Stella clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing. She sank back on her butt and kept right on giggling and he understood well the need to tap the steaming stress after battle.
Jose eased back out into the street, kneeling until the dog that looked like some kind of mix between a Pharaoh hound and Rhodesian ridgeback barreled into his chest.
An airman wearing a red bandana on his head looped a makeshift leash around the dog’s neck. “Sorry about that. The gunfire freaked him out.”
Stella stepped up alongside, still grinning. “You’ve been hiding a local dog here? That’s against regs.”
She would point out the regs. She probably had the book memorized.
“Yes, ma’am,” the bandana-sporting flyboy said with a southern drawl, “but we just couldn’t let this little dude starve.”
“My wife would kick my ass,” said a private who didn’t look old enough to go to the prom, much less have a spouse. “We’re trying to work through a group that will bring him back to the States.”
The flyboy tugged his dog. “We’d better get him tucked away.”
“Roger that.” Jose took hold of Stella’s elbow and steered her toward the hangar. “Things may have died down for the moment, but I’m not feeling the need to stand around here chitchatting.”
Keeping his 9 mm in hand, he hoofed it faster, staying close to the buildings until finally he tucked Stella into the safety of the hangar that housed their mobile command center.
He made a beeline straight toward Mr. Smith. “What the hell was that all about outside?”
Mr. Smith normally played life close to the vest, but the guy’s regular stony face was downright thunderous right now. The agent reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a roll of antacids and thumbed one into his mouth. “We’re still not a hundred percent sure, but actually, those sorts of attacks are commonplace right now.” He crunched the tablet, the second already thumbed free and ready. “Rebel forces, separatists, warlords—hell, even al-Qaeda takes potshots at this base. This place needs thicker walls and better intel.”
Stella picked away gravel on the knees of her jeans. “What about the cloth? Any luck deciphering it? And what about Sutton’s backpack?”
“The backpack had some other relics in it, which we’re going over, but no other cloths. We’re still working on the kanga with a local translator.” Mr. Smith tucked away the antacids. “Once he’s through we’ll let you know.”
“Or I could work with what they already completed,” she pressed.
“We’ll let you know.” Mr. Smith tugged his jacket over his shoulder harness as he left.
Stella’s jaw jutted. “Too bad there aren’t any trees around here for him to actually mark his territory.”
Jose agreed a hundred percent, but firing Stella up further wasn’t going to accomplish anything. “You know how intelligence agencies are about working together. He may have saved your ass when you were kidnapped, but that doesn’t mean he wants to work with you.”
“You’re absolutely right,” she said with a gleam in her eyes just before she pivoted away.
Aw fuck. She was fired up anyhow.
Jose kept pace alongside her, his boots thudding on the concrete floor. “Where are you going?”
“To talk to the interpreter.” She stopped short outside the door, her hand on his chest. “Do you think you can keep Mr. Smith busy?”
If it meant closing this case faster and getting Stella back home safe and sound, he was all in. “How long do you need?”
Samir Al-Shennawi had been in love with Annie Johnson since the first time he saw her a year ago, the day he left Egypt and began his assignment teaching at the East African orphanage school.
Sitting across from her now in the teacher’s break room as she graded papers and sipped aromatic coffee, he still couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Everything about her mesmerized him like a work of art. Her oval face was creamy and timeless as an oil painting by one of the masters. She wore loose, silky pants suits that shifted and glided against her curves the way his hands ached to do. He wasn’t a poetic man, a scientist by trade and nature, yet she made him feel… different.
Even the loose lock of hair slipping free from the thick chestnut mass piled on top of her head tormented him. The barest glint of silver in that strand reminded him they were mature adults, in their fifties. At their age, they should know their wants, their needs. They weren’t innocents.
How could she not know he burned to make her his? He shuffled papers to grade, upper level chemistry, watching her out of the corner of his eye, every bit as entranced by her now as he’d been twelve months ago.
Seeing Annie then had caught him by surprise as he had never been one to believe in the whole “at first sight” notion. He was too much of a practical man for that. He’d never had time or the aptitude for romance.
He’d been a bachelor for so long his brother Omari had once pulled him aside and asked about his sexual orientation. Samir had reminded Omari that people didn’t question George Clooney or Simon Cowell.
His brother loved American television.
Just because Samir was not a ladies man or Hollywood attractive—or even Bollywood—that did not mean he preferred males to females. He dated quietly. He had sex with women but did not feel the need to brag of conquests. He just had not found the lady he wanted to spend his life with.
Until he saw Annie. So maybe he was a romantic after all.
He wished he could explain what it was about her that drew him, then perhaps he could figure out a way to get over her. Because after a year of attempting to romance her, she had clearly relegated him to the role of friendship.
Something had to change. Because after this long waiting for the right one to walk into his life, he refused to lose her.
After twelve months of failing to win her over, he’d read up on American dating traditions—perhaps they suffered a cultural miscommunication. He thought he had been quite obvious with his offers to walk her to her quarters and hold her chair for her when they sat together at school dining functions. They had even met for coffee and discussed more than just their students.
Yet, her eyes did not light on him the way they should, with a fire that answered the one burning inside him. In fact, she had such solid walls in place, he did not know what she thought and he was growing impatient. Time for a more direct approach and what better moment than now as the only other teacher working this late slipped out the door?
Samir nudged his glasses. “Annie, are you seeing someone?”
She glanced up from her papers and set her pencil down closely, precisely. “Seeing?”
“Dating.” There. He’d said it. He’d made his interest in her official.
He felt queasy.
“Sam, you live here on campus just as I do.” She cupped her mug of steaming coffee and lifted it to her perfect-as-a-peach lips. “There’s no way to keep a romance secret around this place.”
“Then do you have someone back at home that I do not know about?” If she did, why hadn’t she spoken of him in the past twelve months? Why had she spoken of no one for that matter? It was almost as if she was every bit as much an orphan as the students they taught.
She looked down into her mug. “There was someone… But he died.”
Even with her emerald eyes averted, there was no missing the sadness, the loss. And something else… Guilt?
“I am sorry.” He wanted to touch her. He settled for resting his hand beside hers. “Was his death recent?”
She looked up with a bittersweet half smile. “No, years ago, and we’d already grown apart because of my job here in Africa, among other things.”
“Then you are free.” He almost shot from his seat to cheer.
Her smile stretched into a full-out grin. “Sam, are you propositioning me?”
“I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken. So?” She tapped his hand lightly with her pencil. “Are you propositioning me or is there someone else you left back in Egypt?”
He thought of the woman he’d dated for a couple of months before moving, a woman who’d made him wonder if maybe it was time to settle for companionship. She’d worked at the chemical research facility with him… and then he’d learned she had been planted in his company by a rival business attempting to steal his work on water purification.
His trust came slower these days, the reason it had taken him a year to make a romantic overture to Annie, regardless of how deeply she moved him. Trusting his own judgment now was even more difficult than believing in others.
“There is no one waiting for me in Aswan.” His family had stopped speaking to him when he gave up the more prestigious job to teach. But he was doing good work here too, even if they didn’t realize or understand. “I am asking you out on a date.”
“A date?” She leaned back in her chair, giving nothing away as she crossed her arms over her chest. “To where?”
She was going to make him work for this. All right then. A fire sparked inside him at the notion of the chase.
“To dinner, downtown, away from the school and curious eyes.”
“There’s no need to go to the trouble of hiding anything from the rest of the staff. Everyone here thinks we are already sleeping together.”
He sat up ramrod straight, enraged. “Who said this?”
“Calm down. They’re just rumors because of how much time we spend together. No one seems to believe a man and a woman can have a platonic friendship anymore.”
“I will not have people talking about you that way.” Did she see their relationship as platonic? Disappointment seared through him when he’d only just begun to hope.
“You really are old world, old school.”
“Old school?”
“Old-fashioned.”
A hint of irritation spiked through his frustration. “I do not think you are complimenting me.”
“Your manners are refreshing.”
She placed her hand on top of his.
Hot damn, as the Americans said. He linked his fingers with hers.
“Refreshing enough to have dinner with me?”
Her pause doused his enthusiasm, his hope.
She inched her hand free, patting his wrist lightly before twisting her fingers together. “I’m flattered, truly, but it’s not a good idea.”
Yes, she had pulled away, but he was certain he saw disappointment, even regret in her eyes.
So why then did she reject him? Anger fired hotter inside him, unusual to him as he was more used to an even keeled life. Not knowing how to hold in these alien emotions, he snapped. “Are you saying no because I am not American? Because my skin is not as white as yours?”
“Whoa, hold on.” She leaped from her chair and rushed to his side, kneeling. She took his hand in hers and held his eyes unwaveringly. “First, you know me better than that and I thought I knew you better because the last thing I would expect is for you to insult me like that.”
Her cool touch against his inflamed skin made it difficult to speak. “I am sorry. And second?”
“Second?” She blinked fast, her pupils widening with a flash of awareness.
“You said ‘first,’ which implies there is a second point.” He very much wanted to know more about her thoughts.
Her eyes fell away, down to look at their hands. “Oh, just that you deserve better than me.”
Studying her expression, he realized she truly didn’t see or care about the differences in their skin. For some reason this woman perceived a lack inside herself.
“Annie…” He tucked a knuckle under her chin, savoring the texture that was even softer than he’d imagined. And he’d imagined touching her many times as he lay alone in his bed. “Everything I know about you is intriguing. Please do me the honor of having dinner together.”