Shoot to Thrill (27 page)

“Yes,” she said, her mind awhirl. “I would imagine so.”

“
Alors
, if you will excuse us,” Count Virreau said. “I’ve just asked Mademoiselle Martin to share a bottle of—”

Suddenly the younger man in uniform interrupted, talking to Virreau in a rapid patois of French and Italian. But she was sure she heard her name mentioned in the mix. What was going on?

The young man stopped speaking and grinned at her. The two older men’s eyes met, then swung to her. Virreau looked annoyed. Daneby looked intrigued.

“Ah,” Virreau said with a small bow. “I am sorry. I did not realize you are with the other man, this guide.”

Her face heated even more. By now she was sure it must be as red as the sunset. “Kick? Yes, well . . . Is that what he said?” She slammed her eyes shut then opened them. “I mean, yeah, we are,
um
, kind of . . .”
Ho-boy.

The young man bailed her out in his singsong Italian lilt. “I have found a free tent so you both to sleep. Come, I show.”

“Thanks Eduardo,” Daneby said. “But first we must allow our guests to clean up and have something to eat.” He gestured down the hall toward the outside door. “Virreau, I hope you’ll contribute that contraband bottle of wine to our impromptu welcome feast. I for one could go for something stronger than mint tea.”

KICK
was acting even stranger and more tight-lipped than he had since the massacre at the oasis village, which was saying a lot. Rainie didn’t know what to make of it. He was still hurting physically from the withdrawal, and no doubt the cravings were eating at his concentration. She knew that. But it was no excuse for avoiding
her
. Which he was most definitely doing.

Okay, maybe he was still smarting from that remark she’d made back in the village about preferring to be Marc’s wife. He hadn’t said more than two words to her since then, other than answering her many questions about the GPS unit. But that hardly counted. And he had to realize she hadn’t actually meant it about Marc. Really, were men’s egos so delicate?

She sighed.
Apparently.

He’d been visibly relieved to hear Marc would make it, but other than with the young guard whose name was Eduardo, Kick responded only in monosyllables to most of the conversation around the dinner table. Afterward, since alcohol was technically illegal in the Sudan, the small group of foreign doctors and staff gathered for discreet drinks in the small hut belonging to the UN guards, which was the most secure from prying eyes. Still, though he never said word one to her, Kick deliberately sat next to Rainie and kept his arm draped pro prietarily across the back of her chair the whole time, as he also had at dinner . . . much to Virreau’s visible displeasure.

The poor count must not get any action at all in these parts to be so interested in her in her present less-than-glamorous state. Even after a welcome shower, shampoo, and change into clothes borrowed from one of the female doctors, she must look like a real train wreck. Sunburn, no makeup, and no sleep for four days will do that to a girl.

So why would Kick pretend they were an item? Even before the wife remark, he’d made it known he did not want to actually
be
an item with her. Beyond sharing a bed, of course. That, he’d made no secret of. Was he so anxious to get laid again before they parted ways? She really couldn’t see any other reason for the sham.

He had also spun some story to account for their presence south of the Egyptian border. Something about an aborted tour to the Cave of the Swimmers on the Egyptian/Libyan/ Sudanese frontier, an accidental fall from a cliff by Marc, and getting lost in the desert trying to find help. Thank goodness she’d heard of the famous Saharan cave filled with strangely incongruous Stone Age drawings of people swimming in a watery paradise, and was able to play along with his scenario and not blow it out of the water through sheer ignorance. So to speak.

God, she hated lying. But she understood that his mission was top secret and needed to be protected. And there was also that confidentiality agreement Forsythe had made her sign, with its not-so-implied threats if she opened her mouth. She just wondered what would happen when Kick had taken off again, and she was left to fend off Nathan Daneby and his staff’s prying questions on her own. Would she be able to maintain the story?

A sobering thought.

Not just because of the legal repercussions, or even because she hated lying. Which she did, vehemently. But because this time Kick really would be leaving her behind. And for good.

Damn, that sucked.

He was a dangerous, arrogant bastard. But against every inner warning and instinct for self-preservation, she had to admit . . . she was falling hard for the man. Falling hard enough that she didn’t just tell him to go straight to hell with his pretense of their being involved.

Because she, too, wanted to share his bed one last time before they parted ways.

And not just for the great sex.

But to feel his arms around her, smell his comforting scent, lay her head on his strong, broad shoulder. And one last time feel what it was to be loved by a man who’d rocked her world and changed her profoundly, from the inside out. Even if he was a goddamn bastard.

She sighed inwardly. So much for keeping her emotions out of this crazy relationship.

Too bad he was so good at keeping his locked up as tight as his heart.

SIXTEEN

“SO
what on earth made you choose to visit the Sahara Desert for your vacation, of all places?”

Kick’s arm stiffened on the seat back behind her as Rainie looked up from her second glass of excellent French wine. He’d told everyone about their cover: tourists and guide, lost from their bigger group. Yeah, like anyone would believe a man with those muscles and deadly eyes could be a simple tour guide.

But the friendly question had come from Margit, the plain and very sweet Danish doctor she’d borrowed clothes from, and everyone was curiously awaiting Rainie’s answer. She had to work not to let the truth show on her face—that it wasn’t by choice she was here, and it sure as hell wasn’t a vacation.

“Well.
Um
,” she wavered, “you probably wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

Naturally, that just made them all the more curious.

“Oh, no. Now you
have
to tell us,” Nathan Daneby said. He’d been acting squirrelly all evening. Like he had something on his mind. He’d also been trying to draw out Kick, but to no avail, either. “That’s far too intriguing a statement to leave us hanging like that.”

Kick turned to bore holes in her with his sharp gaze. “Yes, do tell,” he said in a tone that she knew really meant, “Tell, and your career as a nurse is toast.”

Okay, now what?
She cleared her throat. And went with the angle she’d been thinking a lot about today. “The truth is . . . my therapist recommended it.”

Everyone’s eyes widened. Including Kick’s.

Okay, so she hadn’t had a therapist in years, but when she’d had one, he
had
suggested she should take a road trip in order to work on some of her bigger fears. Like riding in cars and going outside a one-mile-square safe zone. She hadn’t heeded his advice, of course. She’d dealt with the grinding fear in other, easier, ways. Instead of challenging them, she’d organized her life to avoid them altogether. It hadn’t been until she’d landed—literally—in this unbelievable situation that she’d been forced to deal with her well-hidden but all-too-real neuroses in earnest. God, she hated when she ignored advice and it turned out to be right.

“Your
therapist
?” someone asked.

She cleared her throat again. “Yeah, I,
um,
suffered a trauma when I was young, the consequences of which have somewhat . . . limited my life. He encouraged me to overcome my irrational fears.”

Margit grinned with incredulity. “By driving around the Sahara looking at caves?”

“Well, actually, that was Kick’s idea,” Rainie said, glancing at him. Well, it
was
the truth. She could tell he really wanted to scowl at that, but didn’t dare. “Wasn’t it, sweetie?” she asked innocently.
Ha. Take that and smoke it.

Nathan Daneby gave a dry bark of laughter. “Figures you’d come up with something so bizarre, Jackson.”

“You two knew each other before the trip, then?” Virreau asked, refilling her wine. Kick put a hand over his glass when it was his turn.

“Sure,” she said, sending her lover an I-dare-you-to-disagree smile. “We met speed dating.”

“Speed dating?” Margit asked in her delightful accent. “What is that?”

Rainie explained, which had all the Europeans shaking their heads over the pathetic love lives of Americans. “Kick was the most interesting man there by a mile,” she said with a wink.

The two female doctors giggled appreciatively. Virreau snorted under his breath.

“So you let him sweep you away to the Sahara.” Margit sighed. “How romantic.”

Nathan Daneby got the strangest expression on his face. Alert, almost hopeful.

“Well, as it turned out,” Kick said gruffly, “not so much.”

Everyone sobered at the reminder of their supposed “accident” and the emergency that had brought them to the DFP camp.

“Speaking of which, I should go and check on Marc,” Rainie said, stifling a yawn. The company was convivial, but she was about to fall over from exhaustion. The wine hadn’t helped any, either. She rose to her feet. “See you all tomorrow.”

Kick quickly followed suit. “I’ll go with you.” He paused and turned back to the others. “I’ll be leaving very early in the morning, so in case I don’t see you again, thanks for helping us. Especially for saving Lafayette’s life. I can’t thank you enough.”

“What? You’re leaving?” Daneby said, obviously shocked. “So soon?”

“Have to. The tour must go on.” Kick gave a wry smile. “My company will be in touch to arrange for Marc’s evacuation back to the States, and—”

Nathan gave his head a shake. “Yes, of course, but I thought we could catch up before you—”

“What about Mademoiselle Martin?” Virreau interrupted. “Will she be leaving with you?”

Kick sent him a dark look. “No, she has graciously volunteered to accompany Lafayette home.”

“Oh! What a shame,” Margit said. “To come all this way and miss seeing the cave, and all the other wonders of Egypt.”

“Yes, I really wish I could stay, but . . .”

“Nonsense,” Margit said. “Then you must. In a few days Mr. Lafayette will be well enough to travel alone. And just think what your therapist will say if you abandon the trip now.” She looked positively Machiavellian as she said it.

Rainie pursed her lips. And thought about all those travel posters tacked up on her apartment walls. This trip was a far cry from those glamorous images. But still . . . By leaving, she really was wimping out. On levels she didn’t even want to think about.

Maybe the other woman had tickled her inner imp. Or the three glasses of wine had robbed her of her good sense. Or maybe it was the thought of never seeing Kick again . . . or the way he had studiously avoided speaking to her, or barely even looking at her, all evening. The man was truly insufferable, and she dearly wanted him to be as tormented as she was.

“Maybe you’re right, Margit,” she said. “I
should
stick it out and rejoin the tour with Kick.”

“No,” he said emphatically. So emphatically, everyone turned to stare at him. He shifted defensively. “Maybe your phobias aren’t so far off the mark,” he said brusquely. “We’re in the Sudan now, and the Sudan is a dangerous country, nothing like Egypt. Plan a trip to see the wonders of Yosem ite instead.”

“And will you be my guide there, too?” she asked, batting her lashes. Baiting him.

His eyes narrowed. “We can talk about that,” he said, herding her not-so-gently toward the door, “later.”

Eduardo jumped up and hurried after them. “I go with and show where you to sleep.”

After saying their good-byes to everyone, they dutifully followed the young UN guard to a small cluster of canvas tents on the far side of the compound. The night was still warm, but a breeze had kicked up, stirring the dust and rippling the tent roofs like a school of olive green stingrays. Luckily it was coming off the desert, putting the refugee camp with its ripe smells downwind.

“I’m sorry it not so fancy,” he said in cheerful apology when he lifted their tent’s flap to reveal the inside, which was big enough but bare of anything within its drab canvas walls save two cots under mosquito nets, a few blankets, and a rickety stand with a pitcher of water and two chipped glasses.

But to Rainie, anything resembling a bed looked like paradise. “No, it’s great,” she assured him.

It was only when she and Kick were making their way to the hospital building to look in on Marc a few minutes later that it occurred to her how narrow those cots were. Kick would barely fit on one, let alone have room for company.

Well, damn.

“I hope you weren’t serious about coming with me when I leave here,” he said, breaking the somewhat tense silence. “Because it’s out of the question.”

“I know,” she said. “You’ve made that quite clear.”

He shot her an exasperated glance. “I’ve got a job to do, Rainie. This is hard enough. There’s no room for—” He cut off abruptly with a jetted breath. What had he been about to say?
Distractions? Meaningless sex? Her? All of the above?

What. Ever.

Maybe the narrow cots were a good thing.

And as for her imagined fantasy vacation, that’s all it was. A total, foolish fantasy. The reality of this nightmare trip didn’t even come close. It was scary, dirty, and awful, and her supposed guide was being a pill.

“I could have sworn you were desperate to get back to New York,” he said with more than a touch of aggravation.

“Oh, I am,” she assured him. And she was. Very desperate.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“No problem. No problem at all.”

She had no clue why she was reacting this way, pushing it—him—like this. It was almost as though, now that she’d overcome her first big fear, some inner demon had been set loose, urging her to go all the way. To take them all down while she had the chance, every last one of the debilitating suckers, so she could finally live a normal life. A life without any limits on what she could do or where she could go or whom she could trust, due to her own irrational panics. Most of all, a life without Kick freaking Jackson and his heart-crushing emotional indifference.