Secret

Agent Sheikh

Linda Conrad

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Copyright

About the Author

When asked about her favorite things, LINDA CONRAD lists a longtime love affair with her husband, her sweetheart of a dog named KiKi and a sunny afternoon with nothing to do but read a good book. Inspired by generations of storytellers in her family and pleased to have many happy readers’ comments, Linda continues creating her own sensuous and suspenseful stories about compelling characters finding love.

A bestselling author of more than twenty-five books, Linda has received numerous industry awards, among them the National Reader’s Choice Award, the Maggie, the Write Touch Readers’ Award and the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. To contact Linda, read more about her books or to sign up for her newsletter and/or contests, go to her website at www.LindaConrad.com.

To Shelley and Peggy, the most ingenious

website and newsletter creators ever!

You two are the greatest!

Chapter 1

Swinging in midair under an endless star-filled sky like some kind of superhero, Tarik Kadir held his breath until his feet reached the solid surface of the ledge.

Monte Carlo’s tourists went about their business at sea level twelve stories below—oblivious to the drama unfolding high above their heads. Steadying himself, Tarik released the thin metal rappelling cable attached to the safety harness under his specially outfitted tuxedo shirt.

He let the line go loose and flattened his body against the stucco wall, stopping to let his pounding heart calm. But his heart continued thundering in his chest. Dropping over a dark abyss with nothing but air between your very existence and certain death was not his idea of smart.

The best part of his job had always been hiding in plain sight. Preferably at the nearest casino table. Becoming a different personality and handing people bold-faced lies was much more in keeping with his lifestyle than any crazy high-flying acrobatics needed to reach hotel ledges. After all, his brothers had always maintained that as the baby of the family, he’d excelled from earliest childhood at being a chameleon and making up stories.

He was born for his old job as a covert agent. But the Kadir family had recently asked all their sons to assume the responsibility for their growing war with ancient enemies, the Taj Zabbar. Out of loyalty, Tarik resigned his commission with the United States Army immediately upon learning of his family’s need for him to lead their intel-gathering efforts.

His foot slipped on the slick ledge and Tarik lost his balance. Grabbing hold of the uneven brick wall with his fingertips, he tried balancing on tiptoes. Looking out at the black expanse of ocean in the distance and the ant people strolling the seawall directly below, he swallowed back his panic and relied on innate athleticism to regain his balance.

Breathing slowly in and out, he made his way along the twelfth story ledge of Monte Carlo’s Le Meridien Beach Plaza hotel. His thoughts turned to his former work as a member of a special para-military task force—a cross-branch compilation of Army Special Forces, Navy Seals and CIA spooks. He regretted having to quit and he missed working with some of the most elite men and women in the world of covert intelligence. His old unit had been special, known within the Department of Defense for its ability to track down international mobsters and terrorists while staying in the shadows.

With his heartbeat stabilized again, Tarik cleared his head, inching along in the darkness. As he reached the balcony of the penthouse suite, he slipped over the open railing and the half glass-wall enclosure and crouched down to conceal himself behind a potted palm. The balcony doors had been closed against the chilly night air, but he’d paid the maid a small fortune to see that the sliding glass was left unlocked for the night.

A secret power-broker meeting was supposedly about to take place in the suite on the other side of these glass doors. He needed to be in position with his high-tech surveillance and listening equipment before any of the action began.

Tarik peered past the edge of the glass. The room was an enormous space, set up with a temporary conference table surrounded by six captain’s chairs. A handful of men had already gathered and were standing at a bar with drinks in their hands.

He recognized the Russian gangster who’d reputedly organized this little get-together from his CIA dossier. The gangster was Karolek Petrov, a renowned physics genius before the fall of the Soviet Union who had since amassed a $300 million empire based on illegal banking ventures and arms deals.

Tarik had to hand it to his older brother, Darin. His intel about this meeting had been spot-on.

As Tarik quietly set up the micro recording/receiving device Darin’s geek department had come up with, he rifled through his memory trying to put names to a couple of the other faces he’d recognized around the bar. Clearly none of the men were members of the Taj Zabbar. He and his brothers had turned themselves into experts at facial recognition when it came to their family’s enemies. At this point he could pick out a Taj Zabbar face from any crowd.

Apparently not everyone had arrived for the meeting yet. The Taj Zabbar participant was the only one Tarik cared about, and he’d better show up soon.

Darin’s technicians had gathered secret intelligence about this private auction a few days ago. It had been one of many dirty dealings the Kadirs had been anticipating from their enemies. The Taj Zabbar were going back into the international black market to buy arms. According to Darin’s sources, the arms for sale at tonight’s auction would be more along the lines of weapons of mass destruction.

Judging by Petrov’s background, the evening’s prize would involve advanced technology. Either biological or nuclear.

Adjusting his earpiece, Tarik finished setting up and settled in to wait for the meeting to start. Crouching in the dark, he listened for anything important.

Tarik thought of Shakir, his middle brother, and of how he had recently destroyed an underground nuclear reactor plant in Zabbarán that had been designed by the Russians for the Taj Zabbar. The Kadir brothers had figured then it was only a matter of time before the Taj Zabbar tried to buy the nuclear capability they needed in the open market.

When the Kadirs had learned of tonight’s private auction, Tarik had gone to his old boss at the Department of Defense, trying to enlist the Americans’ help in gathering intel about the Taj Zabbar. Buying nuclear technology seemed a clear threat against the entire world rather than simple revenge against old enemies. But the DOD had been reluctant to commit, saying their resources were thin at the moment.

“Get me something tangible I can use to convince my superiors that this new third world nation of the Taj Zabbar is anywhere close to obtaining nuclear capabilities,” General Wainwright had told him.

Tarik had tried to explain about the auction and had asked for help from his old unit in putting together a sting. Instead, when the general had turned him down flat, it had been a hard lesson in the futility inherent in a major bureaucracy.

One of the men in the room moved to the glass next to Tarik’s head and stared out toward the moonlit sea. Tarik held his breath and eased farther back in the shadows, quickly coming up with a name for the face. The man was one of the Nigerian terrorists his old unit had recently been trying to locate. Here in Monte Carlo and about to bid on weapons of mass destruction?

Wouldn’t the DOD love to know about the Nigerian’s participation.

Tarik checked his equipment and made sure the video was being transmitted back to Darin’s computers. This Nigerian terrorist alone would have been worth his old boss’s attention.

As Tarik sensed the auction was about to start, a rap came at the suite’s door. A heavyset man who looked a lot like the movie version of a Russian bodyguard went to answer.

Tarik’s pulse rate picked up again. This had to be the Taj Zabbar representative at last.

Instead of a Taj Zabbar agent, a thin man sporting a mustache and wearing a gray tuxedo waltzed into the room with three beautiful women on his arm. Tarik was stunned. Expensive call girls at a secret auction like this?

His gaze flicked to the Russian, whose expression had gone cold. But the man did not make a move to expel the newcomers. Instead he offered them all drinks. It was odd behavior. Tarik studied the new arrivals a little further. Something was not right.

One of the women laughed at the Russian’s greeting, the sound of her voice reverberating deep and erotic in her throat. Something about that laugh …

He narrowed his eyes and looked closer, but she didn’t look familiar. Her blond, pixie-cut hair was thick and shiny. Too shiny to be real. Her eyes were a violet color not often found in nature. Obviously the lady was trying to disguise herself and not doing it very well. But then, Tarik supposed, if he were a high-priced call girl, he might want to change his identity for each job, too.

He let his gaze rake down over her tight, compact body and the too-exposed expanses of exotic, tanned skin and felt a surprising thrill of recognition. Those curves had appeared in his dreams often enough.

What the hell …?

Another knock on the suite’s door grabbed everyone’s attention. When the new man and his entourage entered, Tarik sucked in a breath. Not only had the Taj Zabbar sent a representative to the auction, this one was none other than the Elder Nabil bin Khali Taj Zabbar—the general in charge of Taj Zabbar armed forces. With him was a bodyguard and another man Tarik believed to be the new head of Taj Zabbar secret police, Malik Kasim Taj Zabbar. The Taj Zabbar had sent their big guns.

CIA covert agent Jasmine O’Reilly worked hard not to fidget in her too-tight, scratchy dress while she surreptitiously checked out the men in the room as they greeted the newcomers. Who knew rhinestones could be this uncomfortable?

She was accustomed to wearing six-inch stilettos on special missions, but the flashy hooker-style dress was turning into more than she’d bargained for. How did women wear all these spangles and zippers? The simple answer came to her before she finished the question. The dress was not meant to be worn for long.

Pulling her attention back to the targets, she catalogued what she knew of them. The most important man in the room to her was not the Russian mafia character and his cohorts who’d called this meeting. No, with great glee she fixed her thoughts on the Nigerian terrorist she’d been after for the past six months.

God, was she ever good at her job.

Who else could’ve finagled their way into a room full of third world terrorists and wannabe bad guys? Certainly not that handsome but insufferable ex-agent, Tarik Kadir. She proudly noted that Kadir was nowhere to be found—even after he’d called the DOD’s attention to this meeting in the first place.

Whatever was really going down here, Jass was about to make the premier bust of her entire career. She almost rubbed her hands together in satisfaction. But first she wanted to know about the rest of the players in addition to the Nigerian.

There was Karolek Petrov, of course. And a number of bodyguards. Then the high-priced pimp she’d paid to bring her and the other two phony call girls tonight. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the other bidders included an Indonesian member of al-Qaeda, a rogue member of the IRA, a Georgian separatist and—hmm … The two Middle Eastern–looking newcomers were men who’d not been on her radar before. Interesting.

She supposed it was possible these were the representatives from the Taj Zabbar that Kadir had insisted were coming to buy tonight. But no one in her unit or their superiors had imagined he could be right.

Okay, the people known as the Taj Zabbar, from the new Republic of Zabbarán, had recently struck it rich with oil. Rich enough to buy whatever they wanted. But no rumors of their having terrorist leanings had reached the ears of the international intelligence communities. Why would the Taj Zabbar suddenly want to buy nuclear arms? Certainly not to attack the Kadir family as Kadir had insisted when he’d asked for assistance from the unit.

Perhaps it would be worth her effort to question Tarik Kadir at some point. However, tonight she was all about taking down the Nigerian. She wouldn’t allow any of the other people in this room to stand in her way. She’d been after him and his information for six months.

Jass clicked her hidden mouthpiece twice to notify her backup that she was all set. According to the plan, two agents would burst through the door five minutes from her signal. That should be about right. By then everyone would be seated around the table and she could position herself close behind the Nigerian.

The Russian murmured to a bodyguard and a silver briefcase appeared on the table. Petrov nodded toward it and most of the men sauntered to their seats. All but the Middle Eastern men.

“Why are females in attendance?” the older one asked the Russian with a sneer.

“A prize for the losers tonight, Elder bin Khali.” Karolek Petrov beamed as though he had a secret he couldn’t wait to tell. “These are no ordinary women. Each represents a dozen young virgins who will give a man the night of his life before they gladly lay down their lives and die for him. They are worth a king’s ransom … and are my gift for participating this evening.”

Jass was glad the two actresses she’d rounded up looked young and didn’t speak English. She tried to move farther away from the man Petrov had addressed as Elder.

But before she could take a second step, the younger Middle Eastern man grabbed her by the wrist. “This one is no virgin. If I am not mistaken, she is no lady of the evening either.” He swung her around to face the other men. “Look at the intelligence in these eyes. She sees too much.”

Jass didn’t have a moment to react before the man brought a dagger to her throat. “I will let her fulfill her contract and die for my pleasure right now.”

Oh, brother. There went all her best-laid plans.

She gritted her teeth to notify her backup with three clicks that she was in trouble. Then she overpowered her surprised assailant by using a nifty thumb hold she’d perfected years ago. The knife went flying and he went to his knees with a yell and a thud.

Chaos erupted in the room. Shouts in several languages bounced off the walls. Guns were pulled from under jackets. The door banged open and a shot rang out. And somewhere in the back of her mind she thought she heard the balcony’s glass doors sliding open.

But she was too busy to notice. She appropriated a gun from one of the hulking bodyguards with a smooth move he never saw coming and then headed through the crowd toward the Nigerian, who had been standing closest to the balcony. She caught a glimpse of him before he ducked out through the open balcony doors.

Oh, no you don’t. We’re twelve stories up. You’re mine, you bastard.

Tarik was inside the room and fighting to reach Jass O’Reilly before he could think twice about it. His mind had blanked when the head of Taj Zabbar secret police had put that dagger to her throat. Tarik had been intrigued with her from afar for years and the idea of his fantasy woman going down in a slash of bloodshed had moved him to action.

But by the time he overpowered the Russian and put him out of commission, she was nowhere to be found. Had she ducked out the front? Impossible. That exit was now clogged with men in various stages of being apprehended.

He twisted around and as his eyes darted across the room, he realized two unsettling things. The suitcase was missing from the table and the two Taj Zabbar reps were gone.

Worse, with another sweeping glance, he noted both the Nigerian and Jass had also disappeared. But they could not possibly have gotten past him. They’d both been too close to the balcony when the sting went bad.

He would have to consider the Taj Zabbar later. Right now he needed to back up his former comrade in covert operations.

When he barged through to the balcony, Tarik was hit with another shock. Jass and the Nigerian were leaning over the balcony wall, wrestling over a Ruger .357 Magnum. The Nigerian had a good fifty pounds and six inches on her.

Tarik’s weapon was useless under the circumstances. He couldn’t get off a clean shot. He held his breath and moved in closer, waiting for a moment to let the Nigerian learn of his presence—the hard way.

But the longer their struggle went on, the more he could see Jass weakening. The Nigerian had her bent over backward with her upper body hanging out over nothing but night air.

Tarik couldn’t wait. He had to make a move now.

Grabbing the assailant by the shoulder, he tried to turn the Nigerian around to face him. But right at that moment Jass made her move, too.

She hooked her leg around the Nigerian’s knees and used all her power trying to bring him down. But Tarik’s shove had overbalanced the assailant and all three of them slid closer to the balcony wall.

Horrified, he watched as both Jass and the Nigerian slipped over backward and disappeared completely into the black night. With a roar, he dove over the wall, landing tenuously on the ledge beyond.

“Help me, you idiot.” The small voice coming from below him finally cleared away the hazy panic in his head as Tarik spotted her fingers gripping the edge.

“Jass.” He flattened himself on the ledge and made a grab for her arms.

When he felt the warm skin of her wrists and fastened his hands around them, he began to murmur quiet encouragement. “I’ve got you. Take it easy.”

She groaned. “Stop talking and pull me up.”

Earlier the breeze off the ocean had been benign and gentle. Now it felt like a full-force gale. He latched one arm around the balcony wall and hoped to hell he could drag her up one-handed. It would do no good for both of them to take a header into oblivion.

Whenever he’d thought of Jass in the past, he’d never thought of her as particularly thin or small. But with a spurt of much needed adrenaline, he raised her up over the edge without a lot of effort.

Son of a gun. They were still alive.

Dragging her closer to his chest, he waited until his breathing slowed and he could actually feel his extremities again. That was as close to death as he ever wanted to go.

Jass pushed at his chest. “How about we move to a solid surface?” She came to her knees and reached for the balcony wall. “I suppose you expect a thank-you for saving my life.”

Suddenly irritated, he pulled them both over the wall to the balcony floor. “I would rather get an explanation as to why you felt it necessary to bust in on my sting.”

She stood in bare feet with her wig askew and dusted off her hands. “Not your sting, pal. Mine. I’ve been chasing that Nigerian for months and now you’ve ruined our chances of ever questioning him. You owe me.”

Damn.

“My mistake,” he muttered as he turned toward the suite doors.

He left her standing there trying to figure out what he’d meant. If he’d known how ungrateful she would be, he might’ve left her swinging in midair.

Now he had the sinking feeling he was going to live to regret tonight’s entire heroic episode.

Chapter 2

She was completely screwed.

Jass ran her hands through the auburn mop on her head that laughably passed for her real hair and squared her shoulders to face the music. Ed Langdon, her CIA handler, and General Gus Wainwright, the head of their interagency Task Force, came through the conference room door. Tarik Kadir was right on their heels.

She jumped up and stood as still as if she were at attention. It was barely twelve hours since the Nigerian had gone to his heavenly paradise and Jass hadn’t had much sleep. For most of the night she’d been too busy trying to interrogate the men who’d been captured in the hotel room and, when that became futile, working desperately to salvage something from the fiasco of last night. She had come up empty-handed on all counts.

For the last hour she’d been sitting quietly in the American consulate’s office waiting for her scheduled meeting with Ed. Jass had been going over all her moves from last evening’s sting, still trying to piece together how things had gone wrong. When she’d originally designed the plan for last night, she was positive nothing could prevent it from becoming one of her biggest career highlights. Capturing a man that the Agency had been seeking for the last three years had seemed the perfect path to advancement.

The fact that General Wainwright was here in Monaco—that he’d felt it necessary to fly in from the states, did not bode well for her rising career at all. The general motioned for her to sit and she took her first breath since he’d walked through the door. Somehow she had to survive whatever came next with her job intact.

Tarik Kadir plopped down in the seat next to hers. Her senses started reeling. She could actually feel heat emanating from his body, even considering his place at the table was well over two feet away. She scooted her chair a little farther to the side, but it didn’t help.

Glancing at the ex covert agent out of the corner of her eye, she found him staring back at her. Besides being insufferable, the man was also a rude bore.

He flashed her a crooked grin from behind his benign-looking black-framed glasses. Was he in some sort of disguise this morning? She knew for a fact that the man did not need glasses for his eyesight. Last night in a tux he’d been delicious to look at. Like the billionaire playboy sheik he was rumored to be. But this morning, the hand-tailored button-down shirt and soft suede jacket made him look unpretentious and conservative.

Bull. Did he really believe anybody would miss the aura of controlled power or the watchful intelligence hiding underneath the traditional cut of his coal-colored hair or in the eyes behind those ridiculous fake glasses?

“You still waiting for a thank-you for saving my life?” she asked while trying hard to sound unaffected.

“I don’t waste much time on fantasies.” The look he gave her was so full of erotic meaning it sent her pulse racing and made her mouth go dry.

She tried to inch farther away but found herself hugging the wall as Ed and General Wainwright seated themselves across the table.

The general’s forehead furrowed as he began, “Well, Special Officer O’Reilly. It seems your crack plan for capturing the Nigerian turned into a royal cluster f …” He stopped, looked slightly flustered about almost using the crude military expression meaning disaster, and then cleared his throat. “Either of you two have anything more to say about what happened last night?”

“Everything would’ve worked out if he hadn’t stepped in.”

“If the DOD had listened to me about the Taj Zabbar building weapons of mass destruction in the first place, we could’ve worked this sting together and nothing would’ve been lost.”

They’d both spoken at the same time and their words were more or less blown away in the confusion. Exasperated, Jass folded her arms over her chest and sat back.

The general pinned her with a steely gaze. “Did it once occur to you to ask what item could’ve been big enough to induce the Nigerian to come out of the shadows and attend last night’s sale?”

“I figured it was big drug deal or maybe U.S. counterfeit currency plates, sir. Rumor has it the Nigerian has been raising funds and buying into moneymaking schemes all over Europe.” Jass was becoming more uncomfortable by the second.

The general waved his hand dismissively. “My fault. I should’ve seen this coming when I approved your plan.”

Next he turned on Tarik. “You thought you recognized Special Officer O’Reilly in her disguise. Is that right?”

Tarik nodded once.

“And yet you went out on the balcony to rescue someone you knew to be a competent officer and turned your back on the briefcase containing a nuclear device.”

Tarik’s face paled and his jaw became impossibly hard.

The general surprised him by flashing a grin. “I guess we’re all treading in deep water over this screwup. Let’s see what we can do to make it right.”

Jass didn’t like the sound of that. She had no intention of ever doing anything with the infuriating sheik Kadir.

Tarik could see the frustration building on Jass’s face. He knew what that was like. He’d been trying for months to convince the DOD, and General Wainwright in particular, that the Taj Zabbar were a serious and growing danger to the world. Up until this morning, he hadn’t succeeded.

He forced his attention back to the general. “I just finished speaking to my brother at Kadir headquarters, sir. The briefcase has disappeared—along with the Elder bin Khali Taj Zabbar. We’ll pick him up again, though it might take some time. But Darin did get a line on that other matter you asked about.” He took a breath. “Seems our technical unit has been hearing the same rumors over the social networks that your units have, and we’re fairly sure the Taj Zabbar will be involved in that upcoming auction, too.”

“Then that gives us a place to start fresh together.” The general tilted his head to address Jass. “We caught a break when another DOD split task force captured an al-Qaeda operative in Pakistan last week. The Pakistanis have been interrogating the man and yesterday obtained a major piece of intel.”

Tarik watched as Jass’s expression went from resigned and frustrated to hopeful and eager. She was arresting to look at with her exotic mix of cultures. Not classically beautiful, but expressive and fascinatingly intense when she thought she wasn’t being observed. A man couldn’t avoid keeping his eyes trained on that face. At least, not this man.

“It seems our Russian from last night’s auction had another partner,” the general continued. “Someone still operating in the wind who supposedly has one more auction scheduled for next week.”

“Another briefcase bomb? Surely not. That’s—”

The general’s hand chopped the air to stop her words. “No, another bomb would’ve been impossible to sneak out of Russia, even for a genius like Karolek Petrov. But it seems there is one more item up for bid that’s worth paying a king’s ransom—at least for terrorists.”

Jass sat up a little straighter. “A detonator or timing device of some sort?”

“Good point. It’s possible. We don’t know for sure.” General Wainwright folded his hands on the desk and stared down at them. “Whatever it is, it’s big. All we know are the identities of some of the bidders and the approximate location and date. We need to know the rest.”

Jass’s eyes rounded and dilated. Bless her fiendish little heart. Tarik could see she was almost drooling over the potential of being given such a plum assignment. When she learned the truth, that this was going to be his sting—not hers—he had a feeling her expressive face would be speaking a different language.

“Do we have a way to firm up the location?” Jass asked the general.

She was starting to believe this would be more of a golden opportunity rather than the end of her career. She snuck a look at Ed, her handler, and was puzzled by his narrowed expression. He apparently knew something she did not.

“The auction will definitely be taking place in Brazil,” the general answered with authority. “The Russian’s partner, also one of the Russian mob but not as clever as Petrov, has developed a network headquartered in Rio. That much we know for sure. The Kadir family’s intel unit has put feelers out and we expect to have better information as we get closer to the date.”

The Kadir family intel unit? What the heck was that? And what the devil was wrong with their own CIA intelligence? No wonder Ed was not looking too happy.

Jass pinned her lips together to keep from making a remark she might regret later. She was still convinced she was only a hairsbreadth away from being kicked out of the Task Force over last night’s screwup. The way this new mission turned out would make all the difference to her career.

She had to keep her job. It was her only chance to live up to the high standard her father set years ago. Thank God it appeared she was being given the opportunity.

“Special Officer O’Reilly, your background file says you can speak both Russian and Farsi. Is that correct?” The general had his gaze trained on her face.

“Yes, sir. My mother’s family was originally from Iran and I spoke Farsi before English. I learned the Russian language for a covert op a few years back.”

“Well, Farsi is not perfectly suited for this mission but we can make it work. The Russian is pivotal.”

He was going to make her the operative in charge of the mission after all! Relief nearly brought her to tears. Jass was thrilled to get the badly needed superior position to make up for the one she’d messed up. Taking a deep breath, she turned to study Kadir. What was his role here? Informant? Adviser?

Whatever it was, she hoped they wouldn’t have to work together too closely or for terribly long. The man rode her nerves whenever his gaze raked over her body. Which was pretty much every time she’d ever run into him.

“We’ve devised a sting to take advantage of a couple of lucky breaks.” The general turned to Ed for an affirmative nod, then continued. “First, about a month ago, ICE agents apprehended a woman who’s been on Homeland’s watch list for years. She’s an international illegal arms dealer with no allegiance to any country and who seems devoid of any scruples about the deals she makes.”

“The Messenger?” Jass knew of only one woman who might fit that criteria.

The general nodded grimly. “As a favor to us, Homeland has kept the lid on her capture. We’re sure nothing has leaked out to any of the intelligence community.”

Jass was positive he was correct. She’d been following the exploits of the mysterious woman known as the Messenger for years and knew nothing of her capture.

Turning to Tarik, the general explained further. “This shadowy female dealer’s real name is Celile Kocak. Originally Uzbekistani from Russian and Turkish decent, as I understand. Her exploits in the field of buying and selling arms have been embellished over time, yet no one had ever seen a picture of the woman.

“Now that we have her in custody,” he went on. “It turns out she has a few years on Special Officer O’Reilly. But other than that, the two could easily pass as sisters.”

Wow. Think of that. The mysterious woman who had captured her imagination for forever looked enough like her to be a sister. Jass was enthralled by the idea of passing for such a deadly and merciless criminal on a sting.

From his position next to her, Tarik cleared his throat. “You said there’d been two lucky breaks?”

“Indeed. Under intense interrogation we’ve learned that this Kocak woman has been scouring the market for the last few months, looking for special arms to buy for another mysterious character. A shady Middle Eastern sheik who goes by the name of Abu Zohdi. We’ve been trying to track him down, and he’s recently turned up in an English jail in the Bahamas—although they didn’t know who they had in custody.

“This middle-easterner is one extremely dangerous and rich terrorist,” the general went on to explain. “With close ties to al-Qaeda. And the Bahamians were about to release him due to lack of evidence. It was only by pure luck that we obtained his whereabouts from the Kocak woman before he was long gone.”

“We have Abu Zohdi in our hands now?” Jass knew that name too and was beginning to worry about where the general’s explanation was heading.

“Momentarily. In the meantime we are continuing to interrogate the Kocak woman, trying to learn what kind of arms will be for sale in Rio.”

Yes, the more information she had before going in, the better prepared she would be to disrupt the sale. “Excuse me, General Wainwright, but what result do you anticipate from our mission? Is it more important to capture this other Russian or to take control of whatever weapons are for sale?”

The general raised one eyebrow and she almost giggled at the silly picture he made. “I trust you will not hesitate to confiscate anything as potentially dangerous as a nuclear bomb if it’s placed right in front of you, Officer O’Reilly. Not this time.”

Her smile faded in that instant. She felt her cheeks warming and was glad for her golden skin tones. Fairer women had a more difficult time disguising their embarrassment.

“Yes … uh … no, sir.”

“Your job on this sting is to get your partner inside that auction to meet all the bidders. Gather information. Intel is your ultimate assignment with the Task Force, remember.” The general narrowed his eyes at her. “Your handler will give you further instructions once we get a clearer picture of what’s going on inside.”

“My partner?” Jass’s whole body tensed.

“Kadir here will be going in undercover as your client, Abu Zohdi. For months he’s been trying to convince the DOD that the Taj Zabbar have become terrorists worthy of our attention.” He spoke in a low, measured tone. “If they do show up at this meeting ready to buy, my boss will have to accept that they’re powerful enough to pose a threat to the world.”

Jass’s mind raced with good reasons why she couldn’t take Tarik Kadir along with her on a mission. The number-one reason being that he was no longer employed by the United States government. He’d quit.

Tarik stirred in his seat beside her. They shot a glance at each other. He didn’t seem all that thrilled about working with her either.

“But sir, I respectfully ask you to reconsider,” she pleaded. “I can handle this mission better alone. If you want to know the identities of the people at the auction, leave it to me. I’ll get names, pictures and backgrounds on everyone involved with no trouble. It’s my job.”

“Besides,” she continued, desperately trying to come up with a good argument in her favor. “Doesn’t the Messenger always work alone? On behalf of a client, for sure, but haven’t her past clients always remained unnamed?”

“Not recently. Your intelligence on the Messenger is at least a year behind. You’d better study her files carefully on your way to Rio.”

“But …”

The general tilted his head toward her as if to say he was done with her questions. But then he made one more chilling remark to top off his side of the argument and leave no doubt why this sting would go down exactly his way.

“Over the last year, Celile Kocak and Abu Zohdi have become lovers. According to her, they seldom leave each other’s sides. In fact, that’s how ICE got their hands on her. She made a mistake in her haste through the States to the Bahamas trying to reach her lover and bail him out of jail.”

Lovers? Oh, Lord.

She felt Tarik go rigid in his seat beside her as he asked, “Lovers, sir? Exactly how close to that definition do you want us to stay?”

“Close enough for it to appear you can’t keep your hands off each other, Mr. Kadir. This joint mission was originally your idea. And you agreed to accept one of our Task Force agents as your partner.”

The general glared at both agents.

“Now stick to the plan we’ve drawn up. You two are going in as lovers or the whole deal is off.”

Chapter 3

Jass’s knees were still trembling an hour after her meeting with General Wainwright. She’d finally shed the scratchy dress for her jeans, but her mind continued racing with possible scenarios for escape.

She couldn’t imagine having to work with the irritating sheik. Now, while sitting alone across from Ed having coffee, she had the feeling she’d stepped onto a boat that was taking on water.

“I don’t like it any better than you do, Jass. He’s a loose cannon and I’m not sure we can trust him.”

Ed Langdon, her longtime friend as well as her handler, ran a hand across tired-looking eyes. The poor guy hadn’t had any more sleep than she had last night.

“But we don’t have a choice.” He sighed and stared into his coffee. “You have to at least go through the motions of this sting with Kadir or else Wainwright may bust us both out of the Task Force.”

“Oh, Ed. No. Whatever I screwed up had nothing to do with you.”

He dug his fingers through his thinning hair and then went back to drinking coffee with both hands wrapped around the mug. “You’re my responsibility. When an assignment goes bad, it’s my fault.”

Ed was the closest thing to a father figure she’d had since her own father died on a CIA covert mission nearly ten years ago. At that time she had recently graduated college and was interviewing with the Agency for her first job. Her father had wanted her to go to law school. He’d wanted something safer and saner for his daughter than he’d had for himself.

But she’d always seen her father as the sun, the moon and the brightest star in the sky. Everything revolved around him and had since her mother died when she was a girl. What her father did for a living was exciting. Stimulating. The very idea of undercover work had thrilled her down to her bones.

Her mother had been the steady one in the family. The rock. She’d had a nice, normal job as an accountant. And what did that get her? She’d been kidnapped from her nice safe office, robbed and murdered.

No thanks. Jass would take her chances with undercover work.

“I don’t like the whole idea of this Kadir character forcing himself on you while you try to make an ill-conceived plan work. He’s charismatic when he wants to be.”

Jass bristled. “Geez, Ed. You know me better than that. No one takes advantage of Jasmine O’Reilly.”

Ed gave her a lopsided smile. “I know, honey. Sometimes I think you take yourself far too seriously. How long has it been since you’ve even had a date?”

“Uh, a while. I’ve been working. It’s hard to go out when you’re playing the part of a dangerous Indonesian spy or in disguise as the girlfriend of an IRA terrorist.” She shrugged. “But I don’t feel deprived. I like undercover work. A lot.”

Ed grinned. “Yep. Too damned independent and serious for your own good. You can’t go through your whole life like that, you know.”

After her father had died, Ed had gone to bat for her at the Agency. He’d been her father’s partner and longtime friend and said he wanted to help her however he could. And when Ed was promoted to being SAC and a handler, he’d made sure she was under his wing and came along, too. He’d always been every bit as concerned about her as a person as he was with her as a covert officer under his control.

Jass fiddled with her paper napkin. “I have lots of time for a life later. I’m only twenty-nine. You know how important it is to me to be the best at what I do.”

Ed sat silent for a few moments. Finally he said, “Look, you have to take this assignment. But you don’t have to fall for whatever Kadir is selling. I believe he has his own agenda and will try to gain your trust so he can somehow get his hands on the prize.” He looked at her intently. “Don’t let him. As usual, I’ll be standing by to remind you to keep your head in the game. Listen to me.”

“Don’t I always?” she murmured, smiling at Ed.

He blew out a breath and chuckled. “Okay, little girl. Good enough for now. Let’s see about getting you prepped for whatever surprises come your way.”

Tarik had to force his gaping mouth shut when Jass climbed into the back of their limo with him. Man, did she look hot. Not that she didn’t always look terrific, with her sexy auburn hair, exotic hazel-green eyes and a body to drool over.

But this sophisticated persona of the deadly Celile Kocak sent electric shivers straight to his groin. Maybe their mission wouldn’t be hard to take after all.

The CIA handler, Ed, slammed the limo’s back door after her and slid into the front seat next to the driver. “You all set, Kadir?”

Tarik wasn’t paying much attention to Ed. He had better things to look at. Dressed in one of those French-designed suits and Italian leather four-inch heels, Jass never turned her head his way. She kept staring out the window as the limo began to roll away from the hotel.

Tarik absently adjusted his gold-braided head scarf and spoke to Ed without turning. “Becoming a rich Middle Eastern sheik is one disguise that shouldn’t be too much of a problem for me, Langdon.”

He kept his eyes trained on Jass. “You look amazing. Run into any trouble with the background intel?”

She turned her head only slightly and a strand of that long, luxurious mane slid over one dark-brown contact, obscuring it from his view. “I know how to do my job.”

If it wasn’t a balmy, late winter day in Monte Carlo, Tarik would’ve expected an ice storm. Much more of that kind of cold shoulder and this assignment might be the death of him yet.

“Well, I wish one of you could speak Portuguese,” Langdon added from the front seat. “A dozen languages between you and yet not the one that might save your ass in Brazil.”

“Spanish is close enough,” Tarik said without as much as a smirk on his face. “We can fake it.”

Jass shot him another icy, half-hidden glare and inched closer to her door. “You can bet the Cariocas will notice we don’t speak their language.”

“We’re going in as tourists,” he argued. “Arms buyers. Not Rio natives. We’ll get along.”

Tarik heaved a heavy sigh and leaned back in his seat. Yes indeed, this was going to be one long, miserable assignment. And if they couldn’t find some middle ground, they’d both be lucky to come away from it alive.

A few hours later, flying high above the Atlantic, Tarik loosened the seat belt in his first-class seat and checked on Jass. He thought she might be trying to sleep, but she was wide awake and working on her laptop. She had the privacy screen set on the laptop so no one could read over her shoulder and she looked for all the world like any wealthy international businesswoman.

They needed to begin bonding. He’d let her put an aisle between them for the flight. But the minute they left the relatively secluded confines of this first-class cabin and moved into the duel worlds of espionage and glitz in Rio, they would have to begin the lovey-dovey act. The snow princess would have to thaw or the entire mission would be compromised.

He cleared his throat, moved into the empty seat beside her and pitched his voice low enough to be heard only by her. “I understand you keep an apartment in D.C. How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

She flipped down the laptop’s lid and turned her head, pushing back the thick veil of hair covering the side of her face. “You’ve been reading my file? Maybe it would be better if you stuck to studying the files concerning Celile and Zohdi.”

“We only have a few hours to work on becoming an intimate couple.” How could she rile him this quickly? “I thought it would be smart for us to get to know each other a little better on a personal level first.”

Jass frowned and drew a weary breath. “Fine. D.C. is not my home. I was raised in Chicago by my mother’s family—which of course you know if you’ve read my file. But the apartment in D.C. is a few blocks from where my father used to keep his base while working for the Agency. As a kid I visited him between assignments and I know a little about the neighborhood. Still, it isn’t what I would call a real home.

“When you come right down to it,” she added quietly. “I don’t guess I have what most people would call a home. Never felt the need for one.”

Ah, but the wistful tone in her voice said that last statement was a lie. Tarik filed the interesting bit of information away for a later time when he’d gotten to know her better.

“But that’s something we have in common,” he murmured. “See? We haven’t been talking for more than a few moments and already we’ve found a subject to agree on. None of the extended Kadir family have formal roots either. Not for a thousand years. We’re …”

“Nomads,” she supplied. “Originally Bedouins. Yes, I read your file, too.”

He felt ridiculously pleased that she’d cared enough to read his file. Not that he should have doubted it. Whatever else Ms. Jasmine O’Reilly turned out to be underneath her many personas, she was a serious and dedicated CIA operative. She would never go on a mission unprepared, even one that had been as spur of the moment as this one.

The flight attendant brought them both glasses of white wine. Jass took a sip before thanking the fellow and sending him away.

“Why did you resign your commission?” she asked as she studied Tarik over the rim of her glass. “The files weren’t clear on that point.”

Ah yes, the billion-dollar question. He knew the men in his old Special Forces unit and many of his former comrades in the joint Task Force were asking themselves the same thing. Well, he wanted to become closer to Jass for this mission. Might as well tell her all of it.

“I doubt my file has a notation in it explaining the five-hundred-year-old family feud between the Kadir family and the Taj Zabbar tribes of Zabbarán. It’s something my brothers and I barely understand ourselves.”

Jass set down her wine but kept her eyes trained on his face. “I discovered a little about the feud by doing a Google search. Originally, the Kadirs were caravan traders on the Spice Route. And around five hundred years ago the caravan was decimated by the fierce Taj Zabbar tribes. Right so far?”

He nodded, fascinated by her low, hypnotic voice.

“Yes, well. Apparently the Kadirs turned around and destroyed as many of the Taj Zabbar as they could in retaliation.”

“Hold on. Our side of the story is a lot different. The Kadirs had no choice. We had to neutralize the threat in order to survive. The Taj wouldn’t stop. They kept on coming. They …”

He stopped himself mid-rant and forced a smile when her eyes gleamed with humor. “Okay, I agree. That was centuries ago and no real written records were kept at the time. It could’ve happened the way you said. And at a much later date we weren’t exactly angels when it came to our treatment of the Taj.”

“Ah yes,” she interrupted. “Let’s jump the story ahead to fifty years ago when the Kadirs were already filthy rich in the shipping industry and looking to fur ther their interests in the Zabbarán territory.” She quirked a brow. “Didn’t your family make a secret deal with the Taj Zabbar’s neighbors and oppressors, the Kasht? Supposedly the Kadirs traded guns and other armaments for the sole rights to the only deep-water port in Zabbarán and the surrounding area. Right?

“Now that was really some Spice Trade.” She’d added her own answer with a wry smile. “And didn’t the Kasht use those very weapons to subdue a revolt by the Taj? They killed Taj women and children, put the men into slave labor and then burned and pillaged everything in sight. Nice family trade, Kadir.” A note of derision filled her voice. “Why am I not even a little surprised that the Taj hate your family and want revenge?”

Tarik tamped down on the automatic rise in his blood pressure. He knew the truth of what his family had done and who they were now. The Kadir family’s past was not spotless. But in more modern times they had become contributing members of civilized world society—unlike their counterparts the Taj Zabbar.

“I don’t have to defend my family to anyone. Everything you said may be true, but it was done long ago. Before either of us was born. And it’s no excuse for the Taj to behave the way they do today.” His eyes hardened. “They’re terrorists, killers and brutes. They deal with drug lords and mobsters the world over. They’ve tried to annihilate my family by blowing us up, and never mind that fifty innocent people were caught in the explosion.”

He took a breath and let the words roll out. “They kidnap vulnerable women and sell them to the highest bidders. They run their own country like a medieval fiefdom, even with all their new wealth. And worst of all, they are secretly planning to become the world’s newest nuclear power before any of the civilized nations can take notice.”

“How do you know that last part? About their nuclear ambitions.”

She had genuine interest in her eyes for the first time since he’d begun speaking. The new expression made her look young … vulnerable, and made Tarik damned curious about getting to know this part of her a lot better.

“My middle brother Shakir went into Zabbarán covertly a few months ago to rescue the woman who has since become his wife. She and their son were being held for trade to the highest bidder,” he explained. “I was part of my brother’s backup team. While we were there, we found an underground nuclear centrifuge facility and …”

“What?” Jass leaned in close and pinned him with a doubtful look. “From what I understood the Taj are too backward and couldn’t possibly have that kind of scientific know-how.”

“Just listen,” he began, instead of counting to ten to calm his temper. “I have in my possession a few satellite photos of the area under construction. And the images seem clear enough to people in the know. But we blew the place up before we left the country. I figured why not take the opportunity and save the rest of the world a hell of a lot of grief.”

Jass leaned back in her seat. “So you don’t have any real proof. Only wild speculation and fuzzy pictures.”

He bristled but kept his voice down. “I was there. And our family’s intelligence units have been picking up further mentions of nuclear subjects in the current Taj communiqués. We’re sure they haven’t given up their ambitions.”

“How so?” she probed.

“Look at the other night. They sent a couple of representatives to that auction and stole the briefcase bomb, didn’t they?”

“Did they? We only have your word on that. I wouldn’t know what they look like. The Taj aren’t on the world intelligence radar screens.” She smirked at him. “Those Middle Eastern men in the room that night could’ve just as easily been members of the Kadir clan for all I know.”

Frustrated, Tarik sat back and stared out the window before he made a few remarks that would be totally inappropriate for anyone who intended to become her lover within the next few hours. He was usually much better at capturing a woman’s attention and interest than this. In fact, he was always better at convincing people of his honesty and sincerity. Ironically, that was part of what made him such a good covert agent.

What was with Jass O’Reilly? He’d known she was slightly different than most women. But she wasn’t even responding to him like a normal human being.

He was foundering here, trying to find some common ground. What the hell would happen when they had to pretend to have an intimate love affair?

Jass was a pro. She didn’t need Tarik Kadir to remind her of their mission. But he’d tried to do exactly that as they left the plane and entered Rio’s Galeao Airport. She’d sniffed at his ridiculous attempt to rile her and brushed out past the flight attendants.

Throwing her tote bag over her shoulder, she sidled up close to him on their walk to retrieve the baggage and whispered low, “Don’t forget Zohdi wouldn’t let Celile carry anything heavy—or walk too far ahead. It’s part of his macho personality.”

Tarik’s body jerked, almost imperceptibly, but he slowed enough to reach around and take her tote with a huge grin. “Here, let me, my darling.” He used a clear, slightly accented voice. “Wouldn’t want to tire you before we reach the hotel. I have big plans for us later tonight.”

She ground her teeth and smiled seductively. “Of course, sweetheart. But business comes first.”

Fortunately for her, another part of Zohdi’s personality was deeply rooted in his Middle Eastern background. He did not indulge in sentimental bodily contact in public. No pawing or slobbery kisses for him. She almost reminded Tarik of that, but decided to keep her mouth shut for now.

Zohdi never let his gaze stray from the love of his life for long. And he never let her talk to another man without putting himself close enough to feel her pulse beat.

Jass thought that last part might’ve been romantic if the two people in question weren’t such a dangerous duo. And if her undercover partner on this romantic assignment wasn’t Tarik Kadir.

The Rio airport terminal was a madhouse. Crowds descended from every corner and surrounded them as they walked. Jass felt the tension building in her every cell. While she was undercover, she never cared for crowds. An assassin could easily attack from any direction and she wouldn’t recognize the threat until it was too late.

When they finally reached the baggage carousel, they found the crowds impenetrable around it. This much congestion in the Rio airport on a Thursday evening seemed strange—and she wondered if it could potentially signal a glitch in their mission.

The two of them stood motionless at the edge of the crowd for a moment as they silently pondered their best plan of attack for reaching the luggage.

“Ms. Kocak. Sheik Zohdi.” Suddenly a man who seemed to be a native Brazilian spoke to them with a heavy accent. He’d appeared out of nowhere right beside them. “I am your driver. Your luggage is being sent ahead. Please follow me.”

Jass raised her shoulders along with her gut instincts. Ed had told her they would be contacted by someone from the CIA station chief’s office with further instructions. But she hadn’t expected anyone this soon.

She glanced at Tarik, who also seemed to be on alert, but then he gave her a cockeyed grin and inclined his head. “After you, love. I am yours to command.”

He was silently signaling that he was leaving the choice to follow this man up to her. Her whole body trembled with pride and an odd sensual awareness as she forced herself to turn and make her way through the throngs behind the stranger.

That grin of Tarik’s might end up becoming her undoing before their assignment was over. The man was impossibly handsome all dressed up as a modern sheik in his Versace suit, white linen boat-necked shirt and head scarf. Jass shook off the sensual pull she’d felt and worked her mind back to the persona of Celile.

She had to remember that Ed said not to trust Tarik despite his glib manner and sincere looks.

They reached the curb in front of the airport and found a sleek black sedan waiting. Their driver paid two thugs who were obviously carrying concealed weapons and, with a few words in Portuguese, sent them on their way. Then he ushered her and Tarik into the backseat.

As they pulled into the stop-and-go traffic, she asked the driver, “What’s going on here? Why all the people and congestion?”

Suddenly their driver didn’t have even a slight accent. “You’re kidding, right? Tomorrow is the start of Carnivale. The tourists are pouring into the city. Expect the crowds to get a lot worse over the next four days.”

“Smart.” Tarik relaxed back into his seat and propped an ankle over his knee. “The Russian picked the best time of year to hold this little auction. His buyers will be tough for us to pick out from the rest of the tourists.”

She turned to see Tarik in the dim light filtering in through the car’s windows. “Have you ever been to Rio’s Carnivale before?”

“Several times. You’re going to love it. All sensual music, body heat and very little clothing.” He chuckled under his breath. “It’s guaranteed to warm up the chilliest woman on earth. Even the ice queen Celile Kocak doesn’t stand a chance during Carnivale.”

Oh hell. The man was doing his damnedest to unnerve her. Well, no matter what Tarik Kadir sent her way, she wouldn’t let him throw her. She would remain in control.

After all, Jass O’Reilly was a pro.

Chapter 4

Tarik led the way through the grand lobby of the Copacabana Palace Hotel. The towering sixty-foot columns and ornate glass chandeliers were familiar, but the feeling of being watched was unique.

He liked crowds. Liked the anonymity of getting lost in the confusion. When their driver had first reminded him of Carnivale, Tarik’s brain began processing new ways of completing their mission over the next few days. He’d thought of the festivities as a terrific idea for a cover.

But he hadn’t counted on having the exotic and stunning faux Celile Kocak in tow. Every male head in the cavernous lobby turned to stare as she walked past. No wonder Sheik Zohdi seldom let more than a few feet pass between them in public.

Tarik tried to control the possessive urges he felt toward her. In reality the woman beside him was not the ice queen. Instead she was Jass O’Reilly, every bit as gorgeous as Celile but ten times more annoying. Everything he said seemed to strike her the wrong way. Despite his usual charm and glib small talk, she’d refused to warm up.

But that didn’t mean his body didn’t grow too warm every time he looked her way. Damned woman was hot. Both in the guise of Celile and out. And he figured she was going to make him sweat a lot more before this mission was over.

“We’ve already registered you two,” their driver said quietly. “And your suite’s checked and clean. We’ll be able to go over mission specifics without being overheard.”

So … while they’d been in the air, the Task Force had been busy devising a plan. Good enough. Tarik needed to keep his head in the game—and off his partner.

After they settled into the three-room suite and double-checked for listening devices and cameras, the driver nodded toward the dining table. “We couldn’t secure a penthouse suite on such short notice at this time of year, but I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

Jass removed her jacket and plopped into one of the chairs around the table. “It’ll do for Celile and Zohdi. They’re not on vacation.”

“Well,” their driver began as he set up the rest of the chairs around the table. “This is the honeymoon suite. Part of your cover story is that the two of you are taking a romantic interlude while you wait for the upcoming auction.”

“Uh …” Jass jumped up, looking a little green around the edges. “Excuse me a moment.” She grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair and headed straight for the bedroom.

“Do we know yet when the auction is supposed to take place?” Tarik gladly reached for any excuse to put the spotlight back on the mission and take it off his errant libido.

The driver turned to him with his hand outstretched and not a trace of accent in his English. “We haven’t met, Kadir. The name’s Joäo Bosque, CIA station chief. Have a seat.”

Tarik joined him at the table. “What do we know?”

“Coincidentally, we’ve been keeping an eye on this Russian character you’re after. His name is Andrei Eltsin. He blew into Rio several months ago and immediately took over the territory and operation of one of our bicheiros—those are the gang operators of this city’s illegal lottery.” Bosque scooted his chair closer.

“We inserted a man inside Eltsin’s bicheiro about a month ago. Their headquarters is in a penthouse above a nightclub in the Lapa district.” Bosque poured himself a cup of the strong Brazilian coffee that had been placed on the table along with a basket of fresh fruit. “Our inside man is there gathering intel on their money-laundering operations. We’re sure some of those billions are going to fund terrorism operators in the U.S.”

Tarik nodded and sat back. “Okay. But what about the auction?”

“Our man isn’t positive where, but he believes it’s to be held on the last night of Carnivale. Fat Tuesday.”

“Makes sense. But …”

“It’s supposed to take place in Eltsin’s retreat in the mountains right outside the city.” Jass added the new info as she floated back into the room, looking light and airy in a floral silk pants outfit. “I received a message from Ed. He’s on his way into the country, taking a military transport. Seems the real Celile was … convinced … to contact Eltsin and put her name on the bidders list for Tuesday. We’re in.”

“Fast work.” Tarik couldn’t keep from staring. His real-life partner, the covert agent, had become a real-live piece of art in cool shades of green and blue. And her movements were those of a lithe dancer as she crossed the room.

“The CIA has a convincing team of interrogators working with Celile and Zohdi.” Jass picked up an apple and took a bite with relish.

Drooling at the sight, all Tarik could think at that moment was that he was glad his name wasn’t Adam. This Eve was already tempting him enough to send him straight to hell.

The honeymoon suite. Jass’s knees still wobbled at the idea, but she wouldn’t give Kadir the satisfaction of seeing her sweat. They could straighten out the sleeping arrangements later—when she’d taken control of the mission again. In the meantime she would sleep on the couch or in the bathtub if necessary.

“Do we know what item we’re supposed to bid on?” Tarik looked slightly annoyed.

What did he have to be annoyed about? He was on this mission despite her reservations. He should be grateful.

“No,” she managed past another bite of apple. “Celile honestly doesn’t know. And our interrogators couldn’t devise a way for her to ask Eltsin without sounding suspicious either. We’re going to need—”

“Reconnaissance,” Tarik interrupted. “Our intel unit will continue gathering info from the underground.”

And by our intel unit he meant the Kadir family? She opened her mouth to complain when Tarik stood and backed away from the table.

“Come on,” he said as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet beside him. “Put on your dancing shoes.”

He drew her into his arms and pulled her close. Too close.

“How rusty are your samba skills, darling?” He’d whispered those words into her temple, but she could swear she felt the pounding of his heart right through both their clothes. “Need a few quick lessons?”

With the way he was holding her, that question could have a double meaning. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.

“I’ll match my samba skills to yours anytime, darling.” She could barely believe how parched her voice sounded.

Tarik chuckled and released her. “We’ll see about that. Now go put on your sexiest shoes—and take off most of your clothes. Nightclubbing in the Lapa district is always undertaken with a lot of skin showing. Especially during Carnivale. You need to be nearly naked to capture the true beat of the samba.”

Two hours later, Jass decided she hated a know-it-all. As they entered the nightclub and found a table, she could feel Tarik’s so-called true beat of the samba right through the soles of her shoes. Even with a skintight red dress and dangerously high stilettos, she almost felt overdressed inside Carioca da Lapa, one of the Lapa district’s pioneering samba clubs and Eltsin’s headquarters. People should be naked when experiencing music this sensual.

Looking around, she discovered many people in the club came close to that description. Some women wore shirts made out of thin metal strips with nothing underneath. While other statuesque mulatas wearing glittery Carnivale garb clung to their partners as if they couldn’t stand on their own. Even by glancing twice, Jass would not have been able to swear to the true gender of every woman she saw on the dance floor.

As it turned out, however, it was Tarik who looked overdressed with a lightweight linen jacket covering his sleeveless T-shirt. All the other sweaty young men in the joint were clad only in their undershirts. And as the evening progressed some of those T-shirts had come off in time to the beat. Everyone in the place seemed to have begun their drinking well before noon.

Tarik ordered them the local drink: cachaca, sugarcane alcohol tempered with crushed ice, sugar and lime juice. Then he held out his hand. “Couples come to Carioca da Lapa for only one reason, love. Let’s check out those samba skills of yours.”

She let him pull her into his arms. “I thought we were here to do recon,” she whispered. He hugged her tightly against his body as they moved onto the crowded dance floor.

“Oh, but we are. Let’s see if anyone here recognizes Celile and Zohdi.” Tarik pulled her even tighter to him, until she felt completely surrounded by his masculine presence. Hot and spicy and full of rigid male power.

The samba in this club played in time to a reggae beat. Slow. Sensual. Steamy. Keeping the beat with conga drums, cowbells and primitive sticks that thrummed the music right to her bones. Tarik began to move, swiveling his hips like a pro. He took her by the hands and pushed her an arms’ length away. But his eyes locked onto hers, sending the hypnotic rhythm straight through her veins by the force of his formidable gaze.

She felt it in every inch of her body. The sexual gaze, the heat, the noise. Her nerve endings came alive in a dull burning flame.

Jass had been in a lot of tricky situations on those missions when she was acting the part of a girlfriend. But she had never felt so completely wrapped up in the moment as she did right now. Shaking her head, she tried to throw off the spell of Tarik’s personality. This mission should be no different than all the rest—despite her having to work with rogue agent Tarik Kadir. She wouldn’t let it get to her.

She tried closing her eyes, but that was little better. She could still smell his virile musk and feel his gaze raking over her body, making her sweat in places no one could see.

He pulled her close again and swung them around. “Your samba act is fine, love,” he murmured in her ear. “But your reactions to your lover aren’t quite up to the mark. Remember to behave like Celile would on the dance floor with the man she loves. Loosen up.”

He was telling her how to behave undercover? How dare this outwardly charming reprobate tell the best under cover operative in the business how to do her job?

Straightening her spine, Jass pulled back and smiled, though she let her eyes tell the truth of what she was feeling. “I’ve studied the woman for years. Celile Kocak is never loose, love.”

She’d gritted out the words so only he could hear. But Tarik’s reactions to what she’d said weren’t what she’d expected.

He manhandled her back against his chest and plundered her mouth with a kiss that was deep and hard and took her breath away. “I’ll bet she comes undone in bed,” he whispered against her lips. “Wanna go practice?”

Jass’s first reaction was to jerk away in panic, but Tarik held her fast. “Remember your act, darling.”

Exasperated, Jass narrowed her eyes at him and spoke in a loud clear voice. “You’ll need to excuse me for a moment, darling. I must use the restroom.”

Tarik stepped back and opened his arms, holding up his palms. “Of course, my love. But hurry back. I’ll count the minutes.”

Swearing under her breath, Jass headed through the throng of dancers toward the back of the club. This was mission impossible. But their assignment should’ve been her salvation, making up for the fumble with the Nigerian.

Instead of her usual feelings of control and being ready for anything, when she moved across the room and looked for a back entry, she felt the solid premonition of doom.

You’re one intense little cookie, aren’t you? Tough guy. One cool agent. More alpha than most of the men you meet.

That was Jass O’Reilly. Still, Tarik had clearly felt her response to him while he was holding her in his arms. Jass might believe she was invincible and she put on a harsh front, but underneath everything else she was all woman.

The sexual tension had shimmered between them, drawing them together like a magnet. Precisely what he didn’t need at this stage in his life. Loyalty to his family called for him to avoid any kind of entanglements during this all important mission.

Stalking back to their table, he kicked back to watch the crowds. But he couldn’t keep his mind off of Jass.

She’d flinched when he’d touched her. Flinched like a school girl. And she’d given him a challenging look full of—As he thought about it now, that look in her eyes could’ve been vulnerability.

That was it, he decided. Jass was tough on the outside to hide a defenseless inside. Like one of those hard-candy-covered chocolates. She was used to taking charge, taking risks alone and getting her orders from only her bosses at the CIA. She wasn’t used to anyone challenging that rigid outer shell.

Jass was an excellent operative because she was intelligent and perceptive and had nearly total recall of anything she’d ever read. But she wasn’t a team player.

Then again, he didn’t need a team on this mission. He hadn’t even wanted a partner. But he was willing to bet his life that Jass would step up and do whatever was required to get the job done.

All he had to do was keep his own mind and hands in the game. Easier said than done.

A while later, after ordering his second round of drinks, Tarik realized she’d been gone too long. Was she doing a little side reconnaissance on her own? Or had she run into trouble?

Either way, he’d better quit sitting on his butt daydreaming and find her.

He got to his feet and asked the waitress to direct him to the ladies’ room. She threw him a skeptical look but pointed him in the right direction with a small laugh.

Yeah, he would bet she saw a little of everything during Carnivale.

Tarik thanked her and made his way through the tangle of sweaty, dancing bodies all moving to a bossa nova beat. In a darkened corner of the main floor, he found a staircase to the penthouse above. He made a mental note of its placement but moved on into an alcove that held what was loosely called the public restrooms.

The alcove was crowded with lines of people waiting for a turn at the toilets. He thought about asking someone to check the stalls for Jass but decided against it. No telling who was a real patron of the club and who was here on some kind of criminal business.

As he stood toward the rear of the lines considering his next move, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him. An argument reached his ears, and he had just enough time to duck for cover under the open stairwell. The conversation was taking place in the Taj Zabbar language and the two men speaking were making no attempt to keep their voices down.

They stopped on the landing right above his head to continue their disagreement. “I do not like the idea of staying in the country for the next four days, Excellency. It is not safe. Too much frivolity in this place.”

“Nonsense.” With that one word, Tarik recognized the second speaker’s deep voice. “The Russian … uh … Eltsin is a powerful man. He will protect us while we are in Brazil. Has he not already told the elder that we have no risk of losing anything in this little charade of his?”

“But what about the other bidders? I am concerned about our main mission and the other item. The one we were sent to Rio to claim.”

“Remember your place and trust me to do what needs to be done. We’ve been invited to stay for the next few days at Eltsin’s retreat in the mountains not far from here. I assume that he means for us to procure that other item during our private stay. His men will escort us into the mountains tomorrow. In the meantime, let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we?”

“Yes, Excellency. Whatever you say.”

Tarik recognized the more formidable voice as that of Malik Kasim Taj Zabbar, head of the secret police in Zabbarán. The two men lit cigars and proceeded down the stairs, disappearing into the crowds on the dance floor.

Well, that answered one thing for sure. The Taj Zabbar were here in Rio to attend Eltsin’s auction. But now Tarik had many more questions. What charade? And what was the other item they’d been talking about?

And where the devil was Jass?

A commotion erupted above his head. He heard a man growling orders in Portuguese. And he heard a woman’s voice, calm and cool, returning the sentiments in Russian.

Jass. Tarik shot up the stairs without thinking. What had she gotten herself into?

Chapter 5

Jass tried to keep her voice down, low and sultry like Celile would. But this idiot bodyguard didn’t speak any of her languages and he wouldn’t give in and take her to see the Russian. All he wanted to do was flash his knife and make threats in a slang version of Portuguese.

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