Ian continued to stare at the ceiling, frowning, trying to distance himself from emotion and to use the only weapons he had on hand for the perilous operation he was conducting. He had the smallest team they could put together; hell, it was so small he didn’t have a hope if the Fuentes soldiers didn’t follow him against Sorrell. That was his strength, the loyalty the cartel possessed. It went beyond money, to familial affiliations. Diego was related to the better part of his generals. His generals were related to their lieutenants and their lieutenants were related to the soldiers. It was a circle that continued on and on.
There might be a few spies, a few speaking from both sides of their mouths, but they all agreed. Terrorism made it hard on the drug trade. Terrorist fanatics made it even harder to sell drugs. Ergo, don’t let the French terrorist in on the business.
Some of the smaller cartels were too weak to fight the pressure Sorrell brought to bear, but the larger cartels opposing him were now doing what Ian had begun eight months ago. Absorbing those smaller operations with the promise of protection.
This wasn’t a game, and there was a hell of a lot more to it than drawing in information. If Kira aligned herself with him, then for the first time in her own career, she would no longer be giving the appearance of a neutral party. She would be compromising herself. And that begged the question, why?
For ten years she had worked as an undercover independent operative for various agencies. First the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and then the Department of Homeland Security. Why risk herself and her supposed neutrality now?
As Jason McClane’s niece, and a stockholder in the various companies and properties he owned around the world, Kira was known as his “source.” One of the few people he relied upon when it came to investing in certain businesses. He was well known for working in the hot spots of the world, for turning a profit out of humanitarian aid by building contacts. And Kira was well known in those hot spots. It was one of the ways she gathered her information on insurgencies, the movers and shakers involved in those conflicts, and where they might be going. And in certain instances, disguised and dangerous, she was known as the Chameleon. Able to blend into her surroundings to gather information that had nothing to do with McClane or his various businesses.
He’d seen her as a blonde, a redhead, and a brunette over the years. She could use makeup like a weapon, changing her features so drastically that the true persona of Kira Porter wasn’t even recognizable. Unless you followed body movements rather than faces, which few people did. The shift of a hip, a particular gleam in the eye that had nothing to do with color, the soft curve of an ear unique to one woman, or perhaps just an underlying scent. Or maybe it was just one woman’s effect on a particular man and his ability to recognize it. Because in each instance he had become harder than iron and so damned aroused he was nearly panting when he saw her. No matter her persona.
Durango team, the unit he had fought with for the past five years, had run several ops based on information provided by the Chameleon. In each instance she had been on the inside of the op and present when it went down. And each time, Ian had recognized her, though the team had never been given her identity. Hell, he’d even taken her prisoner once when the team had been sent in to rescue an American diplomat being held in South America.
She poked her nose into places too damned dangerous for his peace of mind, he was beginning to realize.
“I’m certain my ceiling is perfectly interesting,” she said sarcastically. “I was attempting a discussion here.”
Ian looked down to where she rested on his chest. The irritation in her gray eyes brought a smile to his face. Damn, he should be running as fast as possible from her.
“I don’t need your help, Kira. You’d help me more by leaving.”
There was no doubt he was going to have to stay away from her.
“I think you’re well aware that’s not going to happen,” she gritted out. “Do you think you’re the only one who has a stake in identifying and capturing that bastard? Sorry, Ian, no-go. It’s just as important to me.”
Of course it was. One of Sorrell’s militant groups had claimed responsibility for the blast that killed her family and Jason McClane’s fiancée twenty years before.
“You can’t let this get personal, Kira,” he told her somberly, aware of the irony behind his statement. “And this is no place to try to fight what’s between us, as well as the job at hand. It risks both our lives.”
“I don’t believe that. What we have between us makes success that much more important. It will make working together easier.”
“For you maybe.” He brushed her hair back from her face, wondering at the almost innocent quality in her face. She had an air of purity, of life, that never failed to amaze him. Or to challenge him. She had no idea what she was asking for when she asked to share his bed.
“For you as well.” A frown tugged at her brow as her gray eyes darkened.
Ian shook his head. “I’d be too concerned with protecting you, watching out for you, than I would be on the danger. I can’t afford that distraction. I can’t afford the cost to my soul if you were killed here.” He was a chauvinist. He had never pretended to be otherwise. When a woman was anywhere in the vicinity working an op, a part of him was always looking out for her. Women were strong, no doubt. Resourceful and intelligent. But the primal male inside him still insisted that they were to be protected.
“It’s my risk to take,” she informed him. There was no anger in her tone, only strength, purpose. She was a force to be reckoned with, his head knew that. She was an experienced operative. But his heart, right there below his head, clenched in fear at the danger she could be in.
She was his to protect. The only way to protect her was to get her out of the game.
“We’re not going to agree on this, Kira,” he finally said. “Let’s enjoy what we have of the night, because you are not a part of this mission.”
Before she could protest further he pulled her lips to his, catching them in a kiss as soft as sunrise and as hot as lava. That was what she was. Sunlight and heat, and for just a few more hours, he needed that heat. He needed Kira in ways even he didn’t understand. And that scared the hell out of him. She softened a part of him that he had never believed would soften. His determination to always remain detached was like ashes in the wind with her.