Covert Evidence (17 page)

She turned on the water, grateful for the hot spray. She’d felt a sudden chill at the idea of how close they’d both come to getting blown up and needed the heat of the shower to wash away both the grime of the explosion and the fear.

The room was a sea of steam by the time she emerged. She toweled off, then ran her fingers through her hair to detangle it. Her brush was in her suitcase in the main room. She’d thought to bring a condom into the bathroom, but not a brush. Yeah, well, priorities. She had them.

She stepped out of the bathroom. As ordered, John was stretched out on the bed. His feet were at the head while his cheek rested on a pillow at the foot. He’d turned on the TV to CNN International and had positioned himself to watch on his belly, and then fell asleep during her lengthy shower.

Damn. Could she fail him any more? She’d promised to tend his wound and instead took a shower and had a pity party while he waited. Now he was finally resting, and cleaning the burn would wake him.

He’d laid first aid items out on the dresser. She grabbed saline solution and cotton swabs. On the TV, images of the aftermath of the explosion at the checkpoint filled the screen. She knew the explosion would be news but was surprised to see it on the international channel. She hit the volume button so she could hear the British newscaster’s voice-over.

John stirred as she dabbed at the burn with the solution, but he didn’t wake. The information on the news was as expected. Speculation of a terrorist attack. A Kurdish separatist group named as the likely perpetrators with additional speculation that it could be a new branch of ISIS.

Wound clean, she broke the seal on the antibiotic ointment and applied it to his skin. John woke fully, a soft smile on his handsome face when he shifted his sleepy head to meet her gaze. “How long have I been out?”

“Only ten or fifteen minutes.” She finished spreading the cream and pulled out a gauze bandage. “How’s the pain?”

“I took a painkiller. Non-prescription, but still, stronger here than we have in the US. So not bad.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.” She ripped off strips of tape and secured the gauze. “You hungry?”

“Starving. There’s some canned food in the cupboards.”

“Sounds delicious.”

He laughed, then his eyes lit with heat. He plucked at the towel she wore around her torso. “You didn’t get dressed.”

She shrugged.

On the TV, footage of a Turkish official making a statement condemning the attack was interrupted. The image flipped back to the anchor desk. “We have a startling development in the Turkish bombing investigation.”

John’s focus was on the TV as he said, “We can get groceries after we both sleep for a few hours.”

She nodded, more focused, like him, on the TV. “What do you think is going on?”

“We received an anonymous tip,” the anchor said, “that a suspect in the bombing is actually a CIA operative who allegedly turned double agent.”

Shock made air whoosh from Cressida’s lungs. “Your associate is CIA? I thought he worked for Raptor.”

The reporter continued, “With two anonymous sources confirming the information, CNN has decided to disclose the man’s identity, because he’s armed and dangerous and may have already killed one Turkish soldier.”

John lunged for the TV. A picture flashed across the screen. Cressida caught a glimpse just before John hit the power button and the image disappeared.

The picture hadn’t been of some man she’d never seen. No. The picture had been a snapshot of a bearded John Baker.

Chapter Eighteen

I
an stood in front of the TV, frozen. Shocked. Stunned. Rocked to his core. Never in all his years as a covert operative had he ever imagined what this moment could or would feel like. He’d been burned. His life’s work gone in an instant.

He’d been labeled a terrorist. A double agent. A traitor. Bile rose in his throat.

Every faction would now be gunning for him. Shoot to kill.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, he had Cressida to deal with. Turning off the TV had been a stupid mistake. It hadn’t prevented her from seeing his picture and hearing the lies, but it had stopped him from finding out what had been disclosed.

Cressida pummeled his good shoulder, demanding answers. He brushed her aside and hit the power button on the TV.

“—Ian Boyd is considered armed and dangerous,” the news anchor said as another picture of him appeared on the screen, this one from when he was in the Army and beardless.

Shit
. He was well and truly cooked.

“Boyd has been an employee of the United States Central Intelligence Agency for the last five years. Prior to that, he served in the military. He received several medals for his service and served as an operator with the US Army’s secretive tier-one counterterrorism unit popularly known as Delta Force.”

“They left out my years in college,” he murmured. “You’d think they’d be all over my Middle Eastern studies degree.”

Cressida glared at him. She was afraid, but he gave her credit for not showing it. She grabbed clean clothes from her suitcase and marched into the bathroom.

The layout of the small room came to mind.
Crap!
There was a window to the courtyard behind the ground floor apartment. He tried the knob. Locked. “I’m not a double agent, Cressida. Zack is. Open the door. We need to talk.”

“I’m getting dressed.”

“And I’ve seen you naked. So open up.”

“No.”

“Then step back, because I’m busting the door down.” He kicked the knob. The frame splintered, and the door swung wide.

Cressida’s head and shoulders were through the high window. She was halfway to freedom but struggled to get her knee up so she could straddle the ledge.

“Sonofabitch. I don’t need this,” he muttered as he grabbed her hips. She kicked backward, but he cinched his arms tight, preventing her from hurting him as he dragged her back through the window. “Cool it. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She twisted in his arms and pounded on his chest. When that failed, she landed a blow on the bandage.

Pain exploded. White light flashed behind his eyes. He dropped her and staggered backward. She landed on her ass at his feet. Her eyes were wide, round, and full of nut-grinding fear.

He struggled to breathe as his nerve endings flamed. He slumped down against the doorframe. Cold sweat gathered at his hairline. He faced her across the short stretch of floor. “Don’t. Do that. Again.”

“You lied to me.”

“Of course I did.” Pain receded by slow millimeters.

“You don’t even feel bad about it.”

“No. Why should I? I was doing my job. For Uncle Sam.” He shrugged and added, “You lied about your name.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a traitor.”

“Then explain why the first time I saw you, you were hanging out with a terrorist.”

Her eyes widened. “You were there?”

“Of course.”

She dropped her head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. “Am I your mission?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There’s a microchip with information vital to Hejan’s group. He gave it to you. My mission was to follow the chip.”

She lowered her chin, meeting his gaze. “How do you know Hejan gave me anything?”

“Hejan had turned against his group. He was gathering intelligence for me. For the CIA.”

She fixed him with a glare. “If you’re a double agent, I won’t shed a tear when you’re caught and killed.”

For a cat with her paw caught in a trap, she was awfully bold. And equally likely to bite him. “Do I need to sleep with one eye open?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t beat me, Cressida. I’m not just CIA. I’m Delta. I’ve run ops. I’ve killed for my country. A few hours ago, a man died while I protected you. I could have saved him. I chose you. So keep in mind that a wisp of a young scholar won’t get the best of me, no matter how beautiful. No matter how much I want to fuck you.”

Her eyes widened at his blatant declaration. “Was your plan to screw me so I’d be lulled into submission? Was this some sort of twisted James Bond thing?”

“I hit on you on the flight and at dinner for the job. The kiss in the elevator was also on Company time. But the rest has been because I’m a man and find you attractive. So shoot me.”

“I intend to.”

He laughed at that, his gaze scanning her from head to toe. “I’ve never slept with anyone who didn’t know my real name.”

“What, do you want a medal? And you didn’t seem to hesitate in the shower.”

He shrugged and leaned his head back against the doorjamb. “A beautiful, naked woman who I very much want to fuck stepped into the shower with me. I’ve never claimed to be noble. If you hadn’t touched the burn, I’d have slid deep inside you and would have enjoyed every hot thrust. You would have too.”

Her pupils dilated. In spite of everything, his words aroused her. Hell, him too. Raw honesty was a heretofore unknown turn-on. The way her cheeks flushed with desire every time he said he wanted to fuck her just made him want to keep saying it. “I didn’t plan to seduce you. Hell.
I’m
not the one who brought the condoms. But I still want to fuck you. Very much.”

She cleared her throat. He loved the way she did that and wanted to keep making her throat dry with desire. It was the only thing that sounded remotely good in a world where he’d just lost everything that mattered to him.

“Who are you working for?” she asked in a husky voice.

“Up until about ten minutes ago, the CIA. Now, apparently, I’m a free agent.”

“Al-Qaeda? Kurdish separatists?” She paused and sucked in a sharp breath. “ISIS?”

He sighed. She was determined to steer this conversation in non-titillating directions. “Hejan was a Kurdish separatist. I was his case officer. His manager.”

“The story you told, about how you learned Turkish, was that true?”

“Yes. And I did grow up in Chicago.” What could he say to gain her trust? It was going to be a long-ass journey to the consulate if she fought him the entire way. “Like yours, my mom was a single mother. And like you, I don’t know my father’s name. But I can do you one better. My dad was
a
john. My mom’s sick joke was to name me after him. Ian is John in Gaelic. So my preferred alias isn’t just a convenient common name.”

He kept all emotion out of his voice as he told her that. Hell, he’d
never
told anyone that. Not even Altan, his best friend and next-door neighbor who’d known exactly how his mother earned the money to pay for her ever-increasing addictions.

“Where is your mother now?” she asked.

Ian shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t give a damn.” He lifted his chin at the condemnation in her eyes. “Don’t judge me, Cressida. She doesn’t deserve my consideration.”

Those beautiful brown eyes cast downward. “I’m sorry,” she said, with a slight catch in her voice.

He gave a short, sharp nod and swallowed the lump in his throat. He could go days, weeks even, without thinking of his mother and preferred it that way.

He slowly rose to his feet, reaching out a hand to pull her up. Not surprisingly, she refused his help but stood anyway. “Microwaved canned beans are waiting for us. And now that you know who—and what—I am, it’s time you tell me everything Hejan told you. Zack drove us to ground instead of killing us for a reason. My guess is you know something or have something he wants. Did Hejan give you anything besides the digital recorder?”

I
t took all Cressida’s willpower to keep her face blank and not touch the evil eye pendant. She didn’t trust John—
dammit, Ian
—not by a long shot. She’d tell him about the pendant only if she decided she could trust him.

Ian’s question clicked everything into place. Aside from the digital recorder and the translated map—which had been taken from her hotel room in Van—the only other item Hejan had given her was the pendant. He’d given it to her in private and had been particularly tense about it. The pendant was important. But why? What made it special?

Maybe when John—
crap, Ian
—was asleep, she’d be able to check it out.

She ate her beans and told him about Hejan. What else could she do? She couldn’t run. He’d stop her before she made it to the door. She was entirely dependent upon him.