Hot as Hell (5 page)

“MacCrocker, don’t you fucking—”

Dawn screeched like a scalded cat as Sam tightened his grip on her waist and placed his other

arm under her knees and then swung her up against his chest. She put one arm around his neck and

slapped at his chest with the other hand as he followed Ren into the mansion.

Conn who’d stood silently while all the fighting and aftermath played out grinned at her antics.

She scowled at the tall blond Viking look-a-like. “Well, Conn, don’t just stand there grinning

like a loony. Go get the shopping bags out of the SUV. I’ve worn this outfit for over twenty-four hours.

I need a shower and fresh clothes.”

“Gotcha, Dawn. Welcome to SSI-Cartagena.” Conn saluted her and moved toward the SUV.

“Want help with the shower?” Sam’s eyes sparkled with mischief—and heat.

“No.”
Liar.
She gave him her best lady-of-the-manor glare, the one her mother used on maids

who hadn’t dusted properly or had forgotten to iron the sheets before making the bed.

“You don’t know what you’re missing, little cat.” He stopped in the middle of a grand entrance

hall and captured her mouth with his.

Bloody fucking hell, what a kiss it was. This was no gentle, getting-to-know-you peck on the lips,

but an all-out sensual assault. Tongue was involved, lots of it, both his and hers. By the time he was

through, he’d claimed every bleeding millimeter of her mouth and had her gasping for breath.

“Think about that while you’re alone in the shower,” he whispered against her mouth.

They made the rest of the trip to join the others in complete silence—his felt smug; hers was

full of shock and awe. No man had ever kissed her that way, as if he breathed his soul into her and took

hers in return.

She was in deep trouble—bottom of the ocean deep trouble.

Chapter 5

Sam sat at the end of the granite-topped kitchen island and stared at Dawn who’d scrambled

away and taken a stool as far from him as possible. She refused to look at him and had energetically

engaged Berto in a conversation about the chicken, rice, and bean dish he was preparing for supper.

He could kick his own ass for kissing her in the hallway. It had been too soon. Dawn was

attracted; her reaction to the kiss had proven that much—his wasn’t the only tongue dueling during

the all too brief, but volcanic kiss. Plus, his little cat had defensive skills and wasn’t the type to put up

with unwanted attentions. So, yeah, she was drawn to him, but, by distancing herself from him, she’d

demonstrated she was still not one hundred percent sure about him.

Hell, he couldn’t blame her for being cautious. They’d only known each other for a short—but

intense—period of time. She’d soon figure out he’d rather cut off his dick than hurt her.

For his part, he’d been blind-sided by his overwhelming reaction to Dawn. She affected him in

ways no other woman ever had. When she’d come to him in Belize for help to back up DJ Poe in rescuing

Tweeter Walsh, every bit of him—mentally, physically and emotionally—had instantly engaged. It was

as if his very soul had connected with hers. That reaction had been why he’d immediately returned to

the resort to find her after reporting in to his handler and why he’d vowed to track her down when she

hadn’t been there.

Fortunately, he hadn’t had to wait to track her down—it was as though fate, karma, or plain

dumb luck knew they were meant to be together. Now, all he had to do was not blow it. He needed

to play it cool. He’d protect her, prove himself worthy of her trust and affection, and then claim her.

Perhaps, Dawn was his reward for all the years of being undercover in the world’s worst hell

holes, protecting innocents from scum like MacLean.

“Better grab some chow.” Conn nudged him. “Ren wants to brief us on the op so we can get

some shuteye. We’ll be wheel’s up at 0500.”

“We? As in all of us?” Sam followed his friend to the informal buffet Berto had set up on the

counter space next to the stove.

“Yep. All but for Berto,” Conn replied. “He runs this place while I’m on ops.”

What could the op entail that Ren required two women to be anywhere in the vicinity of

MacLean and his perverted buyer? Guess he’d find out soon enough.

After getting his food, Sam went back to his seat and found Keely had taken the one on the

other side of him.

“Hey, Sam.” She stared at him, a serious expression on her beautiful face. “Thanks for helping

my brother and DJ in Belize. DJ told me you and Dawn saved her ass when she went in to rescue

Tweetie.” She gave him a one-armed hug. “As far as the Walsh family is concerned, you’re part of the

family now.”

Sam didn’t know what to say. No one had ever thanked him for doing his job before. His cheeks

burned from embarrassment. “Uh…”

“The proper response, MacCrocker, is thank you”—Dawn prompted from the end of the large

island—“happy to have been of help.”

Sam frowned at Dawn who narrowed her eyes and circled the hand holding her fork in the air

as if to say “hurry it up.” He turned to Keely and said, “Thank you. Happy to have been of help.”

Conn snorted and then coughed as he choked on the food he’d just shoveled into his mouth.

Dawn aimed a wide smile at Sam. “See? I knew you were educable.” Then her lips turned down

and she muttered, “Unlike some wankstains I know.”

“Wankstains?” Keely asked with a giggle.

“Odious wastes of space,” Dawn clarified and took a vicious bite of the chicken, rice, and bean-

filled tortilla she’d put together.

“Would one of those wastes of space be Ron Lloyd?” Sam growled out. “Was he why you quit

Interpol?”

“Yeah. Ron’s a proper arsebadger… um—” Dawn looked at Keely and offered a definition, “A

painful shit of a person.” She then turned her complete attention to her food, effectively closing off any

further conversation about Lloyd.

Eventually, Sam would find out exactly what Lloyd had done to force Dawn to quit and just

what the man might have been to her. If the asshole had hurt her in any way, well, Sam would be happy

to enact some payback on his little cat’s behalf.

Once the meal was over and the island cleared, they moved to the adjacent hearth room. A

large flat screen over the fireplace was obviously hooked up to a computer which had multiple windows

open. One window displayed a real-time satellite image of a container ship flying a Panamanian flag.

Another showed a satellite image of a large estate with the latitude and longitude of Aruba. The estate image was also live and depicted signs of active security patrols.

“Is that where MacLean’s staying on Aruba?” Sam asked Ren.

“Yeah. His alter ego Lazaro owns it through one of his many holding companies.” Ren activated

another window which featured a slide-show of MacLean’s estate from various angles and altitudes.

“As you’ll note, he has good security. Comparing the feeds over the last two days, MacLean has brought

in more men for his upcoming visit. We have to assume what happened in Belize has put him on alert.”

“But not so much that he refused to travel to meet his buyer and complete the sale of the girls.”

Sam fisted his hands on his thighs.

Something in Sam’s voice had Ren eyeing him warily. “Yeah. The fucker seems awfully confident

his new identity shields him from the interest of the U.S. intelligence community.”

“Which it would’ve normally, but for the fact Sam intuited Lazaro-Oraio was MacLean,” Keely

added with a smile for Sam.

His intuition hadn’t counted for much with his CIA bosses. It had taken Tweeter’s hacking

MacLean’s system and Keely finding patterns verifying Sam’s gut to gain permission from the Defense

Intelligence Agency to pursue the traitor into Aruba.

“You don’t think the arsehole’s concerned about Interpol tracking him? After all, we just shut

down his main Central American drug distribution center,” Dawn said.

Ren shook his head. “Sorry, Dawn, but no. You and your team did good work, but to a man like

MacLean, Interpol’s an irritating gnat, one he feels he can swat away and still blithely continue doing

business as usual.”

“Well, that sucks,” muttered Dawn. “I really want to nail this arsehole. If for no other reason, so

I can wave my former Interpol ties in his face when he goes down.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked Ren, but his gaze was fixed on Dawn’s face which showed

none of the anger her voice and words had revealed. But the emotions were there; he felt them almost

as clearly as he felt his own.

Conn nudged him and handed him an iPad displaying the same views as the large flat screen.

“Dawn and Conn will be doing the close-in work to set up the obtaining of MacLean’s DNA.

Their job is also to keep MacLean and his buyer occupied while the Dutch military, which will be

liaising with us on this op, takes over the container ship and secures MacLean’s estate.” Ren pulled up

a picture of a hawk-nosed Arab wearing traditional robes and headdress. “This is MacLean’s buyer…”

Dawn inhaled sharply. Sam saw a look of horror—or recognition?—sweep over her face before

she blanked her expression once more. Her body betrayed her, though, as she fisted her hands on her

thighs. There was no doubt in his mind—she knew the Arab. How? When? And why was she afraid of

the bastard?

If she didn’t come clean, he—or Ren, who’d also noticed the momentary look of fearful

recognition—would ask.

“…Sheikh Benrabi. His tribe in Yemen has sworn allegiance to Daesh, better known as ISIS, and

its brand of radical Islam. He plans to keep his murdering band of terrorists happy by providing them

women. We’re fairly certain that wherever Benrabi goes in Aruba, MacLean will be with him until their

deal is done. Both men also share a love of gambling, women, and alcohol.”

Dawn snorted with disgust. Yeah, there was a past there and not a nice one.

“Dontcha love how some people pervert their religious beliefs for their own interests?” Sam

muttered.

Ren nodded. “And that’s how we’ll get MacLean … through Benrabi and their shared vices.”

“Fuck me,” Sam bit out. “You’re going to use Dawn as bait.”

“Yeah, because it’ll work.” Ren’s lips thinned. “Benrabi loves women. All types. But he especially

loves upper-class women from Northern European countries. The asshole thinks he’s Allah’s gift to

women.”

“Sort of like Ron-the-wanker-Lloyd,” muttered Dawn.

Her snarky statement had everyone, but Sam, chuckling. Yeah, Lloyd and Benrabi had both

frightened or possibly hurt Dawn in some way. Neither man would ever get a chance to hurt her again,

if he could help it.

“I don’t like it,” Sam said. “There has to be another way to obtain MacLean’s DNA without using

Dawn as a lure.”

“Stuff it, MacCrocker,” Dawn snapped out. “Let Ren finish briefing us before you go all

Neanderthal.”

Ren chuckled. “Sam, there’s always a risk, but she’ll be wired and monitored remotely at all

times. Conn will be nearby anytime she’s in the public areas of the resort and casino. They’ll have

connecting suites.”

“I know Sheikh Benrabi,” Dawn said. “He’ll definitely want to get together and share old times.

I know he’s fond of Baccarat. If I can get him to play cards, his partner-in-crime will play also. Can we

get hotel security to play key positions in the casino? All we’d need would be a waitress to pick up one

glass with your boy’s saliva all over it. Then I’d play for a bit longer to allay any suspicions, then leave

with my newly-met-crush Conn, and we’d be done. Right?”

“Very much what I’d planned, Dawn. Hotel security is already on board to help us. With the

Dutch military’s help, we’ll detain MacLean and Benrabi when they go to meet the container ship to

finalize their deal,” Ren said. “How do you know Benrabi, Dawn? I need to know if putting you out

there will endanger you and Conn.”

Sam knew there was a good reason why he wanted to quit the CIA and work for SSI. Ren’s

concern for his employees proved it.

“I met Benrabi when I was sixteen.” Dawn’s voice quavered. She took a breath and continued,

“My father, the Earl of Oxenham, was ambassador to Yemen. Benrabi attended many functions at

the British Embassy, and my mother and I also attended social functions in Yemen. Benrabi was seen

everywhere, knew everyone. You couldn’t avoid him.”

Dawn looked down at her fingers which were clenched in her lap. Taking another deep breath,

she relaxed her fingers and gave Ren a crooked smile. “Benrabi was, shall we say, attracted to me. He

offered my father money for me. He truly felt he was offering me a great honor to become his seventh,

but number one, wife.”

“Frick-fracking hell? Really?” Keely’s nose scrunched in disgust. “That’s… barbaric.”

Dawn shrugged. “I agree, but that’s their culture. If his pursuit of me had stopped after my

father firmly declined the honor, then my father’s real mission in that country as part of MI6 might

have concluded differently—and things might be different today in Yemen.”

“MI6?” Ren arched a brow.

“Yeah, my father was former Special Air Service and then entered
diplomacy
, much like your CIA

agents serve in your embassies.” She laughed. “Politics and counter-intelligence are so often partners

in our violent and highly changeable world.”

“So, what happened after your father told him to fuck off?” Sam said. Because something had,