Night Hush (20 page)

 

Chapter Thirty-­Two

September 7. 7:22
A.M.

FOB Hollow Straw, al-­Zadr Air Base

J
ACE PULLED HIS
car into his tiny driveway and sat, staring up at his bedroom window. Sunrise had snuck in an hour past, while he handed over their prisoner and debriefed his squadron commander. He hadn't hit adrenaline letdown yet; his bones felt bigger than his skin, and his palms itched. He stank like an open sewer line. Still, he didn't move.

He pictured Heather as he'd left her, curled around his pillow, one hand thrown out as though seeking him even in sleep. Despite the importance of the mission, it had been a wrench to leave her. Would she look at him the same way this morning, languid, contented, with liquid heat simmering in the depths of her eyes?

He wanted that. He ached for it.

He pushed himself out of the driver's seat. Only one way to find out. House dust sparkled in the early morning light as he padded up the stairs. First things first. Entering the bathroom, he stripped out of his boots and combat uniform, peeled off his shorts and socks, and left them in a heap on the floor. He adjusted the spray so that it beat down on him, easing some of the tension knotting his shoulders. The mission had been a success. Omran Malouf had babbled the whole way back to base. Their interrogator would have no problem extracting information from him.

His body still thrummed with combat readiness. He soaped up and scrubbed, trying to ignore his own readiness for action; but, as usual, he couldn't get his body back under control. For hours after a mission, he remained keyed up, on edge. Barely civilized. In the past, he'd head out to one of the rough dives with his teammates, get sloppy drunk, and screw whatever came near enough and willing. Now, the only woman swimming through his veins was Heather. About to turn the water as cold as he could stand it, he instead stilled as the shower curtain eased back, and a lithe figure stepped into the tub.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

Heather was gloriously, wondrously naked. Jace's blood leapt in response, heating and thundering through his veins in an instant. She stepped into his body and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest. The primitive male inside of him howled with joy. He scooped her close, loving the feel of her wet skin against his.

“A very good morning,” he agreed. For a moment, he allowed himself to picture coming home after every mission to her warm arms. Reality crashed in when she shifted against him, her nipples rubbing across his chest and the hair at the apex of her thighs brushing against his shaft.
Cheee-­rist!
He nearly jumped out of his skin, sensitized to the point of pain in a nanosecond.

“Heather,” he panted, trying to push her away. She did not release him. And then rubbed against him again. Did she know what she was doing? “Heather, you shouldn't . . . don't . . .”

“Shhh,” she said. Her pelvis tilted forward as she pressed her hips to his, creating a drag against his balls. He barely stopped himself from grabbing her and slamming her up against the wall. He tried again to speak, to warn her, but his vocal cords dried out, and all he could manage was a croak.

Her mouth found his collarbone. She licked across it to his throat, his jaw. Her tongue swirled around the shell of his ear, then she nipped his earlobe. With the last shreds of his sanity, he grasped her shoulders, forcibly putting a few inches of space between them.

“You don't know the effect adrenaline has on the male body,” he gasped out, feeling feverish. “It's too soon after the mission. I can't . . .”

“I don't want you to,” she interrupted. “Be controlled. I want you wild for me.”

“Oh, Christ, Heather. Do you know what you're offering? I don't want to scare you.”

Heather captured his gaze, then deliberately ran her pink tongue over her lips. She cupped his face, pressing a thumb into his mouth. He suckled it. She pulled it across his bottom lip, the wetness causing an erotic drag, then replaced her thumb with her tongue. She had barely nipped him when he gave a feral groan and squeezed her to him, crushing her mouth under his and thrusting with his tongue. She sucked on it, and he groaned again, bringing his hands up on either side of her face and angling her head for better access. She met him kiss for kiss.

He pushed her up against the wall, water sluicing over her shoulders and breasts. His fingers traced the path of the moisture, running down her arms, then up to cup her breasts. His thumbs teased her nipples, and she threw back her head, arching into him and moaning.

“God, Heather. You are so sweet, so ripe. You taste incredible.” He replaced his hands with his mouth, licking and sucking and nibbling until her moans became ragged and urgent. He slid his hands down her waist to her hips, then farther, scooping his palms under her knees and lifting her. She wrapped those long, long legs around his waist, and he nearly wept at the feel of her scalding heat, exactly where he wanted it.

And then it wasn't enough. He needed to be inside her, now. He slid his palms over the perfect globes of her ass, squeezing and pulling her in tighter. She responded by pressing her hips forward and grinding against him, which ripped a groan from his lips.

“Now,” she urged. He lifted her higher, fingers finding her core. One slid inside, then another. She reached down and encircled him, guiding him to her. One press of his hips, and he slid home. Her slick heat gripped him. She uttered a strangled cry, and began to move on top of him, slamming herself down as he lunged upward. They flew in perfect synchronization, the pounding pace winding them tighter and tighter. He strained, desperate for release, but equally desperate to make it good for her, with whatever control he could muster.

She braced her heels against the edges of the tub, meeting him thrust for thrust, little mewling sounds of pleasure driving him mad with lust. He moaned right along with her, dangerously close to release. As though she knew that, as though she knew he tried to hold on for her, she increased her pace again, bucking against him as he pistoned in and out of her.

Just as the quivers gathered at the base of his spine, her entire body tautened, her heels coming up to lock around his ass, pulling him even farther into her. Her head dropped back, hands braced on his shoulders, and she pitched forward, wrapping herself around him as she quaked and twisted and cried her release. He bucked forward twice, three times, straining as sensation raced down his spine, as ecstasy spasmed through him, as he emptied himself inside her.

H
EATHER RESTED HER
head against Jace's shoulder, letting her legs drop from around his waist to rest on the edges of the tub as she tried to catch her breath. She could feel his heart thundering in his chest and stroked gentle hands across his shoulders, loving the hard feel of him. He was magnificent.

He tried to speak, but only a dry croak emerged. Heather turned off the water. He snagged a towel, patting and stroking it across her body, lingering over her breasts and belly. He stroked his long fingers across her rear, kneeling before her to dry her feet. She looked down at his bent head. Her warrior. Gentle, strong, fierce, and loving.

As he rose, he buried his head in her smooth belly and clamped an arm across her legs, effortlessly lifting her over his shoulder. She shrieked with laughter, bracing a hand on his butt, her long hair spilling down his back. “Jace!”

He turned his head and bit her hip, then pressed a kiss to the spot. Carrying her to the bed, he released her by sliding her down the front of his body in increments. The friction and drag electrified her. She didn't release his shoulders even after her toes hit the floor. Instead, she nibbled at his chin and licked the artery pulsing under her tongue. He growled, turning to capture her lips with his, and swept his tongue into her mouth. Their ferocious ride in the shower had blunted the first wild edge, but primal hunger still darkened his eyes.

She crawled onto the bed, making her motions sinuous, and looked over her shoulder at him with invitation in her eyes. He was on her in two strides, grasping her ankles and stretching her flat. She gasped and giggled as he flipped her over and tugged her to the edge of the bed. Her breath came in spurts. He draped her legs over his shoulders and knelt between them.

Never had she felt more desired than she did at this very moment. His focus on her was intense and absolute. Her feminine power roared within her. At the first touch of his tongue, her giggles turned to breathy moans. He dragged his open mouth across the tender flesh of her inner thigh, and she cried out, hands flailing for something to grab onto and fisting in the tangled sheets. He kissed her as though he had all the time in the world. As though the roar in his head and the thunder in his blood didn't demand her total surrender. His tongue drew across her slick flesh, and her back bowed.

“Jace! Holy shit, Christ, Jesus.”

He chuckled, a smug, masculine sound that shivered across her belly. When his teeth found the core of her, she shot upright with a strangled shriek, grabbing for his hair. His grip on her thighs loosened, and he rolled his eyes up to hers. The molten lava burning in them sent a crash of sensation through her, and she crested on a potent blaze of emotion as foreign to her as it felt right.

She urged him up, and he came willingly, running his hands up under her back and cradling her as he claimed her mouth. She tasted herself on his lips, the flavor at once exotic and familiar. Shivering, she let her legs fall open. He positioned himself between them, then hesitated as she cradled him in her heat.

“Heather . . . are you all right with this? Am I being too rough?”

She groaned and shifted her hips. “I'm massively okay with this. Can't you tell?” She'd meant to sound teasing, but her voice was hoarse with need. The sultry passion in her eyes, the subtle thrust of her breasts, seemed to reassure him. “God, Jace, I need you inside me. Right fucking now!”

He laughed at her obscenity, as she'd hoped he would. This time there was no hesitation as he gripped her hips and pushed inside, one long thrust that buried him to the hilt.

“Uunh,” he said, stilling, head hanging and eyes closed. “God, you feel amazing. So hot and tight.” His hands came up to cover her breasts, lifting them to his mouth as he suckled first one nipple, then the other. He stroked in and out of her at a leisurely pace, drawing almost all the way out before pushing himself home. The pressure built in her as he continued to lave her breasts, to kiss her, to move inside her so exquisitely. He seemed so attuned to her that he knew what she needed before she did, his attention unwavering. It was quite possibly the most erotic experience of her life, and it pushed her dangerously close to the edge.

He seemed in no hurry to allow her to orgasm, though. Instead, he brought her just to the brink, then backed off, bringing her down slowly before starting all over again. It drove her wild, her head whipping back and forth as she writhed on the bed. She began to beg, sobbing his name over and over.

“Jace, please. Oh, God. Please.”

Finally,
finally,
he increased his pace, thrusting now with an urgency she matched. She dug her nails into his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his butt, straining upward as he finally lost control, finally crashed into her with no finesse, desperate and scalding her with his heat. She exploded like a bottle rocket, heels digging and body stiffening as her head blew off, as she arched and cried out and spasmed, fragmenting and re-­forming only to fragment again. He shouted, his hips plunging again and again as he pressed his face into her neck and shuddered his release.

She still quivered with aftershocks as he reached between them and pressed his palm against her core, causing the pleasure to spiral up again and transfix her in a place of ecstasy that didn't end. Finally, she slumped back onto the sheets, wrung out and so sated she felt boneless.

“Jesus. I've never come like that in my life,” she said.

“Uunh.” Jace collapsed onto her, but immediately made to roll off. She stilled him with her arms, amazed again that he obeyed her touch. She loved the feel of his weight on her. Her fingertips smoothed up and down his spine as they caught their breath and their sweat dried. She pressed her nose to his skin and inhaled. His clean, masculine scent was addictive.

Eventually they showered, made love, and showered again. Jace ordered pizza, delivered by a teenager driving an ancient Buick. They argued amicably about which movie to watch, then argued about the movie.

“He should be arrested for leaking the story,” Jace said. “He was a classified analyst. He knows he can't discuss what he does.”

“Then his friends died for no reason,” replied Heather. “If he hadn't told his side, there would be no justice for them.” She curled her feet up under her and settled back against Jace as though she'd done it a thousand times before. His arm came around her. A strange feeling settled inside her. Contentment.

Belonging.

 

Chapter Thirty-­Three

September 10. 3:00
P.M.

Delta Force Tactical Operations Center, FOB Hollow Straw

“O
KAY,
” BOOMED THE
squadron commander. “Let's go around the table and lay out what everyone knows. Fill in the gaps, as it were.”

“I'll start,” Jace decided. “We know vials of toxic phosgene have been smuggled into the country. We have no idea how many or how long it's been going on. We suspect those vials, at least some of them, have made their way into the hands of the Kongra-­Gel, to be loaded into the warhead of a SCUD-­b missile. Now that they can't use the missile, we believe the Kongra-­Gel either have a Plan B, or are scrambling to develop one in time for the president's visit in two days.”

“We know the Kongra-­Gel are Salafist jihadists,” Heather said. “Their rhetoric is violently anti-­Western. They have to know it will be nearly impossible to attack the president without the SCUD missile. Their Plan B has to include another delivery method.” She rubbed her forehead. Was her concussion acting up again? The doctors said she was fine, but Jace fidgeted, fighting the need to go to her.

“Phosgene is heavier than air, so it sinks into the low-­lying areas,” said Trevor. “We need a map of the installation.”

The squadron commander snapped his fingers, and three support soldiers jumped to find what was needed. Within minutes, a topographical map of the area overlaid a map of the base.

The five of them stared at it.

“The parade ground is elevated,” Jace finally said. What the hell?

“And open,” added Trevor. “Which means any breeze will have maximum ability to dissipate the gas.”

Christina shook her head. “Without the missile, they have no chance of killing the president.”

Archangel studied Christina, then turned to the map. “It's naive to assume that. I agree it's improbable, but what if they have another missile? Anyway, the president isn't going to land a helicopter on the parade ground with hundreds of ­people milling around. He needs to stage somewhere.”

Christina bristled, belligerent eyes boring into his back. “If the phosgene is going to sink away from where the president's going to be, and the wind will probably blow it away entirely, tell me how they're thinking to kill him then. The parade ground might be open to the public, but any staging area won't be. No one's getting close to the president to throw a vial at him. They might harm civilians, but not President Cooper.”

Jace blew out a breath. There was too much they didn't know.

Gabe's lip curled. He moved closer to Christina, close enough that she took a step back, lips pressed tightly together. He raked his gaze over her body, radiating his contempt. “A terrorist stupid enough to throw even a bottle of phosgene at a person either doesn't know what he's got or isn't a terrorist we need to worry about.”

Jace held up a hand. Gabe, prone to temper, was reacting negatively to the young CIA agent. His lack of trust in outsiders—­anyone who was not one of his own teammates—­was legendary inside Delta Force. Gabe glared, but finally stepped back. “Phosgene is only dangerous if breathed in over enough time to affect the respiratory system. Is that right?” He directed his question to Trevor.

“Essentially, yes.”

“Then we have to assume they have another way of blanketing an area large enough to do significant damage. Airspace is restricted. Other ideas?”

Christina hesitated. “Are there bombs or other munitions on base that could be used as a dispersant?”

“Nothing even remotely close to the parade ground,” Gabe said impatiently. He gave Christina a “
What on earth are you doing here?
” look. “Despite the persistent right-­wing rhetoric, we don't store munitions underneath the pool house. Or near any public gathering places.”

Heather grimaced. Jace sympathized. He, too, was annoyed by the constant blog traffic of anti-­Western and antimilitary factions, which postulated with varying degrees of hostility that the US stored munitions near family housing areas.

“Okay,” said Bo Granville. “Where are the low-­lying areas on base?”

Jace pointed his little finger at one area. “I hate even to say this, but here, and here. The main recreational areas—­including the pool house,” he said, exchanging an amused look with Gabe and Heather. “And these picnic areas and playgrounds.” A small frown appeared between his brows. “Truthfully, these areas are close enough to both the enlisted housing area—­Dogwood Beach, right?—­and the south side of the town of Garhara, also residential. But it's nowhere near the president.”

“We've been assuming the target's the president,” said Tag. “What if it's not?”

“Who else?” said Christina. “Nothing else of significance is happening any time soon. Both Garhara's and Ma'ar ye zhad's mayors will be attending the president's address, and some prominent local businessmen, but Prime Minister al-­Muhaymin is meeting President Cooper at his palace, not on US soil.” She leveled a challenging glare at Gabe, but Jace saw the flash of hurt in her eyes when his team second merely turned away.

“What would be the political fallout of an Azakistani attack on the US president?” Heather asked.

“Get Shelby Gibson on the line,” said Trevor. “She'll know.”

“I
T
WOULD WEAKEN
public perception,” Shelby told them, her husky voice coming through the speakerphone loud and clear. All six paid close attention. “Obviously. It would publicly embarrass Prime Minister al-­Muhaymin, who considers himself to be a very progressive, strong ally of the United States in this region.” She paused. Heather found herself watching Trevor. She wasn't stupid; Christina had interrupted something between Shelby and him. He looked weary.

“The conservative movement would point to it as weakness on his part, saying he has little control. It would engender a certain level of sympathy for the United States, of course. Post-­9/11, our allies and friendly nations don't automatically assume the US can absorb any blow. Still, as with 9/11, some countries in this region would be cheering, either openly or secretly. And there are factions inside the prime minister's own government who would point to the incident as well deserved. Overall, though, if this happened, and I pray it does not, the fallout would center more on negative sentiment against the US, with a bit toward the Azakistani Parliament, as unfair as it sounds.”

Gabe snorted. “We get attacked, and we deserve it? Jesus.”

“Yes,” said Shelby. “It's been the reaction around the world each time someone attacks the United States. Oh, sure, our allies condemn the attacks. But Khobar Towers in Saudi Arabia, the USS
Cole,
the 1998 attacks against the embassies in Tanzania, Nairobi, and Dar es Salaam . . . in each case, after the initial outrage, public opinion in Middle Eastern countries was we deserve it.” She hesitated. “And we all remember the celebrations throughout the Middle East, the burning of American flags, the cheering, during and after 9/11. Hatred against the United States is not far from a national hobby in some of these countries. And even the populist uprisings in Egypt and Libya happened in North Africa, not the Middle East.”

There was silence around the table.

“The president's visit has been on his public agenda for months, because of the 9/11 commemoration,” Heather said. “There's obviously significance to the timing of the attack.”

“We should bring in the Secret Ser­vice,” Jace said finally. “Even if we think an attack would be ineffective, they need to know.”

“Agreed,” said Granville. He glanced at Heather. “Good work, young lady.”

Heather looked around the table. “To all of us. A good team effort.”

Bo Granville gave a smug smile that puzzled Heather. Her contribution had been relatively minor. Why did he single her out for praise? She seemed to have caught his special interest. Why?