I hate myself for what I’m about to do, but it’s a hell of a lot more productive than sliding between her thighs again.

I don’t like her.

At least I didn’t want to.

I use my warring thoughts as a catalyst to purge the confession. “I’m meeting with a source.”

The jolt of her body doesn’t hide the surprise that her eyes try to play down. “About what?”

She gets minor brownie points for not saying I knew it like a gloating child. Very minor at that, but it’s a step in the right direction.

“Need-to-know basis,” I say, crossing my arms across my chest and leaning my ass against the dresser behind me.

“We’re partners.” Her forehead creases as she mimics my posture.

“No, we’re not.” She snorts in rebuke, but I don’t play into her game, and I’m definitely not ready to bestow that term on us yet. “Here are the ground rules, so I suggest you pay attention because you only get one shot with me. You fuck up, you’re gone – I don’t care what the hell Rafe says.”

We stare at each other for a moment in silence. For some reason I expect her posture to wilt from my authoritative tone, but she just stands her ground, shoulders square, and eyes wide, so I continue. “Bring a camera. A cheap one. Even though no one in their right mind would visit here on a vacation, we’ll look like tourists to the outsider. When we meet up, your mouth is to stay shut and your camera is to remain at your side. You don’t meet his eyes, and you make it known that I’m in charge. You don’t question me, ever, in front of the locals, let alone a source.”

“But, Tan —”

“Don’t argue or I’ll leave without you. Your choice, rook.” I shrug my shoulders to reinforce my words.

“Glad to know you enjoy your power trip enough, you live in it twenty-four/seven.”

She needs to take this more seriously. I take a step forward and close the short distance between us. “It’s not a power trip. It’s called trying to keep you alive. You got a problem with that?” Her comment grates on my nerves that are already frayed because she’s showing her naïveté. I’m on the farthest thing from a power trip when it comes to this.

“Nope. Just a little confused. I’m not supposed to have your back?” She angles her head to the side and stares at me, the thin cotton of her shorts giving absolutely everything away beneath, and fuck if she’s not doing it on purpose to distract me.

My eyes burn into hers – the darkest of emerald green – a slight nod of my head the only acknowledgment that she has a point.

“Get covered up,” I tell her. “The last thing we need is to draw attention to us because…” My voice trails off as I gesture at her attire, but I silently complete the thought: because you’re so goddamn gorgeous you could stop traffic.

She walks past me without a word toward the dresser and bends over as she rifles through the contents. And of course the movement affords me a very fine visual to add to the one I’ve already created where her hair is wrapped around my fist.

By the time I clear away the thought, Beaux is looking over her shoulder as she straightens up. “Do you mind?”

I’ve been caught looking but refuse to apologize. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

She glares until I hold my hands up in surrender and walk toward the door to let her get dressed. Before I open it, I stop, facing the door with my head hung down, and give her a tiny little inch in that mile I’m holding over her head.

“My rules? They’re not a power trip. I’m making sure we fit in and follow their cultural beliefs,” I murmur in a tone completely devoid of any smugness. “Men must be in charge of their women here. If they see you lacking obedience, then they’ll think I have no control and will be less responsive to me. And I have to have the locals’ respect for them to think I’m honorable enough to give me information, risk their lives, and jeopardize their families’ safety.”

For some reason I have a feeling the obedience thing is going to be a problem.

Chapter 7




Sitting in the front seat of the beat-up Isuzu taxi on the way to the meet, with the smell of the dirt surrounding us, the motion of the car over the bumpy roads, the native music in my ears, I can’t believe I actually missed this place. Normally I’d have my Worldwide News–appointed translator driving me, but I have a feeling his absence is another means through which Rafe is trying to confine me to the hotel, at least until I’ve been here long enough to prove my stable state of mind.

The familiar sights and sounds of the foreign country make it easy to slip back into things even though I’ve been gone a good while. I glance back at Beaux in the seat behind the driver, the constant sound of her camera shutter clicking an accompaniment to the squeak of the car’s nonexistent struts. With her head scarf on, dark hair tucked beneath the fabric, and her caramel-colored complexion, she could easily fit in here in this society if it weren’t for the camera plastered to her left eye as she documents life beyond the car.

I have the driver pull over a few blocks shy of the meeting place. As we exit the car, I flash the equivalent of one hundred U.S. dollars to him as a promised bonus if he sits tight and waits. You never know when the next cab will come along in this place, so I learned a long time ago that it’s worth the money spent to ensure a return trip.

Beaux falls in step behind me, her head scarf draped over the lower part of her mouth, and her camera still resting against her cheek as she captures images of a destroyed city. We begin to walk, and I make sure that she stays slightly behind me and on the inside of the path.

Old habits die hard. Chivalry is definitely not dead in my book.

The closer we get to the old market, the more I scan my surroundings and notice little things that have changed in my absence. My eyes work the area, my mind and body completely alert and cautious of all movement around us, but the hustle and bustle of people heading home after work makes it that much more difficult.

We pass the market and circle back around it so I can check out the surrounding area, make sure everything looks okay. I grab Beaux’s hand at one point, act like we are a couple when we walk by a crowded restaurant, but then release it after we pass it. I don’t need the shit that happens to my body when we touch clouding my thoughts right now.

When my instinct tells me that everybody is going on with their everyday lives except to eye the out-of-place couple we make, we dart into a small alleyway that leads us to the rear of the market. With each step, my pulse beats faster and a sheen of sweat that has nothing to do with the heat causes my shirt to stick to my shoulders. A rush of nerves starts to rise up in my gut as I push past the memories I can’t deal with right now. And just as the narrow lane opens up to a larger opening, I turn to face Beaux.

“Cover your face up,” I instruct since her head scarf has fallen some and the last thing we need is to draw more attention to two Westerners in this part of town. She complies as my eyes dart over her shoulder to make sure that everything is still okay. Things change here at the drop of a hat, so I know to never let my guard down.

“Remember what I said?” I have to ask her again, have to make sure that she’s not going to pose any risk right now because I’ve got enough shit to worry about and I can’t have her be an added concern. She nods, eyes intense, and what I can see of her shrouded expression is serious.

“How do you know him? Have you met before? Is his information reliable? Can you —”

“You sure are full of questions for someone who is supposed to be keeping her mouth shut.”

“I just like to know what I’m walking into, that’s all.”

I sigh, knowing I’d be demanding answers to the same damn questions. So I can’t fault her for asking them. Just this once, I decide to break my own rules and tell her a bit of his background. “His name is Omid and —”

A familiar and unique-sounding whistle from across the common area interrupts what I’m saying. I whip my head up to see my source in the shadows across the way. I have sunglasses on, but he knows I see him because he motions for me to come across the space and toward him.

My stomach somersaults.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, rookie,” I mutter under my breath, and notice her double take in my peripheral vision as I take the first step. I’m hyperaware of the sights and sounds surrounding us, including the unsteady pattern of Beaux’s breathing behind me. If I’m unsettled even though I’ve done this hundreds of times, her nervousness must be off the charts.

As we expose ourselves in the common area and close the distance, I’m conscious of everything around us, instinct giving way to education, and the weight of the gun tucked in my waistband offers a false sense of security that I know doesn’t mean shit.

The moment we step into the shadows where Omid stands, he comes forward to meet me halfway. His eyes dart over to where Beaux stands behind me; his hand extends to shake mine despite the leery look he directs at me. And I know he hates that I’ve brought her because anyone new is a potential risk to his identity being uncovered, but I just nod my head to him and use hand gestures to tell him she’s okay.

He stares at me and waits, and after a minute I realize that I forgot to remove my sunglasses, which has always been an unspoken rule between us so that we can read each other’s eyes.