Soldier of Fortune Page 2

  Instead she’d found him.

  Sorta fucked up his plans, added a few spanners and generally made the situation messy. He was her boss. He couldn’t make a move on her without it looking as if he was using his position. Sexual harassment. Hell, even if she were willing, it wouldn’t look good to the other men.

  Conversation stopped dead and Louie glanced up to see Joanna—Mac—pausing in the doorway. He watched her closely, as did every other male in the room. Louie caught the slight tightening of her jaw, the firming of her mouth, but only because he knew her intimately. Her breasts rose in a quick breath and she glided to the coffee machine and the two men standing beside it.

  “This oughta be interesting,” Simon muttered.

  Louie wanted to leap to his feet, shove the other men out of the way and stake his claim. His hand gripped the mug of coffee, the color leaching from his knuckles. Going against every instinct screaming through him, he calmly took a sip of coffee, watching the interaction in the same way the other men did. Slowly the tension eased from his shoulders. Although he couldn’t hear the conversation, it was obvious Mac wasn’t falling for the flirtatious lines from Charlie or Garrett, one of their medics.

  “Probably a first for those two,” Simon spoke Louie’s thoughts out loud.

  “Do them good,” Louie said.

  Simon studied her intently. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Your wife will be pleased to hear it.” Louie took care to keep his voice neutral. No way was he giving his mate an opportunity to rib him. Besides, Simon hadn’t seen her as he had with her hair spilling down her naked back, her lips wrapped around a cock. His cock…

  Bloody hell. He had to stop his thoughts tripping into sexual territory. He studied Mac, trying to see what Simon saw. A tall woman dressed in khaki trousers, a sand-colored shirt, which didn’t exactly flatter or showcase her curves, and sturdy boots. He couldn’t fault her for that. This was work and her attire was suitable for the job and climate. She didn’t look much different from any of the others, which meant she wouldn’t present a special target for the militia forces. From a distance they wouldn’t realize she was a woman. Also a good idea in this Muslim country. She wore her brown hair tied back, confined in a low knot of some sort. Because it was bound so tightly, none of the rich array of colors reflected in the light, the strands of red and gold. In the sun her unbound hair had reminded him of autumn leaves. Her skin carried a light tan and up close there was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her pert nose, just as he remembered. Thick, lush lashes surrounded golden-brown eyes—whiskey eyes he’d called them in Fiji—while her mouth was curved and luscious, the bottom lip plumper than the top.

  Mac might look the soldier at the moment, but Louie would bet if any of them saw her the way he’d first seen her, dressed in a golden bit of nothing, swaying on the dance floor, they might reevaluate their opinions. He certainly wasn’t fool enough to let them into the secret.

  Mealtime came and went. Louie listened to the questions and conversations and learned at the same time as the other men. Bosnia, Papua and New Guinea and Afghanistan. Mac had seen plenty of action in hot spots around the world.

  Time for the route reconnaissance in preparation for the CBS jaunt the next day. Louie stood and several others did as well, including Mac. He liked to throw the new recruits into the action straightaway, and they had another reconnaissance group going out tomorrow. The trick to successful protection lay in careful planning, checking and rechecking planned routes for potential problems.

  Outside, two of their specially armored cars waited for them along with local drivers who spoke the language. His men donned protective vests and hats and readied weapons, both rifles and pistols, before climbing into the vehicles. The new recruits waited for instruction.

  “You two in the back vehicle. Follow Simon’s instructions. He’ll explain about the things to look for. Mac, Tai, you’re with me in the lead vehicle.”

  Mac entered the rear of the vehicle with Tai and Garrett while Louie took the passenger seat. He checked the link between the cars. “Come in, Simon.”

  “Louie, we’re good to go.” Simon’s voice crackled through the radio.

  “Basically we’re checking the route we’d like to use to take the CBS reporters tomorrow afternoon. If it’s a no-go, we’ll try the longer alternative route. Anything that raises your suspicion let me know, particularly if you see anyone watching us and talking on their mobile or using it to take photos.” Louie rattled through the rest of his spiel automatically. The hair at the back of his neck prickled insistently, a sensation he knew not to ignore. Louie scanned their surroundings as the driver pulled out of the compound. Nothing out of the ordinary. Locals going about their business, mostly males, with a few women dressed in head-to-foot black, their faces covered while they scurried down the edges of the road, carrying shopping baskets. Two battered vehicles drove slowly past, a radio blaring in one.

  The palm trees they passed provided little respite from the hot afternoon sun. Sweat trickled down Louie’s back, making his shirt cling, his skin itch. He ignored it, concentrating on their surroundings.

  “Man at three o’clock,” Mac said in a calm voice.

  Louie’s gaze swiveled to the location she indicated. He spotted the man seconds before the ruins of a bombed building hid him from view.

  “He’s moving off,” Mac said.

  “Checkpoint,” the driver muttered, slowing the vehicle.

  Louie cursed and slipped his gun out of sight but retained it in his hand. Local soldiers ran the roving checkpoints. They shot first and asked questions later. Cooperation and patience were key to remaining alive. If all else failed the driver would barrel straight through and hope for the best.

  “Tell him we’re going east,” Louie instructed the driver.

  The driver spoke rapidly in the local dialect, answering questions fired at him by the young soldier.

  Louie relaxed fractionally when the soldier waved them through. “Good man,” he said to the driver.

  They made good progress despite the slow-moving traffic and the wait for a British army convoy to pass through an intersection. Overhead, a Black Hawk helicopter buzzed like a whining mosquito, drawing sporadic fire from a patch of undergrowth.

  “Don’t like this,” Simon said via the radio. “More gunfire than usual. Not many locals either. What’s your gut say?”

  “Something’s going on.” Louie agreed, the back of his neck tingling in warning. Danger lurked in the shadows. Somewhere. “Guess our quiet period is over. Can you see anything?”

  Up ahead, two vehicles jammed on their brakes, coming to an abrupt stop. Behind the second recon car, another stopped, blocking their retreat. Magically, the few remaining locals faded into the background, leaving a deserted street.

  “Ambush,” Simon shouted.

  Gunfire cracked directly behind them. A signal. Bullets rained down. From the front. From the rear. The rat-a-tat-tat of guns filled Louie’s ears, made them ring.

  “Fire!” Simon hollered through the radio.

  Louie concentrated on the two vehicles in front. “Shoot to kill.” Simon would watch their six, but he gave orders anyway. “Mac, check our rear.”

  Like a freak hail storm, the bullets pelted their vehicle. Cautiously, Louie opened his door. Crouched behind. Fired.

  Mac, Tai and Garrett fired with rapid precision from behind lowered windows. The jackhammer of AK-47 assault rifles echoed between the buildings, replaying in his head. All the time he was aware of Mac behind him. Part of him wanted to throw her back in the vehicle, keep her safe. He started to move and froze when a bullet whizzed past his cheek.

  “Fuck.” He ducked behind the door, forced himself to concentrate. Just him and his weapon in hand. Shoot to kill. Fire. Fire. Fire! Bullets hit the door, kicked up dust until his eyes smarted. Men shouted. Somewhere in front of him, a man shrieked for help, his French accent casting him as one of the insurgent volunteers from
abroad. Fanatics, they came from all over the world to fight for the cause.

  Time slowed, the insurgents returning a barrage of fire. Sweat dripped down Louie’s face. He swiped it away, fear clutching at his chest. They couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Should they make a run for it? He fired another round of shots, assessing the situation, making decisions.

  “Rear car is retreating,” Simon reported in a terse voice.

  Thank you, God. Something was going right.

  The driver moved the second car up, giving them better cover. Another of the insurgents fell to the ground, didn’t move. Grimly, Louie fired until all return fire ceased. The guns of his men fell silent, but they remained watchful. Louie cautiously peered around the door to scan the vicinity. When no one moved, he ordered everyone back into the vehicles.

  They’d been bloody lucky this time. He swiped a weary hand over his face. Mac… Damn! Thoughts of her had distracted him. Time to get a grip. He’d get them all killed if he didn’t start thinking with his head instead of his dick.

  “We’ll keep going,” he said into the radio, still rattled by his uncharacteristic veer from commander to man. Their driver pulled away. They passed several bodies, the dark patches of blood a stark contrast to the dusty ground.

  “What happened to the plastic surgeon who stood too close to the fire?” Garrett asked, breaking the tense silence.

  “No idea,” Louie said.

  “He melted,” Garrett said with a trace of smugness.

  There was a moment’s startled silence and then the driver started laughing. Louie found himself smirking.

  “Jeez, Garrett,” Mac said with a groan.

  “Garrett telling his lame jokes again?” Simon asked, his voice crackling through the radio.

  “Yup,” Louie replied. “You really don’t want to know.”

  “I’ve got one,” Simon said, continuing before anyone could protest. “Why are four-legged animals bad dancers?” He paused then said, “Because they have two left feet.”

  Louie snorted. “That was worse than Garrett’s.” But it had done the job and broke some of the lingering tension.

  They recommenced their drive to the site of the bombing the CBS reporters wanted to film. Louie didn’t relax. Neither did his men. They continued their careful scrutiny of the men, women and children and scanned other vehicles. Up ahead, vehicles came to a halt.

  Louie narrowed his eyes against the glare. “Hell, not again.”

  “US Army is here,” Simon said tersely.

  Louie watched the soldiers scurry around, took in the equipment they carried. “Could be a bomb.”

  “Should we go back? Try a detour?”

  “Might be quicker.” Call him antsy, but he didn’t like cooling his heels in a line of traffic. They were stationary targets. Louie turned to the driver. “Can we take an alternative route?”

  “We can try,” the driver said.

  Louie nodded. “It won’t hurt to do a reconnaissance of an alternative route.” He and Simon discussed tactics. “Let’s do it,” Louie said finally.

  Their driver backed up, retreating in the direction they’d come from. The streets were eerily quiet until a blast rocked their vehicle. The sound followed seconds later, vehicle debris flying through the air. A hunk of metal struck the window on Louie’s side of the vehicle. Louie flinched, cursing as the reinforced glass cracked under the impact. Luckily it held. A bloody bomb.

  Simon’s voice crackled through the radio. “Everyone okay?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “No need to visit the shithouse in a hurry,” Simon said.

  Behind him, Mac, Tai and Garrett chuckled, and Louie felt the grin stretch his lips. “Thanks for sharing,” he said dryly.

  Their driver proceeded cautiously down the road, dodging a pothole and driving around a burned-out vehicle waiting for removal. Its tires were flat, the spots of olive paint on the rear telling him it was an army vehicle. “Go slow,” he cautioned. “Looks like this vehicle was attacked recently.”

  “Vehicle wasn’t there yesterday,” Simon said.

  “Copy that.” Which meant they could face problems along this road.

  Their driver slowed. “Dead-end,” he said, indicating the building that had come under fire from a bomb strike, the debris blocking the road.

  “Did you see that?” Garrett demanded. “Nine o’clock. The sun glinted off something.”

  They all stared intently at the area the medic indicated. Tension radiated within the vehicle.

  “There. I saw it again,” Garrett said. “It’s another ambush.”

  “Back up.” Louie had barely spoken when an RPG fired, gouging a hole where their vehicle had stood mere seconds before. “Get us out of here.”

  Another shot fired, the rocket-propelled grenade rocking their vehicle before they turned the corner onto another street.

  “Is it always like this?” Mac asked in a faint voice.

  Garrett laughed. “This is more action than we’ve seen in the last month.”

  “Right.” Mac didn’t sound as if she believed him.

  “It’s true,” Louie said. “It’s always like this. Periods of quiet followed by frantic activity.”

  The driver tried another route, and although someone fired at them and they had to wait at another checkpoint for over an hour, they managed to get to the building CBS wanted to check out and work out a safe route for the trip the following day.

  They arrived back at base with a sense of relief.

  “Good job, men.” It took Louie an instant to realize he’d lumped Joanna in with the rest of the men. She’d done her job calmly. Professionally. This might work after all. Yeah, as long as he pictured her in dusty khaki for the next six months.

  Mac climbed out of the vehicle both jazzed and jittery after the long recon. It was always the same for her—she needed to wind down after seeing action. Some chose alcohol, available in Iraq if a person had contacts. She preferred a clear head and physical exercise. Usually she’d go for a run. Not an option here, although she’d heard they had a gym with weights. That would do.

  “Are we free now?” she asked.

  “Yeah, unless we have something else come up,” Louie said. “Great job today.”

  “Thanks.” Mac hurried through the mess, heading for her room. Once inside, she double-checked the safety on her weapon and set it aside. The bedroom door opened and closed while she was shrugging out of her protective vest.

  “You okay?” Louie asked, placing his gun on top of the lockers.

  “Yeah.”

  He studied her closely, an enigmatic expression in place. “Yeah?”

  Mac tried to cover her jitters. Didn’t happen. A huge shudder gave her away. Her groan of dismay squeezed past tight lips. Breathless, she sucked in a lungful of air and immediately wished she hadn’t. Louie. His large presence filled the room. The urge to jump him brought another shudder. “Gotta go to the gym,” she muttered, glancing away to grab a T-shirt.

  “Joanna.”

  Her head jerked up. Hell, she hadn’t heard him move, didn’t realize he was so close. Her skin crawled, but it was different this time. Arousal colored her body’s reaction and she knew she was hip deep in trouble. Mac sucked in a deep breath. Louie’s scent hit her first, along with a hint of gun and dust, the tang of sweat.

  “I can give you what you need.” His dark whisper blasted warm, moist air over her cheek. Sweet, sweet temptation.

  “We shouldn’t.” She understood exactly what he meant. Pictured it clearly. Her body hummed with approval. God, she was so weak. “We won’t.” Yeah! That was better.

  “No one needs to know apart from us.” His husky voice held temptation.

  She trembled, her nipples so tight with need they ached. She wanted him so bad. No, not him. The physical act of sex. That’s what she wanted.

  “Do you think you’re the only one who needs to burn off adrenaline? We can help each other.”

  “You scratch
my back, I scratch yours?” And what would happen if he blabbed to everyone here at their base?

  “Basically.” He cupped her cheek, and she noticed the fine tremor of his hand. The sight reassured her, told her this wasn’t just a line and a means to get his rocks off. He needed the same release, the same basic physical activity to rid his body of stress.

  Mac relaxed against his hard chest, quivering with tension of a different sort now. She couldn’t do this, could she?

  But it had been so long. She’d slept with one man since her holiday in Fiji—a one-night stand that had left her feeling empty and dirty. She slid a furtive glance at Louie. Another crime to throw at his feet. He’d spoiled her for other men, not that she’d ever admit it. That would give him ideas when she had no intention of anything more than casual. As long as neither of them gossiped to others, it might work. Hell, she was really considering agreeing to his proposition.

  “Are you up for this?”

  Mac swallowed at Louie’s husky words, glanced at the bulge in his trousers. He was. Concealing a smirk, she lifted her head to meet his direct gaze with one of her own. He wanted her to agree verbally, so there would be no misunderstanding later. Fair enough. No problem.

  “This is our secret? None of the others will know?”

  “Not from me.” His steady demeanor and the sincerity in his blue eyes convinced her he spoke the truth. She could trust him.

  She nodded, reassured by what she knew of him from personal experience. “Okay. No strings or promises. Just sex.” Mac held her breath, waited for his reply. Just sex. Yeah, she could do that. Shove it in the casual slot and pretend that’s where it went. Mac thought about David and scowled. She didn’t do romances with military men these days. Never. Sex, but not love and romance.