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  Sam looked. Jesus. It wasn’t the occupants of the jet, he realized after he got over the revulsion. It was the bombing in Bali. He sifted through the photos. They were taken from a distance, the police vehicles, the rescue, the broken bodies.

  After a moment he got used to seeing it and looked harder, picking out details. “We need to load these to the Pentagon.” Sam came to him.

  Logan looked up, rubbed his face and tried to look refreshed.

  Sam spread the photos out on the only available space on the table. “Ignore the bodies for a second, the debris. Here are three consecutive photos, each with this man in the background.” Sam stabbed a finger. “He’s fucking smiling.” How anyone could with the death around him, was more than a clue he was involved. In the foreground, rescue workers were caught motionless as they removed a legless young woman from the blast site. “Can you do something with this?”

  Logan took the picture, scanned it and loaded it in. He worked the keyboard, cutting out the distracting portions, refocusing on the man in the photo. It was only half an image, the man stood under a tin beach cabana. But what was there was showered in sunlight.

  “I’m betting they’re blackmail shots.” Sam looked at the rest, trying to find the man again.

  “Let’s enlarge,” Logan hit keys, “and redigitize.” He clicked a program and they watched the pixels break apart, then come together again.

  Sam sighed. “We can’t get a good view of his face.” Too much in shadow.

  Logan highlighted one side and selected mirror image.

  Sam stared. “Not ringing my chimes.”

  “Mine either.”

  “Run his face up the pole and see if it flies,” Sam said, and glanced down at the photos again as Logan loaded it into the search database. “Wait, focus on his arms for a sec.” The man had them folded over his waist.

  “What are you looking for, Wyatt?”

  Sam pointed to the screen. “Is that a ring?”

  Logan was like a man driven, using his precious computers like they were extensions of his hands. “You know this proves nothing.”

  “Voslav was a sick puppy and he had a good reason to put photos on film and not on digital.”

  “More tangible with negatives. Digital is instant deletion.”

  “Sure, but leave them in that desk where anyone could find them?” Sam shook his head. “Voslav was a slob, but careless? DNA all over that jet, keeping slaves in an old school. That pig had been doing this for years, so much that he had a Thai accent.” Sam shook his head. “No, he was certain the film would never be seen or he would have secured it.”

  Sam stood rock still for a long moment, and Logan knew the man wouldn’t pace, wouldn’t talk aloud.

  Then Sam said, “Voslav knew this guy”—he flicked a hand at the screen—“never considered him a threat. Nor would he set foot in that hangar and find these photos, or get in his business.”

  “That doesn’t tell us who he is and why he’s in this photo.”

  “Insurance.” Suddenly Sam picked up the photos, sifting through each one. “He’s got a habit, and it shows.”

  A single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling, shining down on the naked and hooded man strapped to the chair. Noor studied him, for a moment admiring his powerful physique.

  Beyond the door, Zidane waited, his part done. He knew what she would do in the dank room, yet never voiced his dislike of her methods. Zidane’s emotions had no bearing on anything. She was not hired for her morals. She had so few.

  Noor paced. The man in the chair was unaware she was naked, only able to hear the click of her heels on the damp cement floor.

  “What was on the laptop?” she asked in his own language.

  He shook his head, refusing to speak.

  “I have no fight with you, but I will make one.”

  She straddled his lap, and he flinched at the contact of skin to skin, and turned his face away. She brought it back, her free hand closing over his cock. “Tell me and I will free you.”

  “Nyet.”

  She could break him. Men were vulnerable. They were ruled by their sex. Women could fake an orgasm, show desire that wasn’t real. Noor knew how; it had been a skill she learned young. She stroked the man, listening to him fight his pleasure, and knowing he hated that she could control him. She understood. Men had done this to her. Because she’d been too weak to fight, to turn it back on them. But no longer.

  “Did he use the encryption on the computer?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Liar,” she said softly, yet her hand squeezed. He grunted in pain, and she smiled to herself. His stomach muscles flexed with need and an attempt to stiffen against her touch. “Tell me.” She leaned to press her bare breasts to his chest.

  She let up on the pressure, and stroked him. He grew hard in her hand and she watched, amazed at the simplicity. “The laptop, my handsome man.”

  She slid off him, and squatted, taking him into her mouth with a vengeance. He elongated and flexed and she waited for the perfect moment, near the edge when his hips moved, then she stopped.

  He cursed her, and she asked again, slipping a condom on him, then settling herself onto his erection. “The information,” she said in Russian. She thrust on him four times, then left him. He groaned miserably.

  “I will give you satisfaction, but he must know what others might see on that computer.”

  The man gasped, tried to reach her, but his restraints stopped him. Noor moved behind him, her hands sliding down his chest, and she let him feel her knife against his belly. “Who was the man who took the computer?”

  The man only shook his head.

  “I grow weary. Tell me and I will pleasure you.” She said it near his ear, in a whispered tone that made him react. She knew what men wanted to hear. They’d told her many times, and now she tortured him with their own words, with a nimble touch till he was breathing hard and nearly climaxing. “Were the schematics on the computer?”

  He nodded.

  “Details?”

  He nodded again, almost begging her.

  Her master would not be pleased. “The rule of the bargain was that nothing tangible would be left to find.” Ryzikov was lucky he was dead. Noor would have made his last hours unpleasant.

  She slid around him, her breasts brushing his masked face, and she climbed onto his lap, then slid onto his cock. He groaned hard, and thrust upward, but Noor had control. Her hips worked fast with the pulse of her own need, and she heard the slap of flesh to flesh, the sucking sound of slick organs, but she did not look at his masked face, did not wonder at his appearance, his name, nothing. To her, the man did not exist, the moment did not. Yet she took it, climaxing, pounding on him, seeking her own pleasure in the faceless man. Her explosion rushed through her, and she hated that it heated her blood, stole her power to stop it. He was coming, too, telling her harder, faster—his talk vulgar and begging to touch her. She let him come, let him feel the pleasure that blinded him. Then she backed off before he caught his breath, before he reached that perfect summit, denying him. He called her ugly names she’d heard before and her gaze narrowed as she folded her hand around his cock. Then with her knife, she took his testicles as a prize.

  Commander Anan Isarangura stared out the window, his hands braced behind his back as he listened to the police radio, and the ongoing search for the couple in the stolen car. He suspected only to himself that the explosion at the Mandarin was the root of it, yet influence from his superiors would let him pry only so far. That the car was recovered wasn’t important, the prints would tell them something, but it was who was chasing them that troubled him.

  He glanced back at the desk, at the picture of the dark-haired American. It was hazy, from the surveillance inside the museum office. Yet it forced another suspicion to the surface. Why would Wan Gai not have a photo and records of the stolen artifact, nor reveal its nature beyond that it was a bracelet? And why, Anan thought, when there were thousands of valua
ble pieces in the museum, ancient jade and blood rubies, would an American steal only that one particular piece?

  Sam flinched awake and realized he was on the sofa, papers still in his hands. The living area was dark and in the moonlight. Logan was still at the computer terminals, sound asleep in the chair. The room smoldered with the final rays of the sun as it fell into Bangkok Bay, the glow of the computers working a program. Sam stood and stretched, and Logan woke. “Sorry.”

  Logan waved him off, rubbed his face, and focused on the screen. “You know, if someone saw her on the webcam, we have to get her out of the country,” he said as Sam neared.

  “Yeah.” Guarding her would leave them too short of manpower. “Whether she’ll go peacefully is another matter.” She wanted to find out about the bracelet and he didn’t blame her. He had to break it to her, and moved toward the voices and music coming from the kitchen.

  He pushed open the door, the scent of spices and frying onions rolling on the air. Viva and Sebastian were cooking, and laughing. Then he realized she was speaking French, so fast he couldn’t catch it. All while she chopped onions with amazing speed. She does everything in high gear.

  “Viva,” Sebastian said, a flick of his head toward Sam.

  Her smile was wide as she came to him. “You breeched the inner sanctum,” he said. “He doesn’t let anyone near when he cooks.”

  “I have skills.”

  “Don’t show him any more,” Sam said, his hand resting on her waist as he kissed her.

  Viva smiled against his lips, the memory of his mouth elsewhere on her body playing through her mind. “You know…” she murmured, “we have some unfinished business, you and me.”

  Sam felt his body lock and go ballistic. Being inside this woman would stay with him forever. “Oh, yeah,” he said, then deepened his kiss.

  Viva was overpowered, no question, no doubt, the strength and greed in his kiss diving into her soul. Sam did everything with a sharp intensity and if there weren’t other people in the house she’d coax him to make love to her again—right here.

  “Get a room,” Sebastian groused, his back to them as he sautéed.

  Viva laughed against Sam’s kiss, then reluctantly went back to the counter.

  “I thought you’d sleep for days,” he said, leaning against it, trying to get his breathing back to normal. She’d conked out fast.

  “I never get more than five hours. Any more and I’m crabby.” She didn’t mention the dreams haunting her.

  “So that’s the reason.” She nudged him. “You look good dressed, though,” he said for her ears alone. In the deep purple blouse and black jeans, she looked incredibly exotic. “And not.”

  Viva felt that instant pull low in her belly. He’d left her a note with the bags of clothes. As much as I like seeing you naked—so very Sam, she thought, brief and to the point, and right now, she was ready to drop the knife and have at him.

  His smile said he got the message and he snatched a carrot. “You go to culinary school, too?”

  “No, I was a cook, Florida Keys after college. No jobs for a paleoclimatologist. Who knew?” She brought the cutting board of onions to Sebastian, and Sam heard French again.

  “How many languages can you speak?”

  She started loading the dishwasher. “A few. Learn a couple non-romance languages and the rest is easy. Except Farsi, that’s a tough one.”

  Sebastian turned, glancing at her, then Sam. At the silence, Viva looked up and between the two. “What?”

  “Why didn’t the CIA or FBI snatch you up?”

  She looked away. “I never applied. So what’s with the National Geographic logo on the chopper?” She had seen it in the driveway, parked like a car along with the beat-up van and the SUV.

  “Keeps us from getting shot out of the sky.”

  “And the guns don’t help?” She scoffed. “You need to aim better.” Sebastian chuckled to himself as she dried her hands. “What’s next?” He shook his head and she leaned on the counter, soaking Sam up. “You’re a team. I get that, and you used to be military.”

  Sebastian served chicken onto a platter. “I did not tell her,” he said. “Though she is persistent.”

  “I tried torture, see the bamboo under his fingernails?”

  Sam slid onto a stool. She had a right to know. Niran and Dahl’s woman both knew of Viva’s association with him, and if the webcam was on when she killed Ryzikov, someone else did, too. “Dragon One”—he made a circular motion, collective—“is a retrieval team for hire.”

  “So, you’re bounty hunters.”

  Sebastian glanced over his shoulder, a little startled, a little insulted.

  “I never thought of it that way,” Sam said, smiling.

  “I could split hairs and say mercenaries.” At his dark look, she said, “Oo-kay, I guess not. Ex-military?”

  “Former Marines.”

  Marines. She should have known. That snap-to attitude was a giveaway.

  “Except me,” Logan said, coming into the kitchen. “I went Seal.”

  “Logan is a field surgeon. Sebastian is an explosives expert.”

  He owned a restaurant in New Orleans, that much he’d told her. “Max is the get-everything guy.” She plucked at her clothes.

  “Logistics, gear, supplies, the best navigator, and he can fix anything.”

  “Sounds like he works the most.”

  “Thank you, Viva, you’ve endeared yourself to me for life,” Max said, from the door, yawning. She backed away from the counter and brought them cups of coffee. Max gave her a grateful smile, yawning again.

  “We’re hired by the private sector, sometimes,” Logan said. “A UN Security Council member this time. Sulak Krahn.”

  “Heavy.” Arms on the counter, she leaned closer to Sam. “What did you do in the Marines?”

  “F18 attack fighter jet pilot.”

  Whoa. “And?” He frowned slightly. “I’ve seen you fly, so there has to be a good reason you aren’t doing that now.”

  “I was shot down in Serbia, had to eject, and broke my leg and wrist,” Sam said. “The area was too hot to airlift me out, so I walked.” She cringed at that image. “Without authorization, Riley infiltrated enemy lines, paid a crap load of bribes, and damn near carried me back to secure territory.”

  “That’s a real friend.” She’d never had one like that. Did most people? Viva pushed off and started setting the kitchen table.

  “Riley’s in a coma in Sri Lanka right now,” Logan said. “Killian and his wife are with him.”

  She twisted to look at him. “Sri Lanka? The dam break? I saw it on the news.”

  They sat at the table, and Logan filled the silence with telling her about Riley, his wounds. She could tell they were all worried that he’d never wake up. “This job, or mission or whatever you call it, is for the big fat diamond, right?”

  The men exchanged glances between bites.

  “Okay, be silent and deadly, I’ll talk.”

  “Now there’s a news flash,” Sam said, and she jabbed him playfully.

  “The stone is uncut, so it’s a conflict diamond. You’ve been very bad boys.” She tsked, amused. “A stone that size, everyone and no one would want it.”

  She got a communal frown that was intimidating as hell.

  “A diamond over ten carats doesn’t go unnoticed. The minute it was unearthed, its existence went global. That’s nearly as big as the Cullinan, or the Star of the East.” At Sam’s look, she sighed and said, “I’m betting that rock was a couple hundred carats. It was long and narrow, yet very clear, even uncut. I’m really surprised the Half Ear guy didn’t snatch it up, but then, anyone fencing it would have big trouble doing it.”

  “She’s right,” Sam said. “I think someone killed that guy to keep him from talking about it.”

  “We weren’t excluded, either,” Viva said. “Anyone look into people dying from those darts recently?”

  “It was a woman,” Max said. “We saw he
r on the docks, she was aiming at you two.”

  Viva went still. “Then why didn’t she fire and what was she doing there?”

  “Covering the dealer’s tracks,” Sam said and they looked at him. “Phan talked and was killed instantly. Half Ear, I’m not sure about him, but he was going to talk. Ryzikov and Rohki, both had diamonds and were in on this deal. This woman is the armed cleanup for whoever is orchestrating it all.”

  “I don’t want to meet her in a dark alley,” Viva said, pausing to sip water.

  “Do you know what’s necessary to cut the stone?” Logan asked. “Sam said you worked for a gemologist.”

  “Aside from laser machinery and polishing equipment, the best cutter in the world.” He made a rolling motion for her to keep going. “The cutter would have to study the stone for a while to get the largest stones with the best quality. The least flaws. Cutting a stone that size would be like slicing skin, one fraction too deep, too far to the left, right, whatever, and it would split the stone incorrectly and ruin the quality.”

  “I’m impressed, chéri,” Sebastian said.

  “Don’t be, it’s common knowledge.” She picked an apple from a bowl, holding it up. “Say you want this to be a perfect stone, maintain the large size, and achieve the most brilliance. Big rocks don’t always mean big stones. The cutter has to consider the widest point of cut. The table, that makes the top.” With her knife, she lopped off the top. “The crown controls the fire. It draws light in from all sides.” She cut away the sides so they slanted. “and the girdle, that’s the diamond’s edge that’s beneath the crown and stands above the pavilion culet. The small facets at the bottom of a diamond and tapers off what would otherwise be a sharp and brittle point.”

  “Now I’m really impressed,” Sam said. The apple was shaped like a diamond.

  She flashed a quick smile, blushing. “Maybe there’s a flaw in the center or to the left, so you figure out how to cut two perfects, with the lesser quality falling to the floor, so to speak. That’s if they care about what’s left.”