Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
W hen Sloane’s heart finally slowed to a reasonable pace and she no longer felt like she might faint from fear, she took a closer look at the beast of a man who had invaded her space.
She might not be the best field agent, but she was brilliant at reading people. That was her "gift," as Matthew called it. And the first thing she picked up about this guy was that he was in pain.
Not physical pain, but the kind that tore at your soul. She could tell he’d been to hell and back and was haunted by it. It was all there, plain as day. The tension in his muscular frame, his clenched fists, the veins popping in his neck, the rigid jaw. His intimidating posture and angry glare barely concealed it. And his eyes—icy blue, filled with hurt.
Grief? Hatred?
Something.
Definitely something.
No doubt he was dangerous, but she didn’t think that danger was aimed at her.
It was aimed at Omari.
He wanted something from Omari. But what?
A shiver crawled up her spine. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
He knew his way around a gun. Military, maybe? A soldier? He moved like one—disciplined, efficient, totally focused, light on his feet. She’d trained with soldiers at the academy—she knew the type.
Plus, there was that sexy tattoo peeking out from under his right sleeve. She could just make out the tip of a trident, its sharp lines etched in bold black ink against his tanned skin.
Her knack for reading people was why she’d been recruited. Her instructors were impressed by how quickly she could sense someone’s emotions. It came naturally, like breathing.
She was reading him now.
That’s what happens when you grow up with an alcoholic father, she thought with a sniff. His unpredictable moods and frequent outbursts had kept her on edge. She learned when to disappear, when to calm him down, and how to talk him out of a drunken rage. Too bad she hadn’t been able to talk him off that bridge. That was ten years ago. She’d been seventeen.
“Why do you want to know about Omari?” She turned back to the smoldering ball of tension standing in front of her, still scrolling through her phone.
He glared at her. No, not at her—through her.
His mind was on Omari, the Taliban official they were both tracking. Raw, unfiltered hatred poured off him. It was so strong she could practically feel it.
“None of your business,” he snapped.
“Except you came here demanding to know mine?” she shot back.
His eyes narrowed—dangerous slits of rage and pain. “I believe I’m the one holding the gun.”
She sighed and sat back down on the bed. “Looks to me like we both want the same thing.”
He didn’t respond, just stared.
“To know what Omari’s up to, right?”
Nothing.
She took a deep breath. “So, why don’t we come to a compromise?”
He growled, but it wasn’t a no. “What did you have in mind?”
Encouraged, she pressed on. “It’s my job to follow him and report what he’s doing, who he meets, all of that... And you want to know what he’s up to, too.”
His cold gaze didn’t budge. “Go on…”
“Maybe we can work together. It’s pointless for both of us to tail him. It just increases the chance he’ll notice he’s being followed.”
He gave a small nod, acknowledging her point. “What will you tell your handler?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. The red light flickered behind him, casting his giant frame in shadow. She stayed still—she was finally getting somewhere. “He doesn’t need to know.”
He scowled. “You expect me to believe you’re not going to report what happened here?”
“Why would I?” she said evenly. “It’d just make me look bad. This is my first assignment, and I’ve already screwed it up. I don’t want my boss knowing I got ambushed by an American soldier and spilled details about the operation. They’d fire me. My career would be over.”
He frowned. “What makes you think I’m a soldier?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Everything about you—even though you’re trying to hide it. And you’re clearly American. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”
He snorted. “Fair enough.”
“I don’t know what you want with Omari,” she said quietly, “but we have the same objective. It’d be stupid not to work together.”
There was a long pause as he studied her. She stayed still while he decided if he could trust her.
He couldn’t. They both knew that.
The question was, did he want the intel badly enough to go along with her plan?
“If this is going to work,” he said finally, “you report to me. Got it?”
She hesitated. What choice did she have? As long as he shared his information with her, did it matter who was in charge? Men and their egos. Besides, this would give her a chance to learn more about him, figure out what he really wanted with Omari. Once she had that, she’d have something valuable to feed back.
“What about my handler?” she asked. “He’ll get suspicious if I don’t report regularly.”
“Keep to your schedule,” he barked, his voice sharp, like he was used to giving orders. “Don’t make him suspicious. He needs to think it’s business as usual.”
“I’ll have to report the three men from today.”
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
She blinked, surprised. “Now?”
He nodded toward her laptop. “Why not? You’re all set up.”
She grimaced. “Not quite. Give me a minute.”
The soldier watched as she plugged in her phone and connected it. Once she had a signal, she composed an email to Jeremy, attaching the photos. While she typed, he circled in, peering over her shoulder. His presence behind her was unsettling. The hairs on her arms stood up as if alerted by his magnetic force.
“Is Jeremy your handler?” he asked, leaning in closer to look at her screen.
“Yes.” She could feel his breath on her cheek.
“Last name?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “He never told me.”
She hit SEND, and the email whooshed out of her inbox.
He stepped back while she closed the laptop and disconnected her phone. When she was done, she glanced up and found him staring at her. “Is your real name Sloane Carmichael?”
“Yes, I told you that already.”
He shrugged. “I’m surprised. They usually give undercover operatives some kind of cover story. Maybe they figured you were better off telling the truth.”
Or maybe they didn’t think I was worth protecting, she thought suddenly. But no—Matthew would never put her at risk. He cared about her.
“I’m only supposed to observe and report back,” she said defensively. “Not sure that warrants a fake identity.”
“What if you get caught?” he asked. “Did they tell you what to do then?”
“I’m not going to get caught. And I’ve been through basic training.” She hated the doubt in her voice. To be honest, her training wasn’t that extensive. Ten months at the academy, then two months at the D.C. office before she was shipped off to Pakistan.
“You’d better hope you don’t.” For the first time, his icy blue eyes glittered with amusement. “You didn’t put up much of a fight when I broke in.”
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I guess so.”
“And now we’re working together,” she continued.
“We are.”
“Some might say that’s a win for me. Maybe this is my chance to gather intel on you. Ever think of that?”
This time, he smiled—just a little. The corners of his mouth lifted, and his gaze softened. “Of course.”
Her breath caught.
Damn.
When he lost that steely edge, when he allowed himself to be human, it did something to her. She felt her pulse quicken.
“What’s your name?”
There was a pause. “You can call me Stitch.”
“Stitch?”
“Yeah.”
Okay, fine. Stitch it was.
After a moment, he said, “It’s sure going to be interesting working with you, Special Agent Carmichael. How about I take the morning shift, and you take the afternoon?”
Oh, no. That wasn’t going to work. “Can we swap? I teach at the community center three afternoons a week.”
“Fine. Makes no difference to me.”
They stared at each other until he finally broke eye contact and backed toward the window.
“You can use the door, you know,” she said, regaining her composure. He was, without a doubt, the most unnerving, intimidating man she’d ever met.
“I’d rather not be seen.” He threw a leg over the windowsill and hopped down onto the rickety balcony. It groaned under his weight but held.
“See you tomorrow,” she called.
But he was already gone.
It wasn’t until then that she noticed he’d left her gun on the bed behind her.