Covert Evidence (38 page)

Little things she’d taken for granted as an American woman.

After they pinpointed the tunnel based on Cressida’s calculations of the distances they’d traveled, she was led to a bathroom, complete with a deep claw-foot tub.
Oh, blessed plumbing.

She stripped off her dirty, sweat-soaked T-shirt and jeans, noting streaks of blood on the shirt from scrapes earned while digging their way out of a dark, dry tomb. She soaked a long time in the hot water, easing aching muscles while ridding herself of layers of dirt. With closed eyes, she allowed herself to indulge in a fantasy of a shared bath with Ian in a deluxe suite in a luxury hotel, but a glance around her surroundings reminded her that she didn’t need luxury to be happy. She figured she’d be content anywhere with Ian.

After the bath, she returned to the living room, which was lined with narrow cots, a makeshift military barrack in what had once been a single-family home. Exhausted from days of walking, digging, and well over twenty-four hours since she’d last slept, she collapsed on a cot, too tired to even wonder where Ian was. Guarded and tense, she couldn’t imagine being able to sleep in spite of her exhaustion. She listened to the quiet conversation of soldiers—both male and female—being carried on in the next room. Unable to understand the low, even sounds, her brain morphed them into a soft white noise that offered comfort, a signal that all was fine in the war zone, allowing her to drift into a light sleep.

I
an watched Cressida sleep, her dark, damp hair a shimmering halo around her face. It was a relief, almost, to be able to look at her without seeing the fear and hurt in her eyes. Fear he’d triggered. Hurt he’d caused.

He’d known from their first meeting she had a strong need for male approval, and when he’d read her bio later, he’d understood why. Yet even knowing this, he’d pushed and manipulated, finally taking what she offered but giving her none of what she wanted in return.

He wanted her. Unequivocally. He’d meant his vow about the hotel, and if she agreed to it, he’d sure as hell follow through.

He’d lay down his life to get her out of this mess. But could he give her more than his body?

He couldn’t imagine that. He’d been in the espionage game too long to have the kind of heart that did anything other than pump blood.

His life was an elaborate poker game. Bluffing, high stakes. He always had to be prepared to fold and wait for the next hand or go all in, because he’d known when he started playing there’d be no walking away from the table.

Ian was an excellent poker player. But then, he loved the game. His boss—and now Cressida—had speculated it was the
only
thing he loved, and they were both probably right. But now the game could end. One card left to draw. His opponent was sitting on an inside straight, while Ian held three jacks. With the right card, it was anyone’s hand.

And here he was, staring at Cressida, thinking about the game. She deserved better than a coldhearted bastard whose life was an exercise in deceit. She’d had enough deceit.

One of the soldiers—a woman—sidled up to him and whispered, “You don’t look at her like she’s an assignment, Ian Boyd.”

Thank God the woman spoke Kurdish, as she echoed the words he’d told all the soldiers when they quizzed Cressida with eager enthusiasm because it was rare for them to meet an American woman of like age.

Ian shuttered his expression, turning on the spy with ease. “Did they find the tunnel?” he asked.

She nodded. “We will deliver you across the river, as agreed.” She nodded toward the kitchen in the back of the house. “There is food. Wake her?”

He paused, considering. Cressida had to be hungry, but she needed sleep even more. The river crossing would be dangerous, as would be the drive to Erbil. She had to be rested and ready, and they had hours until they set out. “Not yet. I’ll make sure she eats before we leave.”

With a nod, the soldier left, and Ian stretched out on the cot next to Cressida. He needed to be ready for the crossing too.

He slept for several hours, waking in the early evening. Cressida was up. She sat quietly in the corner, gazing out the window. Lost in thought. He assembled two plates of food and returned to her side. They ate in the gathering darkness. Light created a target, and while this house, this neighborhood was currently safe, everyone knew that could change in a flash, so no lights were lit. Ever.

The lengthening gray shadows reminded Ian of their first meal together, at the restaurant in Van, when he’d introduced her to Kurdish cuisine. She licked her fingers after taking a bite, and that fast, Ian was hard.

Because he had heretofore unknown masochistic tendencies, he slid a bite of
shish taouk
from a skewer and dipped it in a sauce. “Try this,” he said, bringing the morsel to her lips.

As he’d hoped, she took a bite. Her beautiful brown eyes closed, a soft smile and relaxed lidded eyes said she savored the flavor. Those heavy lids lifted to a sexy half-mast as she leaned forward and took the rest of the bite. This time she brazenly flicked her tongue against his fingers.

The woman was a sadist. And he her willing victim.

They stared at each other in silence across the shadowy table. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Wheels up in thirty.”

She rolled her eyes. “Chicken.”

When it came to her? Probably. But he owed her the unvarnished truth. “This is my life, Cress. How I feel doesn’t matter. I’m a spy.”

“Not anymore.”

She’d shown her cards too soon. It was a solid move, but spying was too deeply ingrained. After years in the business, he couldn’t handle love and the vulnerabilities it invited. But that didn’t change the fact that he wanted her. If she let him, next time he’d seduce her properly and wouldn’t be a raging ass afterward. “One week,” he said.

She raised a brow in question.

“The Hay-Adams or wherever you want to go. I can give you a week.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want ephemeral. I can get that from a bar pickup seven days a week. That’s not what I want from you.” She stood and left the room. A moment later, he heard her in the kitchen, offering to help wash using words she must have learned from the women in the nomad camp.

Pain lodged in his gut over the finality in her rejection. He’d expected it. Hell, he deserved it. But it didn’t make accepting it any easier.

He occupied himself before their departure with helping the soldiers prep for the river crossing: checking fuel tanks, and rehashing the plan, going over the maps. Busy work, as well as a strange ending to what had been an intense, private journey.

At last they were on the boat, a familiar, simple aluminum riveted hull propelled with an outboard motor and tiller steering. He could be back in Chicago prepping for a day on Lake Michigan, except this was nothing like that, with everyone on the boat armed with machine guns and the precious cargo to be delivered was the woman he wanted with every beat of his cold heart.

The crossing itself was almost anticlimactic after everything they’d been through.

A large, dark Humvee waited on the rise above the opposite bank. The team of Kurdish soldiers pointed their machine guns at the vehicle with unflinching vigilance. Ian pulled his own gun, and motioned for Cressida to do the same.

They would take no foolish chances.

The skipper steered the boat toward the beach, raising the motor as he did so. They ran aground, and two soldiers in front hopped over the bow onto the truncated beach.

From the shrubs that lined the bank, Ian heard the prearranged bird call. Sean Logan and his team.

Upon hearing the sound, Cressida tucked her gun away and jumped over the gunwale, splashing into the shallow water as she raced up the beach.

“Cressida! Wait.”

She ignored him, completely unmindful that she’d just created a target of herself. Ian would be dammed before he let anyone take a shot at her. He darted after her, catching her around the waist and pulling her back against his chest. “Wait.”

She shoved at him. “Let me go! We know it’s Sean.”

“Yes, but there could be others. Like Zack. And Todros. They could be waiting to take a shot at you.”

She froze. “Damn. I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”

“It’s okay. This isn’t your world. It’s mine.”

She leaned her forehead on his chest. “Your world sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

Their Kurdish escort surrounded them and walked them up the short beach. At the bank, Cressida glanced around for permission to climb. Ian gave a short nod, remaining at her back.

She’d taken two steps up the soft, silty slope, when a black man in fatigues emerged from the foliage, crouched down, and thrust his hand to her. “Hey, Cress. Long time no see.”

She let out a soft squeal and took his hand. He pulled her up and dropped her on the bank next to him, moving as he did so to block her from view of the river. As soon as her feet landed, she threw her arms around him.

Jealousy rocked Ian when Logan’s arms circled her and crushed her to his chest. Christ, he was pathetic. It was one thing to be jealous of Todros Ganem—the son of a bitch had lived with Cressida for the better part of a year—but he had zero cause to be jealous of Logan, and a million reasons to be grateful she counted the man as one of her friends.

But he couldn’t imagine how a man could be her friend and
not
want her. It was illogical, unthinkable. Like Earth without gravity. Impossible.

For the first time he considered how he’d feel someday upon hearing the news Cressida had fallen in love. That she’d gotten married. Or was having another man’s child.

How could he live with himself, knowing she could have been his, but he’d pushed her away?

He climbed the bank and was proud of himself for not yanking her from the Raptor operative’s arms.

Cressida pulled back. “Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” She nodded to Ian. “Sean Logan, this is Ian Boyd.”

The man offered his hand while giving Ian an assessing perusal. They shook hands. Firm, efficient. Not quite friendly.

That was okay with Ian. And he wouldn’t mind at all if the man would take his hand off the small of Cressida’s back.

The possessive feeling was probably a residual effect of being responsible for her safety for so long.

Yeah. He couldn’t swallow that lie, but if Cressida noticed his reaction, maybe she would.

Logan glanced down at the YPG rebels who waited, and waved to his team. Three men stepped forward, each carrying a large cardboard box, which they passed down into upraised arms.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“We’re paying the ransom.”

“Ransom?” she asked, her voice pitching higher than usual. “Weapons?”

Logan shook his head. “Food. Aid for families caught in the middle. And we’d have brought the supplies even if they hadn’t asked—err, demanded.”

She smiled, leaning into Logan, and the man draped his arm around her shoulder and steered her to the Humvee. “Get inside. It’s armored. You’ll be safe. I need to talk to Boyd.” When she started to protest, he added firmly, “Alone.”

With a frown, she climbed into the vehicle, and Logan turned to him.

Ian nodded to the last of the boxes as it was handed off. “What’s really in the boxes?”

“Like I said, food,” Logan answered. “Raptor doesn’t deal in arms.”

“Anymore,” Ian couldn’t help but add.

Logan nodded. “Not since Rav bought the company.”

Ian smiled as the soldiers loaded the boat. “Did they really demand a ransom?”

“They did. They weren’t afraid to seize an opportunity. Civil war does that.”

Ian silently agreed. If the women who’d picked them up from the steppe had for one moment considered Ian a threat, they’d have shot him in an instant. It didn’t take balls to make a soldier. Far from it. All you needed was desperation, and beheadings by ISIS and a chemical weapons attack on civilians launched by their own government made for a highly desperate population.

“Keith wanted me to warn you, odds are when we land at Andrews, you’ll be taken into custody. Cressida’s word will go a long way toward swaying the attorney general to get involved, but…she doesn’t have the best track record, and there’s only so much Dominick can do. The CIA and FBI don’t always play nice.” Logan’s gaze flicked to the boat. “This is your chance to disappear quietly. We can say there was a firefight during the crossing. You fell in the Tigris.”

Did Logan want him to take this out?

More important, was it what Ian wanted?

If he stayed, he could go after Zack. He had a place in Cizre. He could finish the mission.

Odds were, if he stayed, he’d never clear his name. He’d disappear into the Middle East, never able to return home. The world, his boss, his Delta Force team, they’d all believe him a traitor. But he could still gather intel for his country. It would just be delivered through different channels.

He had no doubt Cressida would try to clear him. With the chip, she might even succeed. But if she didn’t, if she couldn’t, he’d never see her again.

Stay or go?

“I’m going home,” he said firmly. Strange to call it home. He didn’t have a clue where home was.