Unmasking the Mercenary (4 page)

She went there and lifted the hand piece. She hesitated before pressing the international number. Rem wouldn’t be able to trace the call if she kept it brief. He wouldn’t be able to trace it at all if she knew Odie well enough.

She entered the number. Odie answered.

“I can’t talk long.”

“Haley, my God, where the hell are you two? What happened?”

“Listen carefully. I’m still in Monrovia at a villa along the shore. I’m being held here against my will, but I’m okay.”

“You’ve been kidnapped?”

“Travis has been shot.” She told her about the rebels and the man who’d saved her and taken Travis to a doctor. “He’s being transported to a hospital in Europe.”

Odie cursed a row of curses. “I knew it. Cullen should have never let you go there. Travis was probably so busy watching your back that he forgot to watch his own!”

It hurt that Odie doubted her ability, but she knew the tough woman didn’t blame her for Travis getting shot. Still, it got to her that even Odie, a woman, thought Haley didn’t belong in an operative role.

“Would you rather I never leave Roaring Creek?” she couldn’t help asking. “Like you?”

“Where is Travis, Haley?”

That instantly checked her emotion. Now was no time to let her ego compromise her. “I don’t know. And I don’t have time to explain. Get me whatever you can on Rem D’Evereux. If I can, I’ll call again tomorrow.”

She hung up and stared down at her hand on the phone. Letting her breath go, she turned—and sucked it back in.

Rem stood in the now-open doorway, calculation emanating from his impossibly blue eyes. She’d done exactly as he’d predicted.

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” he said, and turned. She walked to the doorway and saw him going down the stairs. She followed. Dinner? She could smell something cooking. He cooked?

Downstairs, she didn’t see him. Two plates were stacked on the kitchen counter beside two forks. There were two wine glasses, too, and a bottle of red wine. They were unceremoniously placed, just a prep for dinner, but the everyday appeal struck her as odd given her situation. And the man.

She turned and saw a light on in one of the rooms off the living room. The one that had been closed earlier. She went there and stopped in the opening.

Rem looked over his shoulder, the computer illuminated in front of him. On the screen she could see an Internet page. From here it looked like he’d found an article.

“Roaring Creek, Colorado?”

She moved her gaze to him. “How did you…?” She looked back at the computer screen. Then it dawned on her. He’d listened to her conversation with Odie. She’d let her emotion get in the way and had revealed a telling piece of information.

“Want to tell me what’s in Roaring Creek or are you going to make me keep surfing?”

“You won’t find anything.” But wavering confidence made her step farther into the room. Standing behind him, she watched him click on links that pointed to things about the small mountain town.

“Is this where you live?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

He clicked on an old news story about Cullen McQueen and Sabine O’Clery. Haley gritted her teeth as he read about the ex-Delta soldier who’d rescued Sabine from Afghanistan, and, even more damaging, about the exposure of his supersecret company after someone attacked Sabine at her Roaring Creek, Colorado, bookstore.

Before he finished reading, Haley pivoted and marched out of the room. At the kitchen counter, she lifted the bottle of wine and a corkscrew next to it, more for something to do while her mind spun with implication. She finished uncorking the bottle when Rem emerged, his eyes far less threatening now. In fact, he looked a little smug.

She poured wine into one glass and put the bottle down. He stopped beside her and lifted the bottle, pouring wine into his own glass. She turned her back and peered through the window at the dimly lit pool.

“So you’re into counterterror operations, is that it? Ex-Delta soldier…supersecret company…it doesn’t take much of a leap.” She slid her gaze to him when he spoke. He’d put his glass down and went to the oven, removing a pan of lasagna. He put it on a hot pad beside the plates. Next, he went to the refrigerator and removed a bowl of salad. Setting that down, he extended her a plate.

The idea of a man like him cooking was almost comical. Taking the plate, she dished a small amount of food.

“Lasagna?” She couldn’t resist the teasing tone that made its way into her voice.

“A guy has to eat.”

“Frozen pizza seems more appropriate.”

“All out.”

She smiled a little and went to sit at the table. Rem sat across from her. She picked at her food, waiting for him to start in again. Because, of course, he would.

“I take it Cullen McQueen restructured his secret company,” Rem said. “Who is he working for?”

As if she’d ever tell him. She didn’t know, anyway.

“I’m surprised a thug like you can cook,” she commented.

He didn’t look happy with her moniker.

She cut a bite with her fork and ate a sample. Her brow rose when the flavor burst in her mouth. “Mmm. Good.” She ate another bite.

“Why were you casing Habib Maalouf?” Rem asked. He hadn’t touched his food yet.

Haley leaned back in her chair with her wineglass and sipped, eyeing him over the rim. “You won’t find that on the Internet.”

“What clued you to check into Habib?” He sounded more demanding now. “What clued
you?
”

“If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

So they were back to that. “What will you do once I tell you?”

“What do you think I’d do?” he countered.

She put her wineglass down and stared at him. He wasn’t going to give an inch. She had no doubt he’d used violence to his advantage in the past. It surrounded him, his aura, his energy. This man had a dangerous streak she did not want to explore.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The raspy sound of his voice lured her to trust him while suspicion kept her cautious. “Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“No. Because there’s a certain frailty about you.”

A frailty he could break if he wanted. Was her experience in Iraq so transparent?

“I’m asking you to tell me what you know about Habib,” he said. “I’m asking.”

He wasn’t going to force her. That did something to her, cracked her defenses. He was leaving the choice up to her. She had a feeling she didn’t know enough to do any damage, anyway.

“We got a tip that Habib has been contacted by someone in Lebanon a few weeks ago,” she began. “A senior operative for Hezbollah we later discovered had been shot and killed. We had no way of knowing if Habib would be in contact with anyone else, but we suspected he would. Travis and I were sent to Monrovia to watch him. He’s a diamond merchant who uses his market as a front. We’re afraid he’ll help finance a merger of splinter cells between Hezbollah and al Qaeda.”

“Al Qaeda with Iranian government backing. Now there’s a scary concept.”

“Hezbollah does have strong Iranian support. The government considers them a legitimate resistance movement.” She sipped her wine and put the glass down on the table. “Now you know what I know.” She waited expectantly for him to tell her what he knew.

“You don’t belong here,” he said instead.

So, he was going to take the same angle as everyone else. He saw her frailty and wasn’t going to bother to look deeper. “Who is Ammar Farid Salloum?”

“Tell McQueen there’s no need to send in a rescue squad. I’ll take you to the airport in the morning.”

Anger rose up in her. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you know.”

“My cause is nowhere near as noble as yours. Go home. Tell McQueen if Ammar is behind the merger, it will never happen.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because once I have what I need from him, I’m going to kill him.”

“Killing Ammar will stop the merger?”

He didn’t answer, but a deadly gleam darkened his eyes.

“What do you need from Ammar?”

“You should find a job that’s not so dangerous.”

“What I do is none of your business. What do you need from Ammar?” she repeated.

“Why do you do it?”

“Answer me.”

“Why does someone as fragile as you come to dangerous countries and chase terrorists?”

“Is Ammar a terrorist?”

He just looked at her.

“Is he Hezbollah?” she asked.

“What do you think?”

So Ammar was a Hezbollah terrorist. Nothing surprising there.

“I’m not fragile,” she told him.

He pushed his chair back and stood. Moving with deliberate slowness, he came to stand beside her chair. She strained her neck to look up at him.

“No?” He reached to brush some hair behind her shoulder.

Haley tensed. Her heart flew.

He slid his hand around her arm and above her elbow, and coaxed her to stand. She hesitated. Another tug, and she gave in and stood. Taking her hands in his, he pulled her closer.

What was he doing?

She could feel the heat of him. That same insecurity swarmed her, the way it always did when she was too close to men who threatened her. A sense of helplessness. Lack of control. But there was something else pushing through the heaviness of her anxiety. Desire.

Seeing the way he watched her, she eased away from him. He let her hands go and she went into the open room and faced him.

He moved toward her, stopping an inch or two from her. Looking down into her eyes, he tore through layers with that strong gaze.

She struggled to keep from shrinking away.

“There’s no room for fear against men like Ammar,” he said. “What kind of fool lets you do it?”

“My job is to gather intelligence.”

“And it almost got you killed.”

He thought she was weak. Afraid. It grated on her. She worked hard to rise above what the insurgents had done to her. She’d trained hard. Built up her defenses, her self-confidence. But mostly she worked hard to never feel helpless or vulnerable.

The fact that this man considered her exactly that made her want to fight back. She wanted to show him she wasn’t weak.

Knowing she’d catch him unprepared, she gripped his arm as she turned her back to him. With a move she’d practiced over and over, she sent him flying over her shoulder. His body crashed to the tile floor. As big as he was, he weighed a ton, but all she’d needed was skill and momentum. She grinned down at his surprised face.

“You don’t scare me that much,” she quipped.

He moved up onto his elbows. “I should.”

And he swiped his feet so fast she couldn’t jump out of the way fast enough. She fell and he sprang his powerful body onto her. With her legs clamped by his, she couldn’t kick free. Snatching her wrists, he dragged them over her head as his full weight pressed her down on the cool floor. In an instant she realized the folly of trying to prove she wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid. She overcame it most of the time, but not now. Not with this man. His legs held hers in an unrelenting vice. She was trapped. Pinned. Panic welled inside her. No man had ever treated her like this. Manhandled her. Not since Iraq.

Flashes of terrible memory suffocated her. Something wild broke inside her.

“Get off me,” she growled, squirming beneath him, fighting her panic, trying not to let it show.

He only watched her face. Curious. Dominant. A deeper memory began to surface. Oh, God. Her heart slammed into terrified beats. “No.” She writhed and bucked but he held her effortlessly in place. “No. Let me go!”

The memory morphed into the face of an Arab man. Over her. On top of her. The sound of tearing clothes shook her. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed. She didn’t want to remember.

“No, no, no, nnnooooo!”

“Hey.”

“Let me go. Please-let-me-go.” She heard herself begging and couldn’t stop. The Arab’s face lingered, making her sick to her stomach.

“I’m not hurting you.”

“Let me go.” Tears sprang into her eyes. She was going to be sick.

Rem rolled off her. Shaking, she stumbled to her feet and ran to the bathroom. Blood left her limbs, leaving her trembling with pinpricks running up her arms and legs. She fell in front of the toilet, heaving air into her lungs. The Arab’s face was imprinted in her mind. Over her. Leering. Speaking in that language that was so awful to her now.

She didn’t throw up. But emptiness yawned inside her. She fell onto her hip and pressed her cheek against the cool wall, flattening her shaking hand beside her head. She closed her eyes and sobbed. Would it never leave her? Would she never be free of its hold on her?

“I don’t want to remember,” she wailed. “I don’t ever want to remember.”

Chapter 3

R
em stood in the bathroom doorway staring down at Haley. “What the hell?”

He moved closer, kneeling on one knee. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He reached to touch her shoulder, but she whimpered and cringed away from him.

The reaction stung. He was accustomed to people, women in particular, shying away from him. He hated how that always bothered him. But seeing Haley crumpled on the floor tore through his usual ability to remain immune. He’d been careful with her. He knew he hadn’t hurt her. Not physically. Pinning her to the floor had triggered something horrible in her.

He reached for her once more. Slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She cringed again, but he brushed the loose strands of her dark hair back from her face anyway. She looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. It ripped something away, more of his immunity. Ignoring her struggles and pitiful pleas, he lifted her into his arms and carried her from the bathroom. She pushed with her hands at his chest, but her resistance wasn’t in earnest. Those awful whimpers. God, he’d never felt so wretched before, which was unbelievable. His life was full of wretchedness. He had a head full of bad memories. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d actually felt happy. Well, once, but even that had ended badly.

Going into the living room, he sat on the couch and held her until she quieted against him.