Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 (18 page)

dimness. A ray of midnight sunshine in a halter-neck dress of some yellow, silky-looking fabric. A deliciously short skirt exposed long, gorgeous dancer's legs and a goodly amount of slender thigh.

It took a while for Kyle's eyes to travel up that awesome body to her face. Even her light brown hair had been streaked with sunshine. Pretty without being outrageously beautiful, she smoothed her hands self-consciously down her short skirt and looked around uncertainly.

Fascinated, Kyle had leaned back, beer forgotten as he observed her. Joining a date? Hoping to spot a friend? Waiting for her eyes to adjust? She'd been innocent entertainment and a welcome diversion from his thoughts and misgivings about this venture with Montero.

Their eyes met. Suddenly her slender shoulders straightened and her chin tilted—then she'd made a beeline straight for him.

He'd never done anything like it in his life. He'd had several casual relationships over the years. Hell, he
liked
women. He'd had a couple of long-term relationships that had eventually fizzled—one after eight months, the other after a couple of years. The breakups had been mutual, and unsurprisingly amicable.

He'd never picked up a strange woman and had a one-night stand in his life. Yet he'd sat in that dim San Francisco bar and known within minutes that if Delanie offered, he'd accept. Part of that, he knew, was the very real fear of what he was about to embark on.

God only knew there were a million things that could've gone wrong, no matter how extensive his expertise. He was by no means a pessimist, but Kyle had said his good-byes to his father that night as if they were his last. He'd written to each of his siblings, leaving the letters with his attorney in the event of his death. A chilling, and very real, possibility. Even now.

And while Delanie's precipitous departure had puzzled and hurt him, he was still grateful to her for giving him that glorious weekend to remember, always.

Perhaps in the intervening years he'd built on that shining memory because he'd needed something to sustain him. Perhaps he'd read more into what they'd shared that weekend than she had… Perhaps.

Even if she
hadn't
left, he'd known he had absolutely nothing to offer her. Not then. Possibly not ever.

He'd've left himself the next morning.

All she'd done was gyp them of a few more hours.

All.

Yet he'd felt a painful wrench of betrayal when he discovered she'd left that night. The sex had been mind-blowing, wonderful, amazing. But Kyle had always felt that they'd connected on another level. A level he'd never found with another woman, before or since.

With a scowl Kyle twisted the bottom of the glass in a puddle of moisture on the scarred wood tabletop.

Hell, just because they'd talked for all of an hour before he was upstairs with her in her room didn't mean she always behaved that way.

He'd been her first.

A
kindergarten
teacher, for godsake!

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And even though she'd up and disappeared like a puff of smoke afterward, he didn't believe for one damn second that she'd have slept with Montero. She might believe it. But he sure as hell didn't. Acting like a bimbo and being one were two different things. She was even lousy at pretending she was such a hard-ass.

He'd get her to safety, then somehow he'd ensure someone found her sister for her.
Then
he'd go to Sacramento and demand that they start over.

Third time lucky.

He might not know her as well as he'd thought, but drugs or no drugs, Delanie would never have let another man touch her like he had this afternoon.
Never
.

She
belonged
to him, goddamn it!

He gave a strangled, half laugh. Jerk. He was feeling
used
. Christ, what a joke.

Having that brief conversation with Delanie earlier had made her behavior suddenly exceedingly clear.

He felt a cold fist clinch his gut.

Unlike himself, who had always had a supportive and loving family, Delanie was it in
her
family. A flaky mother, a flakier sister, and an absentee father. A helluva lot easier to concentrate on fixing everybody else's woes than to look inward to her own needs. It was obvious that she needed her family to need her and took her responsibility as caretaker very seriously.

She was unbendingly stubborn, intractable, and single-minded. She was also annoyingly self-reliant. But he admired her grit, her sheer determination, and her unswerving loyalty that refused to be shaken, even when the deck was stacked against her.

Even when it pissed him off.

"Yo, Doc. Gonna cut that hair when we've nailed our man?" Darius, a T-FLAC team member stood beside the table. Kyle cursed. He hadn't seen the guy approach. This kind of ineptness could get him killed.

"I'd better. It's starting to grow on me," he said dryly, pushing the long braid over his shoulder and kicking out a chair from the table for the younger man. "Symbolism be damned," he drawled. "The stuff's a nuisance."

"We all do whatever's necessary to keep focused when we've gone deep." Dare sat. "What's got you so PO'd?" His dark hair hung loose to his linebacker shoulders. A puckered scar bisected one cheek, pulling the right side of his mouth into a perpetual snarl. Dare suited his name. He had a sense of restrained menace about him, as if civilization was a garment seldom worn.

"Preoccupied," Kyle corrected absently. He held up a hand. "Yeah, yeah. Just as dangerous as being PO'd."

Kyle drained his beer and signaled the waitress for two more. "Let me put it this way. A voice from my past, who
shouldn't
be on Izquierdo has somehow managed, in a few short days, to short-circuit my usually functional brain cells."

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The waitress, wearing the shortest, most obscene, shorts he'd ever seen, slid two beers on the table in front of them. His glower encouraged her not to linger. When she'd huffed off, he quickly filled Dare in on Delanie's suspicion about her sister's kidnapping.

"You heading straight back tomorrow after customs?"

"Yeah, everything's set." Kyle drank some of his warm beer without tasting it. "I'll take care of Palacios as well, then get back up there for the grand finale."

"Can't wait for it to be over?" Dare asked with a trace of sympathy.

"It shows?" Kyle grimaced.

Dare shrugged, his fingers wrapped about his glass. "Hey man, you've got family, a real life. I'm in this for the long haul. There's a never ending supply of terrorists. Once Montero's gone it won't be five seconds before I'm needed someplace else."

"There's nothing like a nice quiet, predictable lab," Kyle admitted dryly. "I only took this on because I was the closest person they had to Montero. We went to school together. He trusts me. God only knows after four years of this crap I'm ready to cut bait. Doesn't it get to you?"

Dare shrugged, his scar taut across his face. "Nah. After all these years it's what I know." He paused. "I just wished to Christ we didn't have to dick around with the real thing. Scares the crap outta me, man."

"I'm not too thrilled about it myself. But the poxvirus is safely contained, and no one can open the case other than myself. After I pick it up at customs tomorrow morning, believe me, I'll handle that suitcase and its contents like the lethal poison it is."

Kyle glanced around the misery-filled cantina. God only knew he didn't want an accident that would increase the wretchedness of these people's existence.

He met Dare's patient gaze. "Montero's paranoid, he'll have the vials checked as soon as I get back. For authenticity. Once that's done, those viruses are history. We're not taking the risk of this much manpower coming into contact, I assure you."

"And we're all behind you one hundred percent. The only thing you have to worry about is that little suitcase of yours. We'll do garbage detail so you can get back to your family."

The two men grinned, in perfect accord.

"Saw Michael last night," Dare told him. "There aren't any other SEALs involved. What'd he do? Quit?

Or is big bro here to cover
your
puny ass?"

"Are you kidding? Michael is career Navy. He'd never quit while he has a breath in his body." Kyle smiled. "He took a leave of absence. Wants to make sure I do this right."

"Pal, if everybody wasn't
positive
you'd do this right, you wouldn't
be
here, trust me."

Kyle had never felt the weight of responsibility more keenly. He was grateful his older brother would be at his back in a couple of days. T-FLAC had eagerly included him in one of their elite teams for the
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duration.

With his brother and people like Darius behind him, Kyle felt confident he could do what had to be done.

Unfortunately not all the agencies involved were crazy about working closely with other agencies.

Particularly with this many involved. But every country had a stake in the outcome of this particular mission. The chances of something going sour were too damn high. His men were used to being outnumbered, and they liked the challenge. But in this instance they didn't have anywhere near the manpower to field an operation of this magnitude.

To do this right they needed every pair of hands they could get.

After a few more minutes of business, Dare rose, leaving his untouched drink on the table, but slapping down a large tip. "I'll keep an eye on your woman at the cafe, then get her to the airport when you're on your way."

"I'd appreciate you keeping an eagle eye on her at the cafe. But negative on the transportation." It was flat, unequivocal. Kyle rose, too, and walked out with him. "Seeing her board that plane with my own eyes is the only way I'll believe she's safely outta here."

They stopped outside in the deep shadows of a nearby alley before parting. It smelled of rotting vegetables and things long dead.

"Sounds to me as if you're in grave danger of losing your objectivity here, Doc," Darius pointed out.

"And I hope to God this woman hasn't caused you to drop your cover."

"I haven't forgotten what I'm doing here. And I don't need a reminder." Kyle gave his associate a direct look.

Dare held his own. "Get rid of her. You have two choices. Send her home or kill her."

Kyle dismissed the guard he'd ordered Gil to post outside Delanie's door at the safe house, and let himself into the room. The lights were still on. She lay in exactly the same uncomfortable position he'd left her in an hour ago. Feet on the floor, sprawled on her back, one arm over her eyes. There were dirty tear tracks on her temples, something he knew she wouldn't appreciate him seeing.

Damn it.

With a put-upon sigh, he removed his piece from the small of his back, checked the safety, and set it on the table by the bed. He didn't want to touch her. He'd erroneously thought his desire for her had been satiated this afternoon. Not so. The rolling boil had merely been turned down to a simmer.

Blinding. Dangerous. Unacceptable.

He saw her soft mouth, the delicate arch of her brows and one small pink ear poking through the strands of her honeyed hair. He remembered frantic hands clutching his back, hot wet thrusts, pleading eyes and avaricious mouth. He groaned.

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If he wanted a semidecent night's sleep, she'd have to be moved. Which necessitated touching her.

While he refused to undress her, she wouldn't sleep comfortably trussed up in her clothes. Reluctantly he lifted the front of her T-shirt and popped the top button on her jeans. The back of his fingers brushed her flat, golden-brown stomach, lingering for just a second on baby-soft skin.

He carefully pulled down the zipper, catching a glimpse of the skimpy, fire enginered panties he'd had to force her into this afternoon—the ones she'd kept trying to get out of. Blocking his mind, he moved her farther up the bed and covered her with the sheet.

After turning off the lights in the bedroom, he took a quick, cold shower before crawling carefully onto the bed beside her. He'd redressed in his jeans. Body armor for his libido.

His medical residency had prepped him for sleep deprivation. He could practically sleep standing up.

Fifteen-minute naps could, and had, sustained him for days. Residual adrenaline subsided the moment he closed his eyes. If it hadn't been for Delanie's presence, he'd have felt nothing more than the pleasant buzz of a job almost completed.

He rolled over, only to find his nose buried in her hair. He stayed where he was, enjoying the scent of strawberry and chlorine, trying to block out the arousing scent of sex still perfuming her skin from their manic bout at the compound.

They'd never made love languidly, never had time to linger. How was it possible to miss something he'd never had? Their affair had been like a firestorm, their need for each other too frantic, too all-consuming to think of slowing down. There had been too little time, too much they wanted to discover about each other's bodies. They'd thought they'd have all the time in the world, later, to languidly enjoy each other.

Without realizing it, his fingers tangled lightly in the silk of her hair, crushing the filaments with a yearning bordering on physical pain. She mumbled in her sleep, rolled over, and burrowed against him.

Kyle carefully slid his arm under her shoulders, pulling her head to rest on his chest. He breathed a sigh of contentment, tucked her head under his chin, and closed his eyes.

Sleep came down like a guillotine.

The cantina looked like a stage set. Cracked adobe walls, red geraniums in clay pots around the fountain in the tiny courtyard, and a plump proprietor with a stained white apron around his ample middle.

Delanie and Kyle were the only patrons. The rest of the wobbly, black wrought-iron tables were empty.