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Henri felt like her head had been bludgeoned and her arm cleaved. Nothing like trying to sleep in the back of a Land Rover with a gunshot wound to put a girl in a foul mood. Thank God the day had come and gone.
She and Mike were holed up in a private reading space in the Dodoma Library, which would close in an hour. It was stealthier than booking a room, and they both doubted ISIS would have spies watching for them there. In fact, Henri could bet any bad guys were either ahead of them or behind.
They’d put two chairs together on the far side of the desk so the laptop faced the wall. They also had a clean line of sight through the glass office windows. At ICE, Garth had summoned Asa to the sit room as soon as they’d dialed in.
“The feed just indicated it’s complete,” Henri said, clicking the “finish” button on the screen.
“Got it,” Asa said, her fingers already tapping the keys in Iceland.
Mike sat back and folded his arms. “I want to know who this Thomas Flynn is and what’s going on in Ruhuhu—Hali tells me it’s an area the size of the Serengeti.”
The monitor shifted to Garth. “The Grand Canyon is more like it.” More clicking came over the speakers. “Here it is. Top secret shit. There’s a summit at the Nelson Uranium Mine.”
“Nelson?” asked Henri. “US owned?”
“Affirmative.” Garth squinted like he was reading something. “Only top brass will be there. US, UK, Canada, Germany, Australia and France.”
“Weapons? Bombs?” Mike probed.
“The brief says nuclear power summit.” Garth looked up. “Probably is.”
Henri reached for Mike’s pen and started clicking it—this whole thing stank of a terrorist orgy. “But we can’t discount weapons.”
“You can’t discount anything.” The boss shook his finger. “Especially since you pulled this intel off a suspect’s computer.”
The screen split so Asa’s face appeared next to Garth’s. “Thomas Flynn works for Nelson, but he’s based in the US.”
“And?” asked Mike.
“This says he’s the top nuclear physicist in the world. Earns seven figures. Lives in Cape Cod.”
“Can he make a bomb?” asked Henri, clicking the pen faster.
“Affirmative,” said Garth, the angry crease forming between his brows.
Mike elbowed Henri’s clicking arm. “Who does Nelson supply?”
Asa tapped the keys, her eyes scanning. “Everyone. They’re the world’s second largest supplier of uranium.”
“Military?” asked Garth.
“Of course.”
“Shite.” Mike snatched the pen from Henri’s grasp and slapped it on the desk, holding his palm over it. “We need a plane. The summit has already started and there’s no way we can drive there fast enough.”
“That’s right,” Asa agreed. “It would take you a week to go bush.”
Garth grabbed the red phone—the one with the direct link to NATO. “I need a jet. Ten minutes. Dodoma, private airfield.” He hung up. “Mark me, they’ll be watching for you. Go in stealth. Report back when you can.”
“Thank you, sir,” they said in unison.
“And guys?”
Mike leaned forward. “Yeah?”
“If ISIS gets their hands on a nuke, you’ll both be calling Antarctica home.”
***
The Gulfstream pilot introduced himself as Luke Fox from Australia. He was tall, blond and lean, worked for NATO and said he liked flying at night. The guy looked like Val Kilmer from Grandfather’s favorite movie, Top Gun—an 80s flick filled with testosterone-touting fighter flyboys.
Right. All Henri needed was to be surrounded by hot-looking alpha males.
No distractions.
She took the first seat and sank into luxury as it molded to her curves like a recliner. She almost sighed aloud. “How long will it take to get to the Ruhuhu Basin?”
“About an hour and a half,” said Fox. “The airfield is crude—just a dirt landing strip. Might take some crafty maneuvers, especially in the dark.”
“How long do we have you for?” asked Mike.
“As long as you need.”
“Do you have military experience?”
“Flew jets in the RAAF before this gig—did three tours in Iraq.”
Mike nodded. “Good to know. Any guns aboard?”
He patted his sidearm. “I carry a pistol.”
“And?” asked Henri, eyeing Fox critically. He might be easy on the eyes, but she was wary. Being framed for a crime she didn’t commit did that do a girl.
“There’s a Springfield Saint behind the pilot seat.”
“Scope?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mark 6.”
“Forty-four millimeter?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Henri made a mental note about the rifle. A Saint was certainly superior to the M4 she’d been hauling around.
“So what’s your story?” asked Fox. “You must be pretty important to take me off the Rwandan relief project.”
Mike shrugged. “We’re chasing bad guys.”
“Well then, I’d better get you there. Buckle up.” The pilot stepped through the cabin door into the cockpit. “We’ll be aloft in five. Once we hit altitude, help yourself to the tucker and drinks in the galley.”
“Thanks.”
Henri rested her head against the backrest and closed her eyes. “I could sleep for a week.”
“We can sleep after the op.” Mike walked aft. “There’s a bed back here.”
“We only have an hour.”
“Damn my rotten luck.”
Henri chuckled, a shot of heat blasting between her thighs. Though neither of them had mentioned the passion they’d shared, every time she glanced at Mike, he aroused the lioness lurking deep inside.
A lioness that needed to be caged.
He slid into the seat opposite and grinned. Straight, white teeth, eyes like the desert sky and sexy as sin. “I want to change your field dressing once we’re aloft.”
Nothing like a bit of medical talk to take her hots down a notch. She shifted her gaze toward the rear. “An hour, huh?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “I like how you think.”
But once Luke announced they’d reached cruising altitude, Mike pulled another field dressing out of his bag. “Let’s have a look at your arm.”
“It feels better already.”
“Yeah, but once the painkillers wear off, it’ll hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.” He unrolled the bandage
Henri didn’t doubt it. Looking at the wound made her hiss. It was uglier than it felt—jagged and puckered purple skin, and the bandage had sopped up a shit-ton of blood. And it was still oozing.
“You could use some stitches.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Sure, it’ll heal, but I dunna like seeing such a delicate arm mangled like this.” His concern was adorable, but unnecessary.
“I’m not as delicate as I look.” Still, Henri couldn’t remember the last time someone doted on her—or cared for that matter. “Got any super glue?”
He fished in his pack and pulled out a tube. “Yep, but let me wash the cut with some more iodine solution first.”
She watched as he carefully doctored the wound with a look of concern on his face. “I should have been the one to take the bullet, not you.”
“You tried. We weren’t expecting an attack from behind.”
He pulled off the glue cap with his teeth then spread a thin line around the mangled flesh. “You’re gonna have a scar.”
“Ooo, another scar? I’ll impress all the boys back home.” She pointed downward.
Chuckling, he pinched the wound together and blew on it. “The only boy I want you impressing is me.”
A swarm of butterflies attacked her stomach. Shit.
Mike looked up and met her gaze, his eyes dark. Intense.
“Ah...” Henri scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. It was time to have “the talk”. She took a deep breath. “What are we doing here?”
He grinned, looking way too sexy. “I’m applying a field dressing, m’lady.”
She cleared her throat and watched him wrap her arm. Then she reached for his hand and squeezed. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I ken.” He chewed the corner of his mouth. “Sex was...” He cupped her cheek and leaned in, his breath caressing her lips. “Och, it was off the charts.”
“Mm hmm.” God, the only time Henri hadn’t thought about their night of steamy passion was when they’d been under fire. Dammit, I knew things would be awkward. She took another deep breath and forced herself to look him in the eye. “But?”
Before she could arch away, he pecked her mouth with a soft kiss. “Our dilemma is we both have the same boss.”
She cringed. “Garth can’t ever find out.”
“Agreed, no one at ICE can know.” He tapped his forehead to hers, his eyes looking ginormous.
“We kinda crossed the line.” Lightheaded, Henri ran her finger over his bottom lip. “But we shouldn’t let it get too serious.”
“You’re right.” He grasped her braid and slowly ran it along his hand. But when he held it to his nose and inhaled, the look in his eye told her exactly what he had on his mind.
She placed her hands on his shoulders. They had a job to do, and the plane would be landing soon. “So how about some food?”
Mike sat back and groaned. “Dammit, woman, now you’re acting like a tease.”
“We need to eat more than we need...” Groaning, she pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll get it.”
No matter how much she wanted to drag him to the bed and enjoy a quickie, she had enough field experience to know that as soon as the wheels touched the ground, they’d both need to be at the top of their game.