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Camp Raven, the Green Zone, Baghdad

“Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay at the al-Rashid?” Pete said as she unfurled a sheet and guided it as it fluttered down onto the leather sofa in the Black Management trailer. Pete had insisted on helping Camille make the bed and Camille got the feeling she was hanging around, wanting something.

“No way. It's run by Halliburton. I trust them about like I trust Rubicon.” Camille held a down pillow under her chin and worked it into a pillowcase. “Here I get 600-count cotton sheets and I don't have to worry about suicide bombers or cockroaches. Roaches creep me out almost as much as Halliburton does and I'd be hard pressed to say which one of them is more likely to thrive after a nuclear war.”

Pete laughed. “Any guesses where Hunter is?”

“He won't stick around in the Green Zone. Too many people can recognize him here. If I had to guess, I'd say he's already out of the bubble. He can pass for an Arab and he's got the balls, so I wouldn't be surprised if he heads to Saudi. It would sure throw anyone off his trail. No Westerner in his right mind would rush into the flames of hell.” Camille shook her head. “I can't think about it anymore. I'm driving myself crazy mulling over the possibilities.”

“I laid out some fresh towels for you in the bathroom. It's a little cramped in there, but it works. I'll bet a shower will feel real good right now.”

“A lot of things would feel good right now.”

“I can arrange for anything you want. Massage. Anything.” Pete smiled, her eyes undressing her.

Camille unzipped her carry-on-sized Swiss Army suitcase and took out a USP Tactical pistol, a cosmetic case, then a lacy, black night gown. She held up the negligee just to play with Pete. She had bought it only a few weeks ago before Hunter stood her up in Dubai. It had been two long months since she'd had sex and for a guilty second, she actually entertained Pete's offer. Camille was one of the few females among thousands of men in the Green Zone and she could have had any one of them she wanted. The top operators kept their bodies hard and well-sculpted and she liked that, but she had hardly paid attention in the last two months since she had learned that Hunter was still alive. It was time to get over him, do the job for Chronister and go on the prowl again.

The more she thought about it, the more she wanted sex. She even considered Pete again, but decided she liked her women femmier. “Thanks for the offer. But I don't think you have what I want tonight.”

 

Shortly after Pete left for the night, Camille closed her eyes and stuck her head under the shower stream. For a few choice moments she could forget about Hunter and quit worrying about what she was going to do when she found him. It scared her how much she wanted to kill him and that she knew deep down that she really could. As long as he was alive, he would keep hurting her and the pain got worse each time. Chronister had given her an easy way out. She wouldn't be killing him for personal reasons that she might someday feel guilty about; it was for god and country. She didn't have to decide what she was going to do now. Instead she focused on the sensation of the warm water caressing her skin and savored each steamy breath. It was good to breathe humid air again. She was so sick of the desert, she was ready to move into a terrarium.

She poured shampoo into her hands, rubbed them together, then ran her fingers through her hair. It felt bristly from all the dust and dirt.

A sudden cool draft brushed her body. She looked up, but the glass shower stall door was fogged over and a towel she had slung over it obscured everything else.

“Pete?”

No answer.

“Pete, is that you?” She felt a wave of fear as she quickly assessed how vulnerable she was, naked and without anything to use to defend herself. Water rolled down her face and shampoo burned her eyes. She splashed water on them and looked around the stall to see if there were anything that she could use as a weapon. A plastic Bic razor was her best bet and it wasn't a very good one. She listened, but couldn't hear anyone over the sound of the shower, even though she sensed a presence.

She smacked the safety razor against the stall and broke off the head. With enough force and at the right angle, the jagged plastic handle could puncture a neck. She took a deep breath and kicked open the shower door.

Hunter sat on the closed toilet seat. He didn't move, but looked her over with elevator eyes and smiled.

“You're looking damn good, Stella. Damn good.”

Camp Raven, the Green Zone, Baghdad

Shampoo suds slid from Stella's hair onto her shoulders, then flowed down to her breasts where the stream forked. Hunter traced each shifting tributary with his eyes, starting with the ones that curved around the sides, the foamy bubbles making each breast seem even softer than he had remembered. He watched the suds drip from her nipples toward the floor, but his gaze stopped halfway at the swirls of her pubic hair. Her curly brown hair danced with the flowing bubbles, a shimmering veil teasing with fleeting glimpses of pink.

He reached for her just as she lunged at him with a plastic razor handle. Dodging, he grabbed her arm and stood up, throwing her off balance so that she slipped on the sudsy linoleum. He bent her hand backwards, forcing her to drop the plastic weapon. His foot crushed it. Just as her head was about to smack against the sink, Hunter jerked her up by the arm, pulling her close. She tried to get away from him, but his strength overpowered her.

 

As Hunter seized her wrist, Camille raised her foot to strike him, then felt her other foot slide across the slick floor. Suddenly the edge of the sink was right in front of her. She raised her free arm to catch herself and pain shot through her other wrist as Hunter twisted. She struggled to regain her balance, but everything she touched was wet and slippery and then she found her body pressing against Hunter. For an instant, she liked it. She squirmed, but he held her locked in a bear hug.

“Let go of me.”

“Not until you quit fighting me. Why do you attack me every time you see me?”

“And why do you stab me in the back every time you see me?”

“It's not what it seems.”

“You keep saying that—right before you screw me again.”

Hunter captured her gaze for a moment before he spoke. “Whatever you think I've done, forgive me. I love you—more than anything. I've never intentionally done anything to harm you.”

She drew back her leg, preparing to ram her knee into his groin, then she looked into his eyes and wasn't all so sure. Something about his eyes made her feel that he really did love her. She lowered her leg.

His eyes pled with her as he spoke. “And right now I need you. A lot of people are trying to kill me.”

“And I'm one of them. You know, I was ready to forgive you and help you—that's when you stole my truck.”

“I was trying to tell you when you wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise. Rubicon has someone on the inside at Black Management. That's how they got the information about your job sites. I couldn't take the risk.”

“But you can now?”

“I'm desperate.”

“You know I want to believe you.” She tried not to notice how natural it felt for her body to scrape against his, then she realized he probably had the same feelings about her. She tilted her head and looked up at him, inviting a kiss. He lowered his head toward her and gently touched his lips against hers. She kissed him hard and lost herself briefly. But she wanted to lead him to the edge and make her move there. Whether or not she went ahead with Chronister's contract, she had to escape from Hunter's grip. It was a matter of pride. The only problem was that it felt good, too good. Her tongue played with his, luring it into her mouth, but he would only dart inside for a few seconds, so she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, then she bit down hard.

 

Hunter was experiencing a joy he'd almost forgotten over the past few days, even years. His mind raced to restore everything that had been between them, then a sharp pain jolted him. “What the—” He jerked his head away and accidentally bit down on the loose tooth, ramming it deeper into the tender socket.

The second he realized he'd let up a little, he tightened his hold but the soap made his hands slide. Her naked body rammed against him and he bumped back. He gyrated with each thrust, twisting, turning together, a dance of warriors. Her fingernails dug into his wrist. God, he wanted her. “You're the only woman I've ever loved.”

“That's not what I've heard.” Her elbow smacked him in the ribs. He was starting to think that maybe she really didn't want him.

“Whatever they're telling you about me isn't true. I couldn't get the evidence, but I know Rubicon is working with the tangos. They think I know something and I wish I knew what the hell it was.”

“Why don't you run to your CIA friends for help?”

“I've been burned, even with my unit. And I'm not OGA. I'm with Force Zulu.”

“My contact told me you were with the Agency—that the Bushmen wouldn't have you. The Agency helped you fake your death so you could get away from me and marry that Julia bitch.” Stella jabbed her thumb into the tender spot under his arm. It brought tears to his eyes as her thumbnail cut his skin and dug into the tender flesh, but he breathed deeply and resisted the pain. She knew how to do it right.

“What the hell are you talking about? You can't be serious. The Julia thing is part of the legend Zulu created for me to use when I infiltrated Rubicon.” He hooked his foot around hers as he pivoted away, then swung back suddenly, slamming himself against her. She tripped. He guided her head away from the sink as he forced her down. The floor space in the trailer's bathroom was barely large enough for her. He straddled her, pinning her on her back. Her breasts looked a little smaller, but rounder and her nipples were now perked out. Maybe she did want him, but then the air conditioning was blasting. “There is no real Julia Lewis from Tacoma. You've been in this business long enough to know how things work. She's part of my cover—that's all. Whatever Rubicon is telling you is a lie.”

“It didn't come from Rubicon. It was CIA. I find it hard to believe that my Agency contact is lying.”

“Really? With all the people leaving the profession to go work for Rubicon and outfits like yours, don't you think it's possible that someone's positioning himself for retirement? Or that the Agency's finally getting it that Force Zulu is a bigger threat to them than the KGB ever was? We're better at human intel and direct action than they've ever been and someday the president is going to realize that and force the Agency to step aside.” She wiggled underneath him, but didn't try hard to resist. He knew Stella. She was only making it look real while she waited for the right opportunity, so he had to make sure she didn't find it. Holding her wrists, he stretched out on top of her. Her velvety skin was right there pressing against him, but his clothes were sandpaper, irritating him with each movement. He wanted to rip them off and feel skin. “I want you.”

“Yeah, I can feel that.” She bumped her thighs against his pelvis. “I'd give anything to step back in time and stop you from faking your death and trying to shield me from whatever baggage came along with being a Bushman.”

Stella moved her hips back and forth underneath him, back and forth. Hunter wasn't sure if it was for real or if she was working on a distraction so she could attack. She knew he couldn't resist danger, the warrior's aphrodisiac. His groin moved in rhythm with hers. “I wanted to protect you.”

“More like you chose your career over me.”

“I said I was wrong. I can't change what I did. Please forgive me. I love you.”

Stella cracked a smile. Hunter could see hints of a deeper emotion radiating from her green eyes. As a soldier, he knew he had to exploit any weakness he found in an enemy. Stella wasn't exactly an enemy in the traditional sense, but he had learned long ago the difference between war and love made the battlefield the safer endeavor—or at least the less painful one. He had suffered the loss of friends in combat and moved on, but he knew he could never recover from losing Stella. The battle with her was one he had to fight to win.

“I'm the old-fashioned kind of guy who believes there's only one woman in the world out there for me. Stella, honey, you're that woman. Look me in the eyes. If you can tell me you don't have that feeling way down inside that we belong together, I'll walk away and I'll never bother you again. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me. Can you do that?”

Stella opened her mouth, then closed it. She blinked several times, but Hunter saw the tears anyway.

“I was hired to kill you,” she said.

“So you're saying you think we belong together?”

“I'm saying I agreed to kill you.”

“You gonna do it?” He sensed such anger underneath the surface and such a sense of betrayal in her that he really didn't know the answer and he wasn't entirely convinced that she'd give him an honest one.

“They didn't say how they wanted it done.” She raised her head toward his, her mouth open just enough so he could see her sharp little teeth.