Defender (11 page)

Jimmy gripped her arm. “Come on, Gypsy Rose. We’re going to find some real food.”

“Why, thank you for that polite luncheon invitation, sir. I would be delighted to join you.”

Ignoring her dig, he drew her to his side. Because she felt damn good, sure. But also because the crush of activity made him nervous.

All bustled around with seemingly benign activity, but threats came in deceptive packages these days. He took in the haggling at a fish stand, the sizzle of meat as a vendor sliced away at a haunch. Kids laughed at a puppet show at his nine o’clock, while a group of mothers looked on, some in veils, others in traditional western garb.

He gauged the pace and direction of Nunez and chose the opposite. He jabbed a finger toward a street-side café with an open grill so he could be sure his food was made fresh.

She smiled up at him. “Thanks again for
asking
. Yes, I would love to eat there.”

Sighing, he stopped. “Where would you like to go?”

“You pick.”

Here he was, trying to find an outside café with the best vantage point for keeping an eye out for possible trouble, and she was busting his chops. Jimmy gripped her elbow and steered her through the increasing throng to a wrought-iron table near a bookseller’s stand.

He held out her chair with exaggerated manners.

She took her seat with a flourish. “I’m delighted to be dining with such a scintillating conversationalist.”

“I’m a bodyguard today. Not some hired gigolo from an escort service.”

“I’ll do most of the talking, then. At least we can’t argue that way.” She propped her elbow on the table, and her chin fell to rest on her fist.

He liked her fingers with their short, unpolished nails. Sure, he realized she must keep them trimmed to play the piano, but still, those industrious hands enticed him a lot more than Livia Cicero’s for-show-only hot pink manicure.

Chloe’s eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun as she took in the surroundings. “This is exactly the sort of atmosphere I wanted to experience when I volunteered for this gig. God, that music was amazing.”

Jimmy claimed the seat that kept his back to the painted brick wall so he could watch without worrying about what went on behind him. “I hadn’t realized you’re a trained dancer, too. No wonder you were a quick study with the self-defense moves.”

“I’ve never taken a single dance lesson. I just let the music resonate through me, and the next thing I knew, I was joining in.”

An image of her abandon while dancing sparked in his mind and shot straight to his groin with an unexpected force.

She picked up her menu, scanning. “I probably looked like Snoopy from those Charlie Brown movies, dancing like a goof.”

Something about the way she said it tugged at him. He could have sworn there was a vulnerability in her half laugh that didn’t quite fit with her outward bravado. He couldn’t bring himself to roll out the easy quip. A part of him wanted to tell her that for the first time he understood that touchy-feely phrase about dancing like no one was looking.

And the rest of him kept thinking about his sister, of how easily somebody vibrantly, fearlessly alive could be taken away.

A waitress approached their table, putting their conversation on hold. He started to pick up the menu again, then scanned the other diners instead. He knew all the local dishes. The more important factor would be choosing the one best prepared here.

He looked past a table of locals eating summer vegetables and fruits to a group of tourists tearing into a loaf of Turkish bread. He started to move on, but something prickled at his brain and he scanned back to a woman in a burka. What bothered him about her? Even though the head-to-toe dark garb for females wasn’t required in this predominantly Muslim region, there were plenty who wore it.

He studied the shoulders that seemed overly large for a woman. The walk, rather than the softer swaying steps of a female, more the stride of . . . a
man
.

Jimmy reached for Chloe. Searched for a cop to alert. And all too damned late.

The man in the burka whipped up his hand holding a plunger detonator and shouted his battle cry of death.

TEN

Chloe stifled a scream. Jimmy slammed into her at the same moment the blast exploded through the café. Her thoughts shattered into pieces as jagged as the windows spitting glass everywhere.

Ear-numbing thunder. Falling debris. Shrieks.

Fear.

Shock waves rolled over her. Jimmy’s arms tightened around her, his shoulders curving protectively. A creak sounded overhead.

“Son of a bitch,” Jimmy growled in her ear, rolling her to the right. “Cover your face.”

The tasseled awning crashed to the ground an inch away.

Gravel bit into her arms and knees. Blood made a sticky paste on her pant leg. Her muscles bunched so tight, she couldn’t move even if her pounding heart wasn’t scaring her motionless. The explosion on the boat had been bad. Really bad. But this . . . this was hell.

With the possibility of an encore.

She forced her gritty eyes open and found a severed leg sticking from the rubble. How odd to notice the man had lost his shoe as well as a limb.

Someone screamed again and again, hurting her ears, scratching her throat. Ohmigod, the sound came from her, and she couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop her convulsed muscles from twitching as she stared at that shoeless foot with a tiny hole in the heel of the sock.

Wading through the layers of horror, she realized Jimmy had his arms around her waist, rubbing his hands along her back and waist, soothing a shush, shush, shush in her ears. She couldn’t hope to recapture calm, but shutting up to breathe would be a reasonable start.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she chanted, her words eventually slowing enough to stave off hyperventilation.

“Of course you are. I never doubted it.” He squeezed her waist, his eyes sweeping over her. “I’m going to assess the situation, but I’m not leaving. I’ll keep your back and you keep mine until we’re sure everything’s safe.”

His cool logic calmed her.

A muggy breeze full of soot swept over her midriff where her shirt had bunched and twisted. She eased up, tugging her shirt down over her waist again. She started to kneel and—
whoa.
She so didn’t need to look at that two-inch piece of glass sticking out of her calf. Seeing the imbedded shard made it hurt even worse.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jimmy didn’t look back at her, his attention still locked in surveillance mode, except to her, it seemed impossible to discern anything in the chaotic mass of screaming people. There could be more attackers in the crush of humanity, and no one would know.

They had to leave. Jimmy didn’t need to know about her leg.

“I’m fine,” she managed in a halfway normal voice, no small feat. Chloe snatched a cloth napkin from the rubble beside the toppled table.

One hand gripping a gun, Jimmy reached behind him with the other to touch her. A gun?

She didn’t have time to wonder why he’d packed heat for sightseeing. Chloe set her teeth and will and yanked the piece of glass out. Fast. A whimper must have slid past her lips.

“Chloe?”

“Nothing. Just a wimpy moment.” She tied the napkin tightly around the pulsing wound. “Focus on keeping us alive while I unearth my courage from my stomach.”

He chuckled low, a welcome sound.

She searched the mayhem for a way out, a pocket of safety in a world where she no longer trusted the seeming status quo. Cars screeched to a halt. Carrying a new threat? People rushed to phones. To call for help or signal another wave of attacks?

Law enforcement hoofed toward the scene, but she feared everyone except the man beside her. “What now?”

“We leave. The guard has Livia and the others. As far as I’m concerned, I would rather not wait around for a possible repeat.”

Amen to that.

Chloe fit her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet. He glanced at her makeshift bandage. A frown flickered over his face.

She nudged him. “It’s a scrape. Let’s go.”

He tucked her close to his side and shouldered through the frantic hordes, keeping his head low. They broke free onto a narrow street beside the bistro. Stragglers ran toward and away from the explosion while vendors tossed their wares into wagons. A police car sling-shotted past, siren blaring. Homeowners closed doors and trundled shutters up tight.

Three turns later, he slowed to a stop in a quiet housing division. She sagged against the stone wall, panting. The mayhem from the attack echoed softly in the distance, along with sirens.

Jimmy planted a hand beside her head, shielding her with his body while checking around them. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you when I slammed you to the ground? What about your leg?”

“You saved my life. Again. Do you think I’m going to complain about scraped palms and a scratch on my leg?” Now wasn’t the time to tell him she’d hit the ground pretty damn hard on her surgery incision. She was probably okay, but just to be safe, she would check in with the doctor when they got back to the base.

“You’re sure?” He tore his gaze off the street.

“I’m going to be fine.” And she would. She knew how to take care of herself.

“Thank God.” He hauled her against his chest. “Chloe, you could have died back there.”

He squeezed her a bit too hard, but she stifled the wince. The solid strength of his arms, the musky scent of him, the vibrant beat of his heart felt damn good right now. She tipped her face up to breathe, bringing her lips right up to his as he looked down at her.

Jimmy sealed his mouth to hers hard, fast, and God, he tasted even better than he looked. She stayed still for a second then fisted his polo shirt. He tangled his fingers in her hair, deeper, deeper still, much like she wanted to burrow as close as she could to him.

Chloe moaned a “Yes” against his mouth. She needed this kiss, the bold rasp of his tongue against hers as she yanked him nearer.

Her fingers twisted tighter in his shirt . . . ohmigod . . . becoming sticky with blood.
His
.

She jerked back to check him over, the mood broken, even if her nerves still hummed. “Jimmy?”

The wind ruffled through his already tousled hair. Nicks and small cuts dotted one cheek, and his forearm appeared abraded from the cement. It could have been so much worse, and it would have been her fault.

He’d been right. She shouldn’t have left the base. “I’m so sorry for not listening to you.”

Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m the one who should apologize. This isn’t exactly the time or place for a kiss. Or chitchat.”

His hand fell away, and his face shut down. “We need to find a taxi and get back to the base.”

“Of course.” Each painful step pulsed more blood from the slice in her leg until her sock became grossly squishy. “Should we go to the police station and make a statement? We might have something useful to offer.”

“We’ll give our statements to the base security. Trust me.” His voice went darker than his scowl. “You don’t want to see the inside of a Turkish interrogation room.”

Chloe knew a haunted soul when she saw one, and she reached out to him. The forbidding look on his face stopped her cold.

He hailed a taxi—a rusty little piece of shit, but at least the POS’s engine hummed—and jerked the door open. He guided her inside with brusque hands and dove in after her, sealing them inside with an ancient driver and the smell of garlicky olive oil.

Sliding his gun unobtrusively on his knee, covered by his broad palm, Jimmy gave instructions to the driver she couldn’t understand, even with her limited phrase book knowledge. How did he know the language so well? Yet another confusing mystery about this man who snapped at her one moment, saved her life another, and kissed her senseless the next.

He settled back in his seat, not in the least relaxed as he looked out the windows. “Do you want to tell me about that big scar I saw on your side when we were lying on the ground back there at the café? It looked pretty serious.”

Her thoughts scrambled to that frightening second when he’d tackled her, held her around the waist. She seemed to recall her shirt had rucked up during the fall. She was always careful about keeping her scar concealed, but she must have been too distracted, given the circumstances.

Did she want to talk about it? “Not really.”

He nodded toward her makeshift napkin tourniquet. “Just like you don’t want to tell me you cut your leg.”

“Hey,” she snapped back. “I understand you’re frustrated because we left the base today—”

“That’s an understatement.” His mouth went tight in a sign she was beginning to recognize as Jimmy trying to hold back his anger. “You are the most pigheaded, reckless human being I have ever met in my life. Don’t you even give a shit about living?”

“Of course I do.” She may have come to accept the probability of death during her teen years, but she’d never stopped wanting to live. “Sadly, I’m not a fortune-teller to know somebody would try to blow me up today, and apparently, the base’s security team lacks your ability to see into the future as well. I feel very confident they want me to keep breathing as much as I do.”

“Well, you sure couldn’t tell it by the choices you’ve been making.” He twisted in his seat to check out a pair of motorbikes close on their tail.

“You were right, okay? Totally right. I shouldn’t have left the base. You can lord it over me all you want.” And it hadn’t escaped her notice that they still weren’t home free yet.

The bikes whipped past and around a corner.

He relaxed back in his seat, his muscles still tensed, biceps straining against the sleeves of his polo shirt. “I don’t want to gloat. I want you to stop taking your life for granted. We are not in the U.S. of A. right now, and I’m not always going to be around to protect you.”

“Who are you to judge me? You don’t even know me.” Tears of frustration stung. He didn’t know her because she hadn’t let him, and once she did, he would let her down just like all the other men she’d dared let get close.

“Damn straight I don’t know you, but for some reason, I can’t seem to drag my sorry ass away from you.” He skimmed his fingers gently along her side again. “Chloe, what happened to you?”

She bit back the words. It wasn’t his business.

His fingers lingered, just a light touch but somehow tender, intimate. “I’ve come to your rescue three times now. I’m calling in the marker.”

She jerked away. “That’s not fair.”

“If you expect life to be fair, you’d better prepare yourself for one long suck fest.” He stared her down for a whole block before raising a hand in surrender. “Never mind. Keep your secrets.”

The fight flooded out of her, such a rare occurrence it surprised the hell out of her. But it wasn’t every day a girl almost got blown up. Jimmy, too, for that matter, and it would have been her fault. She owed him her life. He deserved at least the truth, even as her stomach clenched.

Chloe sagged back in her seat. “I had a kidney transplant.”

She watched his reaction. She watched as—just like every other man she’d told about her condition—his face closed up, and he looked away.

A transplant patient.

Charging through security measures at Incirlik Air Base on his way to a vaulted meeting room, he still worked to process what Chloe had said in the taxi. Tough to do with the taste of her still on his mouth, her flowery scent still in his senses, the feel of her soft body under his still imprinted.

Her revelation had knocked him on his ass at a time he was still reeling from the explosion and how close she’d come to getting blown up. After the way he’d lost his sister to cancer, he couldn’t help but be rocked by the similarities in their chronic health battles.

It was the last thing he’d expected to hear from sexy, full-on Chloe Nelson, but it explained that vulnerable vibe he kept getting from her. The one that kept luring him to drag her off somewhere safe.

Jimmy flashed his ID to the guard and passed over his cell phone and BlackBerry. No electronics were allowed where he was going. The guard nodded him through the metal detector.

Not that they’d talked about her transplant in any detail, since she’d clammed up for the rest of the taxi ride. She made it clear that while he may have gotten his answer, he wasn’t prying anything more from her.

And what
did
he want?

An outlet? Jimmy was deep-down pissed off at whoever’d set the explosion, at the bastards who’d taken Chuck, at life for dealing his sister and Chloe a raw hand, and at himself for not knowing how to handle what she’d told him.

His boots echoed down the long, chilly corridor, thundering as loud as his anger, anger directed at a crap ton of things. Problem was? He couldn’t fix big-time health concerns. He didn’t know who’d taken Chuck. And the guy responsible for the marketplace bombing currently had his guts splattered all over concrete.

At least Chloe’s leg injury had been minor, requiring only four stitches. Currently she was safely ensconced in an office with base security police, giving her version of the afternoon’s attack. Now he needed to meet up with Nunez for some sort of high security meeting in the vault.

A half hour after they’d bumped into each other at the market, the agent had sent a text message requesting this confab about the explosion—or rather
explosions
. Three other bombs had gone off throughout the day. Two at tourist sites and one right outside the front gate of the base, bursting the water pipes.

Too much was happening too fast for it to be unrelated.

He swiped his card through the third cipher lock and entered the windowless secure room. There was nowhere to hide anything in this bare room, not even some coffee to jolt his system.

Part of him hoped the agent had news on Chuck, and another part feared he did have news on Chuck. The bad kind.

Nunez sat in a stark steel chair at an even starker table. Today the agent looked like, well, an agent. Wearing a simple black suit, white shirt, dark tie, and expressionless face, he could have been a blank slate waiting to be filled with the next persona. “Only a few scrapes? You’re lucky.”