Chapter 8

There was nothing exciting about flying into Cairo International airport.

The landscape was brown.

Just brown.

From the buildings to the dust.

A few palm trees dotted the entrance to the terminal building but other than that, just brown.

That was until about twenty minutes outside of the airport and the iconic Waldorf Astoria came into view. The lush greenery and extravagance around the hotel looked out of place among the surrounding smaller buildings. Farther west of the airport the landscape changed once again giving way to high-rises and giant billboards advertising luxury condos and cellular companies. The closer you got to the river and downtown Cairo the buildings got taller, city buses added to the already hellacious traffic and the highway became a maze of roadways that was nothing short of dizzying. In all of my trips to Egypt I'd never attempted to drive in the city. There was no such thing as rush hour traffic in Cairo. With a population of over twenty million jammed into the city the streets were packed 24/7. It was noisy and bright and busy—one in the afternoon or one in the morning, the people of Cairo seemed to never sleep. The streets were never empty, there was bumper-to-bumper traffic then there was slightly less traffic. And people thought New York city was insane. They'd obviously never visited Cairo.

By the time my taxi stopped in front of the Ritz-Carlton I could already feel the pollution coating my skin—not that I had much skin showing but the parts that were exposed were already grimy with sweat and dust.

After paying my fare, which included a five-minute standoff with my driver reminding him he'd already given me a price back at the airport and no I wasn't paying the "traffic tax" he was trying to persuade me into paying, we finally negotiated a price which was less than what I was quoted at the airport. With a wink and a smile I gave the driver a twenty-dollar tip—which was triple the cost of the ride. My generosity was met with a scowl.

What could I say, I liked to haggle, I liked sharpening my skills even if that meant wasting time on a busy street with a taxi driver and in the end still paying more than what I'd agreed to.

As a side note: there were three prices in Egypt—the local price, the Arabic price, and the tourist price. I always bargained for the local price but ended up paying the tourist price in the form of gratuity.

After twenty-six hours in airports I just wanted to get into my room, wash off my day, and sleep. I'd worry about calling Armani tomorrow. I'd worry about Maddon and what he was up to after I met with Armani. Then I'd worry about what Zane and Kira were up to. Then maybe after that I'd give some time to ponder why I couldn't stop thinking about Easton Spears.

Maybe.

But probably not. I needed to focus. Easton was a distraction I couldn't afford. Not that he was so much of a distraction as he was a weird fascination. I was naturally curious, I couldn't sit in a restaurant without wondering about the lives of the people dining around me. I couldn't order a coffee without studying the barista or sit in a meeting without pondering how and why the man across from me had become who he'd become. I needed to understand people. Charlie had once told me I got my inquisitiveness from my mother. He'd also told me it was both a gift and curse. He wasn't wrong but I'd gladly embrace the curse if it was a gift from my mother. Though there were times, like with Easton, I wished I could turn it off. I'd probably never see him again, unless Zane figured out the truth—not that I'd recognize the truth anymore. What had started, had now morphed and changed into something I no longer fully understood. But I knew Zane's secret and when he figured out I was on his payroll he'd likely go ballistic. As amusing as it would be to watch the Almighty Zane Lewis find out there were things that he didn't know, I wasn't stupid enough to actually want to be present for the explosion.

Another reason I needed to forget about Easton and concentrate on what I could control.

One step at a time.

Before you can take control of a situation, you must first have control over yourself, Nebraska. Emotions kill. Distractions kill.

Charlie's long-ago lesson played in my mind as I approached the security checkpoint to enter the hotel.

Welcome to The Nile Ritz Carlton, where one must pass through a metal detector to enter the lobby.

By the time I was in the elevator exhaustion had hit. When the doors slid open on the eighth floor my limbs felt sluggish and my eyes gritty.

Forget the shower, I just wanted a bed.

And to sleep for the next forty-eight hours.

I pushed open the door to my room, closed it behind me, secured the locks with no other thoughts than falling face first on the mattress when something caught my attention. The gauzy drapes were open, the exterior door ajar allowing warm air to fill the room, along with the unmistakable smell of the Nile River. But that wasn't what had my stomach clenching.

Nope, it was the man standing on the balcony. His hip and elbow rested on the railing, eyes on me looking relaxed—like he belonged there, like he was an invited guest, and not the intruder he was.

For a moment all I could do was stare.

Stare at a man who shouldn't be in Egypt. Who shouldn't be in my room. Who shouldn't be anywhere near me.

Yet there he was.

Easton Spears.

And worse, something inside of me calmed at the sight of him before unease took over.

Had Kira already figured out Zane's secret?

Was that why Easton had broken into my room?

Now was not the time for the big reveal, not when Maddon was still out there planning and plotting.

After I took out Maddon and stopped what Charlie called his end game, I'd face whatever censure Zane intended to dole out.

It was time for all the bullshit to end.

I was too tired.

I was done playing a game of Russian Roulette.

Dutch had warned one day he'd need to tell Zane the truth. I'd just hoped that when that time came, it would also come with me stepping out of the game completely. I was smart enough to understand in my line of work my usefulness had an expiration date.

Easton pushed away from the railing, his movements cleverly casual, laidback, non-threatening yet still powerful. Movements that were intended to lull me into a false sense of security.

He was full of predatory grace, the kind that would strike when the time was right.

Masculine beauty—from his height, to his build, to his perfectly chiseled features, to his intimidating gaze.

There was something about him that threatened to reach down into my soul and expose all my vulnerabilities. Something that endangered my carefully crafted fa?ade. Something that excited and scared me. Something I should've guarded against. But damn if I didn't want Easton to see the real me—not The Dove, not The Fixer, not The Mediator, not the woman Charlie had made me into but the woman I was supposed to be. I had no idea who that was exactly and I'd long ago resigned myself to the fact I never would. She'd been lost to circumstance and necessity. But whoever she was—that was who I wanted Easton to know.

I trusted one person completely—Charlie.

I trusted two men with my life—Charlie and Dutch.

Charlie had my love and admiration in a fatherly, mentor sort of way. I knew Charlie gave that love back in a very guarded, very cynical way. But no one outside of my mother had loved me totally and completely. It had been years since I'd felt that kind of love and now was not the time to yearn for it back. And Easton was not the man who should be making me crave it.

"Customs or traffic?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Your flight landed hours ago. Customs or did you get caught in traffic?"

Was he insane?

"What are you doing here?"

"Here in your room or here in Cairo?"

No, he wasn't insane. He was playing a game.

"Let's start with Cairo," I suggested and for some reason Easton's lips twitched.

"Your dad sent us."

Us.

Craptacular.

And I was going to strangle my father.

"Who is us? Why did my father send you? And why do you sound amused?"

"You're a trip."

A trip?

Now what is he talking about?

"Listen, I haven't slept in like thirty hours, I have what amounts to the brain capacity of a snail right now. Can you please just cut to it and explain what's going on?"

"You're a trip," he repeated. "I thought for sure when you saw me on your balcony you'd either shoot me, scream, or throw a fit. So maybe you're not a trip, you're unpredictable."

Okay, it seemed like we weren't going to get to the point of his visit any time soon.

"As you noted, I flew here. I also entered through the metal detectors downstairs. A cavity search isn't on today's to-do list so I thought it best not to secure my weapons until after I left the city. Next, I don't scream. Screaming is reserved for the movies before the heroine decides to do something stupid and get herself killed or for men when they their testicles in a vise—"

"Sorry to stop you but I just have to ask, are we still talking about the movies or have you witnessed this testicle thing in real life?"

"Both," I gritted out impatiently.

Easton took a step back and muttered, "Brutal."

He had no idea.

"I was going to add I'd never thrown a fit in my life, but seeing as I'm about to attempt my very first ever, that comment seems moot."

"Right. Your dad." He finally got to the point. "He came by my house in the middle of the night and felt it necessary for you to have backup."

The absurdity of Easton's statement penetrated my foggy brain.

"My father just came by your house? In the middle of the night."

"Well no, Zane brought him over."

Normally this news would have me running through all the possible end-of-the-world scenarios of why my father would fly to Maryland and risk Zane's wrath from a middle-of-the-night visit. Not one of those possibilities was good. Charlie would never make that trip unless something had gone seriously wrong. But right then, with Easton standing in my hotel room looking relaxed and carefree, and being as tired as I was, I did something I'd never done before—trusted someone outside of my immediate circle.

"Is the world coming to an end?" I inquired.

"Hopefully not tonight."

"Great. Then I'm taking a nap and I'll deal with you when I wake up."

Again his lips twitched.

"Shall I tuck you in before I leave?"

"Not if you like your testicles where they are."

This time his lips didn't twitch, they tipped up into a full-blown smile before he busted out laughing.

In my tired haze I forgot I wasn't supposed to be fascinated by the dangerous Easton and allowed myself to enjoy the show.

"Sleep tight," he called out, still chuckling as he made his way out to the balcony. "I'll be back in a few hours."

With that I watched him close the door behind him, then climb up onto the railing before he stepped around the stucco dividing wall between my balcony and the one next to mine.

We were more than ten stories above the ground.

The man was insane.

That was my second-to-last thought after I dropped my bag onto the floor and faceplanted onto the bed.

My last was, he had a really great laugh and I couldn't wait to hear more of it.

"Nebraska."

My name felt like a soft breeze over my heated skin. The calluses on his fingertips scraped over my sensitive nipple. Feather-soft, his fingers moved over the swell of my breast, down my ribs, over to my belly button, down to my hip. His thumb caught the elastic of my panties, and then they were being dragged down my legs.

I want to see him but it's too dark. I want to reach out and touch him, taste his skin, explore his body like he'd done to mine but all I could do was hold my breath and wait. Suddenly his hands were gone and his tongue was on the inside of my thigh. I spread my legs wide, giving him room to move where I needed him to go. I was so wet I was dripping. If I wasn't so far gone, I would've been embarrassed. I could hear myself panting. I felt my heart pounding in my chest. My body ached for release.

"Nebraska."

"Yes," I moaned. "Don't stop."

"Babe."

Why was he stopping? His mouth was right there. It was so close all I had to do was lift my hips and I'd have him.

Then his tongue was gone.

So was the heat of his body.

But the pulsing between my legs made my entire body shake with the violence of my need.

"Nebraska! Wake. Up."

Easton's angry growl jolted my eyes open only to find him standing next to my bed scowling down at me.

Shit.

Shit, fuck, and damn it all to hell.

"Um," I mumbled.

"Seriously?"

"Uh…" I trailed off not knowing what to say.

His eyes narrowed and one brow arched up in what I assumed was annoyance.

"I was having a bad dream," I lied. "I was being tortured." Not a lie. His hands and mouth had indeed been torturing me.

"Right, I'd believe that if you hadn't moaned ‘don't stop'," he countered.

Normally I'd be quick with a better lie but in my fog I had nothing to say.

"Can we please forget you heard that?"

"No."

"No?" I continued to gaze up at him from my side wondering why I hadn't gotten out of the bed yet. It wasn't like I was a man and needed to hide an erection.

I started to roll but stopped and not only because Easton was crowding the bed, making it impossible for me to get up unless I wanted to look like a fool and scramble off the other side. The bigger reason was, sometime after I'd fallen asleep I must've woken up and kicked off my jeans. The thin top linen was pulled up from the corner, barely covering my bottom half.

"Did you cover me up?" I amended my question to something more imperative.

"Yup."

My eyes slowly closed as my humiliation settled over me.

"Fruit of the Loom?" he asked.

Of course he would comment on my ugly undies.

"Everyone knows cotton wicks away sweat, Easton. Don't be a dick."

"Is it a requirement they be granny style to effectively wick away the moisture?"

Ugh.

He was annoying.

"You're still being a dick."

I blamed his smile for my moment of insanity. I tossed the thin blanket off, rolled three times before I hit the other edge of the bed, and tossed my legs over the side. When I was on my feet I whirled around and planted my hands on my hips.

"By the way, you're welcome," he said.

"I wasn't thanking you for being a dick."

Easton's smile turned into a smirk.

Did he think…

"And, I wasn't dreaming about you," I quickly denied even though I was pretty sure that was another lie. I didn't actually see the man who was touching me, though I'd never had a sex dream prior to meeting Easton, so there was a strong possibility he had fueled my nocturnal near-orgasm.

That stupid sexy brow lifted again.

"I think this is where I'm supposed to quote Shakespeare." When I remained silent, he went on, "You know, from Hamlet. ‘The lady doth protest—"

"Yes, Easton, I know the quote."

There was that damn smile again.

"But I was actually referring to covering you up. When I came in you were—"

"Is it possible for you to not be an asshole?" I seethed.

"Oh, good. You two are already at the name calling portion of the dance."

I jolted at the new voice.

Easton's eyes went over my shoulder and he smiled.

After I ascertained I wasn't going to be murdered in my ugly-ass granny-panties, I turned my head, found Smith standing in the open door to the balcony looking amused, and felt my temper snap.

"By all means, come in, make yourself at home."

Smith Everette's stupid smile was just as infuriating as Easton's.

"No time, we gotta jam."

Thank God they were leaving.

"Well then, don't let me keep you—"

"You're coming with," Easton interjected.

Like hell I was.

I had no idea why my father went back to Zane for help. I had no idea what made Zane change his mind and send Easton and Smith to Cairo, but I didn't trust it.

And this was my mission.

"That's not—"

"It is," Easton insisted firmly. "You've got two choices: get dressed, grab your gear, and motor, or I dress you, Smith grabs your shit, and I carry you out of here. Maddon's on the move. Your meeting with Carver has changed. If you want to make it to the new location in time, you have five minutes to get ready. You have ten seconds, make your choice."

There was a lot to unpack from his succinct explanation of the situation but I was stuck on the ten-second mandate.

"Are you actually going to count to ten?" I snapped back.

"Five seconds."

"Asshole."

"Three."

"If you come near me, I'll punch you in your dick."

My threat was met with a grin.

"Was that a threat or talking dirty to me?"

"You're—"

Easton was on the move when he announced, "Time's up."

This was crazy.

But the crazier part was I want to see if he'd actually dress me before he tossed me over his shoulder and carried me out of my room.