Derek stood in the operations room while Cross and McManus fast-forwarded through hours of security cam footage, rage like too much caffeine in his blood. He would find the son of a bitch responsible for this—and end him.
It had been a close call. Whoever had built the explosive device had fucked up, directing the blast downward. It had left a crater in the road and damaged the front gate, but it hadn’t broken through the compound’s concrete walls.
Then again, Derek couldn’t be sure that Cobra had been their target. Their side of the street was blocked off with concrete Jersey barriers and razor wire. No one could park there. Did the driver park there because it was the closest he could get to Cobra—and Jenna—or was this act of terrorism completely random?
Derek had already gotten a call from Kazi’s security secretary asking whether anyone had been injured or Cobra needed help. Derek had thanked him for the offer and reassured him that no serious damage had been done. “Just a few broken mirrors and some shrapnel damage to the front gate.”
That wasn’t the truth, of course. Jenna and the two men who’d been on duty inside the gate had minor injuries, but Derek didn’t want to share information that might make Cobra seem vulnerable, especially not if Kazi was behind this.
“There!” McManus stopped the film. “Och, you bastard.”
Derek leaned in. “I want to see the fucker’s face.”
Cross blew up the image. “He’s just a kid. I don’t recognize him.”
Neither did Derek. It wasn’t Qassim or Hamzad or any number of terrorists on the U.S. government’s list of most-wanted assholes whose faces adorned the walls. “I want this image sent to Corbray and run through every database we have.”
“Yes, sir.”
Elizabeth looked up from her computer. “Afghan media is saying that the Taliban took credit for the blast. Fifteen people were injured, two of them seriously. There’s no word yet on the intended target.”
“That’s obvious, isn’t it?” McManus asked. “They sure as hell weren’t tryin’ to blow up the rug shop, now were they?”
“Shields, keep monitoring the media. Cross, McManus, see what you can get on that vehicle and its driver. Call me if anything pops.” Derek started toward the door.
“How is she?” Elizabeth asked.
Derek did his best to keep his reply neutral. “She’s got a concussion, and she needed some stitches. She’ll be fine.”
He went to Grant’s office. “Pull up our evac plans. I want every member of the staff briefed on procedures in case we end up having to evacuate. I’d also like a report on our response efficiency today. Get it into my hands by sixteen-hundred hours.”
“I’m on it.”
Derek went back to his quarters, stripped off his bloody shirt, staring down at it. He’d had Jimmy’s blood on his clothes and body once, and now he had Jenna’s. “Goddamn it!”
It was his job to keep Jenna safe, and she’d been hurt inside the Cobra facility.
Not good enough.
He threw the shirt into his laundry pile, jerked another off the shelf in his closet, and pulled it over his head. Then he went back to the infirmary, where he found her sleeping. “How is she?”
Doc Sullivan looked down at Jenna. “She’ll be fine. I gave her some anti-nausea meds and an analgesic for the headache. None of the other lacerations needed stitches. What she needs most right now is rest. She can go back to her room whenever it’s safe again, but she shouldn’t be alone for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Thanks, man.” Derek walked over to stand beside her.
She had changed into scrubs, her bloody clothes folded and tucked beneath the gurney. A dressing covered the wound on her temple, and she looked like she might end up with a black eye. A dozen little nicks and cuts covered her face, arms, and hands.
She said she’d been standing in front of the mirror when the bomb went off. The blast wave had shaken the building, breaking a few mirrors but doing no permanent damage.
It could have been much worse. If the fucker who’d made that IED had known what he was doing, he could have taken out all the shops across the street as well as the compound’s perimeter wall and the front gate.
Jenna’s eyes fluttered open, and she smiled. “Hey.”
“How do you feel?” Aware that Sullivan was standing there, he did his best to act like his interest was professional.
“I’ve got a nasty headache.” She held a hand gingerly to her temple. “This hurts.”
“I bet.”
“You’ve had much worse.”
“I was a soldier.” He’d willingly signed on for the risks. “Doc here tells me you can head back up to your room, but I wanted to check with you to find out whether you want to stay there or somewhere else. The janitorial crew has cleaned it up, but we’ll have to order a new mirror.”
“I told the boss here that you can’t be alone for the next twenty-four hours.”
Jenna knew head-injury protocols. “Right. Thank you so much, Sean. I guess I might as well go lie down in my own bed and leave you in peace.”
Derek helped her to her feet. “I’ll walk you up.”
* * *
Jenna spent the rest of the day drifting in and out, Derek in a chair beside her bed. Once or twice, she jerked awake, the explosion echoing through her dreams, only to have Derek right there, comforting her, assuring her that she was safe.
He’d brought a laptop into her room and communicated with his team via text messages and emails, and she knew he must have a thousand other concerns on his mind and lots of things he ought to be doing.
She didn’t want to burden him or take him from his work. “If you need to go, you should go. I’m fine, really. Maybe Elizabeth can check on me to make you happy.”
“Shields is busy.”
“So are you.”
He shrugged that off. “Our people know how to do their jobs. Corbray is on his way. He left D.C. as soon as he got word of the bomb. He’s going to take over management of operations when he arrives tomorrow.”
She rubbed her forehead, her headache like a migraine. “What will you do?”
“Watch over you.” He studied her, concern on every feature of his face. “Do you need something stronger for that headache?”
There was a lot of evidence that giving too much pain medication after a concussion set a person up for rebound headaches, but this was getting old fast. “Yes, please. This is pretty bad.”
“I’ll get Doc up here. You just rest—and quit worrying about the rest of us. We’ve got this.”
“Derek, someone set off a car bomb right outside this building, and I might be to blame for that. Someone could have been killed. They could have done millions of dollars of damage to your company. How can I not worry?”
His brow furrowed. “Hey, this is not your fault. Even if the explosion is somehow tied to Kazi’s reasons for wanting to get his hands on you, it is not your fault.”
He enunciated every syllable of those last words.
Jenna knew intellectually that he was right, but in her heart…
Derek reached over, ran a knuckle over her cheek. “Sleep.”
She didn’t have much choice.
Sean came to check on her ten minutes later, doing a quick assessment. “Everything looks good. Here are some oxycodone and more anti-nausea meds. I’d like you to sleep tonight if you can.”
“Thanks.”
Elizabeth came up with a supper tray, giving Derek a break. “I brought all comfort food—nothing healthy. Chicken tenders. Mac and cheese. Chocolate cake. I also brought a few books in case you get bored.”
She set a stack of romance novels down on the desk.
“Thank you.” Jenna wasn’t all that hungry, but she did finish the chocolate cake, the oxycodone making her headache better but leaving her loopy.
She and Elizabeth talked for a while, just small talk—Afghan cuisine, ex-boyfriends, favorite movies. Then Jenna had to ask. “Do you know who did it—who set off the car bomb?”
Elizabeth seemed to hesitate. “Haven’t you asked Tower?”
“He doesn’t want to worry me, but it worries me more not to know anything.”
“Kazi released a statement to the media this afternoon saying that the Taliban claimed credit for the bomb.”
“But you don’t believe that, do you?”
“I’m not sure I’m supposed to talk with you about this.”
“Why not when it involves me?”
“Kazi can say whatever he wants, and the media will report it, so, no, I don’t. I’ve worked in intelligence too long to believe in coincidences. One of Kazi’s goons tries to abduct you, and then a bomb goes off across the street. That’s too much of—”
Derek stepped in.
Elizabeth stood, picked up Jenna’s tray. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thanks for everything.”
“My pleasure.” Elizabeth disappeared out the door.
Derek sat on the bed, took Jenna’s hand. “I overheard what Shields was telling you. I asked the staff not to talk about this in front of you right now. I want you to rest.”
“Don’t be hard on her. I asked her to tell me what she thought.”
“I don’t want you to worry about this.”
“How can I not worry about it? Every time I close my eyes, I hear that boom. What if they come back with a bigger vehicle and more explosives?”
“That’s not going to happen. The street is barricaded now. No vehicles can get through.” His brow bent as if he were weighing what to say next. “For what it’s worth, I agree with Shields. It’s too much of a coincidence. I think they were trying to compromise our security and force us into moving you.”
Jenna’s stomach twisted.
Derek cupped her cheek, leaned close. “They failed, Jenna. You are safe here.”
“What about the rest of you? Are you safe?”
His lips curved in a lopsided grin. “Are you seriously worried about me? Angel, I am hard to kill.”
That didn’t make her feel any better.
* * *
Early the next morning, Derek left Jenna asleep and went to the rooftop helipad to meet Corbray, waiting in the rotor wash while Corbray climbed out with his gear.
“Hey, brother.”
“Hey, man. How was the flight?”
“It was eighteen fucking hours too long.”
“I hear that.” Derek had made that same flight a little more than two weeks ago. “There’s breakfast and hot coffee downstairs.”
“Hell, yeah. Give me some of that.”
They ate a quick breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast, and coffee. Corbray went from table to table, talking with the staff one by one, then he and Derek headed to their private meeting room. There, they went over everything that had happened since Derek’s arrival—except for the kissing and shagging, which Derek left out—and discussed the conclusions of their intel team.
“I think Shields is right,” Corbray said. “Kazi discovered that Ms. Hamilton was related to Senator Hamilton, probably from the Internet, and sent his goons after her, hoping to force Hamilton into supporting his bid for the presidency. Or maybe he just wants money. That dawg loves cash more than he loves anything, including his kids.”
Derek didn’t doubt it. “I think I should meet with him, let him know what’s going on, tell him our sources have linked him to Qassim, and see how he reacts.”
“What if he reacts by putting a bullet in your brain?”
“He would have to be out of his mind to kill me. He knows what this organization can do. If he hears that we’re onto his connection with Qassim, maybe he’ll back off.”
“I’ll contact his people, set something up. In the meantime, how’s Ms. Hamilton doing?”
“She’s good.” Derek wiped the smile off his face.
“You have it bad, cabrón. I say her name, and your eyes light up.”
Derek glared at him. “My eyes do nothing.”
Corbray got an idiot grin on his face. “If you say so.”
Derek changed the subject. “The sooner we get her out of here, the better. I don’t want to give him another crack at her. If the driver of that vehicle had crashed into our gates and detonated the IED there, it would have taken out the gates, maybe even brought down the perimeter wall, and left us open to attack.”
Corbray nodded. “We need all boots on deck to finalize her extraction. I want to meet her. If she’s special enough to turn you inside out—”
“I am not inside out.”
Corbray chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Fuck you.”
“Nah, man, you’re not my type.”
They met Doc Sullivan after that to see what he had to say about Jenna’s condition and ability to travel.
“She’s going to be recovering for at least a month, with headaches and brain fog, so if you can give her another few days, that would be ideal.”
With that information, they went to work, Derek popping upstairs for a moment to check on her. He found her in her bathrobe brushing her hair, just the sight of her making his heart beat faster. Hell, maybe Corbray was right.
“How do you feel?”
She set her hairbrush down and stepped into his arms. “The headache is better, but my brain feels like it’s full of cotton. I look like the Bride of Frankenstein.”
“You’ve got a nasty bruise around your eye, but you look damned good.”
She laughed. “That’s your gonads talking.”
He inhaled her scent, the feel of her precious. “You should listen to them.”
“I’m too busy listening to my own. They want you to get inside my pants.”
Didn’t he wish? “Tell them to hold that thought. Javier Corbray, my business partner, wants to meet you when you feel up to it.”
“Just let me get dressed and get some breakfast.”
“Why don’t we meet you there?”
Ten minutes later, she walked into the mess hall, wearing faded jeans and a soft lavender top that seemed to accentuate her curves.
That’s your gonads again.
They both stood, Corbray extending his hand, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Ms. Hamilton, I’m so glad I finally get to meet you. I’m Javier Corbray, co-owner of Cobra.”
Jenna gave him that beautiful smile of hers. “It’s good to meet you, too. Derek has been taking good care of me.”
Corbray grinned. “That’s what I hear.”
Derek wanted to punch him.