Page 23 of Edge of Danger

His voice low and rough, he answered, “Now why would I do a thing like that?”

Her eyes narrowed. He wasn’t trying to get into her pants again, was he? Not that she would put up much of a fight if he tried.

He surprised her by asking, “How’d your conversation with Dharwani’s wife go?”

“Informative. Women in this culture see and hear everything.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked casually. “Like what?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” she answered reproachfully.

He sprawled on the couch, the bottle dangling from his fist, looking so tasty she could hardly stop herself from jumping on him and devouring him. “Aww, c’mon, Piper. You know I’m one of the good guys.”

“I know you’re good in bed. I don’t know the first thing about your moral compass or political affiliations.”

He raised the bottle to her in salute. “Good in bed, huh? You’re not half bad yourself.”

She flopped down beside him. All the running they’d done earlier was starting to catch up with her as exhaustion made her limbs heavy. Or maybe it was just the vodka slamming her. He wassotrying to get her drunk.

But speaking of information picked up at Dharwani’s, she blurted, “What did Dharwani whisper in your ear after supper that made you look so grim?”

He shrugged and took a pull straight from the bottle. “Sorry. Classified.”

She lifted the bottle out of his hand and took a swig. “I’ll tell if you’ll tell.”

“You first.”

“Nope,” she replied. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

“Well then, by all means, let’s fix that.” He took a drink and passed the bottle back to her.

She tipped it to her mouth, and without warning he reached over and nudged the bottom of the bottle upward, sending a gush of vodka down her throat. She choked and coughed but swallowed most of the fiery alcohol. In seconds, her head began to spin and a sensation of floating a few inches above the sofa kicked in.

“You are a bad man, Ian McCloud.”

He grinned, flashing her his sexy dimples. Those things should be registered as lethal weapons. “I am bad, aren’t I?” He lifted the bottle out of her hand and took another pull. “But not so bad I’d let a lady drink alone.”

“Gee. That’s downright gentlemanly of you.”

His smile widened. “You bring out the best in me.”

She shook her head at his line of bull. He was a charming devil, all right. Emphasis on devil.

Ian surprised her by saying, “Dharwani told me the Palestinian I’ve been looking for is being called The Scientist by locals. He was spotted in Khartoum some weeks ago but appears to have left town. Dharwani suggested I follow the money trail to find him.”

He’d been tracking a Palestinian, huh? The Scientist? The Terrorist, more likely. But hey. Ian had finally trusted her enough to tell her something about his mission here.

‘Bout damned time. A cozy feeling that had nothing to do with the vodka’s heat spread through her.

She reciprocated in kind. “The Americans I’ve been tracking call themselves PHP. I spotted them in a hotel in downtown Khartoum last week, but Fatima—which is to say, Dharwani—doesn’t know who they’re here to meet.”

“Maybe you should follow the money trail on them, too,” Ian suggested.

She shrugged. “Not my area of expertise.”

“Tell your employer to track it down.”

She shrugged. She wasn’t in the habit of telling her boss what to do. Ever.

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