Steel Vengeance (Blackthorn Security #6)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

S loane groaned and went to stand by the window. It was way too hot to move and the heat made the stench from the meat market unbearable. She could feel her hair sticking to the back of her neck, and perspiration trickled between her breasts. As it was, she was wearing the lightest thing she had, a flowing maxi dress with thin straps and a plunging neckline, but even that didn’t help much. She’d lost weight since she’d been in Peshawar, and it hung off her, exposing even more of her chest.

There was a faint knock on the door.

Stitch.

As usual, he’d arrived after ten o’clock at night. But this time, she was wide awake—sleeping in the heat was impossible. Besides, after what they’d discovered today, she needed answers.

“Hey there.” She forced a smile, but he walked right past her into the room, always on alert. Did the guy ever relax? “Sorry about the smell, but I had to keep the windows open.”

He grunted, unconcerned. She bet he’d had to handle a lot worse.

"You got a haircut," she said, surprised as he turned around. The wild-haired, mountain-man look was gone, replaced by a drop-dead gorgeous guy with a short, clean cut. He still had the beard for his Arabic cover, but it was neat now, not that wild, scruffy mess.

Suddenly, she could see his full lips and that sharp jawline. Without all the fuzz, his cheekbones looked way more defined.

She swallowed hard. Damn, he looked good. Really good.

And here she was, sweaty, frazzled, and red as a lobster.

Great going, Sloane.

“Yeah, it was time.” He ran a hand through his new haircut. “Hope it hasn’t compromised my cover.”

He was still in the traditional shalwar kameez, but today’s tunic was a pale blue, making his arctic eyes stand out even more. Instead of looking like some scruffy, middle-aged guy, now he looked like a hot, thirty-something straight out of a men’s style magazine.

“I’ve got some cold iced tea.” She gestured to a jug on the table.

“Thanks.” He strode over and poured himself a glass.

She realized she was staring, but this new look was such a surprise, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. The corners of his mouth quirked. “I don’t look that different, do I?”

Hell, yeah.

“It’s just a surprise, that’s all.” Heat stole into her cheeks, and if she hadn’t already been flushed from the heat, she would have been embarrassed by it. As it was, she doubted she could get any redder. Still, she needed to put herself together. He was still the same, damaged, bitter fighter underneath, no matter how great he looked on the surface.

Turning to face the window, she said, “I can’t believe Jeremy was meeting Omari. I’m still in shock. How do they know each other?”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Stitch downed his lemonade in one long swallow.

“Did you talk to your contacts?”

He nodded. “Yeah. My best buddy, a guy I served with in—well, in Afghanistan—works for a private security company in D.C. They’ve got contacts everywhere. I asked them to check it out for us.”

“Did you tell them about me?” She bit her lip. What would Matthew think of that? Strict radio silence meant not telling anyone else she was here.

“Not by name,” he said.

She exhaled. “Good. I don’t think the Agency would be too thrilled if your friend knew I was here.”

“They’re discreet,” he assured her. “But my buddy Blade said they’d look into Omari’s ties to the CIA, if there are any. Maybe the guy’s a whistleblower, or maybe he’s being paid for intel.”

The thought had crossed her mind, too.

She tilted her head. “Omari might not be as bad as we think.”

He let out a low hiss. “Oh, he’s bad, alright—but that doesn’t mean he’s not playing both sides.”

“The clandestine meetings—” she murmured. “If his men found out, he’d be in real trouble.”

Stitch’s lips pressed into a firm line. “He’s walking a fine line. If he is dishing the dirt, he’ll be considered a traitor. The Taliban won’t stand for that.”

“How soon will your friend get back to you?” she asked.

“As soon as he can.”

Sloane ran a hand through her damp hair and stared down at her gown in dismay. It clung to her curves, the sheer fabric sticking to her damp skin. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now,” she admitted, throwing her hands in the air. “Should I confront Jeremy? Tell him I know he’s meeting with Omari?”

“No.” The word shot out like a bullet. “Do not say anything to anyone about the meetings. Not yet.”

What about Matthew? He’d said not to call, but neither of them had expected something like this. Maybe she ought to tell him? He’d know what to do.

Unless…

“What if Jeremy’s in on it?” She bit her lip. “Omari might be paying him off.”

“It’s possible,” Stitch agreed. “But I heard Jeremy say the money would be in Omari’s account by tonight, so it’s more likely Jeremy’s paying him for intel, not the other way around.”

Okay, that made sense.

“Did you find out when the shipment’s coming?” Sloane asked. “Did Omari say anything about that?”

“No, nothing.” He refilled his glass. “We may still have to visit the docks and grease some palms.”

Damn. “I guess that would’ve been too easy.”

“Yep, guess so.” There was an awkward pause, where his gaze lingered on her, curiosity mixed with something primitive, something that made her insides twist. She blew a strand of hair off her cheek. Phew, it wasn’t just the temperature that was scorching.

“How about we sit on the balcony?” he suggested. “It’s probably cooler out there.”

She must really look bad for him to suggest that.

“It looks a little rickety,” she said, doubtfully.

“It’s sturdier than it looks. I’ve climbed up it, remember?”

She relented. If she carried on like this she was going to end up in a puddle on the floor. “Okay.”

He carried two chairs outside, while she brought their glasses and the jug of lemonade. He was right—it was a lot cooler out here. The red neon sign across the street cast a surreal glow on the road below. The day’s traffic had thinned out, with only a few scooters, and a couple of cars passing by. Most of the shops and workshops were shut. A few people hurried home, their heads down, bags slung over their shoulders, but no one was hanging around.

“Tell me about Matthew,” Stitch said, once they’d sat down.

She arched her eyebrows, surprised. “Why do you want to know about him?”

“Call it a professional curiosity.”

Sloane hesitated. Ever since he’d saved Fatima’s life, she felt connected to him, like they shared some kind of bond. In a way, she’d saved his life too, preventing him from shooting Omari, after which he’d almost certainly have been killed. In a weird way, she felt like she could trust him.

Was that nuts? Trusting a guy with a vendetta?

Probably.

But right now, he was all she had.

“I fell hard for Matthew.” She gulped, then fixed her gaze on the building across the street. “He was so suave, so confident and he moved in powerful circles. I’d never met anyone like him before.”

Stitch gave a brief nod, but didn’t interrupt.

“We had coffee a few times, then he invited me over for dinner. He cooked.” She gave a half-smile. “He’s not bad, actually. Anyway, one thing led to another and… Well, you know.” She stared at her hands.

“He seduced you?” Stitch asked, his voice edged.

“It was mutual,” she said quickly, looking up. “Michael’s divorced, lives alone. I think he sees his son every other weekend. I was single.” She shrugged. “Why shouldn’t we get together?”

“No reason.” He cleared his throat. “When did he offer you the job?”

“A few weeks after that. We’d been seeing each other pretty regularly, and one evening he said he had an opportunity for me. At first, I wasn’t sure what he meant, but then he explained he worked for the U.S. government, and they were looking for someone with my skillset. He said he’d put in a good word if I was interested.”

Stitch gave her an intense look, as if he were trying to read her. “Were you?”

“Not really. I enjoyed my teaching job. I loved the kids.”

He frowned. “So why did you take it?”

She thought back to Matthew. How he’d told her how special she was, how unique. That her ability to read people was rare, and highly sought after. Speaking Urdu made her even more desirable. He’d flattered her—and she’d fallen for it.

“They offered me more than double what I was earning as a teacher,” she admitted.

The money had been an added bonus. But really, if she was honest with herself, it was because she’d wanted to see more of Matthew.

He nodded, as if that explained it.

“I was enrolled in a training program for ten months, and after that, I got my first assignment—this one.” She spread her hands. “And here I am.”

“You said you hadn’t spoken to Matthew?” There was something in his tone that irked her, put her on the defensive.

She bristled. “Not since I got here, but he told me not to contact him. The funny thing is, I didn’t see him much during my training either, I was so busy with the program, and he was away a lot. Sometimes I find it hard to remember what he looks like. Do you know what I mean?”

There was a silence, then she remembered his wife.

Crap.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

Shit, now she’d put her foot in it.

“I still see her face,” he said quietly. “Sometimes, I close my eyes and she’s there, smiling at me. Then other times—” He faded out.

“How long ago did… did it happen?” she asked softly.

“Fourteen months ago. I wasn’t there when they hit. I’d gone to the nearest town for medical supplies. I was heading back when I saw the smoke.”

Sloane winced. “God, that’s awful.”

“I rolled into the village, and it was gone. Leveled. Bullet holes everywhere. A local Taliban militia had torn through and wiped it out, then torched it.”

“Omari’s men?” she asked quietly.

He gave a sharp nod.

His jaw clenched, hands balled into fists, his whole body tensing like a coiled spring. The hatred was practically radiating off him.

“Omari was the local Taliban leader. The village sat right in the middle of a new drug route through the mountains. They wanted to use it as a checkpoint, but the elders refused. Our village was poor, but we were honest. No one wanted to be part of their drug trade.”

“And that’s why they attacked?” she asked.

“Yeah. Sent a message. My father-in-law was an elder. They took him out first. Only a few survived. We buried the dead up in the mountains.”

Sloane swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, eyes staring off into the distance.

“I get why you want him dead,” she said softly. “I think I would too.” She was surprised by the antagonism she felt towards the Afghan, who up until now had been a nameless, faceless target. Now she hated him for what he’d done to the villagers, to Stitch’s wife, to him. He’d completely destroyed their lives. Nobody had the right to do that.

“But you’re still going to get him,” she whispered.

Stitch’s face flashed demonic red in the electric light. “Fuck, yeah. He’s going down, I’m going to make sure of it.”