Читать книгу Born In Secret - Kylie Brant - Страница 10

Jasmine hesitated outside the door of Walker’s temporary quarters in Sheik Kamal’s palace. She’d faced the leaders of an international smuggling ring with far more equanimity than she felt right now. She’d known those men were dangerous, that her life had been in jeopardy. She’d been comfortable relying on her own skills to ensure her safety. It was telling that she regularly risked her life without a qualm, but had to summon the courage to approach Walker in his bedroom.

The man was every bit as dangerous as any she’d brought down, but it wasn’t her life she feared for around him, it was something far more fragile. He’d bruised her heart once with his callous dismissal of her. She’d never allow herself to be that vulnerable again.

The silent vow made it a bit easier to raise her hand, to rap on his door. She was disconcerted when he pulled open the door and she was confronted by his partially nude body.

Her gaze skated over his bare chest, then lowered to the jeans that rode low on his lean hips, unbuttoned to reveal his hard flat belly. Averting her gaze, she scrambled to summon a steady voice. “I can come back later.”

“No, come on in. I could use your help.”

Reluctantly she followed him into the room. It was a moment before she noted the fresh angry-looking scar running down the center of his back, only centimeters from his spine. A gasp escaped her before she could prevent it. “What happened?”

He didn’t halt on his way to the adjoining bathroom. “After setting the explosives on the last job, a member of my team caught a bullet as we were pulling out. I dropped back to give him a hand, and we were still a little too close when it detonated.”

His succinct summary was all the more chilling for its casual delivery. “You went back into a building that was set to explode?”

One large shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m responsible for my team.”

Yes, she thought, nausea curling through her stomach, he would be responsible. Whatever else she thought of Walker James, she’d never doubted his skill. His dedication to the men who worked with him. Her eyes shifted back to the raised, puckered wound on his back. It wouldn’t be the only physical reminder he carried of the danger he routinely courted. His body was a map of faded scars acquired in the act of carrying out various missions.

He was something of a legend in the shadowy world they shared. The Ghost, he was called, for his ability to slip in and out of seemingly impenetrable places. His skill with security was matched by a cunning that kept his services in high demand. Certainly his reputation had been part of her admiration for him, her pleasure when he’d shown an unmistakable interest that time in Venice.

She’d learned the hard way that he was just as skilled at slipping under personal defenses, as well. Of using his looks and personal magnetism to defuse normal wariness and invite intimacy far too quickly, far too blindly. She may not have completed a formal education, but she never needed to review the same lesson twice. And if she did, she had only to remember their parting in Venice. The memory still throbbed like a wound.

“Will you come here a minute?”

From the slight edge in his tone, she realized he’d had to repeat himself. She poked her head in the bathroom to find him standing in front of the sink, his hair freshly doused.

“Put this ointment on my back, would you? It’s harder than hell for me to reach.”

Jasmine hung back, strangely loathe to comply. “Where are the bandages? We could put the ointment on them and then cover the injury.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was doing, but I’m not going to wear the bandages anymore. Too much trouble.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. It would do no good to argue with him. She’d learned long ago that he had a will of iron. There was probably no real danger even if the wound didn’t remain sterile. Against the stubborn blood that flowed through his veins, an infection wouldn’t stand a chance.

Aware that he was watching her in the mirror, she approached and took the tube he held. With more concentration than the act required, she squeezed out a generous amount and applied it to his wound.

His muscles tensed under her touch. It was an effort to keep her mind firmly in the present and away from the time when her hands had roamed his body freely, with an eagerness that still had the power to embarrass her. She struggled to keep her face impassive as she completed the task, then stepped away. Noting a bowl beside the sink filled with an unfamiliar substance, she asked him about it.

“It’s coloring.” Even as he spoke he scooped up some of the stuff and rubbed it over his wet hair carelessly. “I’m going to lighten my hair for the assignment. It washes out in less than two weeks. That should give us enough time.”

Studying the glop he was working into the strands, she said, “Perhaps I should do the same.”

“It isn’t necessary. You’re expected to pass as a native of Tamir. Your coloring is perfect for this job.”

He was right, of course. It also made it difficult for her to change her appearance for each assignment. She had to rely on discreetly applied makeup to add subtle lines, to alter her jawline. Maloun was a highly conservative society with little evidence of western influence. The traditional dress she would be required to wear lent ample opportunity to alter her body type. She’d have to rely on those techniques to mar an accurate description of her.

“I mean, I could change my hair. Perhaps cut it before we leave.”

“No!”

The vehemence in that single word startled her. Her gaze met his in the mirror. But his voice was nonchalant enough when he explained, “Women have the advantage of being able to just pull their hair up to achieve a different look. Believe me, sweetheart, your hair is going to be the last thing any man concentrates on.”

While she struggled with his meaning, Jasmine watched Walker cover the hair on his arms with the same mixture, then apply it to his chest. The matching color would make his alteration all the more convincing. She noted the face he made as he rubbed the stuff on his torso. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just shave the hair off?”

One side of his mouth lifted. “Easier? Yeah. But the only time I tried that I almost went nuts while it was growing back. It itched like crazy. I’ve decided this is more work, but much more comfortable later.”

He bent over the tub that was easily large enough to host a small dinner party, and turned on the gold-plated taps. With his head shoved under the faucet he said, “Get me a couple towels and washcloths, will you?” She did so, then returned to the bedroom. There was something much too cozy about watching the man engage in his preparations. Their assignment was complicated enough by their previous brief relationship. There would be no place for emotion in this job.

She distracted herself by studying the quarters he’d been given. It was opulent, like the rest of the palace, with a huge lake of a bed covered with rumpled satin sheets. Pillows lay strewn around it. Walker liked to sleep sprawled out, she recalled. At least he had in the little time they’d spent sleeping their one night together. Although she’d awakened to find herself close to the edge of the bed, she’d been in no danger of falling from it. He’d been holding her much too closely for that.

To shake the memories from her mind, she crossed to the large desk. Its top was strewn with papers and maps. When he rejoined her minutes later she was absorbed in them.

Without turning around she folded a map over to reveal the one beneath. “How will we travel to Maloun?” While she’d spent every hour they’d been in Tamir trying to learn as much of that country’s history as possible, Walker had been taking care of the physical details of the assignment.

“The sheik’s jet will fly us to Redyshah, the capital city. That’s where the prime minister’s quarters are located.” He stepped to her side, indicated a spot on the map. “The airport is in the northernmost part of the city. One of our operatives will have a car waiting for us, outfitted with some supplies I ordered.”

She nodded. “You will have ample opportunity to demonstrate your skills as my driver. I hope you are up to the challenge. As your passenger, I will have very exacting standards.”

Her attempt to needle him failed. He merely crowded closer to her, reached to flip a map over. “I’ll be at your service, Jaz. In whatever areas you require.”

He was tantalizing her intentionally. The knowledge was the only thing that kept her from moving away. She was unwilling to display even that slight hint of weakness. Studying the maps, she gave every indication of ignoring him. Maloun was Tamir’s closest neighbor, located on the nearby Arabian Peninsula. The northern and central parts of the country, she noted, appeared mostly desert, with the country growing hillier where it was edged by water. She wondered in what part of the country the Brothers were housed.

In a movement she hoped seemed casual, she turned, faced him. “When do we leave?”

“A few hours.” He’d lightened his brows, too, she observed. He would probably also wear contacts to change the color of his eyes. She wondered if it ever seemed odd to him that while other men put on a suit and tie to go to work, he had to become someone else entirely.

But that thought was quickly followed by another. She couldn’t see Walker James wearing pinstripes and keeping banker’s hours. There was something much too elemental, too primitive about him for that. He would be attracted to danger, to excitement. If he hadn’t turned to espionage, he’d be engaged in something else just as risky.

“Let’s go over our covers again.”

She stifled a sigh. They’d been over their stories so often she could repeat hers backward. “My name is Rose Mahrain. My father was the Tamir ambassador to America and we divided our time between Washington, D.C., and Tamir. My husband was also in government, until his death two years ago. When Sheik Kamal offered me a diplomatic post, I eagerly accepted. This will be my first assignment out of the country, and I am naturally anxious to do well.” As was usually the case, the cover could be substantiated, at least on the surface. If an inquiry was conducted, it would be discovered that the details corresponded exactly with a woman by that name, who had been sent out of the country for the course of this assignment. Except the real Rose Mahrain had been offered no such post.

As Englishman John Logan, Walker, too would have a cover that would withstand scrutiny. She found herself anticipating the character he would adopt, complete with accent.

“How did your husband die?”

The continued questioning annoyed her. She was not a schoolchild reciting a memorized lesson for a critical teacher, although she’d certainly repeated this one for Walker often enough. A hint of mischief seized her. “He died in bed.” Her improvisation earned her a narrowed look. “I am a woman of great…needs. I pleasured him to death.”

There was a long pregnant pause. “Stick to the script,” Walker advised finally. “This job is going to be complicated enough without you being deliberately provocative. You may get a response you hadn’t counted on.”

“I have no intention of provoking a response from our targets!”

“I was talking about me.”

Her throat abruptly went dry. There was an all too familiar heat in his eyes that she hadn’t meant to ignite. This tension between them was causing her to act out of character. In every job she prided herself on her ability to remain cool. But something about Walker brought out an unfamiliar impulsivity. The last time she’d given in to those impulses, she’d gotten badly burned in the process. She’d do well to remember that the next time she was tempted to drag a response from him.

To distract them both, she rounded the desk to cross to the window. “What have you learned about the prime minister?”

“His name is Hosni El-Dabir. He’s a career politician, so he’ll be well acquainted with Sheik Ahmed Kamal and his family, even though the two countries don’t have much to do with each other. If he brings up a subject you aren’t completely familiar with, you’d be better off to admit ignorance. He’ll know if you bluff.”

“Thank you so much for the advice,” she said with mock politeness. “I do not know how I manage without your wisdom on other assignments.”

Still wearing a slight frown, he looked at her. “Don’t get bitchy, Jaz. I’m not belittling your ability, just giving you some facts. This thing isn’t going to work if we’re at each other’s throats all the time.”

Since she had thought much the same, she was ready to agree with him. Perhaps even to suggest some sort of truce. But the suggestion he made next drove all other thoughts from her mind. She gaped at him, doubting she’d heard correctly. “What did you say?”

“I said maybe we should just spend an hour or two in bed and get it out of our systems.” When she couldn’t seem to manage an answer, he went on. “Sexual tension can be a distraction, one we don’t need. A couple of hours burning up the sheets would go a long way toward relieving that.”

She couldn’t remember ever being propositioned quite so passionlessly. The offhand crudity left her speechless. But in the middle of summoning a blistering retort, she caught the flicker of anticipation in his eyes. He wanted a reaction from her, she realized. Any reaction.

So instead of giving him the response he was looking for, she merely arched a brow. He’d never know what her cool, mildly amused tone cost her. “I am afraid I must turn down your charming proposition. One night with you was more than enough.” She turned and made her way to the door. “I will be ready to leave in two hours. We can meet at the front doors.” Her hand was on the knob when she paused and looked at him over her shoulder. “Oh, and Walker? You could never be a distraction to me. My taste for loutish Americans was completely erased three years ago.”

She pulled open the door, sailed through it with queenly grace. The only thing that marred her departure was knowing that he watched her exit with a satisfied smile still on his lips.

“Madame Mahrain.” The Maloun prime minister lingered over her hand, addressing her in Arabic. “It is an honor and a great pleasure to have you visit our nation.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir. What I have seen of your country so far is very impressive.” Jasmine answered in the same language, that of her birth. Walker hung back circumspectly. “May I present my assistant, John Logan? I’m afraid he only speaks English.”

In heavily accented English, El-Dabir turned to Walker and said, “Welcome to our country. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you, sir.” Walker’s tone was respectful, with a clipped British accent. He remained at Jasmine’s elbow, a couple steps behind her, in a position of silent deference. She wondered if it was the first time in his life that he’d acted deferential to anyone, even if it was feigned.

She would never have believed the difference he could manage in his appearance. She’d been prepared for the lighter hair, the contacts that changed his piercing blue eyes to a nondescript hazel. Like her, he’d placed slim cotton pads inside his cheeks to alter the shape of his face. But the alteration went beyond the obvious. The black loose-fitting shirt and trousers he’d chosen were a size too big. He stood with his shoulders slightly rolled, his chin tucked. Little details taken by themselves, but together they gave him the look of a man inches shorter, many pounds lighter. His manner suggested a lowly government employee whose demeanor was light-years away from that of the confidently arrogant Walker James.

El-Dabir led them down a graciously wide hallway into a large airy room. It was furnished with a lovely piano in one corner, with chairs and couches scattered throughout the rest of the space. As Jasmine and Walker seated themselves on one of the overstuffed couches, the prime minister summoned a servant and issued an order for tea. Then he returned to his guests and sat on a chair facing them.

“I trust your trip was pleasant.”

“Sheik Kamal’s jet is quite comfortable. Far more luxurious than I am used to.” As she spoke, Jasmine studied her host surreptitiously. Hosni El-Dabir did not look like a career politician, she mused. As most Maloun males, the prime minister wore a traditional jellaba. He’d donned a jacket over the hooded loose-fitting robe, and a kaffiyeh covered his head. His nose was flat, as though it had been misshapen in a brawl. He had the square body of a boxer, and his dark gaze had a way of sliding over her face rather than focusing on it. In contrast, his hands were well-manicured, the skin surprisingly smooth when he’d touched hers. If Maloun had an American equivalent of the syndicate, she could have easily pictured him at its helm.

“The sheik hopes you will forgive him for sending an emissary for this very important meeting. Problems at home require his attention.”

El-Dabir nodded. “Please convey our regrets to Ahmed Kamal. We pray for his son’s safe return.”

The prime minister’s tone was ingratiating. Jasmine wondered just how much, if anything, El-Dabir knew about the young sheik’s disappearance. Dirk hadn’t mentioned any such relationship between the two, but it seemed coincidental that Rashid would disappear around the same time that Maloun was preparing a strike against his country. Resolving to question Walker about it later, she said, “Sheik Kamal was eager to make a start in negotiating a trade agreement with your country.” Falling silent as a male servant carried in a tray, Jasmine waited until the tea had been served before continuing. “It is no secret that tensions between Tamir and Montebello have increased. The sheik would like to build a relationship with Tamir’s other neighbors.” She paused to sip at her tea, giving the prime minister time to digest her words. He would believe Kamal anxious to gather allies, in case war broke out with Montebello. It was exactly the impression she’d hoped to give.

“A good neighbor is to be highly valued.”

“Indeed. And there are many advantages for both sides when trust is not an issue. Tamir always welcomes new trading partners, especially those countries who do not embrace the western culture.”

El-Dabir smiled, obviously pleased at the prospect. “Talk of such an alliance is intriguing. I have acquaintances, very powerful men in our country, who share my goals for the future of Maloun. I have arranged a small dinner party in your honor for this evening, so that you may become acquainted with them and their wives.”

A leap of excitement shot through her veins, but Jasmines voice was merely polite when she answered. “It would be a pleasure. Any avenue to further our countries’ accord would be welcomed.”

El-Dabir nodded, pursing his lips. “I feel certain Tamir and Maloun can come to an agreement. I appreciate your candor and look forward to further conversations with you on this subject.” He smiled, resembling a crocodile showing its teeth. “Although I must say, it is never a hardship to converse with a beautiful woman, Madame Mahrain, whatever the topic.”

Jasmine smiled, averting her gaze demurely. “Please. You must call me Rose.”

When she was shown to her room, Jasmine unpacked leisurely, then set her purse on the small dressing table and withdrew her lipstick. Methodically she outlined her lips, colored them. A barely audible beep sounded. Without reacting, she replaced the lipstick cover, then trailed to the window, looking out at the view. There was another tiny beep. When she turned and crossed to the bed she heard yet another.

The room was bugged.

A miniscule sensor hidden in the bottom of her lipstick case was sensitive enough to pick up the presence of any security device available. Her casual trip around the room picked up a hidden camera behind the mirror, and two bugs. Her host was obviously not the trusting sort. She wondered if the devices had been planted in anticipation of her visit, or whether every guest was treated to this type of hospitality. She rather thought it was the latter.

There was a knock at her door. When she opened it she found Walker, carrying a notepad. “Would you care for a walk in the courtyard before we get ready for dinner, madame?”

With a murmur of acceptance, Jasmine preceded him down the hallway. Once downstairs they made their way to the courtyard they’d admired on the quick tour the prime minister had given them.

They didn’t speak until they were outside. Walker reached for a slim gold pen in his shirt pocket, asking, “I trust your room is comfortable?”

“Yes. And yours?” During the innocuous conversation they strolled slowly through the bricked courtyard. Stone benches were situated near fountains and statues. She listened carefully, heard the telltale sounds emitted from the top of Walker’s pen as they passed the center fountain. She paused as if admiring it, wondering where the detected listening device was hidden. Somewhere near the heavy marble base, she imagined.

Moving slowly, they covered the courtyard, finding other bugs located on several of the benches. Again she was struck with the paranoia the devices suggested. It wasn’t until they reached the far end of the courtyard that looked out over a short wall to the busy street beyond that Walker deemed it safe to speak freely.

“Distrustful bastard, isn’t he?” His voice was very nearly soundless as he appeared to study the people on the street.

“Are you certain we are out of range?”

“Planting so many of them in such a limited area suggests that each has a limited capability. Chances are they’ve been here for years.” He looked down at the notebook he carried, as if to consult notes jotted down there. “At one time I’ll bet every bench was bugged so our host could keep tabs on his guests’ private conversations.”

“Charming,” she murmured, letting her gaze roam the area. “My room is similarly equipped.”

“Mine, too. We have to figure the whole place is loaded with them.”

She wished she’d remembered to retrieve the sunglasses from her purse. The afternoon sun was brutal. “We will have to be sure and not disappoint the prime minister. It would be a shame if all his eavesdropping were for nothing.”

Walker didn’t smile but his face lightened a fraction. “When the time comes, I’ll follow your lead.”

Her lips curved slightly. “That will be a welcome change, and another first for you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished them back.

The mirrored lenses of his glasses made it impossible to tell what he was thinking, until his voice came, low and intimate. “Maybe you’ve forgotten a time when I was all too happy to let you set the pace.” Memories washed over her like a warm caress, evoked by his sensual tone. “I put myself into your very capable hands then and found you to be slow, but…thorough.”

Because her hands suddenly had a tendency to tremble, she clutched them together. The mental images his words elicited were vivid, graphic. There was nothing quite so sexy as a man who would lie back and let a woman explore his body, and Walker had made no secret of the pleasure he’d found when she’d done so. Venice may have been three years ago, but the memories weren’t buried nearly deeply enough.

To hide their effect on her, she turned away, pretended an interest in the bustle in the street in front of them. She’d be ill-advised to let Walker think he could disconcert her with one well-placed reference to the past. “Ancient history does not interest me. I am more focused on our present assignment.” It gave her a chance to change the subject, so she asked the question that had been bothering her earlier. “Do you think El-Dabir and the Brothers know anything about the young sheik’s disappearance?”

Sending her a sharp look, Walker asked, “What makes you ask?”

Jasmine shrugged. “It seems odd that he would vanish around the same time the Brothers are trying to heighten the strife between the two countries.”

“I thought of that, too. If the Brothers did snatch him, maybe we’ll discover some trace of their actions when we get inside the compound.” He sent a glance back toward the prime minister’s quarters. “Actually getting us inside the Brothers’ headquarters is going to be up to you. Any ideas yet about how you’ll accomplish it?”

“That will depend in a large part on the events tonight, and how the talks progress with the prime minister.” She paused, smiling as a pair of young children darted by, chasing a dog bigger than both of them. “El-Dabir wasn’t what I expected.”

“He’s little more than a hired thug.” Walker propped his elbows on the low wall, their shoulders brushing. “In a country as uncivilized as this one, a man doesn’t hold office as long as he has without having some very interesting acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances affiliated with the Brothers of Darkness.”

He nodded. “I’d be surprised if some of its members weren’t among the guests at the dinner tonight. If our information is correct, then leaders of the group run the country, and El-Dabir. No agreement would be made with Tamir without their involvement.” As her lowly assistant, it was understood that he would excuse himself shortly after dinner, leaving the invited guests to mingle. “If you do more listening than talking this evening, you’ll get a better…”

He must have seen the expression on her face, because he cut his words short. “But I don’t want to tell you how to do your job.”

“Yes, you do. And quite frequently.” But she was finding that habit of his far less provocative than his frequent reminders of the time they’d spent together. “I will be more than willing to listen to your advice if I am allowed to tell you what you should do while the party is going on.”

“Point taken,” he responded dryly. “You tend to your business tonight and I’ll tend to mine. We can compare notes tomorrow, unless it’s urgent. Do you know where my room is?”

She nodded and looked away, feigning an interest in a nearby street vendor displaying his wares to some Malounian women. A situation would have to be urgent indeed to convince her to go to Walker’s bedroom in the middle of the night. Jasmine had a strong commitment to duty, but her sense of self-preservation was equally powerful. She could imagine few scenarios so critical that she could be convinced to approach the man while he was in bed.

The color she felt rising to her cheeks could be blamed on the afternoon heat. It would be more comfortable to believe that she was indifferent to him. Until a day ago she’d almost convinced herself that she was. But an innate sense of honesty forced her to admit, at least to herself, that indifference was the last thing she felt for him.

And therein lay the real danger of this assignment.