Page 4 of Steel Vengeance

The man just sat there, calm as anything, the gun now pointing right at her, his eyes dark and unreadable beneath a layer of scruff on his tanned face.

“You’re American?” She fumbled for clarity. Anything that would dampen the threat, steady her frantic heart.

He ignored her question. Instead, he asked one of his own. “Who are you and why are you following Abdul Omari?”

The hand holding the gun didn’t waver. The eyes held steady, piercing in their directness. She could barely make out his features, thanks to the bushy beard that covered the lower half of his face. At first, until he’d spoken, she’d thought he was a local.

“I’m Sloane Carmichael,” she said, falling back onto her legend. “I’m a charity worker with the Women’s Empowerment League.”

He scowled at her, his eyes narrowing. “Bullshit.”

“W–What?”

“I recognize a cover story when I hear one. Who are you really? CIA? NSA?”

Something in her expression must have given her away, because his lips curled into a gratified grin. “Ah, the Agency. I should have known.”

“I–I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered.

He smirked. “Please, spare me the pretense. I’ve been watching you follow Omari for days. Now, I want to know why.”

“You’re mistaken,” she insisted, clutching onto the towel like it was a lifeline. “I work at the Peshawar Community Centre. I teach English language classes.”

He got up. Holy crap, he was tall. He towered over her, his head nearly touching the ceiling. She took in the dark, wavy hair, wild and unkempt, the massive, boulder-like shoulders, and the menacing expression that sent chills down her spine.

As he approached, she stiffened. This man was raw power. It emanated from every purpose-filled movement. His jaw was tense beneath the beard, his face a mask of barely controlled anger. Veins bulged in his neck.

Oh, hell.

Don’t let him unleash that fury on me.

"Don't lie to me." His voice was a rough whisper. "Aid workers don’t carry Glock 19s, change their appearance on a whim, and speak fluent Urdu."

Sloane grimaced internally.

Crap, she was made.

“That’s for protection,” she blurted out, knowing instantly how lame it sounded. “I’m a woman, traveling alone. This isn’t exactly the safest part of the world.”

He snorted. “How’d you get it past airport security?”

“I didn’t. A friend in Islamabad lent it to me.” That part was actually true. Except Jeremy wasn’t exactly a friend. She’d met her handler for the first time three weeks ago when she’d arrived in the Middle East.

The grizzly stared at her for what felt like an eternity. She shivered under his gaze, and it wasn’t because of the cold. His eyes were a striking blue, but icy—like the Arctic. Set against his deeply tanned face, they were both mesmerizing and unsettling.

She wondered what he’d look like if he cleaned up a bit, got rid of the scruff and that wild mop of hair. Then, she mentally slapped herself. Why the hell was she thinking about that? She should be worrying about whether or not he was going to crush her with his giant hands.

“What were you doing following Omari?”

“I told you, I wasn’t?—”

He tucked the gun into his waistband and took a step toward her. Her heart slammed into her ribs. Oh God… this was it. Was he going to strangle her in this dingy motel room?

But instead of lunging for her, he leaned over and casually picked her cell phone up off the bed.

She exhaled sharply, her knees almost giving out.

Thank God.