Edge of Courage (Edge Security Series Book 5) (7 page)

She stopped walking and whirled toward him. “I’m not—”

“You’re an E.D.G.E. operator in a hot zone without backup, Sarah. It’s against SOP. You need a partner.”

She clenched her hands as irritation bit at her insides, but she managed to keep her voice even. “I have a partner. He’ll be back in another day.” Thankfully, they were almost at the RV. Then she could dump Dylan and his over-protectiveness again.

“And what if he’s delayed?”

She scowled. “I’ll be fine. There’s nothing you can do anyway.” She waved a hand at him, taking in his height, his fair face and blond hair, hidden at the moment under the black tight-fitting helmet he wore. “You’re practically a poster boy for the Aryan race. You’d be useless.”

The muscles in his jaw flexed. “You need a partner.”

“Now who’s being stubborn?”

“I will back you up until your partner comes back. Then I’m out. It’s standard operating procedure, Ghost. Unless you have an issue with me?”

She sucked in a breath. No way was she saying out loud that her issue was with him. Though it was. He was too distracting, too brash, and just too damn big. What was she going to do cooped up in a house with Dylan for twenty-four hours? A vision of him naked brought warmth to her cheeks.

See? Distracting
.

“It’s one day,” Dylan said. “Then I exfil.”

She shook her head. “How will you get out?”

He scowled. “The same way I got in. I’ll be one man at night. I’ll borrow one of your damn veils if I have to. I’ll be able to slip out of the city.”

Her stomach rolled at the thought of spending that much time with Dylan. Not yet. She wasn’t ready. “Really, there’s no need. I’m fine on my own,” she said.

Dylan leaned his rifle against his shoulder. “Listen, I
know
you don’t like me, and guess what? The feeling’s mutual, but this is SOP.” Dylan spoke into his radio. “College, this is Cowboy. Over.”

“This is College. Go ahead. Over,” Jake’s voice said over the comms.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she practically hissed.

Dylan stared right at her. “College, requesting meet at secondary exfil. Over.”

“Sit rep.”

“Ghost is staying. Tea-man hasn’t returned.”

“I have my own mission to complete,” she said into the mic.

“She has no backup.” Dylan raised an eyebrow at her as if daring her to deny it.

A pause filled the radio.

“Ghost, are you without backup?”

“Negative, College,” she said. “My partner is returning tomorrow.”

They both heard Jake’s sigh over the radio, as he meant for them to. It made her feel like a young kid at the home when the social worker sighed over the state of her hair or her ripped jeans. The echoes of the lectures about being presentable for potential foster parents made her scowl. She aimed her irritation at Dylan.

She keyed her mic. “No backup needed.”

“Sorry, Ghost,” Jake replied. “It’s SOP. RV at secondary exfil, Cowboy.”

“Copy that.”

“Copy,” she said curtly. “Ghost out.” She turned off her radio, no longer willing to listen to them talk.

She could lose this maverick cowboy in the warren of alleys that she now called home. He would have to meet the rest of his team at the exfil or risk being discovered when the sun rose.

She blew out a harsh breath. No matter how appealing the idea was, it would be childish and unprofessional. Not to mention dangerous. She wouldn’t put a team member in danger.

She glanced back at the silent man following her.

It would only be for one day. Two at the most. She sighed and jogged in the direction of her house. She could really use a drink.

D
ylan could use a drink
. He followed Sarah to the house she shared with the MI6 agent. The house was attached to similar boxlike homes, almost like town houses, but each with their own enclosed tiny patio. The street abutted the older maze-like section of the city they’d just left.

He was an idiot. Sarah clearly didn’t need him. Her partner was due back within a day and she was a competent operator. His lips twisted as he noticed yet another glare from her. Not only did she not need his help, she sure as hell didn’t want it either. But it was SOP and competent or not, she was a single operator on a two-man mission.

It had nothing to do with the fact his skin crawled at the thought of leaving her in this hellhole alone.

Like he’d said. He was an idiot.

He hadn’t spoken since he’d signed off the radio, and now he stood in the small alley that stank of some rotting animal—at least he hoped it was an animal. Sarah unlocked her back door, but didn’t open it.

“Problem?” Dylan checked over his shoulder. The piles of garbage and boxes made the skin between his shoulders itch. Insurgents always hid IEDs in seemingly innocuous piles of trash.

Sarah huffed out a breath and then faced him. Her arms crossed over her chest as her dark-brown eyes shot sparks at him.

“Don’t get any ideas that you’re in charge of me,” she said. “I’m an operator, not someone who needs protecting.”

“Look. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable. I do. But I wouldn’t let any of my team stay in this shithole on their own.” He shrugged. “I’m only here until you get backup.”

She studied him, as if judging his words. He wanted to hold up two fingers in a Boy Scout salute, but decided it would probably only irritate her further. He knew when not to poke the bear.

He’d seen her temper, and although she looked beautiful when full of fire, it would only make the next twenty-four hours more hellish. She’d shown him clear as day with her good-bye note that she no longer wanted anything to do with him. And he sure as fuck didn’t want anything to do with her. He didn’t need his insides twisted up again like last time. He just needed to lie low and make everything go by as peaceful as possible.

“Fine,” she said. “You’ll do what I say. Stay quiet and stay inside.”

He frowned. “How did you get to be the one in charge?”

“Because this is my mission,” she said. “And don’t frown at me.” She waved her hand at him. “You’re too big to go unnoticed. Your eyes are too blue and your hair is too blond. You look like…”

“A Viking?” He raised his eyebrows. He’d told himself not to tease her, to keep it professional, but he’d always had problems controlling his mouth.

She snorted. “No. More like an American tourist.” She pushed open the door and went in. The single-story home was a two-bedroom with a small kitchen in the back and a sitting room with a boxy TV in the front. The two bedrooms and a bathroom led off the sitting room. A set of stairs went down to a basement. On the two-person table in the kitchen sat a plate with half a cookie next to a half-glass of milk.

A creak sounded from one of the bedrooms. Dylan tensed. He pulled his Sig Sauer P226 and stalked into the bedroom.

“Wait,” Sarah said.

He lifted his hand to silence her and slowly pushed open the door, his weapon up and ready. Sarah stepped in front of him.

“What the fuck?” He pushed her aside, but she resisted and popped in front of him again.

“I said, wait.” She flicked on the light in the bedroom.

Sparse. A double bed hugged the far wall. A blanket of swirling reds, oranges, and pinks covered it. A single hairbrush sat on top of the chest of drawers. Books littered a small bookshelf and the bedside table. There was no closet. He’d bet money this was Sarah’s room.

When they’d had time off together on a weekend, they’d both enjoy a quiet morning together. He’d read the morning paper while she snuggled next to him on the couch with her nose in a book. She’d mentioned once that books had been some of her best friends growing up. It had sounded lonely to him and had made him want to dig deeper, but he hadn’t, knowing that she’d only throw her shields up if he tried.

“Who’s here?” he asked her.

She sighed and then turned and spoke in Arabic. “
Ta-aal
, Jalila.”

A small girl, her head scarf falling off her brown hair, crawled out from under Sarah’s bed. “
Salaam,
Sarah
.
”

“Fuck.” He holstered his sidearm. This was going to complicate things.

The girl nodded at him, her blue eyes wide. “f-uck,” she said.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Don’t swear,” she told him. “She wants to learn English and will repeat everything you say.”

“Shi—” He scowled. “Who is she?”

Jalila’s tentative smile dropped from her face. Sarah moved to her and put her arm around the girl’s too-thin shoulders. She used a soothing tone when she spoke to Dylan. “Do not scare this girl or I will fuck you up.”

His face smoothed of the scowl. “What about the swearing rule?”

Sarah glared at him. “What about it?”

“Nothing.” He held up his hands and while he didn’t smile, she saw the twinkle in his eyes. “So who’s the kid?”

Sarah spoke to Jalila in Arabic. “Jalila, this is Dylan. He’s hiding, like you.”

“
As-salamu alaykum
, Dylan.” She ducked her head as soon as she spoke.

Dylan smiled at the girl. “
Wa-alaikum salaam
, Jalila.” Then he stared hard at Sarah. She turned back to Jalila; she would give Dylan answers soon enough.

“Is he the man you rescued tonight?” Jalila asked her in Arabic.

“No, that was another man.”

“You rescue a lot of people.”

That made her smile.

“Will you get him out too?”

The sooner the better. But Sarah just nodded. “Now, what are you doing up?”

“I got scared.”

“You can sleep in my bed for the rest of the night.” Though there wasn’t much of the night left. It was almost five in the morning. Dawn would be here in just over an hour. She expected the first call to prayer to happen any moment. She waved Dylan out of the room. He took the hint and left. She tucked Jalila into bed and kissed her forehead, wishing her goodnight. “
Tosbeheena ‘ala khair
.”

She turned off the light and steeled herself to go speak with the man in her kitchen. A man she hadn’t seen since she’d snuck out of his bed five months ago. The feelings she’d been running from back then all rushed back with a vengeance, making her almost lightheaded. A smile tugged at her lips. It was good to see him again.

“Sarah.” His low voice came from the kitchen. “Don’t avoid me.”

A chill rushed over her skin. She had to get a grip. This was no happy reunion. He was leaving tomorrow when Rakin got back. Besides that, he now loathed her because she’d dumped him.

She deserved his dislike and had always known it would come eventually, but she still hated the thought of it.

He leaned against the counter when she walked in, eating one of the
kleicha
cookies. He’d put his helmet on the table, revealing his wheat-colored hair. It was slicked back with sweat; dirt and camo paint smeared his face, making his vibrant blue eyes stand out. He’d shed his pack, but still had his rifle over his shoulder. His muscled body looked entirely too comfortable in her kitchen.

“She’s why you wouldn’t leave,” he said.

“She’s Yazidi and ISIS enslaved her for being an infidel.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s ten.”

“You rescued her,” he said quietly. “You could have told me. I would have understood.”

“There wasn’t time to explain.”

His cocked an eyebrow. “Right. I forgot you’re good at not explaining.”

Wariness prickled her skin. “What do you mean by that?”

Anger lit his eyes, making them blaze. “I told myself I was going to keep this professional, but I need an answer.”

“Answer to what?” she said slowly.

His nostrils flared and he bared his teeth. “Why you left, Sarah. Did you think your note was enough? After Syria, we spent the whole month together. I thought it was the start of something. And then one morning I wake up and you’re gone. With only a goddamn note to explain.”

He shook his head. “‘It’s been fun,’” he quoted. “‘I’m going on a long-term assignment. Don’t worry, you’re free and clear of me.’

Her mouth dropped open. “I thought I was doing you a favor.” And she had been. He wouldn’t have wanted to be with her much longer. It was better to have a clean break.

“A favor?” His gaze narrowed. “By not saying good-bye? Woman, you are so screwed up.”

She was, she knew. And now he knew it too. She wanted to curl in on herself for protection from his derisive gaze, instead she swallowed hard and lifted her chin. She was Sarah Ramirez and she had a job to do.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” she said.

“Of course it doesn’t, Agent Ice.” She flinched at the use of the nickname. He’d never called her that before. Not him. “Not sure what I was expecting,” he continued. “An apology?” He laughed harshly.

“I’m s—”

“Save it,” he said. “You’re five months too late.”

Something inside her shriveled up. She turned away, not wanting him to see how this hurt.

“Let’s just agree to keep this professional,” he said. “Tell me about the girl. What are you going to do with her? Any family to take care of her when you go?”

The mournful sound of a man singing the long notes of the call to prayer echoed outside. It was the
adhan
for
Fajr
, the first of the five daily prayers.

She knew she should get some sleep, but she wouldn’t. Mostly because she wouldn’t be able to relax with Dylan here. He was only here until Rakin got back; then he’d leave, she assured herself.

She pulled her tins of flour and sugar from the cupboard. She didn’t need any more cookies in the house, but she found herself gathering ingredients anyway.

“She said her parents are dead,” she finally answered Dylan. “Though she thinks she still has family at the refugee camp in Duhok. Her older sister is being held in the same place I rescued her from. Jalila wants me to get her out too.”

“You know how dangerous that would be.” He moved closer to her.

She nodded and measured two cups of flour into a bowl, trying to ignore his large presence so close. Her skin felt flushed. She would make more
hajji badah
cardamon cookies.

“But you’re going to rescue her anyway,” he said.

She opened her baking powder, not looking at him. Memories of the first time she’d cooked for him crept into her mind. He’d been amazed at her skill, comparing it to both chemistry and magic, but with better results. She’d laughed at his comment, and almost burned the beef wellington when he’d distracted her with kisses and more laughter.

They’d laughed so much that month.

“Sarah? You listening to me?”

She started. “Of course.”

Not.

She snagged the baking soda and measured a quarter of a teaspoon.

He sighed. “When are you planning to do this rescue?”

She mixed a touch of salt and a teaspoon of cardamom into her dry ingredients in the bowl. “When Rakin returns. He wants out, so I need him to help me before I have to train a new agent in this position.”

“Are you kidding? Rakin is leaving?”

She gritted her teeth and measured one and a third cups of sugar into another bowl and added four eggs. “He wants to go home. I don’t blame him.”

He shook his head. “Not what I meant. If Rakin can punch out from this assignment, then so can you. But you’d stay in this shithole even though your partner is leaving? Those ISIS bastards are executing people every day. What more can you do here?”

“I am helping women and kids escape every week—”

“Then they’re going to catch you soon.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I am an excellent operator.”

“You’ve been here too long. You’re taking unnecessary risks.”

“You don’t understand.”

He stepped closer to her. “You’re emotionally involved. I don’t know how it happened, Agent Ice, but you are. That means your judgement is compromised. I have to report that.”

Agent Ice
. The nickname lashed her again. She sucked in a breath but steeled herself not to show any hurt. Their relationship was long over. This was a professional matter. If he told Blackwell her judgement was off, then she could be pulled from her assignment and it would go on her record.

Anger seared over the initial hurt of his words, cauterizing the wound. “You’d better not report me.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Then show me that you’re not personally involved. That you’re not making decisions based on emotion and I won’t say a thing. Even if you are wasting your life, hiding in this shithole.”

“I’m not hiding.” She whirled back to the counter and stirred all her ingredients together. She slammed the bag of ground almonds on the counter next. “You should take a shower. You stink.”

She measured two cups and then stirred the cookie dough and gave a glance over her shoulder. Dylan was gone. Presumably to the bathroom. The damn man moved too quietly.

She turned back to her dough. A muffled curse hit her ears and she smiled. Looked as if the hot water was off again.

“Welcome to my shithole,” she said.

It took her long moments to calm down. Her emotions weren’t compromised. Rakin had called her cold. Even Dylan didn’t think she had emotions. A twist of pain in her chest startled her. She swallowed. It didn’t matter what Dylan thought. She did her job and she helped people; that mattered. It made her matter.

It was past sunrise and she still worked in the kitchen while sorting out her thoughts. She hummed tunelessly as she dropped spoonfuls of dough on a cookie sheet. She also had a lamb stew simmering on the stove. She gave it a stir and added more cumin.

Being in the kitchen had always soothed her. She had hazy memories of when she was really little, when her dad had been around and her mother had been happy. Her mother had stood, smiling, at the stove while Sarah ate a hot churro, almost burning her fingers on it. She couldn’t even remember her father’s face.