I Am Justice (Black Ops Confidential 1)

Walid stood without even knowing he’d stood. He waited, still and dumbstruck.

Aamir rushed forward, the way a child rushes toward their favorite toy. He embraced Walid with big, welcoming arms. Warm. Sincere. With the subtle scent of sandalwood.

Oh, he’d forgotten. He’d forgotten the smell of him, the look of him, the feel of him. Perfect Aamir.

Walid’s heart, an organ he had not realized had been plodding along with a listing beat, fitted together, healed, and found its true pace. Ah. His brother’s arms.

For a moment, he regretted his choices, hated with a bitterness that coated his tongue that they could not be together at all times. And he hated the assassin. The reason he would have only two weeks with his brother, and not their usual month. Just a precaution, but an annoying one.

Aamir stepped back, brought two bejeweled hands to his brother’s biceps, and clapped them twice against his arms. “Look at you, Walid! A man of excellent taste who has taken the world for his own.”

Walid smiled despite the bitter thorn that had lodged in his throat. He felt like such a man, full of excellent taste, only when Aamir used those words and smiled at him. He felt love only when his brother bestowed love on him.

Walid swallowed his emotions. “It is good to see you, Aamir. Now we are as we should be.”

Aamir’s dazzling smile, like pearls pulled right from the soft lining of an oyster, widened. “We are better. See here, I have brought you a guest.”

He pointed back at someone who’d entered. Walid had not noticed the woman or Aamir’s security guards standing behind her.

What was a woman doing here? He frowned. He’d thought to have time with his brother, time to catch up. Who was this creature? She was covered from head to toe in the traditional veil and abaya.

Walid instantly disliked her. “Who is this? Why is she here?”

Aamir tsked. “Is this any way to treat our business associate?”

Walid cleared his throat. Business associate? A woman? Here?

Annoyance flashed in his chest. He straightened. Aamir always kept him on his toes. He acknowledged the woman with a tilt of his chin but did not reach out to shake her hand. She was not western. Would not accept such a greeting. And, honestly, he was grateful. He had no desire to touch her even for a moment.

“Walid, this is Fidda.”

Walid doubted her name was Fidda, but she obviously did not wish to share her real name. “Welcome, Fidda.”

Though Walid had put the exact amount of disrespect and disbelief on her name as he felt, the woman nodded back as if honored.

“Fidda is from Syria, the wife of an ISIS commander. She will serve as our go-between.”

Go-between. Why was there even a need for this meeting? This was a connection he had no desire or need to be involved with. A dirty woman with a dirtier mind. “From Syria? So you sell your own people? How typically female.”

Aamir laughed. “True, dear Brother, but she is selling them to us.”

The woman, Fidda, shook her head. “Not all are Syrian. And those who are, are infidels. At least this way their lives serve a higher cause. And these women will go to North America and Europe. Places where their sins will be as meaningless as a speck of mud in dirty bathwater. I am doing them a favor.”

Walid didn’t really care what her reasons were. He’d seen women like this his whole life. Piranha. “Why is she here?”

“She is here to discuss the transportation of a truckload of product across the border. It is good for both of us to know all aspects of the operation. Even if you will not be involved at this end.”

The last was meant to be an admonishment. Walid shook his head. He knew his brother better than that. The transport of the girls had always been the plan. Meeting Fidda, bringing her here to their hotel, had not.

Did he not see that this woman was trying to gain something? Did his brother not see how her eyes swept the room, assessed what they had, assessed them and their capabilities? To allow a befouled creature such as this into the sanctity of their suite made Walid’s stomach turn. “Again, Brother, why is she really here?”

Aamir waved his hand as if he were a magician’s assistant revealing the obvious. “She has brought us a sample product. See, they are not all dark haired. And she speaks English.”

Walid took a step back, noticing the girl half-hiding by the woman’s side. She had blond hair and almost comically wide, blue eyes. Aamir was out of his mind.

“What is this?”

Aamir smiled, wicked and clever. “This, dear Brother, is my wife.”

Chapter 16

Giving a big “fuck you” to the fact that she’d had to hide in an abaya all day, Justice sat at the hotel bar in a short silk dress. Good thing Jordan was a lot less strict than other parts of the Middle East.

She tapped her fingers against the lip of her espresso cup as she imagined Walid dying. She felt her hand slicing the blade up and under his ribs. The sharp point puncturing his heart as that boom-boom beat slowed.

She pictured his large body—he had to be six feet tall—jerk back, fall to his knees. Pictured his hands reaching out a second too late.

Take that. You fuck. She was so fucking mad. He had looked so damn ordinary. He was in a fucking suit. Fuckedy fuck. How dare he prosper? It wasn’t his hands that had denied the breath to Hope, even as Justice had screamed and begged him to let her breathe.

No. That had been his brother, Aamir. But Walid was the other half of the organization. He was just as guilty.

And the people working at that hotel had showed him deference. Did they know? Did they care? She cared. She fucking cared. It mattered to her. She had to do this. She could not screw up. Fuck. She needed a distraction. A way out of her head for two fucking minutes.

“Justice, are you going to drink that?”

Huh? Her eyes refocused on the dim bar’s polished dark wood. She looked at her espresso. Her taps had caused the dark liquid to spill onto the white ceramic saucer. She put a finger on the edge of the small plate and pushed it toward Sandesh. “You’re welcome to it. It’s a little cool now.”

He took the cup and the seat beside her. “Are you okay? You looked a little intense.”

Gawd, she would happen to be traveling with a man who had been instructed how to pay attention—and not just regular attention, military-detail attention. She could feel the laser of his observation as if it were a shiny, red light pointed between her eyes. “I’m fine.”

He snorted. God, he was hot when he was skeptical. She doubted he could get more skeptical. Hmmm, maybe he needed a distraction too.

Oh, she was not a good person.

She really shouldn’t. Then again…

He was on break now, right? So it wouldn’t distract him from his mission. And it wouldn’t be taking time from her mission.

Oh, she really needed a few hours of not thinking. He probably did too. She pumped her eyebrows at him, swung her chair toward him. “Let’s dance.”

Chapter 17

Standing in the ornate bar, only half-full of patrons, with music playing softly, Sandesh felt Justice’s sultry invitation to dance run down his body like a hot finger. He couldn’t control the hungry leer that traveled the silky, blue dress that spanned her body, her hips, and the satisfying curve of a great ass like a warm hand.

Damn, he wanted to rest his own hand against that fine ass, pull her to him. The short, midnight-blue dress showed off sun-drenched legs. Her nipples pressed against the deep-blue hue and stood at attention under the drape of fabric that swooped and rested against her breasts.

And, ah, her lips.

So full.

So damn sure.

A grin that announced the game was won and dinner was ready all in one lazy, long predatory stretch. Part of his body throbbed in response. The rest of him was pretty damn ann

oyed.

Wasn’t she the one who had suggested they keep it PG? Was she playing games?

Justice’s eyes, soaked in velvet onyx and framed by midnight lashes, narrowed. “Okay, I give. You eat me up with your stare and then you hesitate. What is it with you? Do you have something against strong women?”

Sandesh snorted. “For someone so direct, you are seriously clueless.”

“I’m clueless? Buddy, you have no idea of the opportunity for friction and fun you are passing up right now.”

He had to laugh. Had to. Not just because she was quick and funny, but because she was all of that—not afraid to speak her mind, heat and energy, and the promise of friction and fun.

His fingers left the edge of the cold espresso and sought out her hand. He needed to feel all of that energy and fire pressed up against him. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

She didn’t resist. Another surprise. She’d taken his hesitation personally. He’d thought she’d make him pay for that. But she didn’t. She simply bequeathed him with a that’s-more-like-it smile. Seriously, this woman was scorching hot.