Cover of Darkness

by Kaylea Cross

  Gathering up the last of his pride, Ben found himself coming to McCabe’s defense. “It’s because of the job, Bryn. He’s a SEAL, and SEALs don’t take their responsibilities lightly. And on this op, you’re his responsibility.”

  “I know, but…oh, hell, that’s enough. I’m sorry for dragging you into my pity party.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s been a bitch of a day for us all.” And his had been topped off by having his heart carved out with a dull knife. He rubbed a hand over his sternum as though this could cure the persistent ache and the heartburn beneath it.

  Bryn caught his fingers, laced them through her own and squeezed tight. “I’m sorry, Ben.” Her eyes were wet. “I wish I felt differently.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” She couldn’t help her emotions, couldn’t change them no matter how much he wanted her to.

  “Will you still stay with me?”

  The uncertainty in her face pissed him off. “I can’t believe you’d wonder about that. Of course I’m staying with you.”

  Her relieved smile tugged at his aching heart. “Thanks. And will you stay on the bed with me? If it’s too selfish of me—”

  “If that’s what you want, you know I will.” Hell, he’d still do anything for her, no matter what her feelings for him.

  She snuggled down under the covers, hand linked in his. He turned off the TV and stretched out beside her on top of the sheet. “Want me to leave the lamp on?”

  She shook her head. “So long as you’re here, I don’t need it.”

  Ah, fuck, that one hurt too. “Flatterer.” His fingers found the switch.

  A sleepy smile touched her lips. “Just remember that the next time you’re pissed at me.”

  “I’ll try. And you let me know if things don’t work out with you and Irish, okay?”

  Her fingers tightened around his. “In a heartbeat.”

  He lay next to her in the darkness, listening to her breathing and savoring the warmth of her hand in his.

  ****

  Day 10, Damascus

  Tehrazzi’s hands trembled as he raised his cup of early morning tea to his lips. Even though he’d called off the search for Daoud’s daughter, he hadn’t been able to calm down completely.

  He’d accomplished his primary goal but failed to capitalize on the opportunity that came with it. The knowledge pricked at his skin like a barb.

  When he’d seen her in the back room of Masood’s club, he’d thought he was imagining her sitting on the Syrian’s lap like a whore. But she’d recognized him. Her eyes had given her away. The instant her gaze fell upon him they’d widened in terror.

  If he’d known about her being there, she would have died too. Except she’d leapt off Masood, after Tehrazzi’s bodyguard had fired the killing shot and then dragged Tehrazzi out the back exit before he could go after her. The American protecting her had wasted no time in getting her out of there, and despite Tehrazzi and three of his men looking for her, she had slipped through his fingers.

  How had he not known about her performing at Masood’s club? She could not have been there by accident. But who would have put her there? And why, except to draw him there? Only one plausible explanation came to mind. Unease rippled over his skin.

  His teacher.

  It was the only thing that made sense. His teacher knew him, must have known he wanted to find her and fix his mistake. One of his men had reported seeing a man matching his description in the room with the daughter. Tehrazzi had been too focused on her to notice him.

  For him and Daoud’s daughter to be there tonight, someone had to have sought out his teacher to tell him about the meeting tonight.

  His suspicious gaze traveled around the humble room he and his followers occupied. The others ate and spoke quietly to one another, oblivious of his mounting anger. He recalled the other betrayals that had come before this. His grandmother. Masood. Would one of his men think they could manipulate him this way?

  “I cannot help but think we have a traitor here amongst us,” he said in a low voice. They all fell silent and looked at him. He scanned their faces for any signs of guilt or nervousness. “If I learn that one of you has betrayed me to the Americans…” He sucked in a breath, let them feel the resolve in his steely gaze. “I will make you beg for death.”

  Leaving them all staring at him, he rose from the circle and went to another room where he laid out a prayer mat. Facing Mecca, he knelt upon it, clearing his mind of the image of his teacher’s face and the fear from his chest that the man who created him might be hunting him.

  He breathed in and out slowly, cleansing his body of all toxic thoughts. When he was in the proper state to address Allah, he bent and laid his forehead against the mat in reverence and prayed that Allah would continue to bless him with his mercy.

  Most of all, he prayed that Allah would protect him from his teacher.

  ****

  Dec lay in the darkness on the hotel bed, staring at nothing. It wouldn’t have mattered what he was looking at, because all he could see was the devastation in Bryn’s eyes when he’d pulled away in the middle of fondling her breast while his tongue had been shoved in her mouth.

  She’d felt so incredible in his arms, he’d been desperate to tear her robe off just to get his hands on her naked skin. And that hand squeezing his cock. He’d sworn his eyes had rolled back in his head.

  God, if this situation was half-assed normal, he’d be wrapped around her naked body right now. Instead, he was pissed off at himself and sexually frustrated, stewing in a room down the hall while his CIA handler slept in the next bed. He couldn’t decide if he was feeling sorry for himself or if he just wanted to kick his own ass.

  He was torn in two. On the one hand, he had his high moral code of conduct to contend with. The professional, do-the-job-properly-the-first-time part. On the other hand, he was attached to Bryn in ways that made it impossible for him to maintain his distance from her.

  Knowing she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her was damn near killing him. Never mind that dance he’d witnessed. God, the image of her in that golden costume was permanently burned into the backs of his eyelids.

  He’d dated lots of women, had thought he’d loved one or two of them, but what he felt for Bryn eclipsed all of that. This emotion was so deep and primal it bordered on obsessive. He wanted to take her away from the world, keep her all to himself. It shocked the living shit out of him.

  In another life, they might have met under different circumstances and gotten to know each other by dating like everyone else did. But so far, their relationship had the makings of a soap opera. Everything was too intense, too conflicted.

  Dec wanted normality with her. To make her laugh—she needed to laugh more. He would love to make her smile every day. Make her feel good.

  He wanted to be able to take her to dinner, feed her while candlelight played over her smooth skin. Wanted to watch movies with her, take her for long walks and kiss her on the beach, romance her until she couldn’t see straight and then burn up the sheets together with amazing sex. Anything but the situation they were in now, trying to keep her alive while they hunted one of the most dangerous terrorists on the planet.

  It was a wonder his head hadn’t exploded yet.

  He needed this mission to be over. He needed to rejoin his team, assume the leadership role he was most comfortable in, and not have to worry he was on the verge of sabotaging his career by wanting something he shouldn’t. You didn’t screw with the principal, literally or figuratively. Not unless you wanted a dishonorable discharge and a glass of hemlock to wash it down with.

  The cell phone on the table between the beds buzzed, and Luke came out of a dead sleep to answer it in less than a second. Dec rolled onto his back and exhaled, gathering himself as he listened to Luke’s responses. Marching orders, no doubt. Not happy news, anyway, since it was after two in the morning.

  Luke set the phone down. “We’re going to Baghdad.”

  Baghd
ad. Hooray. “All of us?”

  “Yeah.”

  Who’d have thought he’d be back in that hellhole so soon? And now Bryn would be there with them. “When?”

  “Bird’s coming at oh-five-hundred. Have the others meet us in the lobby at quarter to.”

  Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, Dec welcomed the adrenaline flow, grateful for the way it cleared his head. This was what he needed, what he’d been trained for. Purpose. Movement.

  Maybe now he could get Bryn out of his mind for ten minutes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Day 10, Baghdad

  Morning

  Baghdad in September was pretty much what Bryn had expected: dry, flat, and hot enough to rival the interior of a car baking in the sun. She was miserable, but tried not to let it show.

  Things with Dec were strained. He’d barely spared her a glance all morning. Things with Ben weren’t much better, but at least he was making an effort to stay friends. She felt bad about hurting him, but what else could she have done? It would have been much worse to give him false hopes. She loved him, but not the way he wanted her to.

  Nope. That aching, heart-squeezing love was for the man who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, meet her eyes after things had gone too far between them last night. Studying his profile across the helo’s vibrating deck as it landed, her chest hurt even more.

  Next to her, Rhys nudged her. “Forgot to give you this.” He held out a chocolate glazed doughnut.

  Her mood improved a bit. “Thanks.”

  Okay, she reasoned, chewing on the deep-fried treat. So she’d been shot down last night. But even if Dec had walked away and was doing everything he could to avoid her now, at least she knew he’d been as revved up as she had. Bryn did the tally sheet in her head.

  He wanted her.

  She wanted him.

  She was falling in love with him. Might already be there.

  He…liked her a lot.

  Well, at least they had the wanting part down.

  Things could be worse. It could have been totally one-sided on her part. That would damn near have killed her. At least she could hope things would work out between them after this was finished.

  For now, though, they all had a job to do. She was a member of a team—the weak link, mind you, but still a member—and she had to put her emotions aside. No way was she going to make things awkward.

  Dec wouldn’t either. He was much too professional to let something as pesky as personal feelings get in the way. She had the feeling he was giving her a cooling-out period. Once they landed in Baghdad, he’d act like nothing had happened between them. And he’d probably keep acting that way until it was over.

  So fine. She could handle it. Plus, she didn’t want him to know how deeply she was into him. If the idea of having sex with her spooked him, her falling in love with him would freak him the hell out.

  After the chopper dropped them off at the airstrip, they unloaded their gear and headed to the terminal where an Iraqi man in khakis and a white golf shirt waited for them. Maybe in his late twenties, he had a short black beard and wavy hair, a gold chain nestling beneath his collar. He smiled in welcome, revealing white teeth that overlapped slightly at the front, and went forward to shake Luke’s hand.

  “This is Fahdi,” Luke announced. “He’s our civilian contact here in Baghdad—anything we need, he’s our man. Right?”

  “You got it,” Fahdi responded in near-perfect English, shaking hands with the others. When he caught sight of her, his eyes widened a fraction and he hesitated before offering his hand.

  “I’m Bryn,” she said, shaking it firmly. She detested weak handshakes.

  His eyes were like liquid espresso as he studied her, his lashes so long and thick they belonged on a fawn. “Hello, Miss Bryn.”

  Luke clapped him on the back. “Bryn’s our secret weapon.”

  He released her hand. “Weapon? You are a soldier?”

  “No, I—”

  “She’s the woman who’s going to make Tehrazzi sit up and pay attention.”

  Fahdi’s head whipped toward Luke. “You are tugging on my foot.”

  Luke grinned. “No, I’m not pulling your leg. And it’s up to you and the rest of us to make sure she stays safe.”

  The younger man glanced at her again, this time with trepidation. Was he afraid for her? Or was he horrified by the idea of having to work with and protect a woman?

  “You got our ride ready?”

  Fahdi seemed to shake himself, then grabbed a couple of bags and headed toward a black Suburban. When everything was loaded, Dec handed Bryn up and she scrambled into the back seat. As she’d expected, he was acting as though he’d never avoided her. Whatever helped him sleep at night, she thought with a sigh.

  No one said much on the ten-minute trip to the operations center in the middle of the city. Bryn stared out her window into the dusty streets as people carried their wares to and from the local market.

  Women cloaked in robes and headscarves carried out their daily chores, children trailing behind them. On the dashboard was a photo of Fahdi standing with a woman who barely came up to his shoulders, holding an infant in her arms, four dark-eyed kids clustered about them.

  It must be tough to raise a family in Baghdad with the threat of bombings every time you went to buy food, worrying that your children could be caught up in a firefight while they played outside. She didn’t envy Fahdi or his wife.

  “Home sweet home,” Ben said, wrapping a steadying arm across her shoulders as they pulled up to a compound lined with barbed wire fences and gatehouses, uniformed Marines standing with their M-16s at the ready. Bryn couldn’t help the way her heart knocked against her ribs and forced her muscles to relax. Too late to back down now.

  In a courtyard in front of an imposing cinder-block building, they piled out of the truck. Pasting on a brave smile, she followed Dec into the gloom of their temporary barracks. The instant she crossed the threshold a wave of cool air hit her. Air conditioning. Bless them.

  The twins were already unpacking their gear into footlockers at the end of the metal beds lining the longest wall. The adjoining room appeared to be a bathroom, with one toilet, a urinal and a cramped, not-so-clean shower.

  “You can sleep against the end wall,” Dec told her, pointing to the far bed, and she was glad when he chose the bed next to hers. “We’ll get you a curtain so you can have a little privacy.”

  “Thanks. Do you snore?”

  “Don’t think so. Why?”

  “Because Ben does, so you can borrow some of my earplugs.”

  “Hey,” Ben protested. “I do not.”

  Luke strode in. “Everyone settled?” He dropped a duffel on the bunk nearest the door, set his hands on his hips. “Just like summer camp, huh?”

  Sure. The kind where arts and crafts were followed by anti-terrorism classes.

  “I thought we’d get a head start, meet the rest of the team we’ll be working with at the TOC.”

  More acronyms.

  “Tactical operations center,” Dec translated.

  “You up to it Bryn, or—”

  “I’m good.” The last thing she wanted was to make them think they had to handle her with kid gloves.

  Outside, the heat hit her like a slap, sucking the air from her lungs. She trailed after everyone to the Suburban Fahdi already had running, the lone female in the midst of these armed, elite soldiers. Man, she was so in over her head.

  The TOC was a concrete building three floors high, heavily guarded. Each room was crammed with desks, their surfaces littered with computers and electronic devices. People in uniforms came in and out in a constant tide of motion, speaking on headsets or cell phones. Bryn felt totally out of place and instinctively planted herself beside Dec.

  Luke appeared a moment later with a gorgeous Arabic man. “This is Ali. He’ll be helping us in the field when we need backup, and is pretty handy with digging up information on bad guys operating in Iraq.”

>   Ali shook everyone’s hand, hesitating and flushing when he got to Bryn. His smile was warm and genuine. She liked him instantly.

  “Rhys?” A titian-haired Caucasian woman stood in the doorway, her brown eyes wide with surprise.

  Rhys chuckled in delight and went forward to grab the newcomer in a one-armed hug. “I’ll be damned,” he chuckled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I got a promotion,” she said, beaming up at him.

  “You call an assignment in Baghdad a promotion?”

  Her ironic smile was radiant. “Go figure.”

  “Guys, this is Samarra Wallace. We’ve worked together in Europe.” He gestured to his twin. “This is my brother, Ben.”

  Sam studied him as she shook his hand. “Ah, the prodigal son. You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”

  “Huh. Funny, you’re shorter than I thought you’d be. The way my brother talked about you I thought for sure you’d be at least seven feet tall.”

  “Sorry to disappoint. Nice hat, by the way.”

  Ben tilted his head. “You a Sox fan?”

  “Born and bred.”

  “Sam’s our communications expert,” Luke added.

  Her smile widened when she looked at Bryn. “I’m very glad to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Oh. Good things, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, don’t believe everything you hear,” Ben cautioned. “She’s a pain in the ass, just like the rest of us.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” As Sam raised an elegant brow, Bryn caught Ben’s interest in the newcomer. His eyes flicked down to her left hand. Checking for a wedding ring?

  “You’ll be working mostly with the twins here,” Luke told Sam. “Ben is our electronics wizard, so he can help you work on coms for our ops. Rhys’ll help out when necessary, otherwise he and Ali will be with the rest of us on logistics and security. And depending on what’s happening, you can keep Bryn company.”

  “I’d like that.”