in the small of her back. The power and gentleness of it sent crazy zinging sensations ricocheting in all directions through her body. She inhaled light and fast, her adrenaline levels ready for combat—or sex.
Oh, c’mon, Self. You’ve been around plenty of hot special operators in the past year. This one is no different.
Except the tingling didn’t go away. And her breathing didn’t settle down.
“This way,” he murmured, guiding her through the maze of Israeli security personnel at their desks. “There’s a rear exit where we won’t be seen.”
Now he was getting the idea. She liked—she needed—to operate under the radar and away from the prying eyes of the public as much as possible. They slipped out into the warm night and, by unspoken mutual agreement, wove around the edges of the Olympic Village, mostly avoiding the surveillance cameras whose feeds were shared with all of the security delegations.
She swiped a key card she pulled out of a zipped pocket inside her jacket and stood before a retinal scanner to gain entrance for herself and her big Israeli guest into the back entrance of the American operations center. It had its own building containing both offices and housing for the large contingent of security specialists in Sydney to protect American athletes.
Vividly aware of the big man following her and the curious glances being thrown his way, she led Bronson across a room much like the one at Israeli operations, crowded with desks and video monitors. This room, too, was half-filled with big, capable-looking men and a few serious, focused women. Ignoring them, Rebel led her guest to the conference room and ushered him inside.
Her boss, Army Major Gunnar Torsten, looked over her shoulder at the Israeli. He did a double take. “Avi?”
“Gun? Long time no see,” the Israeli exclaimed.
Rebel looked on in disgust as the two men shook hands warmly and clapped each other on the back. Of course, they knew each other. Torsten was fond of saying how small the Special Forces community really was.
The men were a study in physical contrast. Where blond Torsten’s hair was straight and buzzed short, the Israeli’s dark hair was wavy and thick enough to run her fingers through it. Torsten was fair and blue-eyed, where Avi Bronson was bronzed and brown-eyed. But that was where the contrast ended. Both men were tall, fit, and moved with confident grace. Also, they both had that particular cool look in their eyes announcing they were lethal, and furthermore, that they knew it.
“What brings you to the Land of Oz, Avi?” Torsten asked.
“Olympic security detail. You?”
“Same.”
Torsten glanced at Rebel. “You summoned me, Lieutenant McQueen?”
She winced at his dry tone, not sure whether to interpret the use of her title as formality for the guest’s benefit or a signal that she was in trouble for her presumption. Her boss was a very hard man to read.
She responded grimly, “I spotted two men tonight who looked shockingly like Mahmoud Akhtar and Yousef Kamali.”
Torsten sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re sure it was them?”
“I only saw them from a distance, but I know Mahmoud’s face. I’m pretty sure it was him.”
Torsten stared at her for a long moment as his expression passed through shock and chagrin, ending up wreathed in speculation.
She watched her boss cautiously as he placed a phone call on the speakerphone sitting on the table in front of him. He said without preamble, “Piper, how quickly can Zane join us?”
Rebel’s teammate answered briskly over the speaker, “He can be here in twenty-four hours from when I call him, sir.”
That wasn’t bad, given that the flight itself took on the order of twenty-two hours.
“Make the call,” Torsten said quietly. He disconnected the call to Piper.
Avi piped up. “Who is this Zane person?”
Torsten answered, “CIA officer. Embedded with Mahmoud and his cell in the US for several months last year. Best expert we’ve got on the bastard.”
“And who are these ladies you’re working with?” Avi asked, gesturing at the phone and then at Rebel.
The room fell silent. Rebel stared at Torsten, who stared at the Israeli.
Torsten asked obliquely, “You’re still operational, my friend? You’ve still got all your clearances?”
“Yes to both.” Avi was frowning and looking back and forth between her and Torsten, now.
Rebel watched apprehensively as Torsten stood up, closed the conference room door and came back to the table to sit. He wasn’t going to brief in the Israeli, was he? Her safety, and that of her teammates depended in no small part upon the secrecy around them.
Torsten said, “I command a team of women called the Medusas. They’re a fully operational Special Forces team. I have four more operatives out working in the village, right now.”
Piper and Tessa, original team members along with Rebel, were probably still working on fishing the women’s softball team out of the pool party and herding them back to their quarters.
Gia Rykhof and Lynx Everly, the two newest additions to the team, were working a media event for the US Women’s Gymnastic team, tonight. These Olympic Games were Gia and Lynx’s first operational assignment. They had more training to do before they would be fully up to speed, but both women could still handle themselves in most any situation.
“An entire team made up of women?” Avi repeated blankly.
“Correct,” Torsten answered briskly.
Avi Bronson was not the first man to react that way to hearing about the Medusas, and he would not be the last. But it still bugged Rebel that he acted so surprised and didn’t automatically take her and her teammates seriously.
Chauvinist.
Torsten leaned forward, asking Avi, “What have your people got on Mahmoud and Yousef?”
“Nothing recent that I’m aware of. Not until I caught up with your...operative...earlier after she raced out of the village without scanning out properly. She’s the one who brought Mahmoud Akhtar to my attention and claims to have seen him.”
“Claims to have seen him?” Rebel echoed in annoyance. “I know what I saw!”
Torsten intervened smoothly. “Avi believes you. And so do I. Where did Mahmoud and Yousef go?”
She answered more calmly, “I followed them out of the Olympic Village to a discotheque. They entered from one street, crossed the club and must have exited onto another street. I lost them when your buddy, here, tried to detain me and prevented me from following them.”
“I was just doing my job,” Avi protested.
Rebel glared at him. Damned if his dark eyes and darker soul didn’t light up with amusement in response.
