Seal of Surrender (6 page)

Irena looked away, unable to deal with the reminder of their indiscretion at present. “Don't change the subject. Are you following me?”

“Hardly. I have legitimate concerns in Africa. The fact we ended up on the same flight is nothing but coincidence. Besides, if I were
following you, what would you do?”

“I'd warn you not to proceed.” Irena assessed him with a glacier-cold stare. “The Omega Consortium — and Drake in particular — are not fond of intruders. Despite last night's debacle, they're ruthless in the pursuit of justice. Don't interfere.”

“And who defines their justice?”

“Drake. After a lot of intensive research and consultation, of course.”

“Of course.” Chago snorted, his tone beyond snide.

“Drake's good at what he does, and he's very passionate. Sometimes he just gets carried away.” Irena scanned the pages of her magazine without reading them, appalled by her own statement. Why the hell was she defending that asshole?

“Si, he's a real prize. He would've raped you if I hadn't been there.” He watched her beneath hooded eyes, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. One of his booted feet extended over into her personal space, bold as brass.

“I'm not a complete idiot. I can protect myself. I've been in some of the worst war zones in the world and picked up a few tricks along the way. Don't worry about me.”

A set of multi-colored plastic baby keys clattered down onto the armrest between them, interrupting her tirade. Chago unfolded himself from his seat, grabbed the keys, and moved across the aisle to return the toy. The infant giggled up at him, basking in his attention.

A tiny flutter of misplaced envy glided through Irena's stomach as Chago returned and set about organizing his travel documents.

To find an unattached, attractive male who was neither gay nor horribly strange these days constituted a near miracle. She tried to keep her attention covert, but he seemed to sense her gaze anyway and scooted nearer to her with a stealth belied by his massive size. “Cute kid.”

“Do you have children?”

“Nope. Cattle.”

“Cattle?”

“Yep. When I'm not on location I'm working on my Rancho Sagrado.”

“Hmmm.” Not what she'd envisioned in his downtime. “Where exactly is this sacred ranch?”

“Montana.” He smiled and closed his eyes, his expression relaxing into peaceful satisfaction. “Near the Rockies. Out in the middle of blessed nowhere.”

She'd always wished for someplace to make her feel that same way. “Sounds wonderful.”

“My ranch is the most beautiful spot on earth. The land goes on forever with nothing around for miles. Total perfection.” He cracked open an eye and peered at her. “Probably not your kind of place, eh?”

She smiled and tossed her empty soda cup into the wastebasket beside her. “Despite the impression I might have given you last night, I think your home sounds like Heaven.”

An overhead announcement stated their flight was ready to board. They rose in unison and gathered their belongings before merging into the line beside the ticket counter. In such close proximity, Chago's body heat radiated into her back. Irena struggled to remain unaffected. She'd never encountered such a complicated mix of man and warrior.

The line moved forward and she noticed the family with the stroller in front of her. The baby looked over the man's shoulder and gave her a toothless grin. Irena waggled her finger to coax the infant to giggle.

Chago leaned in closer behind her, his warm voice fanning over her cheek. “He likes you.”

With sudden intimacy, his hand slid to the small of her back and his long fingers massaged her knotted muscles in small, lazy circles. Heat rose in her cheeks and she struggled to extinguish the zing of desire short-circuiting her spinal cord. Despite her efforts, Irena surrendered to his ministrations.

“Next.” The woman at the counter gestured for her ticket.

He gently but firmly pushed her forward to the counter. Out of sorts, Irena's toes clunked into the bottom of the agent's desk as she handed over her paperwork. The attendant scanned her boarding documents and waved her through to the ramp. She waited for Chago to join her and they boarded the plane together.

Passengers jostled to find their seats. One couple ahead broke out into a rousing argument, and the husband's patronizing attitude reminded Irena of Drake prior to his meltdown. Unlike Chago, her boss's touch now made her yearn for a Hazmat suit and a steamy shower. The memories of his attack brought an abrupt end to her romantic daydreams. Men in general were resolutely off her menu for the foreseeable future.

Irena shoved her bag into the overhead bin, slid into the window seat and turned, her hand thrust out for a final farewell. “This is goodbye. Nice to see you again.”

“Sorry, querida
.”
Chago placed his carry-on beside hers. “Can't get rid of me that easy.”

He eased in beside her and perused the safety manual. She fastened her seatbelt, lowered the armrest, and pressed into the wall — anything to create the illusion of space between herself and the enigma to her side. Takeoffs were stressful enough without having to deal with him in the process.

“I don't bite you know.” Chago glanced her way and grinned. “Unless you like those sorts of things.”

“You'll never find out.”

The pilot released the brake and the plane jerked into motion, taxing toward the runway. Irena pulled the window shade down tight.

“Too bad, querida.” He reached across and raised the shade again.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop calling you what, querida?”

“That!” Irena crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. “I'm not your darling.”

“Hmmm. How about diablita? Most appropriate.”

“You think I'm a little devil, huh?” Right. One irate bitch cleared for takeoff. The pilot's voice crackled through the overhead PA system and her nervous energy spiked. “How's this for hellish?”

She twisted to land a sucker-punch to his stomach. He caught her fist mid-strike and pinned it to his thigh.

“Irena.” Her name rolled off his tongue in an intoxicating blend of prayer and pure wickedness. “Better?”

Her own voice seemed to have vanished and Irena could only manage a dumbfounded nod in his direction. Chago smiled and closed his eyes, relaxing back into his seat with her hand still clutched in his.

After the heat of the exchange wore off, Irena regarded him. His strong jaw showed a bare hint of dark stubble beneath, the hue a perfect match to the black inkiness of his hair and brows. Thick lashes most women would kill for fanned out atop the jut of his high cheekbones and the straight blade of his nose angled proud above a sensuous mouth. Those lips pulled into a knowing smile and her gaze flicked up to catch his icy-hot stare. Busted.

“Like what you see, diablita?”

“You never did tell me about your line of work.”

The plane accelerated and gravity jammed her into the seat. As the aircraft lifted off the ground, she squeezed her eyes shut while her stomach lurched to her toes. The pop in her ears drowned out the pounding of her heart and her death grip on the armrest persisted through the plane's initial assent.

As they reached cruising altitude, sudden warmth covered her clammy flesh and gentle fingers reached beneath her wrist to stroke her agitated pulse.

Chago leaned into her, his breath tickling her cheek as he murmured close to her ear. “Relax, querida. My business is protection.”

Chago woke to a pleasant weight on his chest and the smell of fresh flowers. He opened one eye and peered down at the top of the Irena's head snuggled beneath his chin.

At some point during the long flight, she'd cuddled up beside him. He grinned. Surely she would lash out at him like a viper if she had any idea of the way her full breasts pressed against his chest or how her scent derailed his thoughts. Her warm exhalations flowed across his neck and sent a delightful tingle to the pit of his stomach. It had been too long since he'd enjoyed the pleasures of comfort, of connection.

He rubbed his tired eyes and conducted a quick scan of the cabin. Most of the other passengers were asleep or reading. The plane struck a blip of turbulence and Irena mumbled into his chest before burrowing deeper. He pulled the lap blanket higher around them and snuggled down. His movements caused her to grasp the front of his shirt like a desperate child. He kissed on the top of her head and closed his eyes. Maybe this final mission wouldn't be so awful.

A sudden vibration in his pocket made him scowl. His phone shouldn't work. Cell service was prohibited on flights. He managed to pull out the device without waking Irena and glanced down at the caller ID. Xander. Shit. Barron must have found a way around the restrictions.

He untangled himself from his sleeping partner and covered her with the throw before stalking to the back of the plane and an empty lavatory. Once locked inside, he pushed the redial button, and leaned against the metal vanity, his voice as dark as his current mood. “Si?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“Do you know what time it is here?”

“Since when do you keep regular hours? Last I checked you were a night owl.”

“My apologies. I'm standing in an airplane john at the butt-crack of dawn. This miniscule place reeks to highest heaven so, pardon my French, but please hurry the fuck up. I would like to get the hell out of here before … soon.”

Dammit. He'd almost mentioned his recent sleeping arrangements. Any relationship beyond professional with a target was strongly discouraged and now was not the time for such dalliances anyway. The plane bumped over more turbulence. Chago steadied his stance and concentrated on his commander's update.

“The bugs you planted in the Omega offices haven't provided much in the way of new information. It seems the Consortium has gone quiet. And Archon has officially vanished into oblivion, so we're batting zero right now.”

“If Archon shows, I'll deal with him. And as far as Drake's concerned, I doubt you'll hear anything from him for awhile.” He dug the toe of his combat boot into the bathroom's rubber floor tile. “I gave him some unscheduled orthodontic work.”

“Despite your best efforts, the press sighted him out and about yesterday, bandaged and bruised, but otherwise unharmed.” Xander's tone darkened like a five-o-clock shadow. “Things are deteriorating fast in your little corner of the earth and you could get caught in a whole world of shit before you realize what's happening. You call me immediately if things get out of hand. Luther and I will join you as soon as we can.”

“Si, brother.” A knock sounded on the door and Chago grabbed on to the excuse with both hands. “Listen, Xan, I've got to go. Someone else needs the facilities.”

After a few exchanged orders, Chago ended the call and emerged from the tiny room to maneuver back down the aisle, eager to cuddle once more beneath the blanket. He reached their row only to discover two empty seats and a wadded-up blanket.

Irena was gone.

• • •

When her warm pillow had disappeared, Irena snuggled under the covers and tried to recover her heat source. No luck. She yawned and pushed herself up, careful to avoid contact with the man beside her. She needn't have worried. Chago's seat was empty.

She lifted the blind on the window and gazed out at the black expanse below, an endless void of nothing. A voice startled her from her reverie, its undertone of sleaze spreading an oil slick of nauseous unease through her system.

“Hello, babe.”

She pivoted toward the aisle.

Drake smirked down at her, his scarecrow grin wider than the Mississippi River. “What, nothing to say? I'm disappointed.”

Without invitation, he slid into Chago's empty spot and made himself comfortable. Irena noted the multicolored bruises adorning his jaw and nose with abundant satisfaction. “What are you doing here? I thought you had business to attend to.”

“Change of plans.” He looked her over with a cold sneer. “Enjoy your trip to the mile-high club?”

“What? Are you watching me?”

“Did you fuck him yet?”

“That is none of your damn business.”

“We'll be landing in London soon to change planes. Maybe you should tidy up a bit, babe.”

“Maybe you should go fuck yourself.” Irena threw off the blanket and prepared to stand, only to be locked in place by Drake's restraining grip.

“Off so soon?”

“What the hell's wrong with you?”

“The Consortium has a vested interest in the Congo. The situation must be handled with care. Many lives depend on it.”

She stared at him for a moment, taken aback. Was he threatening her? “I always do my best. What more could they want?”

“Loyalty. They require loyalty.”

“My loyalty has never been an issue. My sole purpose in being here is to help people. I doubt you could say the same.”

“Come up with me to first class. I've got something to show you.” Drake rose and held out an impatient hand, his finger waggling when she hesitated. “I insist.”

Irena ignored his outstretched hand and stood to follow him up the narrow aisle, her trepidation increasing with each step. She doubted he would try to manhandle her again in the plane, not with so many witnesses around. Still, she gripped the set of apartment keys stored in her pocket. If he tried anything, she'd gouge his eyes out.

The aisle widened as they passed into the luxury section at the front of the aircraft. Drake slid into a seat in the second to last row and offered her the spot beside him. “Don't worry, no one's sitting there.”

Irena sank into the wide, cushy seat and eyed her boss with extreme distaste. He reached into a messenger bag near his feet and leafed through the papers inside. His dark brown hair was slicked back and well controlled despite the bandages, his brows manicured and his abused jaw clean-shaven. The designer-chic of his casual clothes reeked of wealth and his boots were made of the finest cowhide money could buy. Drake might work with the underprivileged but he sure as hell didn't live like them.