In Love and War

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

  She was surprised at the soft smile Zorah sent C’emal as they reached the front of the barn, though. Especially when the guard nodded. The exchange had been subtle, but it was telling. Had anyone but her witnessed it, there would be hell to pay. Dani waited until they were out of C’emal’s earshot before she voiced her concerns. “Was that wise?”

  Zorah simply shrugged as they rounded the dairy barn. Dani dropped her pail into place as they reached the well. She was about to lift the handle on the pump when Zorah spoke, so softly she’d almost missed it.

  “Lina is dead.”

  Regret shafted through her as she jerked the iron handle up and down several times. Water splashed into the pail and up over the sides, soaking the toe of her left shoe. She shifted her foot—and the emergency transmitter—out of range. “I know. Youssef…told me.” Dani sucked in her breath as Zorah reached out, smoothing her callused fingers down the side of her mouth.

  “I am so sorry.”

  She shrugged, uncomfortable accepting compassion from a woman whose life wasn’t much better than those of the girls locked up in that hovel awaiting their new masters. Zorah might not be raped regularly, but she lived in fear just the same. Dani had seen the faint bruise at the base of her jaw during the light of day, the old burn marks on the woman’s arms when she’d pushed up her sleeves to scrub her brother’s clothes. C’emal hadn’t put those marks there, Rurik had. “You didn’t hit me, Zorah. And you didn’t kill Lina.”

  “But I stood by and did nothing.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. She certainly couldn’t bring herself to pass judgment. She hadn’t survived four years of starvation and a daily barrage of shelling and sniper attacks during the siege of Sarajevo with nothing but a rosary to cling to in an attempt to keep the horror at bay. Zorah had. She finished filling her bucket and hefted it away from the pump’s spout. Even now, given what was left of the Bosnian culture, what options did Zorah really have?

  “C’emal says I should leave with him.”

  Water sloshed over the rim as the bucket hit the ground. She captured Zorah’s now-terrified stare. “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Why?” But she knew why. She’d seen the answer this morning. Love had won over constant fear and familial loyalty. It also complicated things. Jack’s mission as well as hers. God willing, it wouldn’t compromise them. Dani scanned the path. It was empty. By the time she turned back, Zorah had picked up her own bucket and tucked it beneath the spout. “Zorah?”

  The woman finished filling her bucket, her heavy sigh merging with the cooling evening air as she faced her. “I do not know where the women soldiers are. Rurik does not share this with me. Nor does C’emal know. He only guards the doors. I am sorry. But I can give you something for what you tried to do for Lina. For the courage you have given me.”

  Despite her searing disappointment, hope surged—for the other girls trapped down in that croft. “The key?”

  Zorah nodded.

  It was better than nothing. Especially if Jack returned in time to cover for her and maybe even coordinate with Hamid. If Zorah and C’emal were leaving, she might be able to release the girls at the same time. Make it seem as if the lovers had liberated them, thereby preserving both their covers. But when she picked up her pail and held out her hand, Zorah shook her head. “I must give the key to you later, just before we leave. Rurik will return soon. He will want to check on the girls with me before Isha Du’a. I must have the key then.”

  Stunned, Dani dropped the bucket. The contents splashed over the rim, soaking her shoes and the calves of her jeans. She stared out at the hills and the fiery sun that had just set. She gaped at the bearded guard next. The one making his way to them via the path. With every confident step C’emal took, another piece of the puzzle fell neatly into place. Rurik, placing his sister off limits from sexual advances even though he didn’t give a rat’s ass about her. Zorah and C’emal’s shock at being interrupted after sunrise; their obvious freedom to steal a few minutes at midday, then late afternoon and now, just past sunset, even though Rurik’s men were still in that house.

  It didn’t matter. The thugs were occupied. Just as Rurik and his goons would be occupied later tonight with Isha Du’a. The evening prayer. Despite the fact that Rurik, an ethnic Bosnian Croatian, had been baptized Catholic like his sister, the man would not be clutching a rosary. She’d bet the emergency transmitter in her shoe he’d be secreted in his room along with his men, kneeling on an Islamic prayer rug instead.

  “Rurik’s Muslim.”

  Jack jerked his hand from the radio, leaving the volume on that earsplitting accordion where it was as he whirled about to face Dani, hoping he’d misheard her. Praying. Either that, or she was severely mistaken. Frankly, he’d take either option. Her steady gaze as she stared up at him strangled his hope.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Zorah confirmed it. That crucifix hanging from his neck is as phony as the dog tags on yours, at least to him. He converted during the siege of Sarajevo. Rurik’s as much a Catholic as you are an artillery sergeant.” Jack followed her revelation with a curse that would have stunned an Army priest as she sank onto the edge of the bed. “I know. It changes things, doesn’t it? At the very least, the level of the game.”

  She didn’t know the half of it—yet. “This is no game.”

  “He’s got the rounds, then?”

  “I think so.”

  She blinked up at him. “You think? I thought that’s why Rurik brought you along. So you could inspect them.”

  “So did I. All he had me do was check the charges.”

  “How many?”

  “Nine.” He nodded, agreeing with the sentiment behind her own blue curse. Nine bags of pre-measured gunpowder. Just enough to lob an 8-inch shell smack into the embassy courtyard in downtown Sarajevo. But that wasn’t all. “Dani, the warhead was there. He just wouldn’t let me near it.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does if you recognize the guy who sold it to him.”

  Her brow shot up.

  “Farid Vlaldosta. He’s a former army artillery officer from Azerbaijan. I recognized him from a mug book a few years back. Farid’s dirty as hell and very well-connected.” Jack fell silent as the accordion shrieked out its final, wailing notes. Stark, dead air filled the room as he pushed off the dresser and paced his way around Dani’s shoes. The beginning notes of a less raucous, more romantic sevdalinka filled the room as he reached the window. Despite the cooler breeze outside, he kept the window shut and turned to lean against the frame.

  Dani twisted around to face him, shifting her legs over the foot of the bed as he sighed. She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. They were thinking the same thing. Why Azerbaijan?

  If Rurik needed howitzer ammo, he could have gotten the shells from any number of black-market weapons dealers. Why go all the way east, past half a dozen NATO countries including Turkey? Hell, Rurik could have gotten the shells right here, from some UN peacekeeper in Bosnia…unless he hadn’t been after conventional rounds, but something a lot deadlier. A special version of the 8-inch shell that’d been removed from the U.S. inventory years before—say around 1991—but hadn’t been removed from the inventory of some of America’s lesser-known allies.

  From the chill that’d slipped into Dani’s gaze when she finally lifted her gaze, he knew she’d made the same connection. Her question confirmed it. “You sure there were only nine?”

  “Yup.” Just enough powder for one single lob. That’s all Rurik and his thugs would need.

  “You suspect Farid of selling Rurik a chemical warhead…or a nuclear one, don’t you?”

  He nodded. The former—a chemical round—would take out a couple thousand citizens along with the embassy. But a nuke? That, as she’d so succinctly put it, raised the game to a whole new level. With a one-kiloton yield, the round would not only obliterate the embassy but pretty much everything else within the city limits, including Saraj
evo’s half a million citizens. Most of which, interestingly enough, were Muslim. However, without getting a look at the round itself and the color-coded band around the base, he had no idea how twisted the man’s interpretation of Islam was. Nor did he have proof.

  Suspicion wasn’t enough. They still needed hard proof. They needed the warhead itself, conventional, chemical or nuclear. Otherwise, Rurik would do a couple years for possession of the howitzer—if that was even in the barn—and the powder. When he got out, he’d set up camp elsewhere and finish the job if another terrorist cell didn’t already have the warhead. Today’s transaction could have been a feint. Rurik could be a decoy.

  Christ. Jack raked his hands through his hair. It didn’t help. Tension had been eating a hole through his gut since he’d been forced to leave Dani behind that morning. Worrying about her dodging some thug’s hands all day hadn’t helped. Neither had sitting next to Rurik in the front of a rusted truck, faking small talk during a five-hour ride home while Youssef baby-sat nine bags of gunpowder and a possible unconventional warhead in the rear. He never should have stopped that bullet in Mostar. Except if he hadn’t, he—and DSS—wouldn’t have had this in with Rurik and he knew it. Jack paced his way to the door, his boots muffled by the lively folk song that kicked in. He took advantage of the noise level and paced back to the bed. Back to Dani. “I’ve got to get in there.”

  To his surprise, she cursed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just been so stunned, I forgot to tell you. What time is it?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Eight-ten, local. Why?”

  “Because we’re already scheduled to go in. About seventy minutes from now. Just before Rurik and his thugs retreat to their rooms for Isha Du’a. Once Rurik checks the slaves, Zorah will slip two keys under the door—one for the lock on the croft where the girls are being held.” She tipped her head toward the window. “And one for that padlock down there on the barn.”

  “Why the hell would she risk that?”

  “Because she won’t be sticking around to suffer the consequences. Neither will C’emal. The keys are a parting gift.” Her lips curved briefly. “I told you it would pay off.”

  She had. “I’ll be damned. I’ve got to call Hamid.”

  Adrenaline surged into his blood as he turned to the dresser and the cell phone he’d left secreted beneath in case she needed it. Dani snagged his hand, her fingers threading into his as he turned back. She shook her head.

  “I took care of it. Hamid will be waiting for our signal. The transmitter in your pack of cigarettes or the one in my shoe. If either goes active, he’ll descend on the barn with everything you guys have—including the chopper you stashed in his cousin’s tent. They’ll be here in five, ten minutes tops.”

  Relief seared through him, displacing the adrenaline—and yet, not. The mix ended up tumbling though his gut—right into the waiting tension. Trapped in this room for the next hour, there was no way to expend any of it. He dropped his gaze to their hands. Not smart. Their fingers were still linked.

  And he was still clutching on to the urge he’d been trying to suppress since the moment he’d walked into that kitchen. The one that made him want to haul this woman into his arms and kiss her—without an audience present. The urge that made him want to finish that kiss up here, right now. He tugged his fingers from hers and shoved his hands into his pockets—and hit metal. He grabbed the insignia and jerked his hand out. Dani wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten to mention something.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Another gift. While you were adding a piece to my puzzle, I managed to locate one of yours. Here.” He laid the flat-black U.S. Army Specialist Fourth-Class insignia with its missing clasp into the center of her palm, waiting as she turned the tiny shield over. She stiffened as she read the numbers scratched into the back—42.

  The female sergeants Dani was tracking had been attached to the 42nd Field Hospital before they’d disappeared.

  Jack nodded as her gaze shot up. “The prong was stuck into one of the bags of powder. I didn’t see money change hands. Rurik must have handed over the girls along with the down payment. I’m guessing one of your sergeants hoped someone would understand her coded SOS. I’ve got someone tailing Farid. They’ll locate the hole he crawled out of. If the girls are there, we’ll find them.” But they both knew it wouldn’t happen—couldn’t—until they took Rurik down. Not unless they wanted Rurik warned.

  His chest began to burn as Dani dropped her gaze to the insignia and closed her left hand over it. She smoothed the fingers of her right across her bottom lip. The swelling had gone down and the split was healing, but it was still visible. So was the one in her heart. When she wouldn’t raise her gaze, he lowered himself to his knees and took her hands in his.

  “We’ll get them back.” Nothing. “Honey?” He slipped a hand to her neck, hooked his thumb beneath her jaw and nudged it up.

  It was a mistake. Her lips parted.

  And, God help him, he stared. Touched. Caressed. Her lips were smooth beneath his thumb, warm. Her breath swirled between them, deep into his lungs. He closed his eyes against the scent. Fought the urge that crept up on him whenever he was in the same room with this woman. He opened his eyes and stared into the soft blue invitation. No. This was not smart. Not now. He didn’t give a damn if the door was locked with the chair wedged beneath the knob. He had too much tension coiled in his gut, too much raw adrenaline pulsing through his veins. So did she.

  If they acted on it, they’d both be guilty of doing exactly what he’d blamed her for doing eleven months ago—using the rush to experience an incredibly enhanced sexual release. But, Lord, he wanted to. So did she. He tensed as she lifted her fingers, sliding them across his lips. “Dani, we need to talk.”

  She leaned close, her warm whisper filling his ear. “I don’t want to talk…do you?”

  No. “Yes.” They might not get another chance. She was right. The fact that Rurik was Muslim changed everything. Especially if the man’s benefactor was who he now suspected it was. C’emal’s cooperation and Isha Du’a notwithstanding, there was a high probability that when they walked into that barn tonight, they wouldn’t be walking back out. She threaded her fingers into his hair as she pulled away—not far enough. He was staring directly into that mesmerizing gaze. “I don’t suppose you’d consider—”

  “No. I am not leaving. This is bigger than anyone thought and you know it. You need backup. On site. Now, regardless of how the rest of tonight plays out, the fact is we’ve got seventy minutes to kill. How do you really want to spend them?”

  “Inside you.”

  Oh, that was smooth. About as subtle as that cat-in-heat accordion grating down from the dresser.

  She laughed anyway. “I like the way you think, soldier. Now get rid of those boots and that uniform along with the pistol you’ve got tucked at the small of your back.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his ear once again, the promise in her voice throbbing just beneath the music. “I’m much more interested in the gun you’ve got tucked inside your front.”

  He might not be in the Army anymore, but he remembered how to follow orders. He was off his knees, Beretta in hand and round chambered before she could draw her next breath. He tossed the pistol on the rickety nightstand. It had the grace not to go off. He grinned down at her T-shirt—his T-shirt—as she blinked. “Seventy minutes, huh? Race you.”

  Her smile spread. “You’re on.”

  He tore his shirt off as he headed across the room. By the time he’d hit the light switch and made it back to the bed, she was minus his shirt, her shoes and her jeans, looking too damned gorgeous in the moonlight in a plain white bra and matching panties. She was also ahead…but only because of the knotted laces on his jump boots. When she reached back to unhook her bra, he knew he had to do something, and quick. He shoved his trousers down and made his move, snaking his right arm around her slender waist as h
er bra fell away. He dragged her forward as he sat down on the bed, swirling his tongue around the plump nipple that filled his view. He absorbed the first, heady taste and instinctively reached for seconds.

  She gasped…and he groaned. It had been too damned long since they’d done this. But it all flashed back in an instant. He gave his lips, teeth and tongue free rein as he sent his fingers down to yank at the laces on his boots—sucking, licking, and nipping greedily, taking up the rhythm he’d learned drove her insane during those hours on his bed.

  She moaned as she lost her grip on her panties. “That’s cheating.”

  He grinned as he kicked off his boots and peeled off his socks. Completely naked, he slid his hands up her thighs, teasing his fingers beneath the elastic as he stood. “You complaining?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Good, ’cause I won.”

  “Really?”

  Oh, no. He knew that look. Then he remembered.

  She grinned—because this time, she had him. He ought to know…because he’d made up the rule eleven months ago. During their heated rush up his stairs, she’d confessed she needed to go to her SUV and grab something from her rucksack. He’d been so aroused, the euphemism hadn’t registered at first. Until he remembered that his ruck was in his closet—along with the stash of condoms some soldiers carried to keep the barrel of their M-16 dry in the rain. Unwilling to wait the minute it would take her, he’d scooped her up in his arms and insisted during the detour to his closet that providing protection was the man’s job. And now that protection was across the room, in his duffel bag.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  Not only did she move, her panties were dangling from the tip of her index finger as he turned. She nodded to the packet in his hand. “Did I forget to mention I’m safe right now?”

  “What?”

  Her grin gleamed in the moonlight.

  “You cheated.”