Free Fall (10 page)

And yeah, that stung a little. He’d poured his guts out to her, shared his demons.

She scrubbed her hand over her face, shaking her head slowly. “It’s not exactly romantic pillow talk.”

He knew a cop-out answer when he heard one. “We did more than sleep together.”

“Honestly, Jose.” Her mouth went tight. “You didn’t need to know about my mother, so I didn’t tell you.”

“And
you
accused
me
of holding back?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry I hurt you and I mean that. Being together like this must really suck for you.”

Straight for the jugular. He half smiled. “I’d forgotten how blunt you can be.”

“I’m a factual person—and we only broke up a month ago.” She touched his chest lightly.

“Feels longer than that.” He cupped her face, thumbing the corner of her mouth.

She chewed her bottom lip, her teeth so close to his thumb. “How long are you here?”

“Until the morning. Then I’m out of here. Move on to the next phase.”

Not much time left with her, but he didn’t intend to waste a minute of it. His pulse thumped stronger, harder in his ears. Could he do it? Put his heart out there for her to crush again just for the chance to sleep with her one more time?

Hell yes.

He angled closer. He could almost taste her, just from memory.

“Jose, wait.” She pressed her hand harder against his chest. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Really?” He nibbled her bottom lip.

She sighed, her breath tangling with his next breath.

“Really,” she said softly, her mouth moving along his. “I told you about my mom because I thought we could use this time to talk things through more fully, to get closure.”

Right now this felt more like a second chance than an ending. He skimmed a kiss along her jaw. “Okay, then you talk.” He kissed his way down to her neck. “I’ll listen.”

Her head fell back, giving him fuller access. “Because even though we broke up a month ago, it hasn’t been simple to close the door on what we… shared. I’ve realized I need more time with you.”

And just that fast, her hands went into his hair. She guided his mouth back to hers and kissed him. Full-out kissed him, and God help him, he was all in.

He slid his arms around her and hauled her closer. The familiar give of her curves against him felt so damn good. He knew they couldn’t take this any further, not here, not now, and there was a certain freedom in that. And knowing he could just taste her, hold her, be with her—that drove him crazy. The past four weeks without her, thinking about never seeing her again, had damn near driven him nuts.

The touch of her tongue to his sent a possessive growl humming low in his chest. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, although he hoped tonight would find him and Stella in a shower together, then a bed, where he would use every bit of foreplay in his arsenal.

But here, now, he needed to hold onto control for a while longer.

Stepping back, he eased his mouth from hers and slid his hands around to cup her elbows. His senses went on high alert, taking in everything about her, from the softness of her skin to the brush of the cotton cloth she still held.

“Stella, if you’re through here, let’s head over to the quarters where we can be alone, talk about where you want to go next…”

The sound of the door opening again echoed up from the other side of the stacked crates. Stella blinked fast, clearing away the fog of passion from her eyes. She hurried around the corner, back into plain sight just as the teenage Ajaya stepped out, his eyes wide and panicked.

“Where are you taking me? You cannot just send me back there, not when they know I have been here.” His voice cracked, his agitation increasing the longer Mr. Smith stayed silent beside him.

The agent was playing the kid, pushing him for more with psychological pressure rather than physical harm.

Ajaya tugged at the hem of his overlarge T-shirt. “I know things, more things. I know about that.”

He pointed to Stella.

Jose stopped cold, his hand sliding around her waist.

Mr. Smith didn’t even blink.

Ajaya waved his hand toward Stella again. “The cloth, the one stolen from the compound. The writing in the border. It tells their plans.”

Mr. Smith blinked.

Foreboding iced up Jose’s spine, years of survival instincts shouting this was about to get bad. Really bad. He resisted the urge to thrust himself between Stella and whatever the kid was about to say.

Stella inched forward, her hands twisting in the wrap. “What plans, Ajaya?”

“To kill people when your vice president’s wife visits.” The teenage boy reached toward Stella, his fingers almost brushing the rippling fringe. “The details are written in a code in the fabric.”

Stella unwound the cloth from around her waist, handling the fabric as carefully as crystal. Cradling the material draped over her hands, she took in the pattern scripted along the edges. The stark halogen lights high in the hangar glinted on flecks of silver thread.

Messages were commonly woven into the patterns or borders of these cloths, so that in and of itself wasn’t unusual. There was no reason to beat herself up over not considering it before now. All the same, she wished somehow she’d considered the possibility that a cloth was more than a “cloth.”

Could the boy be lying about a more insidious meaning? Or was he telling the truth? Either way, they had to move forward on the assumption that he was telling the truth.

A translator would have to decipher which variation of the local language was used. Even if the words seemed benign, a decoder—like her—would have to discern if a hidden meaning had been inserted.

Unless the boy was lying to buy time.

She looked up at the teenager. His dark eyes were wild with desperation. She believed he would do anything to stay safe. Was he wily enough to make up a really good lie?

A tug pulled her out of her thoughts as Mr. Smith eased the wrap from her hands. “Where did this come from?”

“Uhm…” She blinked fast to clear her blurry eyes and dulled senses. “Sutton and I both took items from their store of stolen goods for survival purposes. This was from Sutton’s backpack.”

Mr. Smith folded the fabric carefully. “Then I think we need to make sure Mr. Harper passes over his backpack before he leaves here today. Sergeant, could you please escort Stella to her quarters? She needs rest and medical care after her ordeal. We’ve asked enough of her.”

She had a million questions she wanted to ask Ajaya and the enigmatic Mr. Smith, the same Mr. Smith she’d been working with since she arrived in Africa six months ago. But he couldn’t relay that. Obviously. Because as far as the teenager and all the hostages knew, she was just a student getting debriefed, fed, and evaluated like all the rest of them. And even as a full-fledged operative, she didn’t always get clearance on everything.

But God, she ached to be in on this.

Her gaze flicked to Jose, then back to Mr. Smith. The CIA agent was right. She needed to rest up while he finished the interrogation. Once they had a handle on what was in the border of the cloth, if there was a code to crack, she would need a much sharper mind. Right now, she felt like she was walking through peanut butter.

Jose’s arm went around her waist, and she didn’t bother protesting. She leaned into him and let him guide her out of the hangar.

The blinding midday rays stung her eyes as she took in her first comprehensive look at the American base here. Rows of plain tan buildings sprawled ahead, baked and cracked by the harsh African sun.

Step for step, she walked alongside Jose. The heated concrete steamed warmth through the soles of her gym shoes. “Where exactly are we going?”

His hand felt warm and right against her waist. “You’re no good to yourself or anyone until you eat some real food, shower, and sleep.”

“I know I need to clear my head, but walking away from work is easier said than done.” A trio of jet planes split the clouds overhead, leaving contrail to fade in their wakes.

“No offense, Stella, but have you looked in the mirror today?”

His leg brushed against hers, his lean strength as familiar to her as her own skin. How strange to feel stirred in the middle of utter exhaustion. Especially when he’d just told her she looked like crap.

Ouch. “I’ve avoided mirrors.” She stopped at a corner, waiting for a line of camouflage trucks to roll past. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“Exactly why you need to forget about everything for a while.”

“Easier said than done right after hearing there’s a group planning some kind of massacre.” God, she felt like she was running in circles, a futile and exhausting endeavor.

“The kid also said the plan was tied into the vice president’s wife’s visit.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “So we have a couple of days. You can take this time to recharge—really recharge—while Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown and however many more Jones and Johnson buddies of his can help out doing their jobs.”

“Why have you assigned yourself to be my babysitter?”

“Honestly, I don’t trust anyone else. You’re mighty damn good at maneuvering people.” He guided her past a long open-air building with a metal dome roof. “I care about you, and I understand you.”

That’s what made this all hurt so much, knowing he still cared. “Thank you for being here, for being so damn good at what you do.”

For caring.

He stopped outside a two-story concrete building, steps leading up to the second floor. She stared up into his eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable jolt of awareness, the delicious shimmer that ignited her nerve endings with the promise of pleasure. An intense pleasure unique to being with Jose.

“Jose?” Was that whispery voice really hers?

“I know.” He cupped her shoulder. “Not easy to just pretend everything’s okay between us.”

Her skin flamed to life, pushing aside the fog of exhaustion. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this, for hauling out all our past baggage again.”

“You did what had to be done. You’re damn good at your job too.” His hand fell away. “My room’s down the hall. Since your gear is all back at the hostel where you were undercover as a student, I rounded up some essentials for you while you were watching the questioning of Ajaya. I put the stuff in my room.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

He raised a hand. “Before you get riled, I’m not suggesting we sleep together, and if you insist, I’ll find another place to bunk. But I gotta confess the past couple of days really screwed with my head. I need to know you’re okay, or I’m not going to be able to close my eyes.”

“So you’re saying this isn’t just about making sure I sleep? It’s about helping you too?” A smile tugged at her mouth as well as her heart. “That I need to stay stapled to your side like a teddy bear in order for you to get any rest.”

“Yep…” He nodded. “I guess that pretty much covers it.”

Not too long ago, she would have done anything to be with him. And now? She didn’t know where they stood, and she was too tired to breathe, much less sort through her personal or professional tangles. Which made her answer a helluva lot easier to justify.

“I’m honest to God too exhausted to argue with you. Let’s watch out for each other, and we’ll deal with everything else later.”

She started climbing the steps to do the one thing she’d never expected ever to do again.

Sleep with Jose.

***

Jose sat in the uncomfortable-as-hell armchair and watched Stella sleep as the clock ticked away the hours into the middle of the night.

Once they’d stepped into the small barracks room, she’d washed up while he ate, then eaten while he showered. By the time he’d joined her, she’d been passed out asleep in the double bed tucked in a corner. He should stay in this chair.

Should.

But what the fuck?

He’d slept with her before, and it wasn’t like they were going to have sex again. Even though that kiss earlier had damn near sent him to his knees.

He shoved up out of the chair, his body groaning from the past twenty-four hours of surviving. He needed to recharge too if he expected to be one hundred percent for Stella. Settling onto the bed, he eased his legs up, careful not to jostle her. His head sank back into the piled pillows—he’d bought extra when he got her some clothes since he knew how she loved fat, fluffy pillows under her head and to hug. He tucked his hand behind his bed and stared at the ceiling, keeping a couple of inches between him and the woman of his dreams sleeping next to him.

Life was a bitch sometimes.

But at least Stella was safe. He would worry about the possible doomsday message woven into that cloth later. For now, he had solid military-issue walls surrounding her.

With concrete walls and industrial bedding, it wasn’t much in the way of accommodations, but the mattress was decent. The halfway-functioning air conditioner unit in the window gushed air that was cooler than anything outside. He’d stayed in worse. Still he wished he could offer her better.

But he had to accept he’d done all he could for her here. Sleep would do the rest, a deep slumber. Her catnap last night out in the wilds had been far from restful. Now she slept hard. Her red hair fanned out on the pillow, dry and carrying the scent of him since apparently she’d used his shampoo. Her eyelids twitched with deep REMs. A lightweight robe covered her whole body but clung to damp curves.

Sighing, she rolled over and looped her arm over his stomach. His abs contracted at the warmth of her, her slim, toned arm so damn familiar. As if the shower fresh scent of her wasn’t already driving him nuts. Damn good thing he wore camo pants and a T-shirt. Although full-out body armor wouldn’t be enough of a barrier between them.

His arm rested along the dip of her waist. Her curves fit to his side, the give of her soft breasts searing him, making him ache to cradle the weight in his hands. He knew every inch of her body. They’d been good together, beyond good, better than anything he’d had with any other woman. Hell, when he was with her he couldn’t think of anyone but her. Still couldn’t even though they were no longer a couple.

Would she be in his system like this for the rest of his life?

He eyed the scratch along her neck from the guard’s blade. A blade that had come too close to taking her life. Even a bit more pressure, a second’s hesitation on either of their parts would have left her dead. He willed his heart to stay steady. Careful not to wake her, he thumbed just beside the cut, along the place he’d discovered when he’d first kissed her at Queen Elizabeth National Park. Right over the freckle on her neck where he’d kissed dozens of times during the five months they’d dated.

Every protective urge inside him flamed to life. No matter how many times his brain insisted it was over between them, his body argued otherwise. She was his. And maybe that wasn’t cool or PC, but damn it, that’s just how it was for him. On some primal level, a connection linked them that he didn’t begin to understand. That he didn’t have a clue how to sever.

Sometimes he wondered if they’d met on a regular day in an ordinary kind of place if things might have been different. They’d played out their affair in a remote corner of the earth, in places with deep-rooted history. They’d made love for the first time with the sound of the flowing Nile waters echoing through their window.

Every minute of his time with her was branded in his brain. Not just having sex, but their whole weekend in Egypt, one of the handful of times they’d been able to sneak more than a few hours together. He’d been determined to make the most of a whole weekend with Stella, to sweep the incredibly practical woman off her feet with the most luxurious, impractical getaway he could plan.

So he’d taken her to Aswan with tropical palm trees and the Tombs of Nobles cut in the high west bank of the Nile. They’d gone on a camel ride to the Monastery of St. Simeon. She had an adventurous spirit, but that day he’d discovered a romantic heart underneath. He’d seen it when she heard the story of the Mausoleum of Aga Khan and how his wife laid a rose on his tomb every day, a tradition still carried on by the village even after her death.

Jose had made a mental note to cover Stella’s bed in roses one day. He’d never had the chance to fulfill that vow. Damn, regrets were a bite in the ass.

Holding her against him, he let the sound of the whooshing air conditioner echo in his ears like the sound of the Nile during that date five months ago…

***

The Nile River flowed by as it had done for thousands of years for millions of couples, but for Jose, there was only this woman. Only Stella sitting across the table from him.

Parked on the restaurant terrace, he leaned on an elbow and watched her savor the Egyptian stew served in a clay pot. The road below was clogged with cars and bicyclists, horns and shouts drifting up. From inside, Nubian folk music echoed with people clapping along to the drum and lyre.

Stella swayed ever so slightly. A lock of her thick red hair slid out from under the silk scarf she’d draped over her head in keeping with local dress. He didn’t have to reach across to remember the feel of her hair gliding across his fingers when he kissed her.

Which he intended to do again. Soon.

For now, though, he indulged himself by simply listening to her talk between bites. He periodically dipped his bread into his soup, the spices exploding through his senses already on hyperaware around Stella.

She reached for the pewter goblet of juice from local fruits. “My mother would have loved this place, the paintings.”

“Your mom was an artist?” he asked, wanting to know everything about her.

“More of a stylist.” She set down her drink, her nose flaring as a whiff of incense carried on the night breeze. “She created works of art from pieces of earth, mud smears, berry juices. Every art project was a science project too. She was the ultimate recycler even before it was in vogue.”

“Sounds like my buddy Wade’s wife.” He reached across the tablecloth and stroked the top of her hand.

A smile flickered across her face when he touched her. “I enjoyed the time she and I spent together on projects. I sent her pictures when she traveled here—”

She paused as the waitress refilled their goblets and placed a pot of mint tea to go with a dessert of cookies and candied figs. His mouth watered and it had nothing to do with the food and everything to do with a certain lady agent.

Once the server turned away, he tapped Stella’s hand. “Tell me about one of the paintings.”

“The summer before she died, we vacationed at the Outer Banks in North Carolina.” She looked down and away, picking up a fig with fidgety fingers. “I think my parents were trying to work on their marriage. Her absences strained their relationship.”

“Like in military marriages.” He’d seen more than his fair share crumble, relationships that had appeared rock solid.