Take Me If You Dare (9 page)

J
ACKSON ENVIED
M
ARISKA’S
ability to sleep so heavily, as he never caught more than three hours at a time. It was eleven in the morning and she hadn’t moved. He couldn’t blame her. They’d made love until almost six, and managed to make it through all the desserts. He had to admit that he’d never had a buffet quite like Mariska. Every inch of her was delectable, even without the added sweets.

Studying her delicate face, he remembered the way she looked at him when they made love. Something shattered inside him last night and he was worried it might be the carefully built wall he’d constructed around his heart. How could he have grown to care so much for her in such a short time? He’d intended this to be a fun romantic fling, something easy to walk away from and never look back.

Now he knew that wouldn’t happen. Their night had meant more to him than he could have ever imagined, and it went far beyond the incredible sex. There was a deeper connection between them, and he knew she felt
it, too. He saw it in her eyes. His heart would pay for it later.

You’re no good for her, man. The longer you stay here the worse it’s going to be. Get your mind out of this fantasy world and back to reality.

As much as he tried to push that inner voice aside, and wake Mar so they could make love again, he couldn’t do it.

He’d been a soldier for too long.

Forcing his thoughts away from the woman beside him, he deliberated about his next move. The thing he needed more than anything was information.

He’d borrow her laptop to check his e-mail. If Dawson had sent him an answer he’d most likely have to leave in a few hours. If he hadn’t, he might be able to spare one more day with Mariska. But that was it. Jackson couldn’t risk the people who were after him catching up with him here.

It was too dangerous for Mariska. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but her safety was more important to him than his own.

Sliding carefully out of bed, he showered and dressed. Grabbing her computer, he snuck out the door, careful to keep the light from waking her.

After all that sugar, his body craved some protein, and he picked up an egg sandwich and coffee from the hotel breakfast bar. Then he found a small table in the corner that gave him a good view of the room, and sat down to check his account.

“Mr. Greely?” There was a familiar voice to his right. Oh, hell. Jackson didn’t look up, but he knew it was Carl Scoggins. The man was the bookkeeper who
dealt with several of Vlad’s associates.
What the hell is he doing here?
Jackson ignored the man. He had to in order to keep his cover.

“Mr. Greely.” Scoggins touched Jackson’s shoulder and he had to look up. “It’s me, Carl,” the slightly balding and very short man said. He was dressed in a pair of wild Bermuda shorts, a white T-shirt, black socks and odd-looking sandals.

Jackson stared at the man blankly. “I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else.” Jackson gave a brief smile. He used his American accent since Scoggins knew him as a Scotsman, who wanted in on an arms deal. The only upside of this crappy chance meeting was that Jackson had saved the man’s life.

Scoggins stared at him for a full thirty seconds. “You look just like Jason Greely, a gentleman I—worked with in London.” The other man gave Jackson the once-over again. “You could be his twin. It’s the oddest thing.”

“Not really.” Jackson looked past the man to see if anyone else was with him. “I have one of those faces. My girlfriend thinks I look like one of those film stars. So are you here on vacation?” Jackson did his best to keep his tone light and airy as if was meeting the man for the first time.

Scoggins pursed his lips, and then smiled. “Yes, I came out for a holiday. I had business in Bangkok and decided to come to the coast for a bit of sun. London is a dreary place this time of year.”

“Never been there,” Jackson lied. If this man had been in Bangkok it meant he’d been in touch with Vlad. Scoggins was the moneyman between Vlad and several arms dealers. He was the one who transferred the funds
to accounts after buys. “But I hope to go someday. Well, I’m sorry I’m not your friend. It was nice to meet you.” Jackson nodded a farewell and then looked down at his breakfast.

“Yes, nice to meet you, too. Uh. I can’t get over the resemblance, though now that I look at you, there are some subtle differences. Your hair color and the scars on your face.” Jackson could thank Vlad’s men for those marks. “Well, my breakfast is getting cold. I’ll see you around.” The man walked off and Jackson took a deep breath.

One phone call or text and Jackson would be dead in a matter of hours. Hell. He’d have to find some answers fast and get out of Phuket before Vlad could find him.

His appetite gone, Jackson opened Mariska’s computer and signed on. There were two e-mails on the special account, the first from Dawson.

She? No deal. London Friday. Have a solution to difficulty.

Jackson was confused. What the hell did
She? No deal
mean? He tried to think back to the e-mail he sent in the city. He’d thanked the other man for the asset and asked for news.
Oh, hell.

The asset wasn’t a woman.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, Jackson wondered how he could have screwed up in such a major way. Mariska wasn’t the one he was supposed to meet in the bar yesterday. He
blew out a breath. He’d thought for sure when he heard the name Stonegate she was it. Now he’d put a poor innocent woman’s life in danger for no good reason.

Ass.

Was he that desperate that he’d reach out to the first person who showed him kindness? And she had. She’d been so willing to believe all the lies. The money and her resources had also made him think—what?

God, he really was an idiot. He’d followed her here half hoping he’d figure out what she was supposed to do for him. He grunted. He’d used the poor woman in so many ways it wasn’t funny. He felt like crap.

Sipping his coffee, Jackson forced himself to think about this immediate problem. He pushed past his idiotic mistake and concentrated on Dawson’s message. He needed to get to London in less than a week.

Finding a way out of Thailand wouldn’t be easy. He’d been trying for more than a month. It didn’t help that he was on Interpol’s list of most wanted. But time was of the essence now. Dawson had a solution, and Jackson would do whatever it took to get his life back.

After opening the second e-mail sent to the account, he found it, too, was in code. A minute later he figured out it was from his friend Pete.

Dawson compromised. Do not trust. Intel has him pegged as source of your troubles. He’s the one who called you a traitor. Not a friendly.

Jackson’s stomach churned.

What the hell?

Was it possible Dawson had been the one to screw him over?

Pete had been with the Company for more than twenty years and mentored Jackson in the early days. Jackson didn’t trust many people, but Pete was one of them. He’d sent Pete a message weeks ago, but when the man didn’t reply Jackson figured he didn’t intend to get his hands dirty. He couldn’t blame the man.

There was a multitude of reasons for an agent to get burned, but Jackson hadn’t done any of them as far as he knew. For the past month he’d racked his brain going over each and every day of the last two years while he’d been undercover infiltrating Vlad’s gang.

Every time he tried to think of something he could have done that would have been misconstrued, he failed. He’d followed the book—well, as much of a book as there was when you were flying by the seat of your pants and doing your best not to get killed.

Still, there were procedures and he’d followed them. Only checking in with his handler every few months with updates. It had taken almost eighteen months for him to reach Vlad’s inner circle and that’s when he discovered the human trafficking ring.

A week after he told Dawson what was going on and asked for backup, everything had gone to hell. Not long after that he’d learned he’d been disavowed and accused of treason.

Pete’s message explained a great deal. If Dawson were up to no good, he’d probably convinced the Company that Jackson had been the one to compromise the situation. Whatever the hell the situation was, he was
no closer to any answers. And if Dawson was involved that was why.

Clever bastard.

Jackson was still alive, which meant someone was on his side, maybe Pete. Usually a burned agent was dead within twenty-four hours. Jackson had lasted two months so far.

Jackson sent Pete another message.

Tell them I want to come in.

Jackson knew Pete might not be able to do that without compromising himself, but he had already gone out on a limb sending him the message about Dawson. Maybe he’d be willing to do this.

If only he could get to headquarters at Langley, he’d turn himself in. He had no problem talking to the bosses. It might land him in a federal pen if they didn’t believe him, but Jackson would chance anything for the opportunity to discover the truth. Of course, he had no evidence. Only his side of the story, and Dawson had made certain the Company thought him a bad seed.

Dammit.
Jackson shoved a hand through his hair.

Anxiety. He didn’t allow himself to feel it often, but for a few moments he wallowed in it. Then he straightened his shoulders.

Get over it, man. You chose the life. You live it.

After disconnecting from the server, Jackson stopped before closing the laptop. He noticed Mariska had several e-mails marked Urgent. Most of those were from the office, and he didn’t need to open them to know what they said. He had a pocketful of messages from
the front desk in his back pocket. All of them warning Mariska to call immediately.

He isn’t who he says he is
had been scrawled on the papers from the desk clerk. Jackson smirked. The SIA was on to him.

Until he figured out a way out of Thailand, Jackson decided he’d stay with Mar. She might not be the asset Dawson sent. The more he thought about it the more likely the jerk had sent a hired gun.

Jackson and Mar must have left the bar before the assassin had arrived. He’d come to the bar a half hour early to check it out, and then he’d been lured in by her beauty.

What if?
No, it wasn’t possible. Mar was no more an assassin than a two-year-old. Besides, she could have killed him a hundred and one ways the night before. He hated that his mind had even gone there, but trust didn’t come easy for him. Life had made him hard and suspicious of everyone he met. No.
We met by sheer happenstance, in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Or perhaps there was a higher power guarding him after all. There was a good chance that Mar had saved his life by asking for his help that night. His heart felt lighter the more he was around her.

He grunted. Maybe she really was his own personal angel.

It was wrong to use her as a temporary cover, but he’d only do it for one more day. Then he’d head back to the city and see what he could arrange in the way of transportation out of this godforsaken place.

There was also the fact, one he didn’t want to
examine too closely, that his mind and body demanded to spend more time with her. Last night had been the first occasion in years that he’d felt anywhere close to another human, no longer an unemotional robot. The way she’d given herself to him, and he’d lost himself in her. He’d become addicted to the sound of her voice as she fell over that edge into bliss.

The thought of their being together caused him to tighten with need.

She is most definitely my drug of choice.

He’d stay the day, and then slip out during the cover of darkness. The idea of leaving didn’t sit well with him, and he hated the deceit. Even more now that he knew she was never meant to be a part of this. He’d dragged her unwilling into his web of lies.

Something caught his attention on the computer. A red folder marked
priority.
He shouldn’t invade her privacy any more than he had, but the spy in him couldn’t help it. Clicking on Open, he read her notes about researching and helping out some of the other investigators with their cases. From the copious documents he could see she was thorough and good at working behind the scenes. She didn’t give herself enough credit when it came to her investigative skills.

There was also a proof of a new brochure they were designing about the Stonegate Investigative Agency.

After reading about all the players—from the FBI profiler Dr. Liu—he’d actually read some of her books—to forensic anthropologist Patience McGee, another top one in her field—he understood why Mariska worked so hard to keep the agency open. This was an amazing group of investigators, most of them women,
all of them noted experts. He couldn’t believe her mother had been able to amass so much talent in one place.

People wanted to work with the best, and Mariska’s mother was definitely that. God, and he’d put Mar’s life in danger with his idiocy.

Something stirred his senses and he smelled Mariska before he saw her come around the corner. That soap she used brought to mind sweet flowers in sunshine.

Shutting down the computer, he smiled at her as she walked in. She’d showered and her wet hair was up in a clip. She wore a sarong over a bikini, this one navy blue. The top had tiny silver studs.

His troubled morning dissipated with one glance at her beautiful face.

“Good morning.” Remembering his manners he stood. Leaning down he kissed her lightly on the lips. She tasted of peppermint.

“I missed you.” She tugged at his shirt. Then she pushed him back in his seat and pulled out the chair across from him.

As she took in the table, he wondered what she thought when she saw the laptop. Her eyes skipped past the piece of metal and landed on the cup in front of him. “Is that coffee?”