The Impossible Alliance Page 10

  Nothing.

  Dammit. What had Karl gone to his death trying to tell her?

  “Relax. We’ve got more than we had.”

  She jerked her hands down. “What? Exactly what have we got? Confirmation he was shot? That his throat was slit, too? A first-year medical student could have given you that. We need more. Answers. According to Agents Taylor and Williams, DeBruzkya has been snatching up gems all over the world for almost a year. But if DeBruzkya tried to kidnap me, then Lily Scott and Robert Davidson were wrong, and Karl was right. There has to be more to this Gem of Power than a dictator intent on using some ancient hokey legend to cow his subjects and keep them in line. Still, why me? I may be into lapidary, but it’s strictly a scientific hobby. My interest in gems has never involved polishing up diamonds and rubies and plunking them into chunks of gold so some woman can hang them from her blasted ears!”

  “Re—”

  “I swear to God, Jared. If you tell me to relax one more time, I’ll slug you again and this time it’ll hurt.”

  He closed his mouth.

  A moment later, the left end bumped up. The lopsided smile spread across his lips.

  “What?”

  “It hurt the first time.”

  “Oh.” She flushed. Why? She’d apologized. She certainly hadn’t invited the man to crawl into her bed to try to wake her from that nightmare. And she certainly hadn’t asked him to stay.

  He finally seemed to realize that, too.

  She was certain when he shifted.

  Unfortunately the bunk wasn’t designed for one body of their size, let alone two. The mattress dipped beneath them, pushing him closer, shoving his groin directly into the flat of her belly. He froze as the same independently minded leg that had reacted several mornings before stiffened again. But instead of buffering the contact, the soft fleece of their sweats did the opposite, enhancing the ridge, as well as the heat. The awareness.

  He flushed.

  She watched, mesmerized by the tide as it spread up his neck, slowly merging with the splotch still riding the edge of his jaw. She reached up and smoothed her index finger over the slight bruise that had formed beneath the whiskers.

  His jaw tensed. So did his…leg.

  She ignored the klaxon blaring in her head, openly defying it as she slipped her fingertip up over his morning shadow until she reached his lips. Those smooth, dangerously sensual lips. For three days she’d awoken to this face and these lips. And for three days she’d somehow managed to turn her back on them, gather up her bar of soap and her towel and head out to that godawful freezing pond where she’d punished herself for the very desires that were pulsing through her now.

  Well, not today.

  Today, she was caving in to temptation.

  She captured his gaze and held it, daring him to look away as she teased her fingertip across his bottom lip. His slow, deep exhale washed her hand, warming her hand as she reached the corner of his mouth. She stopped, reversed direction and traced her fingertip back across the upper curve. Gooseflesh rippled down her arm as he finally inhaled, sharply.

  She paused at the center. Stared.

  His gaze flared and grew hotter, until the amber glowed.

  He was going to kiss her.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  She could feel it in her belly and she could feel it in her soul. And God help her, she wanted to kiss him, too. For once she wanted to give in to the fantasy—in reality. She felt the slight, almost infinitesimal pressure as he leaned forward ever so slowly, but then he stopped. A moment later he pulled back. No more than a fraction of an inch. It felt like a mile.

  He’d changed his mind.

  Janice? Was that it? Was he still hung up on the woman who’d dumped him three months before? It was the only explanation that made sense. More than some hang-up about a dusty academic title and a couple letters tacked on after her name. Especially since she now knew he could have racked up the entire alphabet and strung it after his if he’d wanted to.

  And then it hit her. No, it slugged her.

  What was she thinking, much less doing? She should be thanking him, not whining. What if he had kissed her? What if he’d plowed his fingers into her hair and hauled her close as he had in her dreams? What if he’d covered her still-thrumming body with his and delved deeply between her lips? And what if those sultry dreams then turned into her worst nightmare—as he discovered the rest? The real her.

  What then?

  She dropped her hand and then her gaze as the reality of her life locked back in. She stared at the medallion, this time really looking at it. It wasn’t new. Several fine scratches marred the surface. Had it been a gift from her? Was that why he still wore it? Driven by curiosity and its unexpected stepsister, jealousy, she reached out and slipped her finger beneath the coin.

  “Who is this guy?”

  He dropped his gaze. For a moment she didn’t think he was going to tell her. But then he sighed. “Saint Nicholas.”

  She waited for him to elaborate.

  He didn’t.

  “Saint Nicholas? As in…red suit, eight reindeer, North Pole? That St. Nick?”

  The side of his mouth quirked. “No.”

  Again she waited.

  But again…nothing.

  This time she sighed. Loudly. “You know, for an ARIES agent who professes to be my partner, not to mention someone who’s been actively digging through my brain for three days combing for memories, you’re pretty tight-lipped. You keep up this deluge of mindless chatter and I just might get the idea you don’t like me.”

  Silence.

  It might be her bed, but what the hell. She could take a hint. She dug her elbows into the mattress and pushed up, stopping only when she met a wall of hard muscle.

  “Do you mind?”

  He pulled himself off her and swung his legs to the floor. But he didn’t stand. He sat there, his broad shoulders and naked back to her as he stared across the cabin at the morning rays of sunlight beginning to stream in through the shutters. “He’s a patron saint. Catholic. It was a gift from my father to my mother. He hoped it would protect her and me until he saw her again.”

  Again? “They were separated?”

  He still didn’t turn, but he nodded. “Vietnam. He was drafted. He came from money, but he felt it was his duty to go. They planned to marry upon his return, hoped his family would come around while he was gone—you know, accept the ignorant wetback and all. But when she wrote to tell him she was pregnant, he panicked. He was afraid he’d never see her again.” Jared’s right hand slipped around to his front. “He sent this.

  “You said patron saint. Like Christopher?”

  Another nod. “Christopher is the patron saint of travelers. He looks after them. Intercedes on their behalf.”

  “So this Nicholas looks out for…?”

  “Infants, children. And the dying.” He pushed his hand through his hair, shoving the bulk of it behind his shoulders. “He should have kept it. He ended up needing it more than she did.”

  “He was killed in action?”

  Yet another nod. But the iron set to his shoulders told her he’d shared more with her just now than he’d shared with almost everyone else in his life combined.

  Did she dare push it?

  Ignorant wetback. An ugly word for an even uglier, ignorant prejudice. “And your mom? Did they ever accept her?”

  “No.” He laughed softly, curtly. “Kind of ironic when you think about it.” He finally turned his head and stared into her eyes. “I got the memory from her.” With that, he stood.

  He stared down at her for several tense moments.

  She swore he was on the verge of adding something else, but then, like the kiss that wasn’t, he changed his mind.

  “Breakfast?”

  She blinked. That was it? He tossed out the first real insight into his inner self, waited until it landed in her lap and then wanted to just eat?

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Good.
I’m starved.”

  He should have kept his mouth shut.

  Jared glowered at the empty bunk across the cabin. Sam Hatch was right not to trust him completely.

  He truly was losing it.

  Why else had he dumped so much of his life into Alex Morrow’s hands? He couldn’t even be sure that was the woman’s real name. And there he was, pouring out his childhood, inviting her to examine it, judge it. He’d told himself she was right. That if they were going to function as a team, he needed to reveal something of himself. So why had he chosen that?

  What had he really hoped to gain? Her pity?

  It was the best he could hope for, anyway. Especially if she ever heard the rest of the sorry-assed story. Well, she wouldn’t. Not from him. Heck, all he had to do was hang around long enough and even he wouldn’t be able to remember it. Maybe there were benefits in hell after all. He already knew there weren’t any left here on earth. Not for him.

  Just torture.

  The past three days had been bad enough. The past two hours had almost killed him. He could still feel her fingertip tracing his lips. Just as he could still feel the urge to wrap his tongue around it and pull it into his mouth so he could taste it. So he could taste her. He would never know how he managed to turn his back on the invitation in those sea-green eyes, on that lush, exotic mouth. On what he knew in his soul would have been the hottest, most erotic kiss of his life.

  Breakfast?

  Ha! He hadn’t been able to take a single bite. Neither had she. Not with that not-quite kiss hanging between them. They’d spent the meal dancing around each other, instead, the cabin’s very air ripe with unspoken questions, deceptive answers and a damned-near-smoldering, inescapable desire.

  It was time to face facts.

  He was going stir-crazy—and so was she.

  He tore his attention away from that empty, rumpled bunk and fused it to his computer. He had a reprieve, dammit. He didn’t care if he read every file in the ARIES database before it expired, he was not going to waste the time speculating on how Alex’s morning bath was progressing.

  Jared dragged the laptop to the edge of the table, but as he settled back in his chair to decide on his next file, the computer’s alarm sounded. He straightened. They had mail. Urgent mail. Finally, something new to read, however brief. If he was really lucky, he might actually have something to do. He tapped his finger onto the touchpad with more force than necessary. The flash message was from their local ARIES operative.

  Even better.

  He tapped the touchpad again as the cabin door opened, intrigued enough with the subject line to resist the temptation to look up as the door closed.

  “What is it?”

  “E-mail. It’s from Marty.”

  “It’s about time.” Several water droplets splattered across the screen, as well as the back of his hand, as she dropped her towel on the table beside the computer. “What’s the verdict?”

  “It’s a go.”

  “Fantastic.” The bar of soap and shampoo hit the towel. “When do we leave?”

  Here it came. He finished the final details of the message and pushed the laptop away, forcing himself to ignore the slicked-back hair and water droplets that clung to her cheeks as he faced her. Instead, he focused on the shapeless men’s sweats she’d donned. “I’d like to go alone.”

  Those soft, green eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed. Hardened. “No.”

  He sighed. “Alex—”

  “I don’t think you heard me, partner. I said no.”

  Oh, he’d heard her. She just hadn’t been listening to him. He’d pulled her out of that makeshift hospital bed three days ago. She’d been awake off and on for maybe two before that.

  “You’re not ready.”

  That only earned him a snort. “This from the man who shot lidocaine in his ass an hour ago.”

  He bit his tongue at the sarcasm. Nor did he bother offering her a crash course in anatomy. His hamstring was below his ass, not in it. “The injections are for the residual pain, and you know it. If I had to, I could go without. In fact, I’ll be off the lidocaine by tomorrow. But that’s not the point. The fluid volume in my bloodstream is back to normal.”

  “So am I.”

  “You can’t know that for sure. Neither can I. Yes, your vitals are fine, but you still haven’t been able to recall whatever it was that Karl Weiss tried to tell you. Nor have you let me close enough in the light of day to examine that scar on your scalp, much less take those blasted stitches out.”

  “Fine, take them out. Either way, I’m going.”

  He stared at her, stunned by the determination in her eyes. Now she was willing? After he’d just gotten e-mail from Marty telling him that not only did Roman Orloff check out, but they had to leave immediately.

  “I can’t.”

  She stiffened. “You can’t what?”

  “Take them out. Not now. I don’t have time.”

  She crossed her arms and waited.

  Christ. He might have known this woman only for a handful of days, but he was already well acquainted with that look. She was not about to give in. Nor would she wave him off and wait patiently behind. He sighed. “We don’t have time. Especially if you’re coming. I’ll have to take them out tonight. Marty’s managed to arrange transport with a local rebel fighter. But we’ll have to really hoof it to make that truck. The main road is thirty minutes due north.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  He stood there, stunned, as she scooped the toiletries and towel from the table and headed for her bunk. She tossed them into one of the crates doubling as her dresser and proceeded to strip the sweats off her body without even waiting to see if he’d turned away. By the time he’d grabbed their handheld GPS unit, she’d donned a sweater, fresh jeans and her work boots. She jerked her gaze toward him as she reached the door.

  “Come on, Jared. Let’s go.”

  Maybe it was her decision to finally let him at those stitches. Maybe it was the speed with which she’d changed. Maybe it was the barely restrained impatience burning within those eyes. He couldn’t be sure. But as he locked the cabin door behind them, he had the distinct feeling that Alex Morrow had her own reasons for wanting to reach Rajalla, her own agenda. An agenda that had nothing to do with their mission.

  They’d been standing in line for six hours.

  Alex ignored the generously muscled arm looped gently but possessively over her shoulders, as well as the distracting thumb that grazed the side of her neck. Instead, she studied the trio of bullet holes in the tinted glass of Rajalla’s main hospital doors. According to one of the files her doting “fiancé” had recently memorized, they’d been put there a week ago.

  A moment later the double doors opened.

  A camouflaged forearm shot out just far enough to wave the next woman and her daughter through. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the endless line of silent, stoic patients behind. Heck, even the infants and toddlers around them seemed reluctant to voice more than a cough and a whimper. It was as if they somehow knew that crying wouldn’t do any good.

  Alex caved in to curiosity and counted the bodies still separating her and Jared from the front doors. Thirteen. God only knew how many women, children and the occasional grandfather had already made it inside. By the time they’d arrived at ten this morning, the line had already stretched around the front of the hospital and all the way down the side of the block. She was afraid to turn around and see how far the line stretched now, lest she be tempted to move to the back.

  The thumb grazed her neck again, this time soothingly, as if its owner had read her mind.

  She breathed out as she worked to loosen the ever-tightening threads of desire those warm, steady fingers had been knotting inside her belly all day. As long as the man kept his mouth shut and that subtle, toe-curling Texas drawl to himself, she’d be fine. Unfortunately that same owner compounded the caress when he leaned cl
ose, his breath stirring the curls against the side of her face, to murmur huskily into her ear.

  “Relax. We’ve got another thirty minutes till we hit those doors, maybe forty-five.”

  She closed her eyes, wishing for the thousandth time since they’d arrived that she was deaf in her left ear and not her right. Anything to escape that subtle drawl. “Wanna bet?” Jared knew as well as she did that the entire line would step back to make way the moment the next gunshot victim showed up.

  His sigh washed her ear.

  She braced herself against the murmur that was sure to follow—then downright stiffened as the opening syllables were drowned out by squealing tires a good two blocks away.

  They spun about together, eyes and ears straining as both their heights afforded them an advantage over the shorter Rebelian natives who made up the rest of the now palpably apprehensive crowd. Moments later a rusted black-and-white cab screamed into view. The human line lurched backward as the cab’s right wheels ripped up and over the cobbled curb before shrieking to a halt. Metal ground against metal, chewing up gears as the elderly cabbie wrenched the car’s stick shift into neutral. The man didn’t even bother killing the engine as he leaped out, words spewing from his mouth in an incoherent torrent of Rebelian, German and Russian.

  Unfortunately there was more Rebelian and Russian than German in the mix. She’d barely had time to translate boy and blood when Jared grabbed her arm, dragging her with him as he vaulted forward. He pushed his way through the crowd converging on the cab, not stopping until they’d reached the rear passenger door. She caught sight of a gaunt, keening, elderly woman, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched a boy, no more than four or five, cradling his dark head close as she rocked him against her chest. Alex lost sight of the woman and child as Jared gently but firmly shoved the still-babbling cabbie out of the way.

  She nearly threw up as he yanked the car door open.

  “Jesus H. Chri—”

  “Grab his leg!”

  She didn’t have to ask which one. There was only one.

  The poor tyke was missing a hand, too, leaving mutilated, seeping stumps where his right wrist and knee had been. She lifted the child’s bare left foot and tugged it toward her so Jared could grasp the boy beneath his limp shoulders and waist.