God, she’s beautiful! Harm immediately gave himself a good hard mental kick in the six. Thoughts like that were going to get him into trouble one of these days. He’d always prided himself on his mental discipline but lately, it seemed to be deserting him more and more often. Okay, so he didn’t often see Mac in civilian clothes, her makeup subtle but done to perfection, but that was no excuse for letting his thoughts get away from him like that.

"Is something wrong?"

The concern in her voice snapped him out of his reverie. He shook his head quickly. "No, I was just lost in thought."

"Any of those thoughts shed some light on why Nashir didn’t show up?" she asked.

"No," he replied honestly. He didn’t tell her his thoughts were about as far away from their no-show informant as they could get.

"I guess all we can do is go back to the hotel and wait until tonight when we can talk to Leeson."

Harm could think of a thousand things he’d rather be doing than spending the afternoon cooped up in a stuffy hotel room, but it was probably the best plan. Two very obviously western visitors stuck out like a sore thumb most places in Tajikstan, but especially here in Abduja, where westerners were about as common as a torrential downpour, and a lot less welcome. When one of those westerners looked like Mac did today—Knock it off!

Reining in his thoughts again, Harm led the way back to the car. They slid into the tiny vehicle and Harm again cursed the limited adjustability of the seats. Half an hour in this thing and he felt like a pretzel. "If we haven’t heard from Nashir before it’s time to leave for the meeting with Leeson, one of us should probably stay behind in case Nashir does try to contact us. We’ve spent way too much time and effort on this operation to blow it because of a missed call."

"I agree, but how do we decide which of us is going to stay behind, flip a coin?"

Harm almost groaned aloud. The last time they did that, they’d ended up on their hands and knees under his table. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to be that close to her right now. "No, but we’ll come up with something."

"Actually, as much as I hate to admit it, you’ll probably be able to move around a little more freely than I would," she replied, her tone making it clear how displeased she was about it.

"Just be glad your cover story gives you an excuse not to cover up like the local women."

"Small consolation, considering the looks I keep getting," she snorted.

"You’re supposed to be a wealthy western business woman, used to doing what she pleases," he reminded her. "It’s a good cover."

"It would be if any of the so-called business people we’ve dealt with would acknowledge me as anything more than your translator. I’m supposed to be your business partner, not your servant."

"I know," he replied, honestly feeling for her, "but it’s the culture. Abduja isn’t exactly a center of world commerce. They don’t do a lot of business with the west, which is why we chose this cover story in the first place. How far do you think we’d get if we stormed in here in full uniform, demanding to know who’s negotiating the sale of Russian weapons to Middle Eastern countries?"

"About as far as the nearest jail cell," she admitted grudgingly.

It didn’t take long to drive to the other side of the small town to their hotel. It was in the so-called better part of town, but that didn’t offer nearly as much comfort as it should have. Every time they went out on the streets, Harm had to resist the urge to keep checking for his wallet.

The hotel was small, only two stories. Their rooms were on the first floor, at the far end of the hall. The moment they stepped into the corridor, Harm knew something was wrong. A swarm of people were milling around outside the door to his room. Mac threw him a worried glance as they picked up their pace.

"What’s going on?" Harm asked as they got close enough. A man separated himself from the crowd. Harm recognized him as the hotel manager.

"Mr. Bradley, I am so sorry. It appears your room has been broken into."

Harm exchanged a glance with Mac. It was clear from her troubled expression that she was thinking the same thing he was. There was no telling yet if this was related to their mission, but if it wasn’t, it was the world’s worst coincidence.

Looking about as pleased with himself as he could, given the circumstances, the manager waved toward the room. "I called the police as soon as one of the other guests reported seeing your door open and the room disturbed. Come, please, I’m sure they will need to talk to you."

The last thing Harm wanted to do was come to the attention of the local police, but there was no way to avoid it now. Reluctantly, he followed the manager into the room.

The place looked like a hurricane had gone through – sideways. Someone had overturned the tiny, battered wooden dresser with enough force to virtually destroy it. His clothes and other items from his suitcase were strewn around the room, some even hanging from the furniture. It reminded Harm of a college dorm room after a weekend party, except he was betting no one had any fun.

One look at the big gorilla of a man in a police uniform told Harm he wasn’t going to be having any fun either. "This is your room?" the man demanded.

"Yes, it is," Harm replied. It wasn’t often he could look another person right in the eye, but this guy easily matched his six-foot-four-inch height.

"What is your name and where are you from?"

"I’m Marty Bradley, from Allied Metals. Our head office is in Huston, Texas."

The cop eyed him up and down, making no effort to hide his skepticism. "Why are you in Abduja?"

"We’re meeting with representatives from your lead and zinc mines, hoping to strike a deal to purchase raw materials for our company."

"We?" the cop repeated.

Mac stepped forward, slipping into an amazing Texas accent. "We. I’m Andrea Johnson, his partner."

Harm wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the cop’s expression turned even more sour. He muttered something in the local language that made Mac’s eyes flash. She pasted a smile on her face, the one that always told Harm to duck for cover, and fired something back at the man in fluent Farsi. The languages were close enough that the cop got the drift immediately and, whatever it was Mac said, it didn’t sit well with him.

Harm briefly put a hand on her arm, silently warning her to avoid pissing off the local officials. Mac glanced at his hand, for a moment looking like she was ready to bite it, but then her expression smoothed out.

The cop almost literally turned his back on her, focusing his attention on Harm. "I will need to see your papers."

Thankful he’d known better than to leave his fake passport in the room, Harm reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to the cop. He examined it closely for a long moment, then handed it back. "You will come with me to the police office."

Harm had taken orders for nearly all of his adult life, it was second nature to him, but the big cop’s imperious attitude was really beginning to get on his nerves. "Are you sure that’s necessary. I haven’t even had a chance to see if anything is missing."

"Yes, it is necessary. You can examine your belongings later, or have your...partner...do it."

Harm literally felt Mac bristle and in his mind, heard the distinct sound of a cat growling, the sound that said you were about to be shredded. He jumped in quickly. "I think I’d rather she came with me. As you know by now, she speaks the language."

Mac seethed all the way to the police station. She understood the culture in this part of the world very well. It was part of her heritage, but there were certain attitudes and expectations that grated on her nerves. She couldn’t help it. She had worked her behind off to make it in the "man’s world" of the US Marine Corps. She didn’t expect any favors because she was a woman, but she didn’t expect extra roadblocks, either.

She stole a glance at Harm, sitting beside her in the back seat of the police car. He knew the turmoil she suffered over the conflicting feelings she had about the Muslim treatment of women and he did his best to at least support her, even if he couldn’t really understand. No man could but Harm, bless him, at least tried.

Right now, her moral dilemmas were probably the farthest thing from his mind. Like her, he didn’t believe for one minute that the break-in at his hotel room was a simple robbery. It was far more likely that someone had suspicions that she and Harm were not who they said they were and had tossed the room looking for some clue as to their real identities. Harm was smart enough not to keep anything incriminating in the room, but the very fact that someone was suspicious enough to check made her more than a little nervous.

They’d been in Tajikstan for over a week already, playing the part of wealthy industrialists looking for a good deal on metals for US smelters, but so far, their real objective was going nowhere. Naval Intelligence had learned someone in Abduja was acting as the middleman in the sale of weapons from Russia to several Middle Eastern countries, countries the US would rather didn’t have access to that kind of sophisticated weaponry.

It had taken almost a week to set up the meeting between them and Nashir, a local informant who could supposedly give them the name of the arms dealer, but when they tried to meet with him this afternoon, he hadn’t shown up. They had a meeting with their contact at Naval Intelligence, Cmdr. Raymond Leeson, later tonight where perhaps they would find out why Nashir had stood them up, but if this nonsense with the police took as long as she thought it might, they were in real danger of being the no-shows themselves.

Not quite willing to discount the possibility that this was the objective in turning Harm’s room into a junk heap, Mac made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t let her own biases about the culture cause any unnecessary delays.

Wishing there had been time to have a private word with Mac, Harm rode in silence in the back of the car. Mac glanced at him a time or two, but there was nothing he could say in the close confines of the vehicle. The cop, whose name they had finally learned was Tarik, finally pulled the car to the curb in front of a nondescript single story building. Harm had been in the city long enough to know his way around the small downtown core and silently noted that Tarik had taken a long and circuitous route instead of driving straight to the police station.

As they got out of the car and walked toward the building, he had a strong desire to reach out and take Mac’s hand. He resisted the impulse, of course, but couldn’t help thinking that taking her hand would have felt like the most natural thing in the world. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to give comfort or receive it, but that part didn’t really matter. What mattered was that he couldn’t indulge in even that simple gesture.

Ever since the first encounter between Mac and Tarik in the hotel, the big cop had utterly ignored her unless she spoke directly to him and used a tone that demanded to be heard. Harm had to give her a lot of credit for maintaining her composure when he was coming closer every minute to wanting to deck the guy. It must have taken everything Mac had in her to silently accept the rude treatment, suppressing her natural instinct to take something like that as a challenge.

That strong spirit of hers was one of the things he loved most about her. Instinctively, Harm started to put the brakes on that train of thought, but then stopped. There was no use trying to deny it any longer, especially to himself. He was totally, hopeless, madly in love with her – and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Before those thoughts could drag him down, he pushed them aside. They were thoughts that belonged in what little private time he had, not in the middle of a tense situation like this. He followed Mac and Tarik into the building and over to the counter that separated the public area from the neat rows of desks at the back of the room. To their left was a door that presumably led into the private areas of the station.

The moment they entered, another tall, imposing looking man rose and came forward. Across the counter, Tarik exchanged words with him, gesturing once or twice to Harm. He really had to get Mac to start teaching him Farsi. Tarik finally turned to Harm. "You will need to complete a statement."

Harm nodded. "I figured as much, but since you got there before I did, you have to realize there’s not much I can put in it."

Tarik didn’t respond to this. He merely turned, reaching for a clipboard on the far end of the counter. As he gathered the paperwork together, the door into the back opened suddenly and a uniformed officer led out a woman, clothed from head to foot in the traditional abaya and veil. Despite the concealing garment, Harm could tell instantly that she wasn’t well. She moved slowly and stiffly, in spite of the rough grip the cop had on her arm.

As they passed behind Harm and Mac, the cop gave the woman a yank, growling something that even Harm understood to mean "hurry up." Already off balance, the woman gave a tiny gasp as she tripped and fell to the floor in a heap.

Instinctively, Harm knelt to help her. As she slowly started to right herself, he saw that her veil had pulled loose revealing her face. Harm tried hard not to recoil in horror. The young woman’s face was covered in bruises, some old and healing, others fresh and angry. Mac had also knelt to come to the woman’s aid and he felt her stiffen beside him.

Before either of them could do more than exchange a glance, the woman’s guard grabbed her roughly by the arm, yanking her to her feet and nearly dragging her away. Eyes wide with horror, Mac turned to Tarik. "What happened to her?"

Tarik hesitated a moment, his expression making it clear he was debating whether her question was worthy of an answer. He finally shrugged. "Her husband beat her."

Harm couldn’t help glancing in the direction the young woman had gone. "And she’s filing a complaint against him?" he asked, surprised.

"No, she’s the one being charged," Tarik replied.

He must have seen the querying look Harm couldn’t hide and answered the unasked question in a matter-of-fact tone that chilled Harm to the bone. "She attempted to strike him back."

Harm shot another involuntary glance in the direction she had gone. The poor girl couldn’t have been more than twenty years old and faced the prospect of living her entire life with an abusive man, yet she was the one punished when she found the courage, or the desperation, to fight back.

His gaze traveled to Mac. He couldn’t help making the comparison. She’d lived with abuse in her home and had turned it into the driving force that had made her what she was today, the strong, vibrant woman whose indomitable spirit called to him like nothing ever had.

Who would she be if she had been born here instead?

As expected, the police found every reason they could think of to slow the process of taking Harm’s statement. Mac waited quietly, translating anything she thought Harm should know and at the same time sending a subtle message to the authorities that they wouldn’t be able to hide anything by not speaking English.

She and Harm were finally returned to the hotel with barely enough time to regroup before he had to leave to meet with Leeson. Although it had been re-locked, Harm’s room was still in a shambles, so they went to Mac’s room to talk. She let out a huge sigh the moment the door closed behind them, glad to once again be in private where they could talk freely, but when she turned around, the strange expression on Harm’s face brought her up short.

He was looking at her as though he’d never seen her before, as if she was something new he couldn’t quite fathom. She couldn’t help the small nervous laugh the leapt from her throat. "What’s the matter?"

"Nothing, really," he said quickly. "I...I guess I got a bit of a lesson tonight, that’s all."

Mac tilted her head, regarding him closely. "What kind of lesson?" Before he could reply, the answer came to her. "That girl. She really got to you, didn’t she?"

"Well, didn’t it bother you?" he countered.

"Of course it did." She crossed the tiny room and sat down on the bed. "But I keep reminding myself that not all Islamic societies treat their women poorly. What we saw tonight is a corruption of Islamic belief, not the essence of it."

He shook his head, clearly not able to grasp it. Mac wasn’t sure she could either, not completely anyway, but she understood enough to at least partially put things in perspective. Unfortunately, her understanding wasn’t nearly clear enough to try and explain it to him. "Let’s save this conversation for some night when we’ve got a lot more time."

He nodded, checking his watch. "Good idea. Look, I’ve got to go, but I think maybe you should come with me. I’m not sure I like the idea of you staying here alone, not if someone might be on to us."

"Harm, I’m a big girl and I can look after myself," she replied. With all the feelings that had been stirred up tonight, she was surprised she didn’t resent his protectiveness, but for some reason, she found it only mildly annoying – and very touching.

"I know," he said quickly, "but...I still don’t like it."

"Tough. We all have to do things we don’t like. I’m not super fond of the idea of staying here either. I’d rather come with you and find out what’s going on. If the mission is going down the tubes, I’d like to know it."

"Well, cell phones aren’t exactly reliable around here, but I’ll do my best to call you as soon as I know anything," he replied.

He went to the door, but turned back, his hand still on the knob. "Mac, I..." His gaze dropped to the floor, then bounced back up, snagging hers with an intensity she’d never seen before. He gazed at her for a long, long moment, then dragged his eyes from her. "Lock the door," he said softly, pulling it open and slipping out before she had a chance to reply.

More than a little confused, she rose and went to do as he suggested. That definitely wasn’t like him. He knew damn well she would lock it behind him. He’d always been a little over-protective where she was concerned, but he was usually a little more subtle about it. For some reason, this whole situation had him rattled. She made a mental note to ask him about it when she got the chance, but she didn’t really expect a straight answer from him. When it came to talking about his feelings, he wasn’t exactly a shining example of effective communication.

Shaking her head, Mac dug a novel out of her suitcase and stretched out on the bed. It was going to be a long night – or so she thought. Less than an hour after Harm left, there was a soft knock on the door. Mac rolled off the bed and crossed quickly to the door. "Who is it?"

"Front desk, madam. I have a note for you. It was delivered only moments ago."

Mac’s sixth sense started tingling. "Put it under the door."

A moment later, a neatly folded piece of paper slid through the gap at her feet. She bend and retrieved it, unfolding it. She scanned it quickly, then read it again more slowly, looking for anything that could confirm its authenticity. A soft sound interrupted her as the desk clerk on the other side of the door cleared his throat.

Mac sighed. "Just a minute." She grabbed her purse, pulled out a small sum of money and shoved it under the door.

"Thank you, madam. Have a good evening."

Good? Probably not, but from the look of it, there was a chance it was going to be a lot more productive than she thought. She read the note again. It was from Nashir. It gave no apology or explanation for his failure to show up earlier. All it said was to come to a specific address, complete with a suite number, before eleven p.m. It was almost ten-thirty now. The address wasn’t very far away, but it still didn’t leave much time.

Grabbing her purse again, she dug out her cell phone and hit the speed dial for Harm’s phone, then waited...and waited. She finally got that annoyingly canned voice telling her the customer she was calling was unavailable.

"Damn!" Cell service was hit and miss around here and obviously Harm wasn’t within the incredibly limited range.

Mac could see only two choices. She could sit here waiting for Harm and probably miss the deadline in the note, or she could set out on foot and keep the rendezvous. The first option sounded cowardly; the second sounded foolhardy. She had no way of knowing for sure the note was really from Nashir but even if it was, she would have to walk several blocks alone, at night, in a country where women did not leave home unless accompanied by a man.

She let out a frustrated groan. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sit here like a toad on a lily-pad and pass up what might be their one chance to get the name of the arms dealer. Tossing her phone back into her purse, she took out the small sidearm she carried and checked the clip. It was full. Praying she would be able to keep it that way, she snagged a pillow and put it carefully on the foot of the bed, laying the note on top where Harm would be certain to find it, then headed for the door.

Walking as quickly as she could, Mac got to the address on the note in record time. It was just before eleven when she climbed the stairs to the second floor, looking for suite 2B, although from the condition of the building, the term "suite" was probably far too generous. To be honest, if the building had been practically anywhere in the US, it would have been condemned.

She found the door marked 2B and took a moment to stick her right hand in her purse and wrap it around her weapon before knocking very softly on the door. She heard a rustle on the other side then the door swung open just far enough for one dark eye to peer out. The door opened a little wider and a hand waved her inside. Tightening her grip on her weapon, Mac turned sideways and slipped through the narrow opening.

The instant she was through the door, it slammed shut as two huge hands grabbed her from behind. Mac reacted instinctively, spinning as she drove her elbow backward but the man holding her twisted, avoiding what would have been a vicious blow. A foul smelling cloth clamped suddenly over her mouth and nose and Mac struggled even harder, all the while trying desperately not to breathe, but the fumes were getting to her anyway. She couldn’t get her body to obey her commands anymore. True fear slid into her mind an instant before everything went black.

Cursing the unreliable cellular service, Harm hurried back to the hotel as fast as he could. He’d tried three times from different locations to call Mac, but couldn’t get through. Not that he had anything earth shattering to tell her – Leeson didn’t have the faintest notion why Nashir hadn’t shown up – but he knew she was probably going nuts sitting there in that hotel room. Waiting while other people took action wasn’t exactly Mac’s long suit.

When he got back to the hotel, he went straight to Mac’s room, knocking softly before letting himself in with the key she’d given him. "Well, Leeson didn’t—"

He stopped short, standing in the middle of an empty room. The bathroom door was open, so she wasn’t in there. Instantly his gut clenched into a painful knot. She wouldn’t have left, unless... He let the thought trail off as he spotted the pillow placed so carefully on the foot of the bed and the piece of paper on top of it. Grabbing the note, he read it over quickly.

"Aw, Mac, no," he groaned.

Stuffing the note in his pocket, Harm bolted for the door.

He leapt from the car a few minutes later outside the rundown building identified in the note. This time of night, the streets were dark and deserted. A few faint lights glowed in the some of the windows of the building and Harm prayed that Mac was in one of those lighted apartments, meeting with the thus-far elusive Nashir.

Moving as quickly as he dared, he climbed the stairs and found the door marked 2B. As a matter of course, he tried the door knob and was surprised when it turned under his hand. Very slowly, he pushed the door open far enough to peer inside. What he saw turned the blood in his veins to ice. Throwing the door open wide, he leapt inside, weapon ready. There was no immediate threat and is attention immediately went to the double bed centered on one wall, his mind struggling with the abject terror flooding through him at the sight of Mac’s still form sprawled in the middle of it.

Literally crawling across the filthy mattress, he gathered her into his arms, nearly sobbing when he felt the supple warmth of her body. Cradling her against his chest, he took in the rest of the room. On the far side of the bed, a Tajik man lay on the floor, a bloody bullet wound on the upper part of his forehead. The man was obviously no threat and Harm dismissed him, turning his attention back to Mac.

Her blouse and bra were in shreds, leaving her almost fully exposed. Her skirt was shoved up to her waist, revealing high cut lace panties. They looked intact, but he couldn’t be sure. With a trembling hand, he stroked her cheek. "Mac! Oh God, Mac, wake up!"

She moaned softly, he head lolling against his chest. Her and flailed in the air then dropped to grope at the remains of her blouse. As out of it as she was, she still realized her exposed state and was trying to do something about it. Balancing precariously, Harm shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her, covering her from her neck to just below her waist. Turning her slightly, he pulled her tightly against him and wrapped his arms around her, rocking unconsciously.

"Wake up," he whispered urgently. "Come on, Mac. Come on back to me."

She groaned again, her hand going to her temple. "Head...hurts..."

"Did he hit you?" he asked quickly, his fingers searching through her hair for any obvious injury.

"No...cloth...with chloro...chloroform." She pulled in a deep breath, shaking her head and making an effort to sit up. His jacket slipped a bit and she looked down at her torn blouse. "What...?" Her gaze dropped to the dead man on the floor. "What...happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," he replied. "I know what it looks like." He paused, swallowing hard. "Mac, did he...hurt you?"

She drew a hand down her face. "I...I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I don’t remember..."

"We’ll get you to a doctor."

"No!" She gripped his arm with surprising strength. "No doctor. Please Harm, not in this town."

Her eyes, still glassy and dark from the chemicals in her system, bored into him in an urgent plea more desperate than he’d ever seen. It nearly tore him in two. His arms tightened around her of their own volition, holding her in a fierce embrace. "All right, no doctor, but we’ve got to get out of here. Can you stand?"

Still groggy, she moved clumsily, pulling at the blankets as she tried to get up. Her efforts pulled the covers aside, revealing a nine millimeter semi-automatic pistol. He reached across her and picked it up. "This isn’t yours, is it?"

"No." She shook her head, then groaned, rubbing her eyes.

Harm sniffed the weapon. It had been fired very recently and he had no doubt it was the gun used on the dead man. The question was, who had been holding it at the time? Mac was out cold when he arrived. He couldn’t see how she could have done it. He was about to ask her, but he never got the chance. He caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye and turned as two armed men burst into the room.

They were both in uniform and a second later, Harm recognized the one on the left. It was Tarik, the cop from earlier tonight. "What is going on here?" the big man demanded.

Instantly, Harm’s mind filled with an image of the young woman at the police station and the rough treatment she had received for daring to strike a man in self defense. If they so much as suspected that Mac had shot the man on the floor—

Very carefully, he extended the weapon toward Tarik, letting it dangle by the trigger guard. "He...he was attacking her, so...I shot him."

Mac felt like she was on day three of a four-day binge. Her head was at least three feet thick and she knew she wasn’t thinking clearly, but what did Harm mean he shot the guy? That didn’t make sense. They’d just found the gun lying on the bed...hadn’t they? Something didn’t add up here. "Hey, wait a minute, you—"

His arms still wrapped tightly around her, Harm very forcefully lifted her to her feet. She leaned heavily on him as the room spun crazily. Her thoughts were beginning to clear, but she was still dizzy and her head throbbed unmercifully. He gave her a tight squeeze, fawning over her in a very un-Harm-like way.

"Come on, Andrea, sweetheart, it will be all right." He leaned down then and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, whispering quickly, "Go along with me. You came here to meet a company rep. who said he was only going to be in town for a few hours."

Mac gave a very subtle nod that was transmitted to him through the soft contact of his lips on her cheek when he kissed her again. The feel of his lips sliding across her skin unexpectedly sent electric shocks rocketing through her and she felt a wave of disappointment when he drew away and turned to the two Tajik cops.

"I need to get her back to the hotel," he told them.

"No!" Tarik thundered. "You will both come to the police office – again. If she is injured, she will be attended to there."

"She was drugged!" Harm countered angrily. "The guy lured her here without me then tried to rape her! At least let me take her back to the hotel long enough to change her clothes."

"No, you cannot. We need to photograph them for evidence." Even with her blurred vision, Mac could see a disgusting gleam enter Tarik’s eyes as he cast them up and down her body.

Harm’s arm tightened around her while the other hand moved to pull his jacket more closely around her. "Fine! You can photograph them once she’s out of them and into something that’s in one piece!"

"That is unacceptable. The photographs must show the damage as it appears now."

Mac felt Harm bristle, every muscle in his body tensing. "Absolutely not! I won’t allow you to subject her to more—"

She put a hand on his arm, gripping far harder than she appeared to. "It’s all right...sweetheart. They have to have evidence of what that man did to me."

He looked down, meeting her gaze with eyes the color of a stormy North Atlantic. He was doing a terrific job playing the upset lover, but the turmoil she saw in his eyes was as real as the slamming of his heart, so obvious under her fingers on his wrist.

"You cannot take her anywhere," Tarik pointed out. "You have just confessed to killing that man."

"But I was defending her!" Harm countered sharply. "That’s the same as self defense!"

Mac watched Tarik fix a hard gaze on Harm. "This is not America, Mr. Bradley." He stepped forward and grabbed Harm by the elbow, yanking him away from her so forcefully she nearly lost her balance. She caught Harm’s jacket and swung it around her shoulders, pulling it closed in front as Tarik forced Harm’s hands behind his back and applied a pair of handcuffs.

"As you are about to learn," Tarik growled, "our laws are very different. You are charged with murder."

Harm sat in the back seat of Tarik’s police car, tension thrumming through him like a jet engine on idle. They had insisted on transporting Mac in the other car, so he hadn’t been able to talk to her and get their stories straight. He could only pray she claimed she didn’t remember when she was asked for details.

Suddenly pretending to be her lover as well as her business partner was the only excuse he could think of to get close enough to whisper to her but it would probably help his story, too. It was easy to be convincible in the role of a man outraged that the woman he loved had just been assaulted and possibly raped – because it was all true.

A sudden anger washed over him, a violent rage deeper than anything he’d ever known. He didn’t know how far things had gone in that room before the man died, and apparently neither did Mac. If Harm found out she had been hurt in any way, it was going to be the dead man’s lucky day. What Harm would have done to him would have been far worse than death.

The thought of some stranger pawing at her, ogling her and touching her while she lay unconscious and exposed nearly tore Harm in half. If it had gone farther than that, it would drive him completely insane.

How could she stand not knowing? He understood her reluctance to be examined by the local doctors, but if it would tell her for sure how far the...abuse...had gone, why wouldn’t she permit it? And then the answer struck him hard, like a fist to the gut. Maybe she really didn’t want to know. Maybe living with the uncertainty was easier than living with the certain knowledge that she had been...violated.

He swallowed past a sudden tightness in his throat. Maybe he didn’t want to know either. How would he be able to live with the knowledge of what was happening to her while he was off on some utterly pointless exercise. Mac should have known better than to go out alone like that, especially with the precarious position of their cover stories, but he shouldn’t have left her alone, either. They should have stuck together so they could watch out for each other. That’s what a partner did, what a friend did...it’s what a person in love should have done.

He hadn’t been there to back her up when she really needed it, but he was going to do his best to protect her now. No matter what, suspicion must not fall on her. He prayed he could still weasel out of this by claiming he was acting in defense, but even if he couldn’t, he stood a much better chance of weathering their legal system than she did.

When they arrived at the police station, Mac was escorted to a small windowless room deep within a labyrinth of corridors and passages in the back part of the building. The officer who escorted her disappeared without a word, but a moment later, an older man came in. He took a seat across from her, gazing at her with what appeared to be genuine compassion. "I am Ahmad Mohsin, the chief of police for Abduja. Is there anything I can get you?" His English was impeccable, with barely a trace of an accent.

"No," she replied. "I’ll be all right, but I would like the answer to a question."

"If I can."

"Why is Marty being treated like a criminal? He saved my life!"

"If that is so, he will be released. Tell me what happened."

"I don’t know very much," she admitted honestly. "Marty was at a meeting when I got a call from a company representative we’ve been trying to meet with for ages. He said he was only in town for a few hours, so it was meet with him then or not at all."

"Were you not suspicious when you saw the...condition of the building?"

"A little, but he said he was at his brother-in-law’s home. I just assumed the sister’s family wasn’t as well to do."

The police chief nodded. "Go on, please."

"There’s not much more to tell. The minute I got into the apartment, someone grabbed me from behind. They put a cloth with some kind of chemical on it over my mouth and nose and I passed out."

"Did you see Mr. Bradley shoot the man who is now dead?"

Mac hesitated. If she said yes, she could corroborate Harm’s story, but she didn’t know for sure what he was planning to tell them and if their stories conflicted, they would both be in big trouble. In situations like this, the key was to stick as close to the truth as possible. "No," she admitted reluctantly.

"So you woke up with your clothes in their current state and a dead man on the floor, but you have no direct knowledge of how either of these things happened?"

Put like that, her story sounded like it might hurt Harm more than help him, but she couldn’t change it now. "It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?" she insisted. "The man attacked me."

"That is one possibility, but there are others."

"Like what?" she countered.

"You and Mr. Bradley are lovers?"

The question caught her off guard. "Yes," she replied cautiously.

"For how long?" the Mohsin asked.

Mac panicked. What if they asked Harm the same question and he gave a different answer? She had to deflect the police chief somehow. "If you thin he did this to me during some lovers’ spat, you’re wrong. He would never do something like that, and quite frankly, although it’s absolutely none of your business, he wouldn’t have any reason to."

Mohsin gazed at her for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. He obviously understood what she was trying to imply.

"Look," she said quickly, "can I get out of here now?"

"Soon," he told her. "We must photograph the damage to your clothing."

"Is that really necessary?" she asked, pulling Harm’s coat a little closer around her.

"I’m afraid so. We will ensure your privacy is maintained, I assure you."

Mac suffered through the indignity of being photographed. True to Mohsin’s word, they allowed her to arrange what was left of her blouse so that her breasts were covered, but it was still a humiliating experience. Her Marine Corps discipline was the only thing that got her through it in one piece.

The moment they were finished, she slipped back into Harm’s coat, putting it on properly this time, even though she had to roll up the sleeves. She found a strange sense of comfort in the jacket, as though his arms were still around her. It smelled like him, a subtle, spicy scent so familiar she had ceased to notice it – until now.

"Will Marty be released on bail?" she asked Tarik as he escorted her toward the front of the building.

"No," the big cop replied. "Bail is rarely granted for those charged with murder."

"Why won’t you believe he shot that man defending me?" she demanded.

Tarik stopped walking, glaring down at her. "It does not matter what I believe. If the government cared what I believe, you wouldn’t be here at all, no American would be. You bring your love of money and materialistic things to our people, corrupting their minds and making them betray their own people! Be glad I am not in charge, Miss Johnson. If I was, you would both be in jail!"

His tirade left Mac shocked. She walked in silence with him as he took her to his car. They drove to the hotel in strained silence as well. He did not get out, but merely pulled to the curb. She climbed out of the car and watched it roar off into the night.

The moment she got into her hotel room, she mentally calculated the time difference then placed a call to Admiral Chegwidden’s home. He answered on the second ring. As quickly and succinctly as possible, she explained what had happened.

"Good Lord, are you all right?" the admiral demanded.

"Yes, sir, but Harm’s in big trouble. They’re holding him on murder charges."

"That is not good news, Colonel. I don’t know if there’s much I’ll be able to do. Since we don’t have formal diplomatic relations with Tajikstan, there’s no easy way to intervene on behalf of a private US citizen, and revealing your identities to the authorities isn’t going to help matters. In fact, it would probably make them worse."

"I agree, sir. Our cover stories go pretty deep, so they should stand up to a fair amount of scrutiny, but there may be someone who’s suspicious of us." She went on to tell him about the ransacking of Harm’s room.

When she finished, she heard the admiral heave a huge sigh. "Great," he muttered. "I’ll start making some inquiries to see what we can do from this end. Keep me informed on developments there. Oh, and Colonel?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Did Rabb actually shoot the man?"

She hesitated. "No sir, I don’t think he did."

"Then what the hell is he doing?" The admiral’s voice rose in pitch and volume.

"I don’t know, Admiral." Mac rubbed her forehead as the throbbing turned to a dull ache. "I honestly don’t know."

"Well find out!"

"Yes sir." Mac ended the call then sagged onto the foot of the bed. She tried to take a deep breath, but it stuttered in her throat. She looked down at her hands and discovered they were shaking badly. Adrenaline crash, she told herself. It was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth.

Deep inside, a part of her was struggling with the horror of what had happened. The part of her that was more woman than Marine felt violated and dirty. She wouldn’t even allow herself to think about the fact that she didn’t know for sure how far that violation had gone. She honestly didn’t think she had actually been raped. Her underwear wasn’t damaged and she didn’t feel tender or sore. Only a medical examination would confirm it, but she would rather trust her own instincts than the doctors in a foreign country where the legal authorities had a very high stake in the findings of such an exam.

After what was possibly the longest shower in history, Mac dropped into bed but, as expected, sleep wouldn’t come. She kept replaying the incident in her mind, trying to come up with anything that would help get Harm out of the trouble he was in. She still didn’t understand why he was doing this. She was almost certain he didn’t shoot the man. Her memory was still pretty foggy, but she was almost certain she recalled him picking the gun up off the bed and looking as surprised as she was to see it.

But if he didn’t shoot the guy, why had he confessed so fast when Tarik and his partner burst in? It didn’t make any sense. Her only hope was that she would find a private moment tomorrow when she went to see Harm. He had to have some explanation for this. She just wasn’t seeing it yet.

The next morning, Mac arrived at the police station before the nightshift had even left the building. She was polite but insistent when they first refused to allow her to see Harm, making it clear she wasn’t going to go away or take no for an answer. The harried young officer at the front desk finally sought refuge by taking her to Mohsin’s office. It took a lot more convincing in there, but she was finally permitted to see Harm.

She was taken to the same small room where her own interrogation had taken place. There was the ubiquitous mirror on the wall, undoubtedly providing someone an unobstructed view of the room from a small viewing chamber on the other side of the wall. She had no doubt the room was also wired for sound.

The same young man from the front counter brought Harm in a few minutes later. He looked haggard and worried, but, in typical Harm fashion, tried not to show it. She hurried over to him, playing the concerned lover. "Are you all right?"

"I’m fine," he replied, his voice rough and scratchy.

Unlike the interrogation rooms she was used to, this one did not have a table. Instead, there were several chairs lined up along one wall, directly opposite the mirror. They sat down side by side, and Mac was hoping to find a way to somehow talk in private, but the guard took up a position by the door, close enough to heard every word they said.

"I talked to AJ back at the head office," she started. "He said he would see what he could do, but he didn’t sound that hopeful."

Harm nodded. "That doesn’t surprise me. There probably isn’t much a man in his position can do."

"Are they arranging a bail hearing for you?"

He shrugged. "You probably know more than I do. Nobody’s told me anything."

Mac sighed. She had to find a way to talk to him in private. They had to be sure they had their stories straight. If he was granted a bail hearing, or whatever the equivalent was in this country, it wouldn’t help any if the supposed victim had a different account of the events.

Harm’s piercing gaze snagged hers, then darted briefly toward the guard. "How are you feeling today, sweetheart. Has your stomach settled down? Do you need something for it?"

She got the message immediately and turned to the guard, smiling weakly up at him. "I’m sorry, but I’m still not feeling well. Could I have a glass of water?"

The young cop seemed torn, but Mac gave him a baleful look and he finally relented, slipping out quickly.

Harm put a hand on her knee. "Aw, baby, are you still feeling sick? Come here." He pulled her into his arms. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered in her ear. "They may be recording us. Play along."

Mac buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the strong column of his neck. The moment she touched him, an enormous ache rose inside her, catching her completely off guard. Trying not to lose herself in the wonderful texture and salty tang of his skin on her lips, she whispered softly, "I know you didn’t kill him, so why are you doing this?"

"I have my reasons, believe me. If you get the opportunity to get out of the country, go! Even if the admiral can’t help, I’ll be okay. I’ll think of something."

"I’m not leaving you!" she insisted, moving to kiss his cheek right beside his ear.

"You’ve got to," he hissed back. His touch was becoming far more urgent, more Harm and less Marty Bradley. "I don’t want you involved in this in any way!"

And that’s when it hit her. He was doing this to protect her. He thought she was the one who’d pulled the trigger and he was trying to throw them off the scent. It was so typical of him she was surprised she hadn’t realized it immediately. Stunned, she drew back and looked at him. He gazed back and she saw the truth of it in his eyes. Before she even realized she was moving, her hand went to his face, cupping his cheek in her palm. "Oh my God, what are you doing?"

"What I have to do," he whispered. He held her gaze a second longer, then his eyes drifted closed as he leaned in, his lips finding hers.

The kiss was achingly tender – and one hundred percent Harm. He wasn’t play acting or putting on a show for the police. His hands went to her cheeks, holding her in a suddenly desperate way, his tongue sweeping across her lips. She parted them, but he was already drawing away. His eyes had turned a dark, smoky gray and bored into her with the intensity of a raging storm about to break.

"Go," he whispered. "Oh God, Mac, if you get the chance, get the hell out of here. Please!"

The creaking of the door interrupted her before she could answer. The guard came in with a tall glass of water. Mac pulled away from Harm quickly and everything inside her cried out, longing to be back in his arms. The guard handed her the water and she found something that resembled a smile as she took it, taking a small sip, then a larger gulp. Concentrating on the water gave her the time she needed to at least start regaining her balance.

Her head was spinning, both from the realization of Harm’s motives and from the mind-numbing effects of his kiss. She’d always dreamed of being kissed like that by him, but she never could have imagined it would happen in a foreign jail while they were both pretending to be someone else.

Regardless of the pretense, she had no doubt whatsoever that the kiss had come from Harm, from a part of him she’d always known was there but had seldom been able to reach. Why it had surfaced now, she had no idea, but along with it had come a bigger brother to that over-protective streak of his and this one just might cost him more than she was prepared to pay.

The guard took the glass from her the moment she finished, then gestured to the door. "You must leave now."

She nodded. So far, she had managed to keep from looking at Harm since the guard’s return, but she couldn’t avoid it any longer. She turned to say goodbye and was instantly snagged by the raging torrent of emotion in his eyes. He took her hand in his as they rose. The guard stepped forward to stop them from touching each other but when his hand came down on theirs, Mac felt Harm’s grip tighten. He glared down at the young man from a good five inch height advantage. The look in his eyes had the young man backing away almost instantly.

Harm turned back to her and the barely controlled rage died instantly, but the force of his gaze was just as potent. His hand still holding hers, he lifted the other one to stroke her face. "I know you don’t agree with me on this one, but I know what I’m doing."

The guard had finally recovered some of his courage and again stepped forward. He reached for her shoulder and tugged, drawing her away. As Harm’s hand trailed off her cheek, it closed into a fist before dropping to his side. "Remember one thing," he said so softly she had to strain to hear. "No matter what happens, I...I love you."

Mac somehow managed to stumble her way back out to the street, still so stunned she wasn’t sure how she got there. She had tried to tell herself that his words were part of the role-playing, delivered for the benefit of the guard and whoever might be sitting on the other side of that mirror, but deep in her heart, she knew better. She had seen the look in his eyes when he said it. In that moment, there was no Marty Bradley, wealthy industrialist. There was only Harmon Rabb, Jr., standing in a police interrogation room, his eyes filled with longing and pain as he whispered the three words she had waited a lifetime to hear.

Damn it, Rabb! You stupid fool! Harm berated himself all the way back to the tiny holding cell. What in the hell was he thinking, blurting it out like that? He was just lucky it wasn’t inappropriate in their cover stories, because in that moment, he hadn’t even been aware of the guard or other listeners, let alone thinking about the ramifications of his admission. Hell, he hadn’t been thinking at all! The only thing on his mind was the incredibly beautiful woman in front of him, her rich brown eyes filled with anguish. She knew what he was doing, and why. Harm had been praying she never figured it out, but he knew Mac too well to really believe she wouldn’t.

And when he realized she knew, he’d been swamped by the sudden, desperate need to tell her why, to be sure she understood. What he hadn’t considered, as usual, was how his impulsive act would affect her. The stunned look on her face told him she knew damn well it was him making that confession. They had both slipped completely out of character, something that could get them both killed if it happened at the wrong time.

There was another problem, too. Now that Mac was aware of his motives, he knew she would never accept them. She would probably feel guilty, like it was her fault he was here, and she would do everything in her power to get him out of the fix he was in. The more she dug into the problem, the greater the chance that the police would turn their attention to her.

If only he could talk to the admiral. Chegwidden might not understand why Harm was doing this, or even agree with it, but he would agree with getting Mac back to somewhere safe. He could recall her to the states and solve a whole lot of problems. But even if the police would allow him to make a phone call, they would probably trace it and it would lead right straight to the Judge Advocate General of the US Navy. Unless—

He glanced at his wrist, forgetting they had taken away his watch. Craning his neck, he could just barely see out into the office at the front of the block of cells. The clock on the wall read seven forty-five a.m. That made it nearly midnight in Washington. He hammered on the bars of his cell. "Hey, I want to make a phone call!"

The sharp blast of the telephone jolted AJ awake. Instantly alert, he sat up and grabbed it from the bedside table. "Chegwidden."

"Sorry about the late hour, Admiral, but you can blame Rabb," came the annoyed voice of Clayton Webb. "I’ve got him on a secured line and he wants me to patch it through to you."

"Then do it!" AJ snapped, swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

A moment later, there was a buzz then Rabb’s voice came on the line. "Sorry to bother you so late, Mr. Irving. It’s Marty Bradley in Tajikstan."

AJ caught on instantly. The call may be untraceable, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t being tapped from that end. "Yes, Marty. Andrea filled me in on what’s been happening."

"She told me she did. Mr. Irving, I really think it would be a good idea to have her return to the head office. There’s nothing she can do for me and any hope of closing any business deals is pretty much gone. She doesn’t need to be here anymore."

What the hell was Rabb trying to tell him? Was Mac in some kind of danger? Even if she was, AJ knew she’d never willingly leave the country with Rabb up to his shoulderboards in quicksand. "Are you sure there’s no chance of closing a deal now? You know how important this is to the company. We need those raw materials."

"I know, but we haven’t been getting anywhere and now that I’m stuck in here...who’d want to do business with us?"

"Hopefully the same people we’ve been trying to do business with all along," AJ said carefully. "Andrea can still represent our interests."

"Is that wise?" Rabb asked, his tone low and full of warning.

"Wise?" AJ repeated. "Probably not, but she’s capable of doing the job, Marty. We have to let her do it."

AJ heard Rabb expel a long breath. "All right, you’re the boss, but is there any way you can at least send her some help? It’s a big job for one person."

AJ’s mind instantly kicked into high gear. "Yes, that I can do. Someone will be on the next plane out."

There was a pause and when Rabb spoke again, the relief in his voice was obvious. "Thank you, sir. I know you’re doing everything you can to help me out and I’m sorry I wrecked the company’s trade mission."

"You’d better be," AJ replied sharply. "If you talk to her before I do, tell Andrea to expect someone from the company to contact her. I’m not sure who I’m sending yet."

"I will, and thanks again, Mr. Irving."

"You’re welcome, and Marty?"

"Sir?"

"Stay safe."

"I’m trying to. I’m really trying."

The minute AJ hung up the phone, he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on. It had taken them weeks to set up this mission, creating cover stories for Harm and Mac that were deep enough to stand up to scrutiny. They had even gone so far as to create paper trails for other employees of the fictitious company they worked for, just in case. What he had to do now was decide who he was going to send and who they were going to pretend to be.

Long after she got back to the hotel, Mac was still trying to wrap her brain around the bombshell Harm had dropped. Nothing on earth could have shocked her more than hearing Harm confess his love that way – and nothing could have hurt her more than seeing the longing in his eyes when he did it. It was as though he was saying goodbye. He actually expected her to return home and forget that her partner, and the best friend she’d ever had, was rotting in a Tajik jail. If he’d thought she would do that before his unexpected admission, he was dreaming. If he thought she’d do it after, he was certifiable!

She was already making plans to find a law library and start looking for any legal precedents or loopholes that would get him off the hook. She also needed to talk to Leeson. The Naval Intelligence officer had been in Tajikstan for over a year. He might have contacts who could intervene on Harm’s behalf. It was crucial to maintain the ruse that he was nothing more than a hapless US citizen who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, so Leeson would have to be careful about which of his contacts he spoke to, but there might still be something he could do.

She was also hoping he would have some good news on the prospect of locating Nashir. Despite the situation with Harm, their original mission was still critical. Somehow, they had to get the name of the middleman here in Abduja who had been facilitating the sale of Russian weapons throughout the Middle East. It was a tough assignment for two officers and now Mac would have to finish it on her own.

Or so she thought.

Early that afternoon, she was returning from a short but disheartening visit to the tiny law library in downtown Abduja when he cell phone rang, nearly scaring her out of her wits. She grabbed it out of her purse and stabbed the send button. "Hello?"

"Hi, Andrea. It’s Bob Bartell from Allied Metals’ Legal Department." Mac instantly recognized the deep, resonant voice of Cmdr. Sturgis Turner. "Mr. Irving has asked me to fly out there to see if there’s anything I can do for Marty."

Mac’s heart soared. The admiral had found a way to send her some help. "I’d be really glad to see you," she replied.

"I thought you might. I’m booked on the next flight out," Sturgis told her. "Give me the name of your hotel. I’ll come straight there from the airport."

Part 2