Rekindled (Titanium Security Series) (4 page)

She took a hasty step back but had nowhere to go. Her spine hit the side of the van, and she put a hand over her pounding heart. It wasn’t fair that the man still looked incredible. He still emitted that vital, commanding presence and seemed to have barely aged since she’d last seen him. Even the scruff on his face was still mostly dark. And his body was as powerful as ever, all hard lines and taut muscle. That razor sharp edge that clung to him was clear in his eyes and posture, giving him a predatory vibe that drew her even now.

She swallowed and found her voice again, refusing to give into that dark lure. Realizing they were being watched, she glanced past Alex. A powerfully built dark-haired man stood at the open front passenger SUV door. Beyond him in the vehicle, another muscular man with red-gold hair sat behind the wheel, both his arms covered in full sleeves of tattoos. The men shot each other a wary look before focusing back on her. Clearly they didn’t know what the hell was going on here anymore than she did.

Grace tore her gaze from them and met Alex’s intent stare once more. “How did you find me? How long have you been following me?” Had he been spying on her?

He shook his head. “I only found out the other day that you were in the city. I went to your hotel just now and saw you get into the cab.”

She had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth or not—though she doubted he was being honest—but she’d be stupid to just take him at his word. “And so you decided to chase me across the city like that? You scared the hell out of us all, I thought it might be—” She broke off, not wanting to say it aloud.
Terrorists.
She suppressed a shudder, glared at him instead. In her peripheral vision she noticed that her team’s security had finally arrived on scene. The four men in suits climbed out of their own vehicle and approached the police officers, who were talking to both drivers and David. She kept her gaze locked on Alex. “You could’ve landed us in the hospital with that stupid stunt.” God, what the hell was wrong with him?

His jaw flexed. “I needed to talk to you.”

She felt her eyes pop wide. “Well too damn bad! I’ve got nothing to say to you, I thought I made that clear last time you contacted me. Now let me go and stay the hell away from me.”

Rather than apologize or appear embarrassed by his over-the-top behavior, he took a step closer and lifted a hand to cup the back of her neck, just below where her chin-length bob ended. His touch froze her. Firm, commanding, but tender. A lethal combination that had the power to bring her to her knees if she let it. His hand was warm, hard, and she remembered exactly how perfect it felt when he stroked it over her naked skin. She drew in a sharp breath, stiffened her spine.

Those sexy-as-hell eyes locked on hers, and in that moment she was suddenly terrified that he could see through the anger and resentment to the fear and hurt hidden inside her. To the shocking need only he’d been able to elicit from her. “Grace. I
need
to talk to you,” he said in a low voice. It was deeper than she remembered. And it still slid through her like warm honey, heating her blood, melting away the icy shock and replacing it with something that scared her far worse than this whole scenario had. “I’ve waited so long to tell you what I…” He shook his head tightly, the frustration pulsing off him in tangible waves. “Just give me a chance to explain. Please,” he added softly after a slight hesitation.

She huffed out an exasperated breath. The man had serious balls, to chase her down and corner her here like this in public while she was on a supposedly secret mission. Especially when she’d made it more than clear two years ago that she wanted nothing more to do with him. “Why the hell should I?”

“Because there’s so much I need to say that you weren’t willing to listen to before.”

She wanted to laugh at that, but none of this was funny. Not at all. “And you think I am now?” He’d shattered her trust, her entire
world
.

He shook his head once, regret etched into every line of his handsome face. “God, I hope so.”

For some reason the stupid, soft-hearted part of her wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe she’d meant more to him than just a means to an end on his last job in Kenya. It pissed her off.

Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t deserve the chance to explain. You don’t deserve
jack
from me.” She used the word deliberately, telling him exactly what she thought of him and his lies. She was shaking with a combination of anger and shock. And even then her body was at war with itself. Part of her wanted to ball her hand into a fist and punch him right in his handsome face, while the other wanted him to hold her in those strong arms and make everything okay. For him to say something that might make her understand his actions in Kenya, that might make her listen to his pleas for forgiveness.

He made a frustrated sound. “I know. Christ, you don’t think I know that? I’ve lived with my mistakes and regrets for four years, Grace, without being able to explain myself to you. All I’m asking is for you to listen.”

She searched his eyes, fighting the anger with effort. He seemed so earnest, so desperate for the chance to explain, and she couldn’t deny that a part of her longed for the closure. Maybe once she heard him out and had her final say, she’d be able to move on for good. But not here, not now. More people had gathered around to stare at them. She wanted to get out of here and the quickest way to do that was to agree to the talk. If she didn’t like what he had to say, she’d walk, pure and simple.

But first she intended to let him know he no longer held her under his spell the way he once had.

Raising her chin, Grace reached up and shoved his hand away from the back of her neck. “I’m busy until after dinner. You’ll have to meet me in the lounge of my hotel tonight at nine.” Her schedule, her terms.

A muscle flexed in his jaw at her physical rejection of him, but he nodded. “Nine it is. Now let us get you checked out with the paramedics.”

When he reached for her arm, she yanked it away. His touch had always weakened her and she couldn’t handle that right now. Aside from being shaken and a little stiff in the neck from the impact, she was okay and had a tight schedule to keep. “I’m fine, except I’m about to be late. If you want to help, just move out of my way.”

“We’ll take you to that meeting,” he said instead, gesturing to the SUV where the muscular dark-haired man even taller than Alex stood next to the open passenger door, watching them intently. The man wore shades so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his eyebrows were drawn together in a deep frown as he watched them. The redhead with the tats was still at the wheel. Both hard men, both lethal. From their bearings and appearances alone, she knew they were former military, and bet they had served in Special Ops. Alex’s personal security detail?

She faced Alex once more and narrowed her eyes in warning. “I don’t think so. I’ve got my own security here now. We’ll take another cab. You can stay and deal with the police for me.” It was the least he could do, since her driver had gotten into the fender bender by trying to escape Alex in the first place. God, the man confused and infuriated her.

She pushed past Alex to find her assistant staring at them with a wary expression. The cops were still talking to the drivers and security team. “Come on, David.” Head held high, Grace walked around the back of the damaged cab, trying to mask how much her legs shook and her insides quivered. Of all the things she’d anticipated handling in Pakistan during this trip, Alex Rycroft hadn’t been one of them.

“Grace.”

Nope.
Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it.
She shook her head at Alex and didn’t look back as she strode toward David. “Nine tonight,” she called out. Behind her she heard Alex curse. Ignoring him, she walked with David over to the curb where another cab sat, and waited for one of the team’s security guards to give them the okay before climbing inside. “Did you pay the other driver?” she asked David.

“Yeah, but the police still want our statements.”

“We’ll deal with it later.” She told the new driver the address of the meeting location and settled back in her seat, feeling disoriented and shaky as hell. Alex was here and he’d somehow found her. Not by chance. Likely using his connections within the NSA. He wanted a chance to explain. About what? His lies? Did he seriously think there was any way he could justify what he’d done?

“Who the hell was that?” David finally asked once they were moving.

“A ghost from my past,” she murmured, rubbing the back of her neck where she could still feel the tingle of Alex’s hand there. The muscles were already stiffening, promising a bitch of a headache later on.

Not a ghost
, she corrected herself bitterly.
More like a figment of my imagination
.

Because as it turned out, she’d never really known him in the first place.

Malik Hassani eased toward consciousness slowly, gradually becoming aware of a soft beeping close by and hushed footfalls moving around him. He peeled his heavy eyelids apart to find a nurse at his side, checking the machine that connected to his IV line. He shifted a bit, feeling groggy and strangely heavy, as though his limbs were weighed down.

“Ah, you’re awake. How do you feel?” the nurse asked, a white woman with pale blue eyes and a crisp British accent.

In all honesty, part of him was still surprised that he was alive. When they’d put him under this last time he’d been sure it was for good, so they could call his death while in custody an accident. But here he was. They must not have figured out yet who the big players involved in his network were. “Fine.”

She nodded, checked his line and his pulse, then made notes on a clipboard she carried. “The doctor will be here to talk to you in a few minutes. Go ahead and rest a while longer.”

Rather than respond, Malik gazed around the room to get his bearings as he fought the haze that clouded his mind. He was alone in here. The small space had no windows, only a single door that appeared to be made of steel. Other than the quiet beeping, the place was nearly silent. Quite possibly he was the only patient in the entire facility, wherever it was. With the hood on he hadn’t been able to see where they’d driven him, much less the layout of the building itself. But he knew without a doubt that armed guards waited on the other side of that door.

Once he was sure he was safe for the time being, he examined his hand. They’d cuffed his right wrist to the bedrail and wrapped his left hand up past his wrist where the surgeons had gone in to access some of the damaged tendons. The tips of his fingers extended from the edge of the bandages. He flexed them slightly, sucked in a sharp breath at the searing pain the slight movement caused. After setting his hand carefully on his stomach, he took stock of his situation. He was sleepy and his mind felt fuzzy, but he knew what would happen from here.

As soon as he got clearance from the doctors, the FBI team would hood him again and take him back to the detention center where he’d undergo countless more rounds of “interrogations” from members of various agencies. Malik curled his right hand into a fist. Arrogant, power hungry Americans, always interfering with and controlling other countries’ affairs. Did they really think they could break him just by depriving him of sleep and asking him the same questions over and over? Anger churned deep inside him. He’d spent years on the other side of this equation, using methods much more severe than they had the guts to employ. He would never give them what they wanted.

He hated feeling like a caged animal. The thought of spending months locked up like that and going through the lengthy process of a trial before they sentenced him to a prison term was depressing as hell. It outraged him. He was stronger than the international intelligence community realized. He’d do his time, pull whatever strings he had available to him from within the prison walls, and plan his next strategy for when he was free.

A wave of fatigue hit him. He allowed the residual anesthetic in his system to pull him back into a doze. The nurse came back to check on him awhile later, then the doctor, who told him the surgery had been a success. With therapy, in time he should regain nearly full use of his hand. Malik knew he should have been more grateful about that but he was too caught up in his failure to care. He’d been
this
close to achieving his dream of seizing control in Pakistan, the dream he’d been pursuing for so long. Then it had all been taken away.

After the surgeon left he dozed some more, this time slipping into a deep sleep.

“Malik.”

He jerked awake at the low male voice next to him. Blinked against the glare of the overhead lights when he peered up at the man who stood at his bedside. The newcomer wore hospital scrubs, the surgical mask pulled down to reveal his mouth and dark mustache. There was something vaguely familiar about him—

“Wake up,” the man said urgently as he unlocked the cuff on Malik’s right wrist. “We have to—”

A sudden, unmistakable blast of gunfire outside the room cut off whatever he was about to say. Malik shot upright, wincing as his injured hand hit the mattress. His heart slammed against his ribs. Were they coming to kill him now? He was trapped, chained to the bed. He had no weapon.

“Hurry,” the man snapped as he reached for the IV pole. He seemed totally unaffected by the shots.

A rush of adrenaline helped clear the lingering grogginess away. Malik twisted around to get a better look at the man, sizing him up as a threat. “Who are you?” he demanded. Beyond the door the staccato shots continued, along with the sounds of screams and pounding footsteps.

“A friend,” the man answered without looking at him. “Now get up and
hurry
. We don’t have much time.”

Not about to trust him, certain this was a trap to kill him and make it look like a botched rescue attempt, Malik swung his legs over the side of the bed and thought about what he could use as a weapon. The IV pole was the only thing in sight. Without taking his eyes off the man occupied with shutting off the IV drip, Malik yanked off the tape holding the catheter in his vein, tearing away hair with it, and slid it out. He pressed hard on the wound with his bandaged hand to get it to close just as the man grabbed him by the upper arm and hauled him to his feet.