Hot Rebel (9 page)

“Oh?”

She’d faced Ian then, dropping the purse and lifting the gun. “He wants me dead.”

Ian’s brows drew down. It took him a second to speak. “You think I knew.”

“Did you?”

He lifted both his hands and held them beside his head. “No. I was told you would be allowed to see your sister for an hour. That’s all.”

She’d chewed her lip, her heart hurting over the fact she’d not seen Emily at all. “What’s the loss of another operator to you? We’re all replaceable, right?”

Something flickered in his gaze. But then his eyes went flat. “Yes. But I don’t have another sniper of your caliber. You’re the best, Victoria.”

The praise didn’t feel as nice as it should. She was tired and confused—and just a little bit heartsick at the idea this man could have betrayed her. She
liked
Ian. Or had, anyway.

“I need a spotter. A good one.”

“I’m working on it.”

Her heart had pounded. “I found one.”

One eyebrow arched. “Really? While thwarting an attempt on your life?”

“Someone I went to sniper training with. He’s left the Army—not voluntarily, I take it—and he’s here in Qu’rim. And yeah, he was at the cafe where bin Yusuf’s men tried to grab me.”

“Convenient.” He’d leaned back in his chair then, his hands folded on top of his head. Not provoking her. “If all they tried to do was grab you, how do you know bin Yusuf wants you dead?”

“I didn’t get a warm fuzzy feeling from them. Why else would he try to grab me?”

“To reunite you with your sister? To keep you in his camp for himself? How the fuck would I know?”

She still didn’t lower the gun, though he sounded thoroughly baffled. “You’d know if he told you.”

“I don’t take orders from bin Yusuf. I do what I want, for whom I want, so long as I get paid.”

“If he paid you to kill me, would you?”

His eyes flashed. “I might. But he’d have to pay me a whole fucking lot to replace you, and I don’t think that’s his priority right now.”

“Geez, I’m beginning to think you care.”

“Sweetheart, I care as much as I can. It’s all dollars and
sense
to me. And it makes no sense unless he’s got the dollars.”

“So romantic. I feel positively safe now.”

He’d snorted. “Shoot me if you have to, but otherwise put the fucking gun down and tell me about this spotter.”

She’d stood there for a solid minute, debating. And then she’d lowered the gun and gone to sit in the chair in front of his desk, like always.
 

“You know, I should be insulted you’d think I’d set you up. Why the fuck would I send you to Akhira just to get you killed? I could do it myself—or let bin Yusuf grab you in the market down the street if he wanted to do it personally.”

She hadn’t mentioned that bin Yusuf didn’t seem to want to do it himself since he’d instructed his men to shoot her on a remote stretch of beach.
 

“His name’s Nick Brandon. He was some kind of Special Forces or something, but he’s been involuntarily separated. He wouldn’t tell me why. But he says he’s looking for work. And I know he’s good. The best, besides me.”

“You have a contact number?”

“Yes.”

“Then give it to me. No promises, but if he checks out, we’ll see.”

And that had been the end of that. She’d given Ian Nick’s phone number and she’d gone to bed. She wasn’t worried about Nick’s story not agreeing with hers. They’d gone over it again and again with the colonel before she’d been allowed to leave.

She couldn’t sleep as her mind churned with too many thoughts. She thought of her fear when she’d been standing under that bridge, and then she thought of the moment when the men around her dropped to the ground, their lives ended by a sniper’s bullet. She’d never been that close before. She was the one shooting from a safe distance, not the one standing beside somebody when he went down.

Then she thought of the moment those men had poured from the van and she’d thought she’d gone from one hell to the next. But it was Nick. She’d been so relieved because she knew that whatever else was going on, he wasn’t there to kill her.

And now she was supposed to bring Nick into Ian’s private security firm and let him spy for his colonel. And the United States Army. Ian, who’d given her a job and given her the promise of finding Emily. Ian, who’d seemed thoroughly unaware of bin Yusuf’s attempt on her life and angry that she’d think he had anything to do with it.

But, dammit, Ian wasn’t her brother. He wasn’t her lover. He was a man with an agenda of his own, and for all she knew he was a pretty terrific liar. He could be on the phone with Zaran bin Yusuf right now, arranging for her death.
 

Not that this Colonel Mendez was any better. Just because he had the backing of the Army didn’t mean he wasn’t dirty. He’d targeted Ian, and she’d agreed to help because he’d promised to get Emily for her and transport her back to the States.
 

Emily might not have a clean record once it was done, but she’d at least be safe and out of an evil man’s control. Victoria would spend every moment she had making sure that Emily got the life she deserved.
 

Victoria balled her fist and thumped it on her thigh. If only Emily was still alive. That was the thing that worried her in the middle of the night. She’d gone over and over that last conversation, Emily’s statement that she missed their mom, and she wondered. Why had Emily said it? What did it mean? Was she ready to leave this place? Was she afraid of Zaran?

Why hadn’t she called in six months? She hadn’t been
allowed
to call, obviously. But what if it was something worse? What if she was unable to call?

Victoria closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. And then she reached for her phone on the nightstand. She’d tried calling Emily before, but there was nothing except endless ringing. Even the voice mail didn’t work anymore. She got the same result this time.

She ended the call and scrolled through her contacts until she found Nick’s name. He’d said he’d be nearby if she needed him. She’d wondered what that meant, but she’d decided it was best if she didn’t know. Now she clicked on his name and called up text messaging. She hesitated for a moment before typing.

You there?

She pressed Send before she could change her mind. It took only seconds before she had an answer.

Yes. You okay?

Fine. Just checking.

Thinking about me, weren’t you?
 

She could feel his smirk through the phone. Her cheeks heated. Two could play this game.

Oh yeah. Touching myself too.

Jesus, don’t say that.

Why not?

There was no reply for the longest time. Her heart sank a little as her phone remained silent. And then it buzzed.

Because I want to touch you, V. Everywhere. Until you scream my name.

Her breath shortened. And her pussy tingled with heat. She knew how to take care of herself—hell, it was how she got off when she needed to—but she found herself wishing he could touch her.

We barely know each other, PB.
 

We know each other enough.

Her skin was so hot. The fan didn’t help, and she wanted to go kick the AC unit. But it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good.

Best we don’t go there. Work and play don’t mix.

Maybe not, but we won’t always be working.

She sucked in a breath. Her nipples tightened against her tank top, the fabric almost torture against her sensitive flesh. She pushed that thought away and typed.

What were you doing when I texted?

Sleeping.

Sorry I woke you.

I told you to let me know if you needed me.

She stared at the screen, her heart thumping, wondering what to say in reply. She’d needed someone just now, someone to answer her in the middle of the night when she was lonely and scared for her sister. But she couldn’t say any of that to him. She couldn’t let him know she was anything less than tough. Because he wasn’t her friend. He was just a guy she knew who’d helped her out of a tight spot.

Good night, V. See you soon.

She texted him back, then slipped the phone on the nightstand and flopped onto her side. She’d left him in the desert two weeks ago, desperate to escape him. Now she couldn’t wait to see him again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Nick met Ian Black at an out-of-the-way cafe. The other man was sitting at a table, chatting to the server in Arabic, when Nick walked in. Black stood, his eyes moving over Nick, assessing him. There was nothing but suspicion and hostility in those eyes, but that’s pretty much what Nick had expected to find.

Black held out his hand and Nick took it. They gripped each other hard, that age-old contest between men to prove they had a firm handshake. Nick could remember his dad yelling at him when he was about eight years old for not squeezing harder. The old man had been worried he’d turn into a “sissy,” as he put it. Nick hadn’t quite known what that meant then, but he did now.
 

It meant, among other things, that his father was a hypocrite who preached about forgiveness and loving one another and yet still had hatred in his heart for those he didn’t approve of. Even when that person was his own daughter.
 

“Have a seat,” Black said, motioning to a chair and taking the one opposite. When they were settled, he fixed Nick with a level stare. “So you managed to be in the right place at the right time yesterday. Happy coincidence.”

Nick shrugged. “Not quite a coincidence, but whatever.”

Black’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Really? What’s that mean?”

“It means I’ve been watching Vicky. Saw her in the market once and followed her home. Then I followed her to Akhira.”

Black’s brows drew down. “Why would you do that?”

Nick shrugged. “You’ve seen her, man. She’s hot.” He paused for a second, gauging the other man’s response. Black’s jaw tightened a fraction, and Nick’s gut clenched. Victoria had said she wasn’t sleeping with him, but that didn’t mean Black didn’t want to. Or that she’d been telling the truth. That was possible too.

“But that’s not the real reason,” he continued. “I’ve been looking for work since I left the Army, and when I saw Vicky that day, I didn’t think she was here as a tourist, considering her special skill.” He leaned back in his chair. “Wanted to check you out, see what the lay of the land was.”

“And what did you decide?”

Nick could tell that Ian Black was angry. The implication that he’d followed Victoria, found out where Black was holed up, and then kept tabs on them for days wasn’t sitting well with the man’s inflated sense of self-importance. Fucking mercenaries.
 

Fucking
traitors
. Or at least Black was, anyway.

Nick leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’m good at what I do. Hell, I’m as good as your girl—probably better, quite honestly—and I’m willing to do whatever needs doing.”

“And if what needs doing involves things that might be considered counter to the best interests of your country?”

This was the part Nick hated. Fucking bastard. He wanted to reach across the table and wrap his hands around the man’s neck. The Hostile Operations Team was solid red, white, and blue, and the operators worked hard days and long hours in the most dangerous situations. They worked to protect America and all it stood for, and Nick had taken a vow to die in the line of duty if required. They all had.

But this asshole didn’t care about any of that. For the purposes of this assignment, Nick couldn’t either.

“
My
best interests come first,” Nick said. “But I’m not helping some terrorist shit smuggle a nuke into Baltimore Harbor or anything, so that’s out. The rest is up for discussion… for the right price.”

That hadn’t been part of the script, but he was fucking pissed and he wanted Black to know he had limits.

Black leaned back in his seat and tapped his phone where it lay on the table. He wasn’t punching in buttons, just tapping the back of the case.

“You have quite a checkered history in the Army,” he said.
 

Nick knew not to show any surprise, but it still astounded him how quickly the man had gotten the information on him. Definitely a leak somewhere.
 

“Yeah, well, me and the Army don’t quite fit. Better if I go out on my own.”

“You disobeyed a direct order from a commanding officer.”

“It happens. And the stupid shit was wrong. If we’d done what he wanted, the whole unit would’ve bought it when we drove through that town.”

“How do I know you’ll do what you’re told out in the field if you’re working for me?”

“I’ve heard about you. You don’t send men on suicide missions or fail to listen when they tell you something doesn’t feel right. You don’t have West Point up your ass and think because you have a couple of bars on your shoulders that you know more than the men who’ve been on the ground since your worst problem was who to ask to prom and how to get rid of a fucking zit.”