She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Are you seeing someone new?”
“I make it a point not to be dumped more than once every six months. Since you broke it off with me four weeks ago, I have five months left to be careful and stay completely single. No risks to the heart.”
Her fingers still carried the feel of his unshaven jaw. “Risks to the heart?” How the hell could he place this all at her doorstep? Anger welled inside her. “If we’re laying it out there, don’t forget I wanted more with you.”
“Just so we’re clear here.” He tugged the end of her braid. “I asked you to move in with me.”
The connection of his hand on her hair shimmered clear to her roots and pissed her off. “Yeah, well, call me old-fashioned but I was hoping we could have it all—house, family, rocking chair retirement with grandchildren—and you also made it clear that was never going to happen.”
So much for keeping her distance.
He gave her braid a final tug. “Keep right on fighting. You can let down soon.”
The way he knew just how to bolster her, how to read her, brought a lump to her throat. Spending time with him now was bittersweet, knowing how it would end.
“Stella…” He pulled his 9 mm from the holster. “For you.”
He had his machine gun, so it made sense. Still, she appreciated having control of her safety again after the helplessness of the past three days.
“Damn you,” she whispered, cradling the handgun in her hands.
“What did I do now?”
“You understand me,” she admitted, her anger peeling away, leaving nothing but the hurt behind. “I almost hate you for that. Be horrible, okay? Be a total jerk. Make this easier for both of us.”
He cupped the back of her head, his fingers massaging into her scalp. Tempting her all over again. If she could just give up her dreams, she could have him…
Then she would resent him, truly hate him in the end.
A low hum started in her brain, a buzz of frustration or doubt? Either way, it grew louder and louder until…
Jose went tense. His hand fell away and he launched to his feet. “The helicopter’s here.”
***
The CIA agent pulled out his buzzing cell phone, but he didn’t recognize the number scrolling across the screen. Not unusual, since they used disposable names and identities on a regular basis.
He held up a hand to his two fellow operatives for them to carry on with their brief about the aircraft picking up the rest of the team. He would be right back. Sidling out of the small conference room, he ducked into a deserted computer cubicle in the hangar-based mobile command center and thumbed the on button.
“Yes?”
“Hello, Henry Pope.” The tinny sounding words carried over the phone, unrecognizable with a voice changer distorting the sound.
That didn’t scare him. But the fact that the person had used his real name? That scared the shit out of him. Only one person would use his name on this line while he was in the middle of a top secret op in Africa.
“How did you get this number?” Damn it, their business was concluded. He’d done what they asked. The debt had been settled.
“My people can always find your number.”
All those video screens and the hum of activity in the next cubicle over had his skin crawling. If a Predator unscrambled his encrypted signal… “I can’t talk now.”
“Then just listen,” the mechanical voice continued. “There’s a young man who will be on the flight with the rescued hostages.”
How the hell did they know that clear across the ocean? He looked around him at the computers with workers hunched over the screens, wearing headsets and monitoring data. Who? Who was trying to sabotage his life? Was someone here talking to him or feeding information?
Maybe if he kept the person talking, he could find the bastard who’d been making him dance like a puppet for the past year. He wasn’t some errand boy.
He’d paid off his debt. “What is it you want?”