“I can take care of myself.”

But she shouldn’t have to, not all the time. The real question detonated inside him, the one that had been eating him up inside since he’d first stepped into this airplane hangar and saw surveillance images of her on those screens.

He gripped her by the shoulders. “What were you doing inside that compound where you could have f**king been murdered?”

Her brows shot upward, her chest rising and falling faster and faster. She looked away fast, her eyes darting. Avoiding? He didn’t have to be a body language expert to know she was working on what to say, crafting her words.

Finally, she looked at him full-on and blurted, “I came here to find answers about how my mother died.”

There was no denying the hoarse honesty in her whisper. He processed the words with the notion that he’d thought he knew everything about her. God knows he’d shared his secrets with her. He’d assumed she had done the same.

“I thought your mom was an aid worker killed in a car accident.” He recalled everything Stella had told him, how Melanie Carson had spent half of every year in Africa dispensing aid in villages. “In this region, right?”

She nodded. “That’s what we were told, but I think the car accident story was just to cover her injuries so we wouldn’t question why her body was beaten up.”

“God, Stella, I’m not sure what to say.” He touched her cheek, all the comfort he expected she would accept. She had to have some kind of proof. She was too logical to say that about her mother on a hunch, which meant she’d been planning this all along, even when she was with him. “We were together for five months. Why didn’t you mention this to me before?”

And yeah, that stung a little. He’d poured his guts out to her, shared his demons.

She scrubbed her hand over her face, shaking her head slowly. “It’s not exactly romantic pillow talk.”

He knew a cop-out answer when he heard one. “We did more than sleep together.”

“Honestly, Jose.” Her mouth went tight. “You didn’t need to know about my mother, so I didn’t tell you.”

“And you accused me of holding back?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry I hurt you and I mean that. Being together like this must really suck for you.”

Straight for the jugular. He half smiled. “I’d forgotten how blunt you can be.”

“I’m a factual person—and we only broke up a month ago.” She touched his chest lightly.

“Feels longer than that.” He cupped her face, thumbing the corner of her mouth.

She chewed her bottom lip, her teeth so close to his thumb. “How long are you here?”

“Until the morning. Then I’m out of here. Move on to the next phase.”

Not much time left with her, but he didn’t intend to waste a minute of it. His pulse thumped stronger, harder in his ears. Could he do it? Put his heart out there for her to crush again just for the chance to sleep with her one more time?

Hell yes.

He angled closer. He could almost taste her, just from memory.

“Jose, wait.” She pressed her hand harder against his chest. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Really?” He nibbled her bottom lip.

She sighed, her breath tangling with his next breath.

“Really,” she said softly, her mouth moving along his. “I told you about my mom because I thought we could use this time to talk things through more fully, to get closure.”

Right now this felt more like a second chance than an ending. He skimmed a kiss along her jaw. “Okay, then you talk.” He kissed his way down to her neck. “I’ll listen.”

Her head fell back, giving him fuller access. “Because even though we broke up a month ago, it hasn’t been simple to close the door on what we… shared. I’ve realized I need more time with you.”

And just that fast, her hands went into his hair. She guided his mouth back to hers and kissed him. Full-out kissed him, and God help him, he was all in.

He slid his arms around her and hauled her closer. The familiar give of her curves against him felt so damn good. He knew they couldn’t take this any further, not here, not now, and there was a certain freedom in that. And knowing he could just taste her, hold her, be with her—that drove him crazy. The past four weeks without her, thinking about never seeing her again, had damn near driven him nuts.

The touch of her tongue to his sent a possessive growl humming low in his chest. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, although he hoped tonight would find him and Stella in a shower together, then a bed, where he would use every bit of foreplay in his arsenal.

But here, now, he needed to hold onto control for a while longer.

Stepping back, he eased his mouth from hers and slid his hands around to cup her elbows. His senses went on high alert, taking in everything about her, from the softness of her skin to the brush of the cotton cloth she still held.

“Stella, if you’re through here, let’s head over to the quarters where we can be alone, talk about where you want to go next…”

The sound of the door opening again echoed up from the other side of the stacked crates. Stella blinked fast, clearing away the fog of passion from her eyes. She hurried around the corner, back into plain sight just as the teenage Ajaya stepped out, his eyes wide and panicked.

“Where are you taking me? You cannot just send me back there, not when they know I have been here.” His voice cracked, his agitation increasing the longer Mr. Smith stayed silent beside him.

The agent was playing the kid, pushing him for more with psychological pressure rather than physical harm.

Ajaya tugged at the hem of his overlarge T-shirt. “I know things, more things. I know about that.”

He pointed to Stella.

Jose stopped cold, his hand sliding around her waist.

Mr. Smith didn’t even blink.

Ajaya waved his hand toward Stella again. “The cloth, the one stolen from the compound. The writing in the border. It tells their plans.”

Mr. Smith blinked.

Foreboding iced up Jose’s spine, years of survival instincts shouting this was about to get bad. Really bad. He resisted the urge to thrust himself between Stella and whatever the kid was about to say.

Stella inched forward, her hands twisting in the wrap. “What plans, Ajaya?”

“To kill people when your vice president’s wife visits.” The teenage boy reached toward Stella, his fingers almost brushing the rippling fringe. “The details are written in a code in the fabric.”

Chapter 6

Stella unwound the cloth from around her waist, handling the fabric as carefully as crystal. Cradling the material draped over her hands, she took in the pattern scripted along the edges. The stark halogen lights high in the hangar glinted on flecks of silver thread.

Messages were commonly woven into the patterns or borders of these cloths, so that in and of itself wasn’t unusual. There was no reason to beat herself up over not considering it before now. All the same, she wished somehow she’d considered the possibility that a cloth was more than a “cloth.”

Could the boy be lying about a more insidious meaning? Or was he telling the truth? Either way, they had to move forward on the assumption that he was telling the truth.

A translator would have to decipher which variation of the local language was used. Even if the words seemed benign, a decoder—like her—would have to discern if a hidden meaning had been inserted.

Unless the boy was lying to buy time.

She looked up at the teenager. His dark eyes were wild with desperation. She believed he would do anything to stay safe. Was he wily enough to make up a really good lie?

A tug pulled her out of her thoughts as Mr. Smith eased the wrap from her hands. “Where did this come from?”

“Uhm…” She blinked fast to clear her blurry eyes and dulled senses. “Sutton and I both took items from their store of stolen goods for survival purposes. This was from Sutton’s backpack.”

Mr. Smith folded the fabric carefully. “Then I think we need to make sure Mr. Harper passes over his backpack before he leaves here today. Sergeant, could you please escort Stella to her quarters? She needs rest and medical care after her ordeal. We’ve asked enough of her.”

She had a million questions she wanted to ask Ajaya and the enigmatic Mr. Smith, the same Mr. Smith she’d been working with since she arrived in Africa six months ago. But he couldn’t relay that. Obviously. Because as far as the teenager and all the hostages knew, she was just a student getting debriefed, fed, and evaluated like all the rest of them. And even as a full-fledged operative, she didn’t always get clearance on everything.

But God, she ached to be in on this.

Her gaze flicked to Jose, then back to Mr. Smith. The CIA agent was right. She needed to rest up while he finished the interrogation. Once they had a handle on what was in the border of the cloth, if there was a code to crack, she would need a much sharper mind. Right now, she felt like she was walking through peanut butter.

Jose’s arm went around her waist, and she didn’t bother protesting. She leaned into him and let him guide her out of the hangar.

The blinding midday rays stung her eyes as she took in her first comprehensive look at the American base here. Rows of plain tan buildings sprawled ahead, baked and cracked by the harsh African sun.

Step for step, she walked alongside Jose. The heated concrete steamed warmth through the soles of her gym shoes. “Where exactly are we going?”

His hand felt warm and right against her waist. “You’re no good to yourself or anyone until you eat some real food, shower, and sleep.”

“I know I need to clear my head, but walking away from work is easier said than done.” A trio of jet planes split the clouds overhead, leaving contrail to fade in their wakes.

“No offense, Stella, but have you looked in the mirror today?”

His leg brushed against hers, his lean strength as familiar to her as her own skin. How strange to feel stirred in the middle of utter exhaustion. Especially when he’d just told her she looked like crap.

Ouch. “I’ve avoided mirrors.” She stopped at a corner, waiting for a line of camouflage trucks to roll past. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“Exactly why you need to forget about everything for a while.”

“Easier said than done right after hearing there’s a group planning some kind of massacre.” God, she felt like she was running in circles, a futile and exhausting endeavor.

“The kid also said the plan was tied into the vice president’s wife’s visit.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “So we have a couple of days. You can take this time to recharge—really recharge—while Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown and however many more Jones and Johnson buddies of his can help out doing their jobs.”

“Why have you assigned yourself to be my babysitter?”

“Honestly, I don’t trust anyone else. You’re mighty damn good at maneuvering people.” He guided her past a long open-air building with a metal dome roof. “I care about you, and I understand you.”

That’s what made this all hurt so much, knowing he still cared. “Thank you for being here, for being so damn good at what you do.”

For caring.

He stopped outside a two-story concrete building, steps leading up to the second floor. She stared up into his eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable jolt of awareness, the delicious shimmer that ignited her nerve endings with the promise of pleasure. An intense pleasure unique to being with Jose.

“Jose?” Was that whispery voice really hers?

“I know.” He cupped her shoulder. “Not easy to just pretend everything’s okay between us.”

Her skin flamed to life, pushing aside the fog of exhaustion. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this, for hauling out all our past baggage again.”