Cover of Darkness (24 page)

Cover of Darkness

by Kaylea Cross

that. Whatever she needed from him, he was more than willing to give.

As she climbed into the bed, he caught a glimpse of her sleek, muscled calves and thighs. The tension in his muscles worsened. A smile touched her lips as she glanced over her shoulder at him, still frozen by the door. "I'm glad you came, Ben. You were right. I don't want to be alone right now."

"Good. Glad I could help." He felt almost light-headed with the need to go to her. Instead, he dropped his duffel next to the wingback chair and settled into it.

She stared at him. "You can sit on the bed with me."

His guts knotted. "Thanks, but I'm good." And he
was
going to be good—Boy Scout good.

As she switched on the TV for some channel surfing, he hated the awkward silence stretching between them. He should say something to her. Probe a little, then let her open up and unload all the tangled emotions bottled inside.

Instead, he watched her profile as she settled on one of the two English channels,
Saving Private Ryan
.

Ben winced. Great movie, but under the circumstances not a good idea. Hands curling around the arms of the chair, he studied her reaction as the bullets and artillery flew, tearing apart human flesh and bone. She hugged her knees to her chest, her beautiful face haunted. One of the actors screamed as a round hit him, and she flinched.

Ah, shit. She so shouldn't be watching this. "Bryn."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "There was nothing else on," she whispered. Her gaze was full of torment. "How can men kill each other like that, Ben? Like life is nothing to 225

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them. Like tonight." The bewilderment in her grief-stricken voice stabbed at him like a knife. She'd gotten a glimpse of his world, and he was damn sorry for it. No wonder the shock of it had overwhelmed her.

Ah, hell. Good intentions be damned, he couldn't stand to see her suffering. He set his gun on the nightstand, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he took the remote from her, flipping it to an Iraqi news network before pulling her into his arms. She went willingly, huddling against his chest like a child, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt and pressing her cheek into his shoulder.

Goddamn, this feels so right, he thought as he hauled her up and cradled her in his lap. When her shoulders shook in a silent sob, he closed his eyes and pressed his face into her silky hair, breathing in her soapy scent.

"S-sorry," she choked against the tears.

"Don't be. Go ahead and let go."

"Oh, B-Ben..."

"Shh. It's all right, I've got you." He kept his voice low, soothing, letting her cry as he swept a hand down her back, memorizing the imprint of her body against his. Her tears soaked the front of his shirt while the sobs turned to hiccups, then exhausted little sighs that left her limp against his chest.

She stirred but didn't pull away, and for that he was pathetically grateful.

"God, Ben, I'm so scared for all of you."

His hand paused in its motion over her hair.

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"I keep thinking about how fragile life is. And you, and your brother, and Dec and Luke out there going after people like Tehrazzi..." She shuddered.

He blew out a breath, not knowing what to say to ease her mind. Their lives weren't pretty, and for someone unused to that kind of violence... "We're careful, Bryn. We've all been trained by the best programs in the world."

"I know, but you're only flesh and blood." She sat up and wiped her hands across her cheeks. "I don't know why I thought I could handle it."

"Handle what?" He bit back the protest when she moved away to lean against her pillow. "Tell me."

"Everything." She sighed, staring down at her fingers as they twisted the comforter. "This mission. Setting up Tehrazzi." She hesitated. "And...Dec."

For a moment he couldn't get his breath, like she'd socked him in the diaphragm. "What about Dec?"

She shrugged. "I know he's an operator. I knew that going in, and I still thought I could deal with it. But after tonight, all I can think about is him, or you, or anyone else on the team getting killed."

She must have seen something in his face, because her eyes and smile turned sad. "God, Ben, I didn't know being in love could hurt so much."

Yeah, he could relate.

"Sometimes I wish...sometimes I wish I'd fallen in love with you instead."

His fists clenched so hard his fingers went numb. "Why do you say that?" By some miracle his voice stayed steady.

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"Because I don't think he'll ever feel the same way about me."

Well if the dumb fuck didn't, then he didn't deserve her.

"Like tonight. He kissed me in that alley, he kissed me in this room, then left. Even after what happened tonight, he left me." She buried her fingers in her hair. "I'm so confused."

Gathering up the last of his pride, Ben found himself coming to McCabe's defense. "It's because of the job, Bryn.

He's a SEAL, and SEALs don't take their responsibilities lightly. And on this op, you're his responsibility."

"I know, but...oh, hell, that's enough. I'm sorry for dragging you into my pity party."

"Don't apologize. It's been a bitch of a day for us all." And his had been topped off by having his skin peeled away with a dull knife. He rubbed a hand over his sternum as though this could cure the persistent ache and the heartburn beneath it.

Bryn caught his fingers, laced them through her own and squeezed tight. "I'm so sorry, Ben." Her eyes were wet. "I wish I felt differently."

"Nothing to be sorry about." She couldn't help her emotions, couldn't change them no matter how much he wanted her to.

"Will you still stay with me?"

The uncertainty in her face pissed him off. "I can't believe you'd wonder about that. Of course I'm staying with you."

Her relieved smile tugged at his aching heart. "Thanks.

And will...will you stay on the bed with me? If it's too selfish of me—"

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"If that's what you want, you know I will." Hell, he'd still do anything for her, no matter what her feelings for him.

She snuggled down under the covers, hand linked in his.

He turned off the TV and stretched out beside her on top of the sheet. "Want me to leave the lamp on?"

She shook her head. "So long as you're here, I don't need it."

"You say the nicest things." His fingers found the switch.

A sleepy smile touched her lips. "Just remember that the next time you're pissed at me."

"I'll try. And you let me know if things don't work out with you and Irish, okay?"

Her fingers tightened around his. "In a heartbeat."

He lay next to her in the darkness, listening to her breathing and savoring the warmth of her hand in his.

Day 10, Damascus

Early hours

Tehrazzi's hands trembled as he raised his cup of tea to his lips. Even though he had called off the search for Daoud's daughter, he hadn't been able to calm down completely. He'd accomplished his primary goal but failed to capitalize on the opportunity that came with it. The knowledge pricked at his skin like a barb.

When he'd seen her in the back room of Masood's club, he'd thought he was imagining her sitting on the Syrian's lap like a whore. But she'd recognized him. Her eyes had given her away. The instant her gaze fell upon him they'd widened in terror. If he'd known she was there, she would have died too. Except she'd leapt off Masood, after Tehrazzi's bodyguard 229

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had fired the killing shot and then dragged him out the back exit before he could go after her. The American protecting her had wasted no time in getting her out of there, and despite Tehrazzi and three of his men looking for her, she had slipped through his fingers.

How had he not known about her performing at Masood's club? She could not have been there by accident. But who would have put her there? And why, except to draw him there? Only one plausible explanation came to mind. Unease rippled over his skin.

His teacher.

It was the only thing that made sense. His teacher knew him, must have known he wanted to find her and fix his mistake. One of his men had reported seeing a man matching his description in the room with the daughter. Tehrazzi had been too focused on her to notice him.

For him and Daoud's daughter to be there tonight, someone had to have sought out his teacher to tell him about the meeting tonight.

His suspicious gaze traveled around the humble room he and his followers occupied. The others ate and spoke quietly to one another, oblivious of his mounting anger. He recalled the other betrayals that had come before this. His grandmother. Masood. Would one of his men be so bold as to think they could manipulate him this way?

"I cannot help but think we have a traitor here amongst us," he said in a low voice. They all fell silent and looked at him. He scanned their faces for any signs of guilt or nervousness. "If I learn that one of you has betrayed me to 230

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the Americans..." He sucked in a breath, let them feel his resolve in his steely gaze. "I will make you beg for death."

Leaving them all staring at him, he rose from the circle and went to another room where he laid out a prayer mat and facing Mecca, knelt upon it, clearing his mind of the image of his teacher's face and the fear from his chest that the man who created him might be hunting him. He breathed in and out slowly, cleansing his body of all toxic thoughts. When he was in the proper state to address Allah, he bent and laid his forehead against the mat in reverence and prayed that Allah would continue to bless him with his mercy.

And he prayed Allah would protect him from his teacher.

Dec lay in the darkness, staring at nothing. It wouldn't have mattered what he was looking at, because all he could see was the devastation in Bryn's eyes when he'd pulled away in the middle of fondling her breast while his tongue had been shoved in her mouth. She'd felt so incredible in his arms, he'd been desperate to tear her robe off just to get his hands on her naked skin. And that hand squeezing him. He'd sworn his eyes had rolled back in his head. God, if this situation was half-assed normal, he'd be wrapped around her right now.

Instead, he was pissed off at himself and sexually frustrated, stewing in a room down the hall while his CIA handler slept in the next bed. He couldn't decide if was feeling sorry for himself or if he just wanted to kick his own ass.

He was torn in two. On the one hand, he had his high moral code of conduct to contend with. The professional, do-the-job-properly-the-first-time part. On the other hand, he was attached to Bryn in ways that made it impossible for him 231

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to maintain his distance from her. Knowing she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her was damn near killing him. Never mind that dance he'd witnessed. God, the image of her in that golden costume was permanently burned into the backs of his eyelids.

He'd dated lots of women, had thought he'd loved one or two of them, but what he felt for Bryn eclipsed all of that.

This emotion was so deep and primal it bordered on obsessive. He wanted to take her away from the world, keep her all to himself. It shocked the living shit out of him.

In another life, they might have met under different circumstances and gotten to know each other by dating like everyone else did. But so far, their relationship had the makings of a soap opera. Everything was too intense, too conflicted.

Dec wanted normality with her. To make her laugh—she needed to laugh more. He would love to make her smile every day. Make her feel good. He wanted to be able to take her to dinner, hold her hand and feed her while candlelight played over her smooth skin. Wanted to watch movies with her, take her for long walks and kiss her on the beach, romance her until she couldn't see straight and then burn up the sheets together with amazing sex. Anything but the situation they were in now, trying to keep her alive while they hunted one of the most dangerous terrorists on the planet.

It was a wonder his head hadn't exploded yet.

He needed this mission to be over. He needed to rejoin his team, assume the leadership role he was most comfortable in, and not have to worry he was on the verge of sabotaging 232

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his career by wanting something he shouldn't. You didn't screw with the principal, literally or figuratively. Not unless you wanted a dishonorable discharge and a glass of hemlock to wash it down with.

The cell phone on the table between the beds buzzed, and Luke came out of a dead sleep to answer it in less than a second. Dec rolled onto his back and exhaled, gathering himself as he listened to Luke's responses. Marching orders, no doubt. Not happy news, anyway, since it was after two in the morning.

Luke snapped his phone shut. "We're going to Baghdad."

Baghdad. Hooray. "All of us?"

"Yeah."

Who'd have thought he'd be back in that hellhole so soon?

And now Bryn would be there with them. "When?"

"Chopper's coming at oh-five-hundred. Have the others meet us in the lobby at quarter to."

Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, Dec welcomed the adrenaline flow, grateful for the way it cleared his head.

This was what he needed, what he'd been trained for.

Purpose. Movement.

Maybe now he could get Bryn out of his mind for ten minutes.

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Day 10, Baghdad

Morning

Baghdad in September was pretty much what Bryn had expected: dry, flat, and hot enough to rival the interior of a car baking in the sun. She was miserable, but tried not to let it show. Things with Dec were strained. He'd barely spared her a glance all morning. Things with Ben weren't much better, but at least he was making an effort to stay friends.