Chapter Five

The noon sun filtering through the shades caused Abby to stir. Bruised muscles made rolling out of bed an ordeal; the head wound was tight and sore. Carefully covering it with a shower cap, Abby jumped into the hot spray. The steaming water helped a little, but it still took time to pull on a loose black T-shirt and a pair of grey leggings.

One brewed cup of coffee later, and Abby was sitting on the front patio, warming herself in the pale sunlight. The soft breeze and chirping birds calmed her rolling anxiety. She wasn’t ready to analyze what happened, who the masked man was. All she could handle at that moment was the creamy cup of caffeine and the simple sounds of nature.

She ignored the desperate need to phone the one person that mattered most, just to hear his beautiful voice. Her brain kept poking her—just use a burner phone—it’ll be a quick phone call, a minute tops. There’s no danger; no one will know. Abby knew better; she had to stick with the plan, and with the schedule. Soon she nodded off under the warmth of the sun, so when the latch on the front gate clicked, Abby spilled coffee down her shirt. Rising quickly and brushing off the wetness, Abby turned to see Max stalking down her garden path.

“What are you doing here?” Abby demanded.

“I came to see how you’re feeling, if you survived the night.” He winked at her as his mouth turned up into a slight grin.

Oh boy. That Hollywood smile could strike down a girl. It rubbed her the wrong way, and she folded her arms over her damp shirt. “If I survived the night. Nice. You sure know how to charm the ladies. How did you get in?”

“I drove in behind another car, the gates were open.”

“You shouldn’t be tailgating, you’ll get fined for that. So what? You sat outside the complex waiting till someone drove inside?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m not a psycho. It just so happened that another car was ahead of me when I pulled up. Otherwise, I would have rung your apartment number.” Max turned serious. “I’ve offended you. I can leave if you want.”

“Next time you decide to drop in, call me first. I don’t like strangers just showing up.”

“Is that what we are? Strangers?”

“We only just met last night. I hardly know anything about you.”

“Yeah, we’ve only just met. Call me crazy, but after what happened last night, after what we went through—Abs, that was fucking intense.” Max dragged a hand over his mouth and took a breath. “I hardly slept a wink worrying about you. I feel a stronger connection then I would with some random woman I went on ten dates with. Maybe the basis for these feelings stems from pure adrenaline, but I sure would like to make sure you’re okay.”

Dammit. How did a girl say no to that? The annoying part was that he was right. There was a connection. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable, not only that but he’d rescued her like a freaking knight in shining armor. Risking his life to save hers and, oh God, he’d been so achingly sweet with her. Holding her, rocking her… Abby at least owed him a cup of coffee.

As they stared at each other, she reached a decision. Giving him a brief nod, Abby turned towards the house. Max followed.

***

Max expected the grilling. Walking into Abby’s property without warning put her on edge. If only she knew that he’d merely walked over from his team’s apartment a few hundred feet away. Abby had just invited a wolf into her pasture. The past night’s events provided a convenient gateway, a smooth insertion, into her world.

Max hadn’t been lying about everything. He’d been worried about her health, the head injury being a cause for concern. He should’ve insisted on waking her intermittently throughout the evening. Instead, Max stared at the monitors for the rest of the night, watching her sleep. As he trailed her to the kitchen, he noted her stiff gait. The woman was hurting.

“What would you like to drink—tea, coffee, water, juice?” Abby asked.

“Coffee sounds good. No sugar. No milk.”

Abby checked the coffee maker as she eyed him. He leaned against the counter, knowing he took up too much space in the tiny kitchen.

“I have cake. Would you like a slice?”

Max had watched her baking a chocolate cake on the cameras the day before, and his stomach growled in response.

Abby’s mouth turned up. “I’ll take that as a yes.” A capable hand pulled long hair over a shoulder.

His eyes drifted back to the blackened bruise that obscenely marked her pretty neck. The perp bit her deliberately. Why? For his own sick pleasure?

Abby laid out the plates and mugs before pouring coffee. She took her time, her movements composed. She apparently didn’t feel the need to talk, instead falling into a comfortable silence. He enjoyed watching her move around the kitchen—that is, until she pulled a huge knife from the knife rack and walked towards him. Max tensed, eyeing the weapon.

She looked at him oddly. “Do you mind scooting over? The cake is on the counter behind you.”

Of course. Shit. He shifted slightly to the left, and she cut into the spongy bit of heaven smothered in dark frosting. Her warm scent mingling with the smell of cocoa made his dick stir. Hell no. Down, boy! She’s a target. An attractive target, but still a target.

Abby loaded the plates with mountainous slices of cake and handed him the largest serving. “Let’s eat on the front deck. I need the fresh air,” she said, licking a drop of frosting off her thumb.

His cock bucked in response. Holy chocolate crumbs. Grabbing his coffee, Max headed back out. Again, they sat in silence. It didn’t bother Max. So many people these days were insecure, always trying to fill space with bits of themselves. Bragging or competing for airtime with fellow humans. The silence spoke to his hunt for inner peace. His foot dragged a nearby chair closer and Max propped up his legs, settling in for the afternoon—or for however long Abigail Evans allowed him within her range.

The cake tasted incredible. A trace of cinnamon ran through the velvety frosting, melting on his tongue. Kids played in a yard nearby, their shouts carried over the neighborhood. A dog barked. A truck rolled past. Eventually, the surroundings grew quiet, and all that was left was a cool breeze blowing through the trees.

Max was almost done with his coffee when Abby finally spoke. “Thank you for fighting for me last night. For saving my life.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s what anyone would have done.”

“Bull. You risked your life—he had a knife and could’ve done some real damage.”

“Angel, I’m a big boy and I’d never turn my back on someone in need. It’s not in my DNA.”

They sat quietly for a moment more.

“Do you have any idea who would hurt you?”

She rubbed a bruised elbow. “I’m pretty sure it was random. You know, with the high crime rate in Johannesburg.”

That was a lie. Abby knew more than she was telling by the slight rise in her tone and her folded arms. Max was surprised to note that she was a pretty bad liar. Her tells weren’t at all subtle; he mentally recorded her body’s betrayal as he replied.

“You didn’t want to file a police report or go to the hospital. Are you on the run from the law?”

“I can’t do this.” Abby scooted her chair back.

Max touched her arm reassuringly. “I just want to know what I’m getting myself involved in. Whoever attacked you saw my face and may have followed us. They may even know where you live.”

Abby visibly blanched, pausing in her escape before sitting back down. “I can’t talk about this, but I doubt it has anything to do with last night.” She pinched the bridge of her nose as Max waited.

With a deep breath, she told him. “There’s an ex-boyfriend I’m avoiding. He’s a little unbalanced, but he has no idea where I live. He’s a powerful man and has connections, so if I go to the police or a hospital he might find me.”

Now that was an odd one. Looking at her body language, there was some truth wrapped up in there somewhere, but it still didn’t make sense. Abby had no history with ex-boyfriends. In fact, as far as he knew, she avoided men in general.

“What happened last night, before I got to you? What did the bastard say?” Max asked. “Did he say what he wanted?”

Abby shook her head. “I assumed it was a hijacking and asked if he wanted the car. He said no, he wanted me.”

Max sensed that Abby was telling the truth in this. It still didn’t make any sense as it wasn’t a lone attacker who saw a pretty girl and took a chance. There were two or more well-trained perps with a getaway vehicle. But why the sexual assault?

“It was really hard to pick up, but I think he had an accent.”

“What kind of accent?”

“I don’t know. He tried to speak with a South African accent, but it sounded off. Like he was trying too hard.”

A South African accent was notoriously hard to pull off. Most foreigners got it wrong. Most professional actors got it wrong, making it sound Australian when in fact the accent stemmed from original Dutch.

“Excuse me for a second.” Abby disappeared into the house. A short time later, music drifted through the doors. She played this piece often. It meant something to her. The song featured a Japanese flute with frogs croaking and chirping in the background. He’d googled it; the piece was called “Soliloquy to the Frogs.” Max settled into the chair.

The song was on repeat and halfway through the second round, when Abby emerged with a cup of what looked like chamomile tea. “If you want more coffee, help yourself.”

“I’m good for now,” Max said.

Sighing, she stretched out her legs and sank back into the cushions.

“Sore?” Max asked.

“A little. I just took something.”

“Good. I may need to apply more glue. Can I check your head?”

Abby shrugged, and Max scooted over. He ran his thumb gently over the injury. No sign of infection. It looked like it was holding, but he might add more Vetbond to the site just to be safe. The music floated in the breeze. Max decided that he liked the soothing melody. His phone buzzed in his pocket. An incoming text.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

Her head moved faintly towards the door. “Go ahead. You know the way.”

Max used the toilet break as an excuse to check his phone. A coded text from Johnny confirmed their meeting that afternoon with a South African contact named Mandla Nkosi.

Max knew of the contact and had a highly classified dossier on Mr. Mandla Nkosi and his intricate African network. Nkosi originated from the Xhosa tribe, one of the most prominent tribes in South Africa, and the ruling government majority.

His wealthy parents sent him to London for schooling. Like Max, he was a hyper polyglot—a student with a high language learning aptitude, he effortlessly took to new languages. At nineteen, Nkosi was recruited by British Intelligence. Undisclosed activities with MI6 and the Secret Intelligence Service had rounded Nkosi into a formidable operative. At thirty-two years of age, upon his return to Africa, Nkosi assisted the US in the capture of a number of elusive terrorists.

Mandla Nkosi was now a covert leader in an African partner nation, working together with the US and the United Kingdom. He conducted joint investigations and countered the growing threats of terrorism in the Southern African region. His web extended all the way up into Angola. There wasn’t much that got past Nkosi. Max hated to admit that he needed him. A clean, quick operation was preferable, without involving local parties, but Max required extra eyes and ears to defeat Khalid’s vast network. If Khalid or any of his minions snuck into South Africa, Max needed to know.

Abby was in the kitchen when Max walked up the passage. She loaded the dishwasher with precision.

“I apologize, I have a meeting to get to.”

Rising gracefully, she smiled. Max rarely saw her smile. Not on camera or off. The innocent gesture was an unwelcome surprise, and his stomach did a nasty flip in response. Her smile wavered, and Max internally shook himself. He wasn’t a player and his blunt attitude was getting in the way. Use it to your advantage, you dunce!

Abby wiped the sink with a damp dishrag. The damn kitchen sparkled with cleanliness, unless there were teeny tiny crumbs only visible to her X-ray vision.

“Thanks for the cake. It was delicious.” Arms folded, Max took a step towards her.

“It’s a pleasure. Anything made of chocolate is always delicious,” Abby said shyly. She pulled at a corner of the dishrag with her thumb.

Max stepped up. “Take a compliment. You’re a good cook, but yeah, chocolate does make everything better.”

Abby smiled again at that.

Emboldened, Max moved right up beside her. “I enjoyed the relaxing afternoon.”

Max traced the shell of her ear with his thumb before pulling her in with a tender kiss to her forehead.

“You’re a sweetheart, Abs, and damn brave. Hell, you’re also still shaken up. You need to rest.” Abby opened her mouth and Max cut her off. “How about lunch tomorrow? My treat, to make up for the incredible slice of cake.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Abby said huskily.

His proximity affected her. Max used that to his advantage by grabbing her hips and pulling her close. His hard body pressed her to the counter. Her widening eyes meant that she could feel his erection against her belly.

“I like you. Hell, I fucking want you, and I know you’re not looking for anything serious, so why not keep this light?”

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“Let’s enjoy each other a little, have some fun. I’m leaving in a couple of months anyway so there are no strings and no complications.”

Uncertainty flashed, so Max pressed on. “I never do this. I haven’t been with a woman for a long while. I’m a workaholic and don’t have the energy for a complex relationship. I feel something with you, and it’s warm and delicious. Fucking delicious,” Max said, rolling his hips.

Her groaning response had him capturing her mouth. Max took his time, nibbling those full lips. When she opened for him, he plundered her warm wetness that tasted like chocolate. Abby’s hands slipped under his T-shirt, and his dick grew in response. If they kept this up, he was going to lose his load.

The incredible chemistry was not ideal for the job, but he could use that to their advantage. He’d use her to find the Sandpiper. The thought doused his desire like an ice bucket, and Max pulled away. It wouldn’t get that far. The quiet kitchen amplified their ragged breathing.

Resting his forehead against hers, Max said, “I’ll pick you up at noon.”

Abby’s hesitation had Max holding his breath. Finally, she replied. “This won’t be a couple of months, a couple of weeks maybe. I’ve got too much on my plate, and I don’t want anything getting in the way. I call the shots.”

Max grinned, nuzzling her neck. “Yes, ma’am.”

Melting into him, Abby sighed. “I mean it.”

Her words were muffled, as he nibbled the side of her mouth before giving her a final kiss. His other hand traced the bite mark. “Put some ice on this.”

***

Abby’s legs felt like jelly as he walked out. Max Hansen’s intensity in the kitchen was suffocating. Hell, if he’d lifted her onto the counter, she would’ve opened herself up to him. Just thinking about those defined hips nudging open her legs made her want to squirm. Abby never squirmed. There was no way she was about to start now. So big deal, he was a hottie. Abby slammed the dishwasher door a little more firmly than was called for. So what if he kissed her like she was made of porcelain and hot lava at the same time. So what if she could imagine his thumb stroking something else besides her neck. Those languid, firm strokes. A cool shower was what she needed, and it would kill two birds with one stone. Soothe aching muscles and calm raging hormones.

Five minutes later, Abby was under the spray, about to close the shower door when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Rivulets of water ran over her breasts, running down between her thighs. She traced the stream from her lips to her neck where Max had touched her. Her hands drifted further down, imagining his lips running over her flesh. Her mirror image looked wanton. When had she last touched herself? Years ago maybe. Her hand slid between her thighs.

***

Donnie and Slater ran out to grab lunch and would be back for base duty by the time Max and Johnny left for the meeting. Johnny jumped in the shower, and Max replaced his friend at the monitors, grabbing the headphones. Glancing at the screens, Max saw Abby pulling clothes out of a drawer, before wandering into the bathroom. He’d give her privacy. The dossier before him had his attention. Mandla Nkosi was apparently competent, but Max had to ensure the team’s safety.

Max was playing a dangerous game with a suspect. Getting physically involved with a target was stepping over the line, and his team had never resorted to that. Yes, Johnny was dating Lizzy, but hadn’t taken her to bed and wasn’t planning to. Max was eager to play hardball with Abby, to ignore his moral code for a couple of reasons. They were running out of time. Khalid was becoming more elusive, and his suicide network was strengthening. Abby was the closest link they’d had in years. She was also hot for him and the pull was strong. Yanking her out of her comfort zone was the quickest way to get under her defenses.

The physical assault on her the previous night was ugly, and Max hated that she was injured, but it opened a normally bolted door. Her vulnerability would be exploited. Max felt like a shit but if she was a card-carrying jihadist terrorist, then he didn’t give a flying fuck. Playing with the big boys might just get her flayed.

Glancing up at the screen, Max stilled.

Abby was showering with the effing door open—wide open—as in “I can see her gyrating goodies” open. Holy freaking hell. The heavily frosted glass meant that all you would usually see was a blurred-out shape. When Abby changed in the bedroom or bathroom, Max always looked away. The rest of the team were good at not gawking, not that you could see a whole load of detail, as the images were generally grainy. But this…

The bathroom camera had an excellent view of the action, a fuzzy but beautiful angle, and Max was mesmerized. Abby ran her hands down her wet body. She stroked herself as round breasts strained upwards. Max was instantly hard, feeling like he could fell a tree with his dick. Shit. Everything about this woman was sheer perfection and he couldn't look away. He studied her lovely neck, her collarbone and her pretty navel. His gaze dropped lower and his heart pounded as he watched her play. Max had never wanted a woman so badly. Her rounded ass cheeks started to clench as her climax built. What he wouldn’t give to slam her against the wall and… Jesus. Stop.

Max swiveled the chair, about to rip off the headphones when she screamed his name. Over and over, coming with his name on her lips. Glancing back nearly made him come. Max cursed, knowing he’d never soon forget the sight of Abby in the shower, a glorious wet dream permanently stamped into his brain.