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Her eyes fell away, down to look at their hands. “Oh, just that you deserve better than me.”
Studying her expression, he realized she truly didn’t see or care about the differences in their skin. For some reason this woman perceived a lack inside herself.
“Annie…” He tucked a knuckle under her chin, savoring the texture that was even softer than he’d imagined. And he’d imagined touching her many times as he lay alone in his bed. “Everything I know about you is intriguing. Please do me the honor of having dinner together.”
“You think I’m perfect?” She laughed darkly.
He skimmed back the loose strand of chestnut hair, tucking it behind the most delicate ear he’d ever seen. “Not at all. You’re stubborn and you have a temper.”
“Then why do you want to go out with me?”
Something so very vulnerable in her voice reached out to him, made him wonder who had hurt her. He tossed aside all trust issues of his own and dove straight in. He wanted her. He would have her.
“I want to date you because when you use that stubborn temper to fight for your students, I am enchanted.” All in, he reminded himself. “Honestly? When you simply look at me, I am enchanted.”
She stayed silent so long he thought certainly she would say no. But then she sighed and leaned closer to him.
“Yes, Sam, I would very much like to have dinner with you. And as much as I fear you will regret it, I sincerely hope you continue to be enchanted.”
***
Stella angled sideways past a stack of pallets in the hangar, Jose’s footsteps even and reassuring behind her. When she’d seen the woman working at computer station five leave for her break, she’d almost broken out into a happy dance. Of all the stations, that one was positioned the farthest from the entrances—and was blocked from the view of Mr. Smith’s makeshift office by a pile of newly arrived pallets full of gear.
She glanced over her shoulder at Jose. “Are you sure you don’t mind keeping an eye out for Mr. Smith while I’m at the computer?”
“Like I would trust anyone else to keep you safe from that cranky dude?”
The intensity in his eyes brightened the dim and narrow space. Memories of the shooting outside the base swept through her mind, of that moment he’d wrapped his body around hers and to hell with anything else. She could still feel the imprint of his arms, carried the intoxicating scent of him on her clothes.
Of course he would protect her while she worked. Why couldn’t he have the same faith in himself that she had in him?
Regrets sucked—and wasted valuable time.
She edged around the end of the computer consoles. “Sorry. Silly question. Thank you.”
He pulled out her chair for her. “Be quick about it though.” He pushed her wheeled office chair closer to the monitor. “I don’t like pissing off Mr. Smith types.”
Had Jose kissed her on top of the head before he walked away?
The tingling roots of her hair declared hell yes, he had.
She shook off the sensation—or at least managed to dull it enough to work—and logged into the system. Her status with Interpol gave her limited access to the CIA files and the ongoing investigation. Her personal hacking skills would take her the rest of the way in. Keying through the layers of security, she… was… in.
Yes.
Images of the kanga cloth filled the screen, a dozen close-ups of the script. Clicking on each one, she scanned the translations, four in all on this. There was a message on each side, rather than just one down a long rectangular side. Standard stuff she would expect. Caution about the importance of saving money. Warning against chaos. Wisdom about love not seeing flaws.
Lastly, Dua la kuku halimpati mwewe. A loosely translated proverb about a chicken’s prayers meaning nothing to a hawk. The oppressor not caring about the wants of the oppressed.
Accessing her profile, she merged two programs to plug in the words, cycling through different combinations in hope of finding some rhythm or pattern. Lines and lines scrolled down the screen, and she knew Mr. Smith and all his minions had done the same. Still, she couldn’t stop from retracing their steps, hoping they’d missed something obvious. Where was the code? The real message of danger Ajaya had insisted could be found here? It was like she had a puzzle with only half of the…
Ah, damn it.
She sat back in the chair.
Where was the rest of the message? She thought back to taking the cloth from the backpack during their hideout while waiting for rescue. Smith said they’d already gone through everything in the backpack. Was there something left at the compound?
Had Ajaya realized all of that, knowing they wouldn’t find out enough to stop anything? If so, the kid couldn’t be trusted.
