Evidently, while he’d overindulged in alcohol since exiting his military life, he’d neglected his physical needs. Now he was paying the price of having gone too long without sexual release.
She grabbed the scarf and quickly wrapped it around her head to cover her hair and neck. “Okay. I’m ready.”
He shouldn’t have let her come.
The realization slammed into him like an unexpected mortar round.
She was afraid. She was vulnerable. He’d allowed her to come to this country where being a woman could be a handicap under far too many circumstances.
Protecting her might very well be impossible when push came to shove.
He’d warned her about that.
Unfortunately he was the one who hadn’t fully heeded the warning, because right now he felt completely obsessed with keeping her safe. And that compulsive need jeopardized the mission overall.
All signs of objectivity had vanished the instant he’d seen the sheer terror in her eyes back at that airport.
He had no choice.
He had to keep her safe.
Or die trying.
Chapter Seven
11:00 a.m.
“You do not want to get caught on the street or anywhere else in Kuwait with these weapons.”
Spencer surveyed the array of handguns his contact had to offer. A Beretta.9mm, a.40 Glock, as well as your garden variety.32s and.38s. Various ammo clips and silencers. Night-vision goggles and binoculars.
The night-vision goggles would be nice, but he was on a budget here. With that in mind, he reached for the Beretta and the.32.
His contact pushed several clips and a box of bullets across the table. “That should set you up.”
Spencer paid him in cash, American currency.
“You know how to contact me if you need anything else.”
Spencer tucked the Beretta in his waistband at the small of his back. The.32 he dropped into his jacket pocket. “We won’t be here long enough to require anything else.”
Though Patrick Bach had always been a reliable contact for most any sort of special needs any time day or night Spencer had called on him in the past, there was always risk involved in a transaction as illegal as this one. Those in the trade didn’t always play by the same rules transaction after transaction. The rules changed based on the buyers and the quantity of money they were willing to spend.
Spencer had worked operations when he’d been forced to rely on his own methods for survival, including arming himself on the local black market. Bach hadn’t once let him down. But there was always a first time.
As Bach packed up his wares, he glanced at Willow then he grinned and said to Spencer, “I didn’t realize you’d separated from the military and gotten yourself an actual wife, Anders. I guess this is one way to keep domestic life blissful.”
Spencer had instructed Willow to remain on the far side of the room and to refrain from speaking to Bach. So far she’d done so. Since he hadn’t introduced her to the man, he had to assume Bach was fishing. It also meant that his arrival in-country had hit the underground grapevine. Nothing he hadn’t expected.
Spencer picked up the ammo and dropped it into his pocket. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten so curious about the personal lives of your customers, Bach.” Spencer didn’t offer the first glimmer of amusement in response to the jab at humor.
Bach held up both hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “Just making conversation, man. Just making conversation.”
Spencer leaned closer to him and smirked. “Besides, you know a guy like me never really goes back to civilian life.”
A knowing grin spread across Bach’s face. “Right.” The devious glint in his eyes told Spencer the sly bastard had taken the comment exactly the way he’d intended.
If Bach leaked that Spencer was in-country doing illegal business related to his former career that was so much the better.
To her credit, Willow had the submissive female act down pat. Even in the elevator ride back to the lobby she stayed in Spencer’s shadow. This posturing kept Bach from getting a good look at her face as they exited the building.
The fewer details he was able to pass along, in the event he was so inclined, the better. Taking every possible precaution to protect her would be in the best interests of them both.
Willow kept her gaze lowered as Anders shook hands in closure with his contact. She’d worked extra hard not to look at the man during the meeting. Even now, as she climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV Anders had rented, she didn’t look up.
Once shielded behind the tinted windows of the vehicle, she surveyed Damascus Street. She could just make out the stripes of the painted water-storage tanks in the distance. Beyond that, if they were to drive in that direction, they would come upon the park and then the industrial area. She and Khaled had picnicked in that park… before. She’d never been allowed to take her son there. Khaled had rigidly dictated where and when she could take her son from the residence.
She’d wondered what he was afraid of. Asking had proven a monumental mistake. He’d lashed out at her, making her feel incompetent and untrustworthy when it came to caring for their son.
Eventually she’d learned the truth. Khaled had made so many enemies he feared their retaliation against his family, especially his only child.
Goosebumps spilled over her skin. Her son was not safe as long as he was associated with her ex-husband and his evil deeds. Somehow she had to get him out of this country. She had to find a way to ensure Khaled was never allowed custody of her child again.
Not even for a day.
On some level she felt remorse that her son would not be able to know this side of his heritage. She could try and teach him the Islamic values, but it wouldn’t be the same. That was the saddest part in all this. Ensuring his safety and having him in her life equated to tearing him from the land of his birth. It was the only way.
She couldn’t trust any member of her ex-husband’s circle, especially not his mother. Massouma was totally fixated on every detail involving her only son’s child. Once Willow took Ata away, he could never return or she would be right back at square one.
Coming to terms with that finality hadn’t been easy. She’d lived in this land for three years. Her respect for these people went as deep as the oil wells that paraded through the desert beyond the suburbs of the city. But nothing or no one was as important to her as her son.
“It isn’t easy being back.”
Anders’s comment tugged her from the depressing thoughts. The words were a statement rather than a question.
“There’s a level where I feel torn,” she admitted, surprised even as she said the words. “I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I do.”
She didn’t know precisely how, but somehow he understood how she felt. Maybe because he’d spent so much time in the Middle East during his military career, or perhaps simply because he had been betrayed himself. Did he have any idea how much his appreciation for her feelings meant to her?
That he’d managed to draw her in so deeply, so quickly, was a little scary. Still, she couldn’t deny enjoying the feeling of being protected.
“I’m glad