Dangerous Assignment (Aegis Group Book 4) (16 page)

He didn’t want to wake her, but one wrong move and she could tumble out of the window.

Luke crossed to her and knelt, placing one hand on her knee.

Abigail’s eyes opened, her pupils still dilated from sleep.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She sat up, wincing, no doubt due to the unnatural pretzel she’d contorted herself into, and stretched.

“How long?” she muttered.

“Maybe half an hour?” He squeezed her knee.

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you get in bed?”

“I was going to.” She slouched, looking more like a sleepy girl than the badass spy. There was still blood under her nose and dirt—everywhere.

“Let’s get you into bed. Want something to eat?” He took her hand and stepped back, pulling her to her feet.”

“I want a shower.” She swayed and rubbed at her eyes again.

“You can do that first.” He turned her by the shoulders and gave her a nudge toward the bathrooms.

Abigail was at the end of her strength. She’d held out, undergoing far worse treatment than he’d received, and kept going. In a word, she was amazing.

Luke guided her into the bathroom, grateful to Marco and the others for giving up the coveted corner room with the big shower and soaker tub.

“Shower or bath?” he asked.

She looked at the tub with longing.

“Shower. I’d fall asleep and drown myself in there,” she finally said.

Luke turned on the shower and cranked up the heat. Abigail stood there, watching him with flat, exhausted eyes.

He’d make sure she showered, ate something, and got in bed. Then he’d find someplace to crash. She deserved some peace and quiet without him or the others around.

“Up.” He grasped the hem of her tank top and lifted it over her head.

Bruises darkened her skin. In a couple of days, they’d paint her yellow, green and purple.

When he got his hands on Baron…

The guard was lucky she’d said to leave him alive.

“Trying to get in my panties?” She put one hand on his shoulder as he bent, tugging her pants down her legs. The heavy material was stiff, caked with dirt and stained with blood.

“Think they’d look good on me?”

Abigail laughed, the sound magical. Her smile made warmth spread through his chest, chasing away the darkness. She toed out of the boots and stepped out of the pants, leaving her in one sock, panties, and a bra.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, shoulder some of the burden, and kiss her until she smiled—but that was him. What he wanted. He wouldn’t put that on her. She didn’t need him, she needed rest.

“Water should be warm. There’s some shampoo and soap in there. Nothing too fancy but—hey.” He flattened his hands over hers on his stomach, his shirt bunched up in her fingers.

“Shower with me.” She tipped her chin up and leaned against him.

How could such a small thing topple a man?

With a look—that’s how.

“You should get some rest,” he said.

“You should scrub my back.” She wiggled her hands in his grasp, working his shirt up farther.

He could butt heads with her—and lose. Or he could do what they both wanted, and give in.

Luke tossed the offending shirt off and in the moment it took to go over his head Abigail already had his pants undone.

“I’m just here to scrub your back,” he said, more for himself than her.

Abigail shimmied out of her panties and turned, presenting the tantalizing view he loved. Damn, but the woman had a great ass. All toned and round.

“Right.” She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged off the bra.

He shed the rest of his clothing and followed her into the shower stall. The big, glass structure had plenty of room for two.

Abigail stood under the spray, slicking her dark hair back out of her face. He grabbed a washcloth from the shelf and joined her, gently grasping her chin in his fingers and swiping the terrycloth over her face. She closed her eyes and allowed him to wipe away the blood and grime. It would take longer for the rest to go away, the memories and the marks, but this much he could take from her.

“Hey.” He tapped her nose, trying for stern. “What are you doing?”

Her hands tightened around his cock.

“Making sure it’s still there?”

“Are you a computer whiz?”

“I’m good enough, why?”

“You know how to turn my software to hardware.”

Abigail outright giggled and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She had to be exhausted to have actually laughed at his stupid joke. Granted, whatever painkillers Marco had given her were bound to have kicked in by now. He let his hands slide over her slick body.

If this were a different time, if she hadn’t just been nearly tortured to death, they could have a lot of fun in a shower like this.

She needed to rest, though.

The fun would have to wait for later.

He grabbed the shampoo and handed it over. The body wash though, he squirted that in his hands while she lathered up her hair. He cupped her breasts, slicked the gooey stuff down her stomach and followed it with the wash cloth. She arched her back and smiled, her eyes heavily lidded.

If it could just be the two of them, things would be different. They could be a guy and a girl, more interested in the trouble they could get in than the trouble they were already involved with.

Abigail washed out her hair twice before she was satisfied and turned her back toward him. He rubbed the cloth over her shoulders, down her spine and sides, and spent far more time than was necessary polishing her ass. By the time he was done, he’d scrubbed every inch of her.

“My turn.” She grabbed the bottle of soap.

“I think I’m good.” He took a step toward the door.

If she got her hands on him—he was done.

“It’s only fair.” She hooked her fingers in his and tugged him toward the stone bench.

“You are supposed to get some rest,” he said.

“Sit.”

He sat on the cold bench, a chill racing up his spine.

She squirted a bit of soap in her palms and straddled his thighs. Her hands slid over his shoulders and chest with no real rhyme or reason.

“Something wrong?” She leaned forward until her breasts brushed his chest.

“Yeah, I think you missed a spot.”

“This one?”

She cupped his balls in one hand and his cock with the other. Her touch was firm, certain. Left in her very capable hands he’d come way too soon.

“Stay right there.” Her smile was all mischief and pleasure.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her toward him and trapping his aching dick between them.

“Let go,” she whispered against his mouth.

“You’re supposed to go to bed. You’re hurt.”

“A broken rib is nothing.”

“We are not playing the who’s-had-it-worse game.”

“It’s just a rib. I barely feel it.” She kissed his mouth, suckling his bottom lip and squeezing his shaft. “Let me say thank you to my hero. Help me not feel any pain.”

Luke snorted.

“Like you ever needed a hero.”

“Shut up and let me be grateful.”

He should say no, but where she was concerned, the guys were right: he was weak.

“Your wish is my command.”

Abigail held his gaze
. The blunt head of his cock pressed against her pussy. Sex with him was different. It was her and him. She didn’t have to be anyone else. She was who she chose to be, not who she needed to be. It was liberating. Freeing.

She exhaled as he penetrated her, stretching muscles, skin sliding against skin.

He was her choice.

No one else’s.

Hers.

Her past, the terrible things that haunted her, they couldn’t touch this. These moments with Luke were when it all faded away. There was no pain, no regret—just desire.

The shower spray hit her back, poured over her shoulders until it felt like a thousand fingers caressing her body. Yet the only touch that mattered was his. This invisible thing between them, the tether that kept her going. It all came back to him. To whatever it was they had.

She’d been so close to giving up back there in The Pit. All she’d had to hold on to was Luke. She didn’t deserve his faith in her. His friend had died because of her. But still Luke believed in her. Wanted her.

His hands cupped her breasts, palming their weight. She let her eyes close a little and leaned back, thrusting her chest forward. The water and her arousal eased his entry, allowing him to slip deep within her. She rolled her hips and squeezed him with her vaginal muscles until he groaned. She grinned, feminine power rushing through her until she was giddy with it. There was more than one way to bring a man to his knees.

Luke grasped her nipples and tugged, not too rough, but enough. She gasped, and her body melted. Just like that, she was putty in his hands. No pain, just pleasure. He rubbed his fingers over her breasts, easing the hurt, stroking the fire of her arousal higher. She groaned, and a little shudder shook her at his touch.

“You’re so damn beautiful.” His words were strained, but his touch was firm, demanding.

She’d been called beautiful before, but it was different when Luke said it. He knew her ugly truth. The worst things she’d done. And he still saw her as desirable. If he could look past all of it, couldn’t she? Somewhere along the way she’d lost herself, the guiding light that had led her. She needed him far more than he needed her, and yet he was the one holding on.

Abigail leaned forward and kissed Luke, drinking him in. She rose on shaky knees, squeezing him tight. His hands slid to her waist, guiding her, steadying her movements. He lifted his hips as she lowered herself, joining their bodies in a swift glide of skin on skin. She let her forehead rest against his, not shying away from the soul-deep eye contact. Her hips worked in tandem with his. What was supposed to be a fast coupling was now so much deeper than pleasure. At least to her. She could feel him inside of her, deep inside where only souls could touch.

She rose and fell, keeping her pace slow while his trusts remained hard, driving. There was a fierceness in his eyes, as if he dared her to look away, to deny what was happening between them.

Luke was a man who deserved more than she could give him. There was no future, no life for them. Just these moments. Did he know that?

Wherever she went, whoever she had to become next, she’d take a piece of him with her. Being with him had altered her. She’d broken conditioning because of him.

She pressed her mouth against his and closed her eyes, unable to look at his soul bared so openly in his gaze, the way he stared at her. He dug one hand into her hair, and his teeth nipped at her lip.

Her thighs shook with from the strain of such a demanding pace and her strength flagged. She slumped against him, curling her arms around his neck, drinking in his kiss.

Luke stood, hoisting her up in one smooth move, their mouths never parting, and put her back against the curved glass. She shivered from the chill of it, so different from the heat radiating from their bodies.

In one slow stroke, he rocked her to her toes. She tightened her grip around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder.

He touched all of her, inside and out, beyond skin. Her soul recognized his on such an elemental level. Not just their bodies, but their very beings seemed to mingle. She couldn’t take it anymore. Whatever this was, it was more than she was prepared for. Mossad had created her to be a weapon. That was all she knew how to be. She didn’t know how to do this.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying her best to keep all her emotions inside, hide how he was wrecking her with every thrust into her body, how he destroyed the walls she’d so carefully built over the years. He muttered words to her, sweet and naughty, as he thrust into her again and again. His hands gripped her ass, his chest pressed against hers.

He touched her so thoroughly, in a way no man ever had.

“Yael,” he whispered.

She choked down a cry. Her body shuddered, her toes curled, and she squeezed him harder. It felt so good it hurt. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, mingling with the droplets of water. She held on as he thrust harder, one hand against the glass, his mouth on her.

Luke was relentless. The kind of man who would never give up.

Abigail couldn’t love him. It would change everything, and possibly kill them both.

13.

Abigail stared at the
linen canopy stretched over the wooden frame. A cool sea breeze stirred the curtains and chilled her still-damp skin. She couldn’t move, but that didn’t stop her brain from turning over all her new problems.

She cared for Luke. She couldn’t pinpoint when—but at some point, not long after she’d laid eyes on him—his hooks had sunk in. How had she been so vulnerable? Where had she gone wrong? There was nothing that said she couldn’t care for another person, but she’d never allowed that to cloud her judgment. At least not until Luke walked into her life.

Right now all she wanted was an escape. With Luke. To be near him. To leave all of this behind. Her life as Yael, her history, her debt to the world.

Which was exactly why she had to leave. Why she couldn’t be with him.

She would always have enemies. For too long she’d lived under the false assumption that she was safe, that her presumed death protected the one person she loved. What would happen to Luke when it became known she was alive? His life would be in danger. His mother’s life would be in danger. Both of them would become leverage, a commodity to ensure her compliance.

For his sake, she needed to disappear before this got even more complicated. There was no hope for a future, even if that was what she wanted.

She could trust him to share the info on the warhead, taking it out of her hands. It would no longer be her responsibility.

The door opened and Luke stepped in, two plates balanced on his arm. All thought ceased and she could only stare.

He was beautiful, in a masculine way. Just looking at him made her insides turn to mush and her resolve crumble.

That was why he was dangerous. Because right now, he could ask anything of her, and she’d say yes.

“I’m not sure what the hell is in these things, but it’s all we got.” He handed one plate to her and sat on the edge of the bread. “Mystery stuffed pita bread.”

“My favorite.” She sat up and nibbled on it.

“Yeah, well, it’s edible and right now that’s all that matters.” Luke shifted until he could lean against the headboard, the plate balanced on his thighs. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt or shoes, just athletic shorts. Man, the view was everything she could want. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing.” She glanced down at her plate and took a bite.

Busted.

Caught staring.

“Did you get those yoga pants on sale?” he asked.

She glanced down at the black knit leggings someone had provided her.

“They—”

“At my house they’d be 100% off.” He reached across the bed and looped his arm around her hips, hauling her up next to him.

The line caught her so off guard she laughed, nearly choking on the food.

“That was awful.” And yet she snickered and giggled at him. When in her life had she
giggled
before? He made her young again. And happy.

“Made you smile, though.” He kept his arm around her waist and squeezed her hip. “You have the most beautiful voice.”

“Thanks. When I was little I used to sing and tell people I was going to be a pop star.” She leaned her head back and against his shoulder. “Look how far I’ve come.”

Maybe she’d stay through the night. She needed the rest, and his location was guarded. Plus, she’d have him in her bed with her. One night couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Zain has a plan,” Luke said around his mouthful of food.

“It can wait until you swallow.”

His jaw worked the food for a moment, and the muscles in his neck flexed. This up close and personal to him every mundane action was fascinating.

“You like it when I swallow.” He winked.

“You’re terrible.”

“And you still like me, sugar.”

She couldn’t admit that out loud, but they both knew it was true.

“It’ll take Zain about twelve hours to get your paperwork together. We’re going to push the guys home in groups of six. He thinks we should be on the nine o’ clock out tomorrow night. Until then, we lay low, stay inside, and work on a list.”

“He’s very thorough.” Abigail had a list, but she didn’t intend to share that with Luke’s team. The less they knew the better.

“Zain is the best. What he can’t get, he knows someone who can, and if he can’t find it out, give him a minute. He’ll get there.”

Shit.

She needed to get out of here.

Tomorrow morning, then.

“Any idea who might still know you’re alive?” he asked.

Abigail shook her head.

She’d been over it a dozen times in her head in the last ten minutes. But eventually she’d find a clue. Something that would tell her
who
. Because it had to be someone connected, someone close enough to her that they could anticipate her movements, knew her habits, her methods…

Baron was the only person alive who fit that model, but it couldn’t be him. Could it? Would the man who’d put the job before their marriage turn his back on that mission? Her gut said no, but had she ever truly known her ex-husband?

“You’ve got someone in mind,” Luke said.

She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed Luke was staring at her.

“What about Baron? Is that who you’re thinking of?”

“Yes.” She put the last bit of her pita on the plate, suddenly not hungry.

“Why couldn’t it be him?”

“You mean, how could it be him?”

“I can think of a lot of reasons why, but it’s better if you tell me why it can’t be him.”

“Because the job is the most important thing to him. Before family, his wife, children—anything—is work. The good of our people. To listen to him talk…” She sighed. If there was one gift Baron had, it was the way he spoke. He could be so passionate, so full of fire that it was contagious.

“Is it impossible that he’s soured? Gotten greedy?”

“Greedy? No. He’d wear a trash bag if that was all he had. I used…” Her heart didn’t ache. Her mouth worked soundlessly. When had that happened? She used to hurt at the thought of Baron. His memory had stabbed her, made her bleed, but not now.

Luke squeezed her and kissed her temple.

There wasn’t room for both Baron and Luke in her heart.

She slid her hands between her thighs to hide their trembling.

Her heart had chosen Luke.

No one could know what he meant to her. Ever.

The only reason she’d survived the last week was because of him. When she’d been ready to give up back in that hotel conference room—Luke had pulled her back. She’d been ready to say whatever Baron wanted her to—but Luke had been there. Reminding her of the truth. Propping her up when she didn’t have the strength to go on. He’d been stronger and braver than herself. She should be ashamed. For all her experience, for all her training, he was greater than she’d ever be. Because he could believe.

He was the reason she’d gone on. The reason she’d picked herself up, dusted the desert sands off and kept going.

For his sake, she had to leave. Because as long as she was near him, he was in danger. He’d done so much to keep her moving, the least she could do was leave.

Maybe… Maybe if she figured out who was behind this… There was always the chance she could end it. She’d have to lay low for a year or more, just to make sure, but what if she was able to put a stop to the whole thing? Could she go back to Luke? Grovel? Make amends?

Abigail cleared her throat.

It was a crazy, silly idea.

And yet, she wanted it more than anything.

“I used to have to remind him to eat. Shower. I even put pegs on the door so I could hang his clothes up where he couldn’t miss them. He lives for his job. I bet he’s been promoted, which means he’s even more invested in it now than he used to be. He’s not a bad person.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

When she left, it would hurt. She’d be cutting a piece of herself out, but it meant keeping him—and her heart—alive. So long as he lived she could find it in herself to go on. After all, if Luke could do it, so could she.

“Nador, I’m pleased to
meet your acquaintance.” Hassan smiled. It’d cost him a penny to get this meeting, but it’d be worth it once Yael was gone.

Nador’s gaze flicked to Hassan’s outstretched arm, but he didn’t move to shake Hassan’s hand. Possibly because it might crease his expensive linen suit, or because Nador hadn’t made up his mind about Hassan. It was a risk to reuse a name so soon, but he’d had to work with what he had ready. With any luck, he’d be able to dispose of it permanently after this.

“I believe we have mutual enemies.” Hassan sank into the empty chair across from the Libyan mercenary.

“Oh?” Nador spoke without hurry or any obvious interest.

“I believe there are four men, and you would like information regarding their whereabouts?” Hassan slid a photograph of Luke and another man across the table.

Nador took the eight-by-ten image and held it up. The difference was in the creases around the man’s eyes, the tense set of his lips.

Hassan had him.

“What do you know?”

“These two are in Egypt. I have an address.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Nador tossed the photograph on the table.

“There’s a woman traveling with them. I need her dead.”

“What kind of woman?”

“Hopefully, a dead one soon.”

“Why tell me?”

“I need men to get to her. You have men. We both want these people dead. It seemed like a win-win to me.”

“I’m listening.” Nador lifted his hand to his chin, two fingers extended up toward his temple.

Hassan tamped down on the giddy thrill. There was more than a small chance that he could pull this off, and without giving up much in the way of cash. He just had to wind the mercenary up a bit and set him lose.

Luke grabbed a couple
hot pastries off the baking sheet and pressed a kiss to Salma’s head. For as long as he’d worked at Aegis, Salma had kept house for them in his part of the world. This morning she was manning the ovens, churning out enough food for those still there. He could only speak a few words to her, but her smiles and laughter were all the communication he needed.

“You’re up early.” Marco leaned against the door, his hair sticking up on one side.

“Not for long.” Luke grabbed some bottles of water from the fridge and glanced around for anything he could snag.

“Where’s your girl? How’s her rib?”

“She’s fine. Asleep. How’s Zain coming with the passport?”

“Should be ready this afternoon.” Marco made a face.

“What?”

“The Jordan authorities contacted us this morning.”

“Yeah?” Luke’s fingers went cold.

“They cremated Ethan’s body last night.”

“What? Why?”

“Something about their beliefs or whatever.”

“That can’t be right.” Luke shook his head.

Ethan wasn’t Muslim; there’d be no reason to do anything to the body—if he was actually dead. Cremating him—or claiming to—was one huge step into weird.

“That’s what Zain said they claimed in their communication. He’s going to go see Ethan’s wife and son tomorrow. Tell them with Crawford.”

“Shit.” There was no way for Luke to prove Ethan was still alive. But that fall… All they had to go on was the word of people who’d wanted them dead in the first place.

“You sure teaming up with Abigail is still a good idea?”

“Yup.” Luke couldn’t deny that he was biased where Abigail was concerned, but there was another convenient truth. “She’s our best lead on who is behind all of this. Who might have killed Ethan.”

“Might? Might be dead?”

Luke stopped and stared at Marco.

“We don’t know that he’s gone.” Luke couldn’t shake that this felt wrong.

“That drop alone would have killed him. Add in all the rubble and the blast? It’s amazing the two of you didn’t die with him.”

Luke shook his head. “I’m not ready to nail his coffin shut yet.”

Luke scrubbed his hand across his face. He’d been so focused on surviving that Ethan’s death hadn’t really hit him. He was fighting it. Marco was right, there was no way Ethan was still alive after the blast and fall.

What kind of a friend was he? Instead of looking for Ethan, he’d split. He’d run. He’d left Ethan behind. Because Abigail needed him. Because she was alive. Because he wanted answers.

Travis had likely been sent home. He’d been Ethan’s best friend. Losing him had probably knocked some better sense lose in the big thug’s head and made him more than a little crazy.

“What’s the deal with the girl?” Marco scooted out of Salma’s way and leaned against the counter opposite Luke.

“What about her?”

“Man, we can all see she’s got you wound around her finger. Be careful.”