Defender (6 page)

She walked right past him and leaned on the bar to ask for another round of drinks in Turkish. He did a double take. She was short. He wouldn’t have guessed it from the way she’d reined in that table with such massive chutzpah. Maybe five foot two. She arched up on her toes to place the order.

“Nice job,” he said in Spanish, since that was his cover country.

She frowned at him and shook her head uncomprehendingly.

“Nice job?” he swapped to carefully accented English. “Handling those soldiers”—he glanced at her brass name tag pinned to her dress—“Anya.”

He could speak passable Turkish and understood it fluently, but he wanted to keep that bit of information to himself.

“Oh, that was nothing,” she answered in heavily accented English while counting bills before shoving them in her apron pocket.

That
was nothing? Looked impressive to him. Impressive enough to keep even him on guard around her. There weren’t many who could accomplish that after so long spent watching his back.

“Would you like another drink?”

“Where did you learn to defend yourself so effectively?”

She peered back over her shoulder through narrowed eyes. “Are you looking for a demonstration? I have another knife within reach, although I grow weary from how long I carry trays. I might miss and cut off a finger.”

“But I didn’t touch you.”

“There are many ways to touch a person that are equally as . . .” Her brow furrowed as she apparently searched for the right word. “Disrespectful.”

Her grasp of English seemed quite extensive for a Turkish barmaid. Except she didn’t look Turkish, more Russian. But again, appearances could be deceiving.

“No disrespect meant. In fact, that move of yours earned my complete respect.”

She sniffed. “I must return to work or I am fired. Do you want a drink or not?”

He passed her his empty glass along with two folded bills, triple what the drink should cost. “Raki.”

Raki was the national drink of Turkey, also called
aslan sütü
or lion’s milk because of how it turned cloudy white when mixed with water. She took the money without comment or thanks.

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

“I am much of a worker.”

“You seemed fine with speaking to those guys over there—as long as they kept their hands to themselves. Maybe I should wear a uniform next time.” Like Chuck Tanaka.

“I was only taking their order as I have done yours. Now I need to return to work.” She flipped the money between her fingers before sliding it into her apron pouch. She reached across the bar, snagged his drink, and centered it on a napkin. “Have a nice evening.”

He extended an arm, blocking her exit. “How much would it cost to cover your wages for an hour so we could talk?”

“I do not talk to patrons.” Her eyes flicked to a small paring knife lying behind the bar in a pile of sliced limes.

Didn’t need to tell him twice. “Fair enough then. I will just have to monopolize your time placing drink orders until I am roaring drunk.”

“Orders are always welcome.” She pushed aside his arm as easily as she brushed off his advance.

He studied her brisk stride away and felt an unwelcome arousal inside him. That sort of distraction on the job meant death.

While she wasn’t the Marta A. Surac on their suspect list, he couldn’t ignore the possible connection. She was all the more suspicious for her easy capacity for violence she showed with the knife, and then there was her unflappable self-assurance. Yeah, he would definitely be hanging out here for a while longer, throwing around dough to cement his cover.

Except a quiet voice whispered in his head that he had just joined the ranks of the fucking morons.

FIVE

INCIRLIK AIR BASE

Fuck, that hurt.

Jimmy ducked to avoid another swing, his jaw still throbbing. One soldier trying to make his way up on the stage had swelled into an all-out brawl involving most of the first three rows. How had the dumb ass expected to make it past the shoulder-to-shoulder wall of security, easily identifiable in their cammos and blue berets?

Officers and senior NCOs pulled at the barely-old-enough-to-shave contingent pummeling out their pent-up energy. Jimmy had his eyes set on scooping up Chloe and getting her away from this chaos with her glittery heels and negligible costume intact. This woman sure had an uncanny knack for landing in the middle of trouble.

Jimmy dodged a blow and delivered a gut punch that reverberated up his arm. He didn’t even want to think about how much damage the frenzy of a stomping mob could inflict on someone as fragile as Chloe. She looked so damn pale and delicate up there, it stroked all his protective instincts.

He could subdue these clowns, inflicting minimal damage, but that would take time. Reaching Chloe pronto limited how long he could waste on defensive moves.

Jimmy hurdled over two tussling bodies crashing into chairs. In some distant part of his brain, he registered that his crew mates had joined in to break up the brawl. Or maybe they were battling through to drag him out before he wrecked himself for flight duties. Except he had never been downed in a bar fight, and he didn’t intend to start today.

He vaulted onstage and made his way toward the cluster of screaming performers—male and female—jamming up the exit into the wings. He latched his gaze on Chloe’s mass of blond curls piled on top of her head and pushed toward her.

Ducking a shoulder into her stomach, he hefted her up. Not much of a heft, actually. She was lighter, frailer feeling, when she wasn’t waterlogged.

A security cop headed toward them with his M-4 carbine drawn. “Halt. Put her down.”

Great. They thought he was one of the hormonal whackos.

Chloe waved, angling her head to the side. “It’s okay. He’s helping me.”

The cop nodded and rushed past them toward the fray. Jimmy pressed ahead, out of the hangar and onto the moonlit tarmac.

She jostled along on his shoulder. “You can thank me for not selling you out to that cop for fun.”

Seemed she’d used up all her gratitude earlier. “And you can thank me for saving your ass again.”

He smacked a flattened palm on her butt—only to steady her of course. And to stop the tantalizing brush of her breasts across his back.

“Ouch, you Cro-Magnon.” She smacked his butt right back. “Put me down.”

“You were wriggling. I was only keeping you from falling off.” Of course, if she touched him like that again, he might just drop her.

He sidestepped a rolling cart and plopped her back on her own damn feet. “Are you all right?”

Her piled curls slid precariously to one side, but the woman herself looked plenty steady as she gazed up at him with assessing eyes.

“I wasn’t the one in a fistfight. How are you?” She reached toward the corner of his mouth.

He flinched away. “I’m fine.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult your masculinity.” She folded her arms over her chest defensively. “I appreciate that you’re concerned, but I was actually okay. One of these days I really would like to save my own tookus.”

“You’re going to need something more than a couple of killer mics swinging around like a nunchaku.” Now that he had her face-to-face, that brought another irritation to mind. “I assume your allergies are under control? I notice you’re not sneezing. I waited around after your first show for a half hour to take you to the doctor.”

“I found a security cop who was
happy
to help me, thank you very much.”

“Good.” He stepped between her and a stream of people pouring from the mosh pit. “See if you can stay out of trouble for a while.”

“How many close calls can a person have? I already feel like I’m wearing a red shirt.”

“Red shirt?” He struggled to follow her tangential logic. God, she gave him a headache. “Like the aircraft carrier crews?”

“No. Like in a
Star Trek
episode. I take it you’re not a Trekkie.”

Not so much. “I rarely watch television.”

“Figures,” she mumbled. “In
Star Trek
, the characters wearing a red shirt variation of the uniform always ended up dead. Well, except for Scotty, of course, and . . . Never mind. You’re obviously not a card-carrying member of the Geek Club.”

The tilt of her snooty nose made it clear she hadn’t paid him a compliment.

Before he could answer, she looked toward the stage and frowned. “I hope everyone’s okay. Surely this trip will be smooth sailing from now on.”

Was she insulting their security? If so, she’d gone too far. He started to remind her who’d rescued her perky ass twice now, but the handcuffed men in uniform being escorted away didn’t exactly speak well for his side.

Where the hell was Nunez? Jimmy eyed Chloe—a long way down, since she barely reached his chin. Too bad she couldn’t transfer some of that moxie into muscle. “I’ll stay here with you until we’re sure everything’s safe.”

She opened her mouth to argue.

He held up his index finger, stopping shy of touching her mouth. “If you leave now, you’ll only be in the way. Let security do their job in calming the crowd.”

“Fine. You’re right.” She puffed a sigh, hot and steamy along his skin.

He curled his finger closed and lowered his arm to his side. How long would he have to stand here with her?

She looked away, her hand fluttering up to sweep back her askew hair bun. “Where did you learn all those moves out there? Was it some kind of judo wrestling?”

He welcomed the distraction of a safe, neutral topic. “You’ve got the country right, different Japanese technique though. Aikido, which focuses on self-defense without harming the attacker. And I throw in an occasional good old American bar-fight punch when absolutely necessary.”

“Is martial arts standard air force survival training now?”

“I pulled some time in Japan. I took a few classes.” Actually, he’d mastered a number of martial art forms because, hey, if you planned to throw your sorry mug into every brawl, it made sense to have that mug well-defended.

“A few classes? Yeah, right.” A tiny smile tugged at a corner of her mouth. “And I really didn’t watch the
Star Trek
‘Trouble with Tribbles’ episode twenty-seven times.”

Tribbles?
“What can I say? I’m Mars, god of war.” He thumped his chest.

“A Roman mythology reference? That’s not what I would have expected from you.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you just called me a dumb jet jock.” Did she think he crawled straight out of the primordial ooze into the cockpit? Little did she know that to make major in the air force these days required a master’s degree. “We flyboys do read a book without pictures every now and then.”

“Sorry.” Her gaze dipped away, and she plucked at a stray string on the hem of her costume. “So the whole ‘I am Mars, god of war’ thing . . . Does that pickup line actually work on women?”

“You would be surprised.” Although it appeared it didn’t stand a chance of gaining traction with her. Not that he wanted it to. Back to that subject change. “Actually, the word
martial
comes from Mars. So in essence,
martial arts
means the art of Mars.”

“Damn,” Vapor appeared beside him, the big guy moving as quietly as—well—vapor. “Next thing you know he’ll be pulling out the pocket-sized copy of Sun Tzu’s
The Art of War
he carries around in his flight suit.”

“Hey pal, don’t you have a rubber chicken or whoopee cushion to go play with?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Vapor scrubbed a hand over his shaved head with that aw-gosh-golly-and-shucks shit he pulled to romance women. Nobody would guess right now that he’d once been a hard-core biker. “Sorry about the ruckus over there, ma’am. I can help you find your quarters if you would like to leave.”

Chloe backed away from them both. “Actually, I should check in with the stage manager to see if we’re finishing the show. I’ll be careful to stay clear of trouble.”

Vapor scratched his shiny head. “Isn’t the stage manager the dweeby guy dressed all in black like Dieter from those old
Saturday Night Live
episodes? If so, he’s in the head hyperventilating.”

Chloe winced.

Vapor winked at her as she stepped farther away. “Just call if you need me.”

Good. She had a new protector now. Even one up to speed on old TV pop culture references. Given the rumors about Vapor’s teenage days on the street, he could handle anything, anywhere. Bodyguard duty over and done.

Jimmy eyed his friend. Eyed Chloe.

Next thing he knew, Jimmy called out to Chloe, “If you’re really serious about protecting yourself when no one’s around, I can teach you some basic self-defense moves.”

She raised a hand over her shoulder and waved some kind of noncommittal response that set his teeth on edge with frustration at himself as much as her.

Why the hell didn’t he just walk away from this woman? For that matter, Vince—his whole damn crew—should be staying away from her and anyone else until they found Chuck. The implanted chip showed he was still alive, but that could change at any minute.

Given all the missing airmen and recent incidents, it did, in fact, seem they were all wearing red shirts.

* DOWNTOWN ISTANBUL

Marta Surac slammed the door shut on the basement cell.

The damp smell of mold and fear saturated each breath. How sad she did not have time to savor this moment of power as she raced back and forth between bars, dealing with her current captive and scoping out future possibilities.

However, the continued success of her operation depended on keeping her captures widespread, and she’d already pushed as far as she dared in this country.

Her heels clicked a slow tattoo on the cement floor as Baris ended his “interview” with the airman. The jeans the flyboy had worn to the bar were now stained with blood. So far they’d only found out a smattering about him. Just his first name, Chuck, and that he was a pilot. In fact, the scarcity of information available led her to believe his missions were classified.

Even the drugs did not work beyond babblings of childhood games. He’d obviously been trained in avoidance techniques and possessed a strong will. But she had so many other options for her captives.

Chuck’s face was swollen and bruised beyond recognition, but she’d studied him early on and determined him to be of some Polynesian descent, although his accent was 100 percent American.

“Baris, enough. Leave us now.” Rarely did she have to participate in interrogations anymore, but this gentleman was proving difficult. She had another mission in mind for Baris later, anyway.

Her hulking employee cracked his knuckles and eyed her with a possessiveness she would deal with later. These animals she employed always angled for sex after a session.

But first . . .

“Close the door behind you.”

Their guest didn’t pose any threat to her, thanks to the shackles that secured his wrists and ankles to the chair, which was bolted to the floor. She pulled her hands from behind her back and placed a water bottle on the table beside Airman Chuck. In her other hand, she held a key, a ruby ring glinting as red as the blood trickling from the corner of his lips.

Marta unlocked his left hand, the broken one. “Have a drink.”

He eyed the bottle suspiciously.

She twisted the cap, the seal hissing. “It has not even been opened, so it’s safe to drink.”

He grasped the plastic bottle and brought it to his mouth. His shaking grip sloshed water until he finally managed to steady the opening between his teeth. He drained a third in a single swig before swiping his wrist across his face, leaving a smear of blood.

She circled his chair, lingering longest in front. “You are wise to question whether the drink has been tampered with. They will use any means possible to achieve their goal.”

“Not just they,” he rasped. “You, too.”

She nodded. “Of course. You show your intelligence again. Your brain and strength make for quite a combination in holding out against our methods of persuasion. Your military has trained you well in resistance techniques.”

Both a challenge and a frustration for her. She had a buyer in mind for the type of information she believed Chuck held, a buyer pressuring her for more U.S. military secrets. She’d upped her number of kidnappings recently in hopes of obtaining the nugget that would bring the payoff dangled in front of her. That kind of money would allow her to transplant her network into Southeast Asia.

He took another swallow of water, eying her silently then placing the bottle back on the small wooden table.

“A smart, strong man such as yourself must realize this can only end two ways. Either you give us what we need on your own terms and you live, or we will coerce some portion of information from you, and you will lose what little control you have over your situation before you die.”

He did not show even a flicker to indicate he’d heard her. He must have deep secrets to guard.

A thrill tickled low in her belly. Apparently she could still feel after all, because this man’s unusual strength brought a rush of pleasure. Breaking him suddenly became about more than the money she could garner from selling his information.

He reached for the bottled water, his teeth gritted as he forced himself not to shake.

She whipped her hand from her pocket, flicked the switchblade, and stabbed the wood a centimeter away from his fingers. The knife vibrated in her grip with understated menace.

“You drink when I tell you to drink.”

* INCIRLIK AIR BASE

Nunez entered the hangar that housed the CV-22, his eyes blurry from the bar’s smoke but his mind still clear, thanks to the experimental drugs he’d popped to combat the effects of the alcohol. Sure, there were times he winced at taking unapproved meds for his job, but at least he wasn’t a total guinea pig like the guys who’d run the first round of testing on the pills.