Chapter 9
Enjoy the ride? No strings? No expectations? No messy emotional baggage?
What the hell did that mean?
She had to be fucking with him.
Jordan shook his head as he followed Ms. Daisy Montana up the steps.
What was she up to?
Did she actually just call him “sexy”?
Him?
Sure, he was sexy if you liked grim and haggard. He needed a shave, a haircut and seven hours of solid sleep to even pass for human.
He paused. Or was she talking about someone else on Gold Team?
He scowled.
Did she have a crush on someone?
She better not be planning to seduce one of the guys. Her dad would go ballistic. Jordan wouldn’t be far behind, but it wasn’t because of any paternal feelings. He knew himself well enough to recognize straight-up jealousy.
Not that it mattered. She might dismiss his loyalty to her dad as patriarchal bullshit, but you didn’t mess with your best friend’s daughter, especially when he was also your boss and could kill you in a thousand different ways.
And Jordan would have to stand there and let him, because he’d have broken the code.
The co-pilot greeted them and quickly secured the door behind them.
The man put their luggage into a low compartment.
“No flight attendants, so help yourself to bathroom, bedroom facilities and tea, coffee, water, and snacks in the kitchenette. Flight time of just under four hours. Wear your seatbelts when you can, we’re expecting a smooth flight, but you never know when we might hit some turbulence. ”
That was for damned sure. “You’re going over the gulf, right?”
“That’s the plan.” The co-pilot nodded and watched Daisy as she removed the ball cap and shook out her hair. Interest lit the man’s eyes.
She looked feminine, genteel and fragile—she was anything but the latter. She also looked exhausted.
“If you want to grab sleep or a shower after take-off, help yourself.”
Jordan did not like how the co-pilot’s gaze traveled over her. He shifted so he stood in front of her and held out his hand to the other man, who took it.
“Thanks for picking us up at such short notice.”
The guy squeezed his hand firmly. “That’s the job, and you’re welcome. Buckle up.” He headed into the cockpit and closed the door behind him.
Daisy dropped into a comfy-looking, cream, leather chair that looked as soft as a cloud.
He grabbed two bottles of water from the back and then took his seat opposite. “I’ll make you that coffee as soon as we take off.”
The plane began to taxi to the runway.
She twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long drink. Licked the moisture off her lips while holding his gaze. “Coffee can wait until after I’ve showered, babe.”
Something about the calculating glint in her eye told him he was going to have to step very carefully over the next few days.
The woman was smart and determined and quite capable of manipulating him to get what she wanted.
Although he couldn’t actually figure out what she might want, aside from the whole not-getting-arrested thing.
He inhaled deeply as he figured it out.
She’d told him what she was doing. She was acting, doofus. Role-playing, so that when they got to DC they’d be in sync and look like a couple rather than two prickly, almost-strangers, pretending not to hate each other.
Not that he hated her.
Not even close.
The plane hit the runway and immediately gained speed. Daisy stared out of the window with a strange look in her eyes. Sadness. Regret.
The last ten hours had been harrowing for her. He hated to admit he’d actually enjoyed being stuck in that trunk last night.
The sun was beginning to crown over the horizon, and the pink light of dawn saturated her profile. He found himself staring at her sometimes just to see the way her lips formed words.
He needed to remember none of this was real. She was enjoying the ride. Having fun. Enjoying making him squirm. He had to remember that, and no matter how tempted, he wasn’t going to sacrifice his principles or break his promises—he’d already let too many people down.
He didn’t need to pretend to be attracted to her.
Ever since he’d discovered she wasn’t some undercover operative sent to seduce and kill him, he’d been employing all his considerable acting skills to hide the fact that he found her…
captivating. Pretending he didn’t feel a desire that itched at his skin from the inside out whenever he thought about kissing that smart mouth was something he excelled at.
Weirdly, even though he knew it was wrong, he felt alive again in a way he hadn’t in years. The horrors of his past hadn’t left him, but he’d learned how to live with his ghosts.
But if Konrad Bocharov was alive that changed everything…
He frowned.
What if he were mistaken?
What if the guy had recognized him for some other reason?
The accent had been the same, the voice, the way the fucker moved. Everything was the same, except the face.
As soon as Jordan got back to Quantico, he’d be contacting people to see how it was possible that the FBI had made such an enormous error as to believe Bocharov was dead.
They reached cruising altitude, and Daisy unclipped her seat belt and stood. Went over to where their luggage was stored and pulled out a few clothes. She put the case back in the cupboard.
“I’m going for a quick shower.” She batted her eyelashes at him and gave him a sly smile. “Feel free to join me, babe.”
He sat frozen to the seat as he watched her hips sway until she disappeared inside the small suite. He blew out a sigh. Damn, she pushed all his buttons.
And he had no intention of acting on any of it.
Even ignoring the fact Kurt was her father, she was younger than he was, and she deserved a hell of a lot better than a guy like him. But he needed to get into character because the FBI Director, the Mexicans, the French, the IAEA all needed to be convinced he and Daisy were together.
So he made her coffee—milk, no sugar—and walked into the bedroom suite. He tapped on the bathroom door and opened it a crack to place the mug on the washstand.
He caught a hazy glimpse of her outline in the steamed-up mirror, his memory and imagination filling out the rest.
He looked at the floor. “I’m going to get some sleep, babe.”
Jeez.
He’d never called a woman “babe” in his life before, and he was going to Hell because he wanted it to be real. He kicked off his boots and peeled off his shirt. Shut the window blinds and closed his eyes. For the first time in thirty-six hours, he finally slept.
Daisy managed to keep her hair dry beneath a towel and some judicious pointing of the nozzle.
She toweled off and pulled on fresh underwear, a clean T-shirt, and the same jeans as she’d worn last night.
She grabbed the coffee off the sink and took a long gulp.
It tasted perfect, exactly the way she liked it.
Her mood buoyed. Because she was safe, she realized. Whatever Jordan’s concerns, she doubted anyone would attack the plane or her when she was back in the States. Not when she hadn’t seen anything and this fictional relationship with Krychek would be over in a few days.
Whoever killed Francois had no reason to hurt her. She was a student. A nobody. Unless it was some jealous ex, but even so, she hadn’t done anything. She had a handgun and license to carry concealed. She could take care of herself.
She tossed the towels into a hamper and eased out of the bathroom. It was dark in the bedroom, and she saw Jordan flat on his back, asleep on the bed.
She knew she was playing with fire as she lay down beside him. She reached out to blow on the embers, but he looked so peaceful for once, she couldn’t bring herself to disturb him.
He hadn’t slept last night. He’d been busy setting up this jet and listening for danger. In a few hours, they’d be grilled by people with the power to arrest them if they discovered they were lying.
Tiredness filled her.
She was sad about Francois, but she didn’t know who’d killed him—or why. She snuggled closer to Jordan’s warmth and rested her hand on his stomach. At least now they’d be able to say, with complete honesty, that they’d slept together on multiple occasions.