Fatal Honor: Shadow Force International (13 page)

Wait. There were cans of soup.

Soup? Seriously?

Yep, there were two cans of good old chicken noodle tucked into a drawer with some other cans to keep them from flying around if the plane hit turbulence. Who knew? Even the rich and famous liked comfort food on occasion.

“Hungry?” He held up one of the cans.

Walking gingerly, she set down the bottle and removed the teabag from the cup of hot water. Her nostrils flared as she brought the cup to her face and drew a deep breath. “I’ll start with the tea, thank you.”

Food would do her good. She was too skinny, too pale.

Those scars
…

Fury, sadness, rage, it all warred in his stomach. He handed her a sleeve of crackers. “Try a couple of these with your tea.”

She seemed reluctant to put down the tea, but did so she could keep a hand on the counter and accept the crackers.

He went to work warming up the soup, such a stupid, normal thing when they were in the middle of a clusterfuck.

“You were correct at the motel.” She munched on a cracker, her eyes unable to meet his. They jumped around, past him to the wall, back to his hands as he poured the soup into a bowl, up to his face, and away again. “We were lovers, but not friends. I…I don’t have friends. I’ve been on my own, alone, for a long time. It’s comfortable, familiar. I can’t tell anyone who I really am—an agent for MI6—or share details about my job. So I never let anyone in. I can’t. That rubbish about my friends calling me Charlie is just that. Rubbish. No one has called me Charlie since primary school.”

Being an undercover operative was hell on relationships, and if anyone understood being alone, he did. “What we shared in the cabin…”

Was he really going to tell her it had been more than a six-week fling for him? That he’d fallen for her? He truly didn’t even know her, this beautiful creature standing before him. The woman he’d fallen in love with was an illusion.

But he wanted more than anything to figure out who the real woman behind the illusion was. “…it wasn’t just about the sex.”

She made a big deal about sipping her tea. “For me, either.” Her gaze finally made it to his and stayed there. “Unfortunately, being with me carries a great risk. As I’ve mentioned, it could cost you your life.”

The microwave dinged again, letting him know the soup was hot. “I’m willing to take that risk.”

A sad smirk passed over her lips. “I can see that. You could have stopped this plane back in Van Nuys and handed me over to my counterparts. Instead, you probably caused an international incident.”

He shrugged, retrieving his dinner from the microwave. “I always say, go big or go home.”

She looked like she wanted to laugh. “I’d say you went big on this one.”

The soup was the perfect temperature and smelled like rainy afternoons at his house growing up. On weekends, his mother would make soup and they would cuddle together on their old couch and she would read to him.

Comfort. Security. He wanted to give those things to Charlotte.

She’d been tortured, beaten, chased by men who wanted to do her harm, and was still determined to finish her mission. She trusted no one for good reason.

He wanted to change that. He held the bowl under Charlotte’s nose, letting the delicious aroma drift up. “Sure you don’t want some of this?”

Her gaze softened as she inhaled. “It does smell rather good.”

Smiling, he took her hand and dragged her back to the cabin where he guided her into a seat and put the soup in front of her. “Eat,” he commanded.

Before he went back to get her tea, she was already digging in.

They had a long, dangerous road ahead of them, but for the first time in nine months, Miles felt truly alive.

And now he had her where he wanted her.
Well, sort of.
He wanted her underneath him, naked, but this would do for now.

He had a lot of questions that only she could answer, and this time, she wasn’t getting away.

Chapter Eight

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M
ILES
W
AS
G
OOD
at taking care of her. She didn’t know how to handle that.

Once she’d started on the soup, she couldn’t stop. She was famished. The tea was quite excellent too. Her stomach had settled, thank God, and her nerves relaxed somewhat.

His words about being away from everything, virtually out of reach of the real world, rang in her ears. The hum of the engines lulled her like the boat’s had. The pretty blue sky, filled with whispers of clouds, calmed her mind.

With him sitting next to her, she could enjoy the soup and tea and the silence.

He was trying not to watch her, sipping at his own cup of tea, but she felt his gaze flit over her and away each time he thought she wasn’t paying attention. She owed him big for this. Not just the cost of using Rock Star services, but for risking his life for her.

“Why exactly does MI6 think you’re a traitor?” he asked.

Her cheeks heated. Why, indeed? She’d been a model agent, commendations galore in her file. “I don’t know, really. My handler told me that when I went off grid last winter when you and I were stuck in the cabin, my superiors assumed I had gone in with Nico and that he and I were working with the terrorist. Even my handler believed I’d thrown my lot in with Nico. It’s maddening. I’ve never given any of them a reason to believe I wasn’t one-hundred-percent loyal. It pains me that they never thought that perhaps something bad had happened to me? I explained everything to CB and he went to the higher ups, but he said they didn’t believe him. That they had proof I was a traitor. What proof? Apparently when he asked, they wouldn’t share what that was. I have no idea what it could be.”

“Why not give yourself up and explain it all?”

“Talk is cheap. I need that video, and I have detailed accounts of Nico’s criminal pursuits on that USB. Pursuits involving the terrorist. I don’t know who I can trust inside MI6 and I want that USB in hand when I do talk to them.”

“You have the scars on your back. Seems like proof enough to me that you weren’t in cahoots with that bastard.”

The sky was so lovely. So serene.
Focus on that. Sip your tea. Don’t slip back into that dark hole of memories.

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” A cold slice of fear still managed to snake down her spine. “But I fear it may not be. My gut says there’s more going on with the situation than it appears. A simple explanation and a few scars won’t convince them. I need to figure out the rest of the story and look at the video again before I can snap the pieces together to form the whole picture. I can’t let Nicolae get away with what he’s done. The terrorist either.”

“I’m onboard with that. I want both of their heads on a platter for what they did to my brothers.”

He was still grieving. She heard it in his tone. “I know I’ve said it before, but I’m so sorry.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He stared at his hands, seemingly unable to respond.

She’d thought he’d moved on. Now, she saw he’d only been in a holding pattern.

Give him some space.

She didn’t want to. She wanted to throw her arms around him and help him through the grief like she’d tried to do in the cabin. The distraction of physical comfort took the mind off the past and, she’d believed, it helped heal a broken heart. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Her attention on the scene outside the window, she wasn’t prepared for Miles’ touch. His hand glided over her arm, gently, lightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the scars.”

He was worried about her reaction to the scars comment when she was worried about him hating her for inadvertently killing his men. What a pair they made.

Change the subject
. “I have my suspicions about who the terrorist is, but I was so rushed that day, I couldn’t place him. I need to look at the video, follow the trail back to him and his followers. Until I do, I can’t trust anyone inside MI6.”

“Why give me the key?”

A knot had formed in the spot between her neck and shoulder. She’d removed the sweatshirt earlier and now slid her fingers under her collar so she could work her fingers into the kink.

As the engines hummed, vibrating the table, tiny ripples formed in her tea, rolling out from the epicenter of the liquid, one after another.

Ripples. Like the ripples in her life from her decisions. “When I realized I had to go back to Nico to try to figure out who the terrorist was, I needed a safe place to hide that key. I planned to give it to my handler, but he was never around. I’d only seen him a few times after arriving in Romania; we used dead drops if we needed to physically exchange information. The day I called Emit Petit to come get you, I thought I’d have a few days before he arrived. Turned out he had someone who could pick you up immediately. My timeline moved from a few days to hours. I had to make a call. No way could I leave the key in the cabin. Nico might have his men toss the place, and I couldn’t get in touch with my handler.”

His fingers brushed hers away as he took over massaging her shoulder and neck. “Smart move.”

She raised her gaze to his, the feel of his fingers kneading her tight muscles making her want to moan. “Was it?”

He worked on her shoulder, ran his fingers along the sensitive spot where her neck met her collarbone. “I probably would have done the same thing.”

His voice had grown huskier. He drew the edge of her shirt down over her shoulder, baring her skin to his expert manipulations.

“You were the only person I trusted,” she said. The kink was slowly loosening. Other parts of her were doing the opposite, growing taut, begging for his attention. A deep longing for his touch infused her very bones.

“How did you contact Petit when communications were so limited?”

“Once the snow melted, I could get up to the top of the hill. I hauled the portable satellite tower and antenna up there one afternoon while you were in the forest gathering fire wood.”

He leaned closer, his hand going to the back of her neck and holding her in place as he spoke in her ear. “Thank you.”

His warm breath brushed over her skin. Memories of his lips on her, his tongue teasing her, made her close her eyes. She never expected to hear those words.
Thank you.
Two simple words she hadn’t heard a lot of in her life.

But it wasn’t the words causing goose flesh to run up and down her arms. If she turned her head, their lips would be close enough to meet. She wanted a repeat of the kiss at his truck. Did he want that too?

She hated unanswered questions. They led to sleepless nights and regret. Turning her head slowly, she looked directly into his eyes. A hunger she remembered from the cabin haunted them. “You’re…welcome.”

They stared at each other, silence descending. His thumb drew tiny circles on her shoulder, his intense stare sending vibrations through her body like the waves in her teacup. He brushed a strand of hair that had broken free from her ponytail off her neck, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps over her skin.

He lowered his lips, eyes still locked with hers, to the vulnerable skin on her shoulder. His kiss was gentle, his lips lingering. A question…

Did she want more?

Charlotte’s breath stuck in her throat. A shock of electricity went straight to the spot between her legs. The need to have his hands on her, his mouth kissing every inch of her, became a singular, driving force that nearly blinded her.

She touched him then, letting her hand land on his thigh. The muscles bunched at the contact and she did a slow, smooth stroke, trailing her fingers from his knee up to parts higher.

“You really shouldn’t get involved with me again,” she said.

His hand moved into her hair, kneading the back of her skull, gently tugging at her pony as he kissed the sensitive spot under her ear. “I agree. You’re trouble, but I’ll take my chances.”

His tongue flicked out and caught the bottom of her earlobe, sending a fresh shock of electricity coursing through her nerves. She moaned and tilted her head, giving him full access to her neck.

He didn’t need any further invitation, his lips kissing her skin, teeth nibbling at her ear, her jawline. Strong fingers worked through her hair, pulling the ponytail loose, his nose sinking into her hair and as he drew a deep breath.

Through half-lidded eyes, she saw movement, heard a voice say, “Don’t mind me.”

Jolting like she’d been pinched, Charlotte flew to the far side of the seat. Miles’ jaw jumped and he glared at Megadeth.

“Plane’s on autopilot.” The man wasn’t looking at them, hands up blocking his view of them as he passed by. “Gotta take a whiz, man.”

A second later, he disappeared behind them into the back area. Miles stood, returning her shirt to cover her shoulder and leaning over to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to divert the plane to a new location while he’s in the head and call Beatrice. I want to know if she’s the one who gave us up.”

As he pulled away, Charlotte grabbed his shirt, dizzy with a whirl of emotions. “I want to be in on that conversation.”