Page 27 of Dangerous Lover

The human eye sees what it expects to see. Deaver knew that. Like all soldiers he used that fact often. Half of military tactics is deception and evasion.

So when a five-ten, hundred eighty pound blond man wearing dark sunglasses strode confidently through the UN camp, dressed in well-pressed fatigues with the UN badge on his shirtfront and wearing the distinctive bright blue helmet of the UN peacekeeping force, nobody gave him a second glance. He was just another of the 500 UN soldiers in the encampment.

It was evening. Half the troops were on routine patrols—unarmed, the idiots.

Deaver still found it hard to believe that soldiers would allow themselves to go unarmed. Orders from on high. Militaryobservers and peacekeepers had to show their neutrality at all costs. Axel had thought it stupid, too. Deaver had a sudden pang of sympathy for the guy.

He felt like an incredible asshole walking around unarmed in West Africa, a place where it was as if some giant hole had opened up and sucked in everyone who was human, leaving only deranged monsters. He’d only been unarmed for a couple of days but it felt like forever.

Deaver could only imagine a whole tour of duty here unarmed would feel like, where if you fell into the wrong hands you could have your hands and feet chopped off by teenagers, be staked out in the broiling equatorial sun with your bowels slashed open for the insects to eat or be skinned alive, without any weapons whatsoever to defend yourself with.

Well, the hell with that, he was getting the fuck out. Right now. Just as Axel would have.

The evening air was suddenly filled with the familiarwhump whump whumpof a helicopter. Deaver walked fast in the direction of the sound. He wanted to break into a run, but he didn’t dare.

In the twilight, he could make out the familiar outline of a Huey, landing in an improvised helipad carved out of the surrounding forest. The pilot landed gently, smack in the center of the circle. The pilot stayed in the cockpit, his hands on the controls. He clearly wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. He was landing at last light to increase his chances of survival. The route from Freetown took them over rebel-held territory. RPGs needed daylight to take planes and helicopters down.

Men dressed in jeans and sweatshirts with the sleeves cut off jumped nimbly down and started unloading boxes. They worked silently and efficiently. Within ten minutes, there was a neat stack of boxes lined up on the ground.

Deaver walked straight up to one of the men. He shouted over the noise of the rotors and the engine. “May I ask where you’re going next?” He was a good mimic and he’d talked enough with Axel to be able to imitate his slight Swedish accent perfectly.

One of the men stopped for a second to look at him curiously. “Back to Lungi,” he shouted back then took another box from the man behind him, passing it on to the man in front of him.

Perfect.Lungi International Airport, his way out. If they left immediately, he could make the 9 pm flight to Paris, then on to the States. He’d be back in the US before anyone even thought to question whether Axel had made it back home.

“I’m on leave,” he shouted over the thumping whine of the main rotors. “My flight departs early tomorrow morning from Lungi. I was supposed to hitch a ride with the convoy, but I missed it. My commanding officer made me go over some paperwork, the bastard.” Deacon rolled his eyes. The man looked like an NCO. NCOs throughout the world are familiar with dipshit officers. “Can you give me a lift to the airport? Otherwise I will lose my flight.”

The man stopped and looked back. “We’re offloading four hundred pounds of supplies, so we’ve got plenty of room. I don’t see why not. Wait here.” He leaped into the cockpit and Deaver saw him confer with the pilot. The pilot turnedhis head sharply and stared at Deaver, looking vaguely insectoid with his deep black pilot’s sunglasses. It was impossible to tell his expression. Finally, after a long scrutiny he said something and the man he’d been talking to jumped back down. He jerked a thumb towards the pilot and put his mouth close to Deaver’s ear.

“Pilot said sure,” he shouted. “We’ll be back at Lungi in an hour. Hop on in.”

Fucking A!

Deaver quickly climbed into the cabin and settled himself in for the first leg of his journey back to his diamonds and his new life.

I don’t wantto be alone tonight.

The words lingered in the quiet of the room. A log broke apart, the pieces falling to the hearth with a hiss and a flurry of sparks.

Jack reached out, hesitated a moment, then used his thumb to gently wipe the tear away from Caroline’s cheek. She didn’t move, she didn’t even blink, watching him to see how he’d react to her words. Her skin felt like satin, so tempting he lifted his hand away.

It trembled. His hand fuckingtrembled.

Jack had been team sniper for three years. Snipers are made—forged in the fire of ceaseless, pitiless training. But snipers are also born—with a rare combination of naturalborn eye and hand coordination and with the kind of nature that can wait, endlessly, for the right moment to explode into action.

Jack never lost his cool, ever. He’d hunkered behind a rock in the prone position, finger on the trigger, eye on and off the scope in half-hour intervals, for three days and three nights for the chance of catching Mohammed Khan, drinking only a liter of water and never crapping. His hand had never once wavered and when he’d finally made the shot, it was a perfect kill. Khan had dropped like a stone with a .50 caliber bullet through the bridge of the nose, one of the few shots guaranteed to kill instantly. One shot one kill. The sniper’s mantra.

He was in control of himself, always. His life had depended more times than he could count on that control.

The fact that his hands trembled scared the shit out of him. He couldn’t lose control, not tonight. He daren’t. If he lost control, who knew what he would do to Caroline? Fuck her too hard? Ending up hurting her? Jesus, maybebitingher?

He shuddered at the thought.

Right now,right now, he was shaking with lust, clenching his hands into fists because he was afraid he’d grab her and throw her to the floor. Every cell in his body was slick with lust, aching to have her. It wasn’t just a six-month dry spell. It was as if he’d never had sex before. It felt like a lifetime of backed-up desire was raging through his system, burning up his veins.

Touch was too difficult, just right now. Use words, he told himself.

I don’t want to be alone tonight.

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