Running Hot (4 page)

She judged the distance between them one last time. She could lunge, and Ford would likely shoot her. Not a helpful solution. Still not an option, which was a damn shame.

That left the new and even riskier tactic of compromise. She could work with them . . . or pretend to. She didn't intend to tangle with other agents or share the credit with another country, but she doubted these two would skulk back to Langley quietly. At the very least, she could use their resources and the strength their double team provided. That meant confirming her position as an ally. A reluctant one, but still an ally.

She looked from Ward to Ford and back again. Her gut told her to connect with Ward, though she feared some body parts other than her gut were guiding her decision. “Maybe there's a man here, on this island, who shouldn't be.”

Silence whipped through the wooded area. Even the leaves seemed to stop rustling as she held her breath and waited to see what Ward would do.

After a few more seconds he nodded. “That might be true.”

Looks like they were definitely playing the same game. It was the only thing that stopped her from grabbing the tree trunk, spinning around, and nailing Ward in the chest with a roundhouse kick. “Maybe this man needs to be taken out before he destabilizes Fiji.”

Ward stopped flipping her knife around. “Or starts playing with all the toys he brought here with him.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Those were the first words Ford said on the topic.

With that, some of the tightness across her shoulders eased and the ticking at the base of her neck stopped. “Are you two ready to confirm you're CIA?”

Ford swore under his breath as she stared at Ward. “Apparently you suck at this work. She clearly made you before now.”

Ward didn't even spare his partner a glance. “Don't make me sorry I brought you along.”

The intensity of Ward's focus made something in her stomach clench, and not in an angry way. She didn't trust him and didn't particularly like him. That whole charming act wore thin fast, or that's what she told herself. But they could forge a silent agreement of sorts. One that meant she couldn't kick, punch, or shoot anyone up with drugs. Good thing she had other skills.

She answered Ford's question even though it really wasn't directed at her. “I saw Ward looking through my bag before we left the bar for my place last night.”

He'd palmed her wallet. Later he'd diverted her attention and done a quick bag check. Subtle but effective. Just not quite effective enough.

Ford shot Ward the side eye. “Sounds like someone needs a refresher course in subterfuge.”

“I almost missed the bag check, but combine the behavior with the fact it's pretty clear he's not on the island for the buffet, and I got suspicious.” Then a bit frustrated that a night with Ward couldn't happen.

“Who the hell are you?” Ford asked.

“You really haven't figured it out?” she asked, not bothering to cover what to them would be an accent.

Ward shook his head. “British Intelligence.”

“MI6?” Ford's eyes widened. “Get the fuck out.”

“Makes sense.” The shock started to leave Ward's voice.

Ford's frown suggested he was having trouble believing. “Does it?”

If they kept talking to each other they wouldn't need her for this conversation. Now there was a tempting thought.

“We'll get confirmation.” The amusement left Ford's face, and he went back to scowling. “How exactly?” She doubted MI6 opened its files whenever the CIA called. Especially not in this case, where she wasn't even supposed to be in this country and neither were they.

When he ignored the question, she leaned against the tree, this time not for leverage. From the cramped quarters in the tree, her right thigh muscle kept twitching. Taking some weight off it helped.

Ward tucked her gun into the back waistband of his pants. “That's a bit much, isn't it?”

Since they both stared at her, she wondered if she'd missed part of the discussion. “What?”

“Your name is Natasha and you're a spy?” Ward scoffed. “I mean, come on.”

Really, that was his concern? Man, these Langley boys misfired sometimes. “Were you this big of a pain in the ass back at the resort?”

“No,” Ward said.

Ford nodded. “Absolutely.”

Maybe she didn't need them after all. They got easily sidetracked. Even now they stood close enough to striking range that they should be on high alert. Instead, they joked and slouched. Not exactly prime examples of the CIA type . . . not that she'd liked all that many of the ones she'd met.

“Now that we've had our introductions, you both need to leave.” She tried to sound calm about it since some men got all defensive if a woman showed her strength. And if one of them called her a bitch, she'd put him in a headlock with her thighs.

Ward didn't move, but the air around him did. It was as if something inside him snapped to attention. “Not happening.”

“You're going to blow
my
op.” She looked over at Ford. “Lose the gun.”

“She's bossy.” Ford smiled as if he seemed happy at the idea.

Time for a little tough love or a reality check—whatever they called it. “You guys trained Tigana. He went to college in your country. Harvard, right?” Before Ward could answer, she plowed ahead. “He enjoyed the funding you sent his way and the Stinger missiles you provided for him to shoot down planes and flip over armored vehicles.”

“That clearly was a miscalculation,” Ford mumbled under his breath.

Ward held up a hand. “What my friend means is the US had no involvement with any weapons this hypothetical piece of shit may or may not have.”

There was no need for confirmation, but she had it now. “He destroyed his own country. Now he has his eye on Fiji as a new playground, and you guys are here because you need to clean up your mess.”

Ward shrugged. “Admittedly, he is not the finest example of the US education system.”

Not exactly the response she expected. “He's going to start a military coup, shake up the Pacific, then move on from there with his cache of surface-to-air missiles. I can't let any of that happen.”

And this guy would do it. He grabbed or bought—that part of the intel wasn't clear—weapons that were easy to carry and invented to inflict maximum damage from a distance. The technical term was MANPADS, Man-Portable Air-Defense System. It could shoot three miles and depended on infrared homing, which meant a shooter could fire then run. No need to wait around for targeting. Which also meant Tigana qualified as a very dangerous and armed man at the moment.

“Uh-huh, yeah.” Ward repeated the phrase several times as she talked. “That's an impressive speech, but this dictator is the US's problem and we're here to handle him.”

There it was. That American can-do attitude.

She was not a fan. “Just the two of you?”

“Not to be too obvious, but I would point out you're also alone.” Ford motioned to the area around them.

And since they both kept checking the woods, scanning and assessing, they knew she stood by herself until they bumbled along. “Am I?”

“I'm starting to understand what you see in her,” Ford said.

Ward ignored the comment and never broke eye contact with her. “Where's your partner?”

She'd already played the overshare game. Disclosing would lead to more questions. Her debrief after this op would take months at this rate. “I'm done talking.”

“I'd hate to be out there and shoot your partner by accident.” Ford held up his gun.

As if she forgot he had the damn thing. It was the number one deterrent from doing something closer to dumb than brave on the fighting scale. “Missing.”

Ward leaned in as if trying to hear her. “Excuse me?”

Okay, this last piece they could know because she just might need their help with an extraction. “Gareth went radio silent. Last I knew he was scouting out an area about three kilometers from here.”

Ward frowned. “Gareth?”

“Kilometers?” Ford made a face that suggested he was trying to calculate something in his head. “I hate math.”

She could probably find better sidekicks if she closed her eyes and pointed. “Why don't you two head back to the resort and—”

“We'll break up. I'll take the Brit and go east. You head west. Radio silence. We'll use the clicks rather than talking to cover our respective positions. I'll have you on GPS.” It was as if Ward flipped a switch and entered leadership mode. Gone was the fun-loving guy on vacation. He barked orders like a battlefield commander.

Good
. It gave her hope he might not accidentally trip over a tree root and shoot her.

“You sure it's a good idea that you double up with Tasha?” Ford smacked Ward on the shoulder. “After all, she did kick your ass twice already.”

“He grabbed all of my weapons.” She thought she'd point that out since she planned to demand them all back before they took off on the suggested trek.

“Right, because you need a weapon to cause trouble.” Ward shot her a look that said he'd learned his lesson. “I doubt that.”

She didn't hate being seen from a position of strength. She could use that later, when she grabbed Tigana and left the CIA boys behind. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

“I used to like British people . . .” Ford's comment just hung out there.

“No worries,” Ward said. “She doesn't have a choice but to play nice.”

Not true, but if he thought so she had an advantage. But . . . “How do you figure that?”

Ward took a step toward her. Got in nice and close. “I'll burn your cover if you so much as nod your head in a way I don't like.”

She wanted to shove against his chest or grab her knife back. Instead she stood there. Something in his tone and the intense heat she saw in his eyes hypnotized her.

Right before her common sense took a final nosedive, she landed one more verbal shot. “You'll blow your own at the same time, genius.”

“You act as if Ford and I are the only two people on this assignment for the US.” Ward's eyebrow lifted. “Wrong.”

Looked like underneath all the games and jokes there lurked a guy who liked to play chicken. Interesting. But this was not her first day on the job. She was career MI6 and had spanked CIA guys older than Ward on jobs when they got in the way. “It's a small island. I'd know if there were more of you.”

“You willing to take that chance? To possibly let Tigana slip away?” Ward asked in an even, emotionless tone.

The guy had developed a poker face all of a sudden. His blank expression didn't give anything away.
Good trick
.

It was an impressive bait-and-switch. She'd been sold one version of Ward. Now she faced down another. Commanding, a guy fully in charge and trained as a weapon.

He just got hotter, which sucked for her.

“He has to go down,” she said referring to Tigana, though it applied to all the men she knew on the island at this moment.

Ward nodded. “Then we'll do it together.”

“Aw, how sweet.”

Yeah, the likelihood of her shooting Ford grew with each passing second when he said things like that. But she kept her attention on Ward. She hadn't seen it before, but it was clear now: he was the one she had to go through to get anything done.

He just needed to realize she was in charge, so she acted like it. “For the next two hours, we're on the same side. We check the area, gather intel, then meet back at my room at the resort. We need to know how many men Tigana has, the structures, the resources. And I'll look for Gareth.”

Ford elbowed Ward. “She thinks she's the boss.”

She answered that. “She is.”

“You forget we have the guns.” Ward held his weapon up again, just inside her line of vision.

She wasn't any more impressed this time than the last. “It's cute you think that means something to me.”

Ward's lip twitched. “Then lead the way, boss.”

Chapter Four

A
FTER BREAKING OFF
from Ford as planned, Ward and Tasha walked in silence for fifteen minutes. Ward kept track of her, the weapons, and the area around him. Even now, a gun touched his back, one rested against his palm, and another thudded against his leg in his pocket as he walked.

Ford had given the prearranged radio signal confirming her cover checked out. Getting the intel so fast meant someone in the United States or the United Kingdom—or both—played hardball or called in favors. Both countries likely denied being in Fiji. Ward didn't want to know what Ford said or what threats passed back and forth to get the information on Tasha. Well, he did, but he could wait until after they grabbed the Stinger missiles away from Tigana.

But Ward wasn't sharing anything he'd learned from Ford's simple coded message with Tasha right now. No, the next move belonged to her. Ward vowed to stay quiet, even if it meant he had to chew through his tongue to bite back some smartass comment or worse, keep from making an unfortunate and untimely pass at her.

With each step, they tunneled deeper into the greenery. Humidity slapped his face. The grouping of trees grew thicker until the leaves had to be swatted away. The whole time, Ward waited for Tasha to unload, yell, issue orders—something.

In minute sixteen, she broke.

“If we find Tigana, I'll decide what we do next.” She pushed a branch to the side as she forged a trail where none existed.

There it was
. “You've made it clear you think you're in charge.”

“I know that tone and your type.” She shot him a sideways glance that telegraphed
you're an asshole
without actually saying it. “Don't pretend we're agreeing with each other.”

He watched his footing, careful to make as little noise as possible as he placed each step. Not easy to do when a guy weighed one-eighty, but Ward had honed this skill. He could sneak in and attack without warning.