AJ kept her face forward while she weighed her options.
Not only was she determined to kill Raazaq, a man in the top ten of the U.S.'s Most Wanted Terrorists list, she had to prove she had what it took to be one of T-FLAC's best operatives.
She had to prove it to herself.
To Kane Wright.
To Mac MacKenzie, her psych instructor, who had warned her that her aggressive need to succeed would get her killed if she didn't learn to control it. Fine. She was controlling it. Look at me, Mac. See? AJ Cooper biting her tongue.
All she needed was one more chance.
It didn't help that her hero worship for the man stoically driving the car was mixed in with a healthy and very unwelcome case of lust, which she hadn't been able to shake on the twenty-two-hour plane ride over here. In the last three days her emotions had gone to hell in a handbasket, and the last man, the absolutely last frigging man she should have any romantic interest in was Kane Wright.
The man was a loner. Did not play well with others. Was a perfectionist. Brooked no mistakes from himself or anyone else. And was intractable, unfriendly, and cranky.
Hells bells, AJ thought, scrunching down in her seat, closing gritty eyes, now that she thought about it, she didn't even like him!
The car slowed and she opened her eyes to look around.
The safe house was on the West Bank of the Nile on the edge of the newly reclaimed Imbaba district. It was a high-rise hovel. Peeling paint, graffiti, and broken lower windows proved it wasn't one of the newer buildings in the recently spruced-up neighborhood. In fact, it was just a taller version of the crumbling tenements surrounding it. Kane pulled their vehicle into the building's basement parking garage just as dawn broke over the city through a smoggy golden haze.
Things were looking up. He'd brought her here before hauling her off to the airport.
AJ huffed out a grunt of relief as he pulled into an empty parking slot and shut the car off. She was flat-out exhausted, and figured he must be, too. Flea-bitten or not, the safe-house apartment must have a shower and a toilet in working order. And a bed. She needed a shower, food, and a horizontal surface to crash on for a few hours. Then she'd sit down and figure out how to salvage her reputation and do the job she'd been sent to Egypt to do.
"Do I get to shower and nap before you haul my ass off to the airport?" she asked, unsnapping the frayed seat belt as soon as they stopped. The fact that she hadn't had a full or decent night's sleep in over three months was immaterial.
"You'll have plenty of time for a nap on the plane," he said shortly, reaching for the door handle without even glancing her way. "Just stay downwind of the civilians."
AJ got out of the car and slammed the door behind her a little harder than necessary. Dickhead. He didn't smell any better than she did.
If he were her brother, Gabriel, she'd give him a good solid punch to the solar plexus. But her quick temper had landed her in trouble and written up more than once, and she was already one of Kane's least favorite people. AJ bit her lip even harder. She didn't have to be one of his favorite people.
Don't kill him, she thought determinedly, and don't kiss him, either. Just do your job. Do it well and go home. Mission accomplished.
Kane's dusty black galabayya swept about him like the wings of a raven as he walked around the back of the car to join her. Still in character, although they were the only two people in the parking garage. AJ noticed his shoes. Battered and old, they looked insubstantial and as fragile and worn as he did. He looked Arab, talked apple pie, and was as emotionless as a robot.
In short, a perfect T-FLAC operative. "Move it," he said, indicating the elevator on the far side of the cavernous, and almost full, parking garage.
AJ gave him the finger behind his back, but she bit back a smart-ass retort and caught up with him. She pushed the elevator button and blinked moisture into her
Not only was she determined to kill Raazaq, a man in the top ten of the U.S.'s Most Wanted Terrorists list, she had to prove she had what it took to be one of T-FLAC's best operatives.
She had to prove it to herself.
To Kane Wright.
To Mac MacKenzie, her psych instructor, who had warned her that her aggressive need to succeed would get her killed if she didn't learn to control it. Fine. She was controlling it. Look at me, Mac. See? AJ Cooper biting her tongue.
All she needed was one more chance.
It didn't help that her hero worship for the man stoically driving the car was mixed in with a healthy and very unwelcome case of lust, which she hadn't been able to shake on the twenty-two-hour plane ride over here. In the last three days her emotions had gone to hell in a handbasket, and the last man, the absolutely last frigging man she should have any romantic interest in was Kane Wright.
The man was a loner. Did not play well with others. Was a perfectionist. Brooked no mistakes from himself or anyone else. And was intractable, unfriendly, and cranky.
Hells bells, AJ thought, scrunching down in her seat, closing gritty eyes, now that she thought about it, she didn't even like him!
The car slowed and she opened her eyes to look around.
The safe house was on the West Bank of the Nile on the edge of the newly reclaimed Imbaba district. It was a high-rise hovel. Peeling paint, graffiti, and broken lower windows proved it wasn't one of the newer buildings in the recently spruced-up neighborhood. In fact, it was just a taller version of the crumbling tenements surrounding it. Kane pulled their vehicle into the building's basement parking garage just as dawn broke over the city through a smoggy golden haze.
Things were looking up. He'd brought her here before hauling her off to the airport.
AJ huffed out a grunt of relief as he pulled into an empty parking slot and shut the car off. She was flat-out exhausted, and figured he must be, too. Flea-bitten or not, the safe-house apartment must have a shower and a toilet in working order. And a bed. She needed a shower, food, and a horizontal surface to crash on for a few hours. Then she'd sit down and figure out how to salvage her reputation and do the job she'd been sent to Egypt to do.
"Do I get to shower and nap before you haul my ass off to the airport?" she asked, unsnapping the frayed seat belt as soon as they stopped. The fact that she hadn't had a full or decent night's sleep in over three months was immaterial.
"You'll have plenty of time for a nap on the plane," he said shortly, reaching for the door handle without even glancing her way. "Just stay downwind of the civilians."
AJ got out of the car and slammed the door behind her a little harder than necessary. Dickhead. He didn't smell any better than she did.
If he were her brother, Gabriel, she'd give him a good solid punch to the solar plexus. But her quick temper had landed her in trouble and written up more than once, and she was already one of Kane's least favorite people. AJ bit her lip even harder. She didn't have to be one of his favorite people.
Don't kill him, she thought determinedly, and don't kiss him, either. Just do your job. Do it well and go home. Mission accomplished.
Kane's dusty black galabayya swept about him like the wings of a raven as he walked around the back of the car to join her. Still in character, although they were the only two people in the parking garage. AJ noticed his shoes. Battered and old, they looked insubstantial and as fragile and worn as he did. He looked Arab, talked apple pie, and was as emotionless as a robot.
In short, a perfect T-FLAC operative. "Move it," he said, indicating the elevator on the far side of the cavernous, and almost full, parking garage.
AJ gave him the finger behind his back, but she bit back a smart-ass retort and caught up with him. She pushed the elevator button and blinked moisture into her
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