik Teslenko eating gravel. Hell, he didn’t even bother retrieving his switchblade or the knives concealed within his jump boots as he tore down the thirty-yard path separating his hands from the bastard who’d dared to strike the one woman he’d never been able to get out of his heart. He simply reached his target and wrapped his fingers around the bastard’s throat and let his rage carry him through.

  Within seconds, Youssef’s skull had followed Dani’s fate.

  Rurik and his remaining goons were wise enough not to try and stop him as he yanked the dazed thug around, slamming Youssef’s shoulders against the barn as he sealed his thumbs to the man’s windpipe, mirroring the precise grip the bastard had used on Dani’s far-too-slender neck the day before. Only, Jack made sure he clamped down harder as he checked that same slender neck and its owner over. The sun had risen above the foothills beyond, affording him enough light to be sure. Despite her latest beating, Dani appeared fine. Youssef, however, did not.

  Jack jerked his attention to the gasping, choking bastard as the thug’s hands clawed at the backs of his. A moment later those dark, shifty eyes began to bulge. Another moment, and Dani’s fingers dug into his biceps.

  “Sergeant, please, I’m—”

  “Stay out of this, woman!” Jack caught Rurik’s stern agreement. He wasn’t surprised. Nor did he attribute Rurik’s comment to a latent need to protect women. As far as every man here knew, Youssef had touched his personal property. Property he’d purchased fair and square the night before. It was his right to settle this—if he could. And he would.

  However, Jack had caught the underlying warning in Dani’s voice. She was right. Now was not the time. There was more at stake here than his heart or his rage, or even Dani’s battered head and face. He did, however, wait until the very last second. Until he could feel the frantic fury in Youssef’s writhing body ratchet to absolute terror. He crushed his thumbs all the way down into the man’s windpipe for a single, piercingly satisfying moment—and then released the pressure, slamming the man’s limp, wheezing body against the side of the barn as he stepped away.

  Youssef immediately twisted to his side and retched.

  The show over, Rurik rounded up the members of his motley crew with a jerk of his chin and ordered them to the house. The goons marched off with Zorah, clearly unnerved, in tow. Moments later, the bearded guard Rurik had pegged as C’emal, shouldered his AK-47 and peeled off to resume his post as the group passed the front of the barn. Rurik’s gaze returned to the still-heaving man at their boots and lingered. He finally dismissed his fallen stooge with a disgusted shrug.

  “Are you coming, Sergeant?”

  “You go on ahead—and take this piece of crap with you. I need some fresh air before we leave.”

  Rurik held his gaze, then nodded. “Agreed.”

  Not that he had a choice. Not if Rurik expected him to live up to the bargain they’d struck up in that bedroom. Rurik snapped his fingers twice as he turned onto the gravel path. Like any master with a well-trained mutt, Rurik didn’t wait to see if it obeyed as he followed the others back to the house.

  The mutt wiped his mouth as he stood.

  “Youssef?” The bastard stopped, nursing his bloody lip with the back of his hand as he waited none-too-patiently for Jack to finish. Jack did, deliberately keeping his voice soft, “Unlike some cowards I’ve met, I’m not fond of sleeping with little girls or damaged goods. In other words, you even think about touching my woman again and I’ll do more than bash your head in. I’ll break your neck. Koji se razume?”

  Oh yeah, Youssef understood. The spurt of bloodred fury rivaling the ripening sunrise beyond the barn proved it. Jack waited until Youssef stalked off before he risked facing Dani. The moment he spied her swollen bottom lip, he knew the decision had been wise. Especially as he reached out to wipe the trickle of blood from the corner of Dani’s mouth with his thumb.

  “Where’s the well?” Christ, his voice was hoarse.

  She pulled away, jerking her chin toward the rear of the barn. “It’s back there.”

  “Let’s go.” He splayed his fingers over the small of her back before she could argue and nudged her along. One of the plastic pails from the kitchen lay upended on the dewy grass beside the hand pump. He scooped it up, dropped it beneath the iron spout and filled it. He stripped off his T-shirt and leaned down to soak up enough freezing water to soothe her cut.

  His heart burned as he stood. Her soft blue eyes were so damned big, they filled her face as she stared up at him. And her body. The woman was just too slender, too blessed tiny for his peace of mind on this particular mission. Especially given what he’d discovered the month before. Dressed in his spare tee-shirt and shorts, her hair tangled and devoid of makeup save the newest bruise discoloring her bottom lip, Dani looked chillingly similar to her mother in the crime scene photos he’d gotten ahold of. So much so, his hand shook as he carefully washed the remaining blood from her lip. He hadn’t been careful enough because she winced. “Sorry.”

  “It’s o-okay.”

  “The hell it is.” He’d meant what he said to Youssef, he’d kill the bastard if he so much as thought about touching her again. He rinsed the end of his shirt and pressed it to her lips again. “Hold this.” He relinquished the makeshift compress and threaded his fingers into the tangles on her scalp so he could probe the skin beneath. No bleeding. By some miracle, there were no lumps either. But the skin was scarlet. It had to hurt like hell. He smoothed her hair into place. “What in God’s name possessed you to kick him in the bal—”

  “I didn’t kick him. I kneed him.”

  “Semantics. Why?”

  Her eyes glistened as he tucked her hair behind her ears. She swung her gaze past his arm to stare out at the foothills. He took a moment to scan the opposite direction. The massive barn hid them from the house and they were far enough from the guard’s post to speak freely, if quietly. Still, he’d have expected C’emal to shift to roving patrol mode by now. This far back, Jack had a clear, straight shot up both sides
of the barn. C’emal was oddly absent, affording them complete privacy.

  He shifted his attention to Dani. She was still staring past his arm, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Dani? Why did you kick him at all?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Lina? Are you sure?”

  Her nod was jerky, curt. The tears barely contained now. “Yeah. He threw it in my face after he slapped me. That’s why I lost it. I know, I shouldn’t have. But when Youssef told me she died during the night, still sobbing, he was glad.”

  “He’s a sick bastard, honey.”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  “Then you also have to consider that he may be lying. Rurik didn’t mention anything about a girl dying during the night—and we did discuss the remaining girls, though briefly. I found out they’re being kept under lock and key in one of the stone crofts. Rurik and his sister have the only keys.”

  She gaped up at him. “His sister?”

  He nodded. “Zorah. Unfortunately, he mistook my question about the girls for interest. He’s trying to convince me to take one of the girls off his hands in exchange for verifying a weapons transaction in a couple hours.” He shook his head as her eyes lit up. “That’s all I know. He wants me to inspect something. I have no idea what.”

  “I do.”

  Hope surged. “You got a look inside the barn?”

  She shook her head. “It was too dark. But I did get the distinct impression of size—and the stench of diesel and gunpowder. Plus, the entire left side of the barn has new nail heads and recent hammer indentations in the wood. As if they had to remove part of the frame and then reconstruct it because something very large wouldn’t quite fit through those doors.”

  He cursed softly, viciously.

  She nodded.

  Somehow Rurik Teslenko had gotten his hands on a tank, or worse, a goddamned self-propelled howitzer. He’d stake his newly minted DSS shield on it. Based on the fact that Rurik’s compound was twenty miles out of Sarajevo—well within range of the U.S. embassy—the worst-case scenario was most likely. A tank would have to be driven straight down Alipaina Street to get close enough to knock on the embassy’s door. Even from there, it would take all day to pound it down. But one 8-inch shell from a howitzer would accomplish the same job in under a minute. Two, three more shells and the entire embassy would be leveled.