Running Hot (7 page)

He'd just spotted two more guys approaching with the tools. Looked like a sledgehammer and some sort of bolt cutters. Anything could be in the large bag the one guy had slung over his shoulder.

Yeah, all trouble, but her comment caught his attention. He glanced over at her. “Say that again.”

She lifted her head. “Can't you see—”

“The part where I'm right.” Out of all the mindless talking and all those nights of flirting at the resort, that sentence stood out.

She ripped the binoculars out of his hands again. “Gloating is unattractive.”

Tucking the compliment away, he decided to stop while he was ahead . . . sort of. “How hard is it going to be for them to find the weapons?”

“By my count we have six, and with them taking turns at tearing it apart, not as long as we need it to be.” She picked up her gun then put it down again. “But tracing the vehicle to me will be impossible.”

“These guys are trained. They'll have resources.” Ward thought about tiptoeing through this, then abandoned the tactic. Tasha was bold and tough. She could handle being pushed around on this topic a bit because the truth was he didn't question her abilities at all. She wouldn't shrink and wouldn't cry.

His biggest worry was that she might kick him in the balls. Good thing he was on the ground.

She snorted. “Rubbish.”

The way she said some words kicked his body into wanting mode. Apparently “rubbish” was one of them, which made him question his sanity.

He forced his mind back to the bigger concern. “And then there's the part where you're not at work. On an island this size, that will be noticed. I'm betting you didn't exactly call in sick before heading out here with weapons at the ready.”

“That's the real issue. Someone could and will go looking for me.”

“Your place is clean?” Had to be. No way would this woman leave important documents or incriminating evidence lying around, but he had to ask. Good or bad, he needed all of the pieces so he could formulate the right plan.

She shot him a look that said “please” but she didn't say it. “Of course.”

“We still have these guys in the way.” Ward took a long look at the men on the other side of this battle. “Even if I was up for killing them without warning, which I'm not, I'm thinking someone might notice six dead guys around a truck.”

She snorted. “You think?”

Time for her to face the harsh reality. “Then your cover is going to be blown. We probably have two days.”

Instead of getting angry or flipping into denial mode, she nodded. “Maybe less.”

Of course she handled the news fine. That's what she did. Danger didn't appear to shake her. She didn't whine or complain. She adjusted and moved forward.

That didn't mean she liked him. Unfortunately. “Don't blame me for being found out.”

“I want to.”

Her grumbly voice made him smile. “I can tell.”

She looked through the binoculars again. “Is this the part where you tell me to leave the island for my safety?”

“No.” As if he'd turn away competent help. The CIA might not approve of a joint international operation on this job because of the little problem of losing sight of the missiles, but his boss wasn't here to whine about protocol, so cooperation was happening. “This is where I point out our window to grab Tigana just tightened. Someone will put the pieces together and figure out you aren't who you say you are, which means figuring out there are people on this island who might just be here for Tigana.”

“He could move.”

Probably inevitable but not Ward's biggest problem. “Worse, he could start the military coup early, and then we're all fucked, which is why you're staying instead of jumping on a plane back to London.”

She slowly lowered the binoculars. “But you CIA guys get the credit, right?”

The woman had a thing about the CIA. Ward vowed to break her of that. “I'm not sure why you think I'm keeping score.”

“You want to be able to go back to Langley and tell everyone you took down Tigana.” Her expression stayed blank. “Isn't that the goal here?”

She didn't get him at all. “I want to leave this country with the Stinger missiles secure.”

The idea of a wild card narcissist using stolen weapons to shoot down planes and destabilize a country scared the shit out of Ward. Once that war started, Fiji would turn into a battleground. Drunk with power, Tigana could go anywhere after that. He held too many missiles to be ignored. This was a die-to-get-the-job-done assignment.

“You're saying the missiles are your only concern here.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Looked like they'd need to find some time to work on her trust issue. Damn. “That's the assignment.”

“Are we saying the same thing?”

“Yes.” And they needed to start now. With the SUV uncovered, the countdown had begun. “We need to get secure so I can contact Ford.”

“I have a place.”

Now
she said that. “Of course you do.”

“It's nothing fancy or even all that secure.” Wiggling on her stomach, she pulled back from the edge of the hill. “But you could be more grateful.”

“Fair enough.” But she wasn't the only one who could make demands. “Once our location is secure, you should get ready to tell me why you're so worried about me taking credit for this job.”

“I'm not.”

No way was she that clueless. “See, Tasha, if we're going to work together, we're going to have to trust each other.”

She shrugged as she dragged her body farther out of viewing range. “Not necessarily.”

Crawling on his elbows, he followed her. Once they made it down into a dip and were surrounded by trees again, he lifted off the ground but stopped at a squat while balancing on the balls of his feet. “Right. You only need to trust me if you plan to get out of this alive.”

“Is that another goal?” After one last scan of the area, she stood up and reached a hand down toward him.

He grabbed on and jumped to his feet. “Always.”

“Then tell me the truth.” She didn't drop his hand or move back. “How many missiles are we talking about? How big is this threat?”

He tugged her in closer, until they stood only about a foot apart, and rested their joined hands against his chest. “What did your briefing on the weapons say?”

“Tigana got away with at least thirty.”

Talk about bad intel. “The number is closer to five hundred.”

“What?” Her hand and jaw dropped at the same time. “How did that happen?”

He'd asked that same question a hundred times. He'd nearly been kicked out of a briefing and taken off the assignment after demanding answers. “Don't look at me. I wasn't in charge of guarding the Stingers.”

“And if you had been?”

That was pretty fucking easy to answer. “Tigana wouldn't have them.”

One of her eyebrows lifted. “You're that good?”

“Yes, I am.”

She smiled. “That's strangely comforting.”

Good thing she thought so. That might make the next few hours easier. “See, we're getting along better already.”

Chapter Six

T
ASHA DIDN'T DO
wonky things. She'd been trained to handle dangerous and avoid dumb. What she wanted to do with Ward involved a lot of naughty, which made even entertaining it shockingly dumb.

Here they were in the middle of a foreign country, tracking down a nutcase holding what she now knew to be a frightening cache of weapons. In good news, no one followed them and her safe house stood well off any trail and miles from where they believed Tigana and his men were holed up, planning whatever awful thing they intended to do next.

Ward wanted to contact Ford. She tried Gareth again without any success. The man had a drinking problem, which was only outdone by his women problem. Tasha hoped he was sleeping off a drunken sex stupor in a bure somewhere.

That left her and Ward with a few things to do. They needed to take an inventory of weapons and map out a surveillance plan that would lead to securing the missiles.

All appropriate to the mission. All made sense. The raging need to jump on Ward and strip his clothes off didn't. With every step they'd taken from the truck site to here, the wanting inside her burned hotter. She chalked the unwanted sensation up to adrenaline or a mix of unspent frustration and energy.

Whatever the answer, it wasn't going away—the jumping inside of her, the churning that had her sneaking peeks at him instead of thinking about ways to take down all of Tigana's men. She needed to burn this off and only knew one way. It was for the job, really. Okay, mostly for her, but still . . .

She watched Ward walk around the small structure she'd staked out as a temporary hideout weeks ago when she set up her cover. The place had been abandoned, and she paid to keep it that way. Men worked nearby farming kava but stopped their workdays around noon. As the work area moved farther away, the cabin got left behind.

The structure consisted of metal siding tacked and nailed to pieces of wood. Little more than a shed to people outside of Fiji, but not that unusual a dwelling for people in the lower economic rungs here.

She checked it every few days, storing extra clothes and a few supplies in a waterproof bag buried under the makeshift mattress. She kept a cache of emergency weapons outside, hidden up in the trees—a choice that struck her as an unnecessary precaution a few days ago but with her truck confiscated looked pretty smart right now.

Ward did not appear impressed. He had his hands on his hips and wore one of those male frowns that signaled displeasure. “This is basically a lean-to.”

Of course, more comments like that, and he might just annoy the desire right out of her. “It has four walls.”

“Okay.”

Sure, the place measured about ten by ten, but it had a roof . . . of sorts. It sat away from everything and out of Tigana's targeting range. The least Ward could do was put the ugly American stuff aside and appreciate that they weren't crouched in a hole somewhere. “Sorry it's not a luxury hotel, Your Highness.”

He turned his frown away from the building and aimed it her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“It's sturdy and efficient. It works for me.”

Maybe she'd misread him but she doubted it. “Doesn't seem like it.”

“I just thought . . .”

Whatever came next was going to make her furious. She could tell by his uncharacteristic stammer. “What?”

“You'll get pissed.”

Just as she suspected. It was her turn to put her hands on her hips. Her stance now mirrored his as she prepped for the explanation. “You have nothing to lose. You're not exactly saying things that make me like you right now.”

“I've stayed in worse. Hell, I've slept in shanties and in an actual lean-to . . . outside in the snow. In a tree. Once in a net hooked to and suspended from the underside of a mountain.” His eyes sort of glazed over as if he were reliving those moments.

Except for that last one, she could relate to all of it. “So?”

“I thought you might pick something different.” He shrugged. “That's all.”

A red film clouded her vision. She could feel the heat bubble up inside her, and not the good kind. He'd managed to wipe out the need and replace it with fury. “Because I'm a woman and I need comfort?”

He walked over. Stood right in front of her. “See, now. I knew you'd take that the wrong way.”

“There's no good way to take it.” This was a trigger point for her. She'd dealt with so many men in her field who thought she should strip for the job, be quiet, and act as backup or arm candy. Never mind that she'd saved one or two of those twits from being killed.

“Look, you don't have anything to prove to me.” He reached over and took her hand. Uncurled each finger until she no longer held it in a fist. “You knocked me on my ass—”

“Twice.” Remembering that put a few more points back in his column. The touching helped too.

He played with her fingers, caressing each one with a light touch. “Right.”

“Then I don't get your issue with the building.”

He dropped her hand and stepped back. “I'm going to stop talking about that now.”

“That would be good.” But it wasn't. A chill ran over her as soon as he put distance between them. It made no sense in light of the dripping humidity. She refused to believe the feel of his hand could mesmerize her that quickly, that completely.

The coldness doubled when he walked up the step and into the shack without her. While she watched from the doorway, he spread out a thin blanket over the mats made from pandanus palms and piled up to make a bed of sorts.

“Back to work.” One by one he took out his weapons from behind his back and his pants pockets. Some of them were hers, but most were his. “I have two drop sites with more. Neither is near here, but I can get Ford to load up and meet us.”

She leaned in the doorway with her arms folded across her stomach, fascinated just to watch the way his lean muscles stretched. That strange kick of interest came back. This time it pounded her, and she had to swallow to keep her voice steady. “Fine.”

He glared at her over his shoulder. “Don't do that.”

“What?”

“The clipped one-word answers.” He swore under his breath. “It's like we're married.”

That got her attention. Her arms dropped and she moved farther into the small room. “Have you been married?”

He kept moving around, not giving her eye contact. “For about eight months when I was twenty-five.”

“What are you now?” She guessed they were the same age. She might even be a slight bit older.

“Thirty-five.”

A light tapping noise against the roof had them both moving back to the door. Blue skies broke through the umbrella of trees above them but a soft rain fell. Typical for the tropical climate. The humidity brought daily rain. This seemed like little more than a short shower, but it would make trekking difficult. Getting in and out in silence and being able to cover their tracks moved to the top of her list of concerns.