She lowers the camera, her head scarf falling off some, and looks straight at Omid, as if the fact that she speaks fluent Dari were nothing unusual. I swear I have to pick my jaw up off the ground, both surprise and disbelief fueling my unfounded anger.

Beaux is fluent in the native language and didn’t tell me? What the fuck? I’m partially thrilled because it means so many things will be easier with her here, and at the same time she didn’t tell me. I can’t give it much more thought, though, because of the riskiness of the situation. Things could go south at any moment.

I think Omid is just as caught off guard as me because when I tear my eyes from Beaux to look at him, I see the confusion and immediate wariness. He just stares at her, eyes flickering back and forth to me repeatedly. I put my hands up in an it’s okay gesture – palms facing him at my chest level – and just when I think he is starting to believe me, I hear the click of a shutter and see his eyes widen to epic proportions.

I turn around to see Beaux clicking the shutter, lens angled directly at Omid. Her disobedience of my rules causes rage to erupt inside me because I know how skittish this contact is and she’s now documented his face on record.

“What the fuck are you doing?” My voice is a quiet but harsh scold as the excitement over the information that was just promised me turns to disbelief. “Did you not hear a thing I said to you?” I don’t want to draw attention to us by yelling, but it’s pretty fucking hard not to when she just played every single one of her stupidity cards in a single hand.

Beaux’s eyes are wide and her face must look similar to the way mine did when I heard her fluency, but I can’t worry about her right now – I have to salvage Omid’s trust in me. The problem is when I turn around, Omid is gone.

My hands are fisted and my temper is raging. I’d love to turn around and throttle Beaux for her lack of judgment, for her disregard to the situation, for not following my set of rules.

And because she’s not Stella.

I take deep breaths, trying to calm the tumult inside me. It’s no use even trying to find Omid – the man is a ghost in the wind right now – so I do the only thing I can. I leave. Without saying a word to Beaux, I walk right past her and head toward the end of the alley, not wanting to be in this dangerous part of the city any longer than I need to be.

As we emerge from the alley, I slow my pace and cautiously survey my surroundings before I walk into the flow of foot traffic and back toward our cab. I know Beaux is behind me. Only a deaf and blind man would not be able to sense her presence… or maybe I’m just a lesser man who has fallen under her goddamn spell even though I swore that I wouldn’t.

Despite being completely irate with her, I can still smell her perfume over the stagnant scent of destitution that blankets things here and hear the shuffle of her shoes against the dirt-covered cobblestone sidewalks. Beaux tries to strike up a conversation by apologizing disjointedly while she follows me at a quickened pace through the crowded streets, but I refuse to acknowledge her.

I’m more pissed than I think she even realizes. I’m angry over so many things that it’s better if I don’t speak to her right now; otherwise I know I’ll say a lot of things I’ll regret regardless of how fucking truthful they are. With each step we take, my displeasure intensifies over the many reasons I have to be angry with her.

When we reach the cab that is surprisingly still waiting for us, I open the door for her to get in and say only one thing. “Get us home.”

She scoots in and looks up at me, a thousand things running through her eyes, and the minute she speaks, I just slam the door shut, not wanting to hear her explanations. By the time I take my seat in the front passenger side, she’s just finishing telling the driver where to go.

First of all, there’s no way I’m attempting to communicate with the driver while she’s sitting back there laughing her ass off while I make a fool of myself. Secondly, who the fuck is this woman? She comes on to me, we sleep together, and now we’re in this predicament together and she just screwed me over with one of my biggest sources? I mean what kind of power play is she going for?

I’m all for dating smart women. Shit, intelligence is a major turn-on for me. But time and again I keep feeling like I’m being duped here even though her actions are not really one hundred percent her fault.

Or they are and she’s just smart enough to make me think they aren’t.

Fuck! This woman is driving me crazy. What the hell? I never doubt myself, always trust that gut instinct of mine, and yet right now she’s making me question so many damn things, it’s not even funny.

And then there’s her little show with Omid. First, shocking the shit out of both of us when she piped into the conversation in his native language so that even if he was trying to be quiet and only share information with me in the little bit of Dari that I know, she understood every single thing he said. Add to that she takes a fucking picture of him. A picture! My trust quotient with her just went down a whole helluva lot. She was freelance. Her stunt begs me to question if she still is, or maybe she’s trying to chase the story too and will break it first, steal it right out from under me, and get the notoriety herself.

The more I think about this scenario, the more each bump along the uneven pavement lodges the idea firmly into my psyche. Pauly said she was freelance for a few weeks before I got here. Was she freelance as just a photog or as a reporter too? Was she just biding time to find some sorry fucking sap she could mooch off and steal what she didn’t earn?

“Tanner.” Her voice calls softly from the seat behind me, my name an apology and a question all mixed into one.

“Don’t talk,” I growl, my head spinning a mile a minute. The man who never gets rattled is fucking rattled, and not because of a goddamn mortar strike or IED but rather because of this woman. The only thing she has going for her at the moment is that at least she listens and shuts up.

This time.

We make it to the hotel without incident. I pay the driver and am out of the car and striding into the hotel without giving her a second glance. I know she’s safe since we’re at the hotel but couldn’t care less what she does now. She thinks chivalry is dead… I’ll show her just how dead it is. Let her fend for herself in this godforsaken place.

Anger and theories fuel my every step as I stride into the alleyway at the rear of the hotel where I had the driver drop us off. We have to forgo a lobby entrance because making one would mean we’d have to pass by Pauly and the crew who would know something was up since we were out and about rather than locked in our rooms.

All I focus on is calming my temper, but the clipped sound of her steps behind me echoes off the walls around us.

“Tanner. Tanner.” More footsteps. “Wait. Please. Wait!”

I ignore her, don’t want to deal with her, but when she grabs my biceps, I’m primed for the fight and ready to unload on her. I whirl around and have her back up against the wall within a heartbeat.

“You want the fucking story, you work for it your goddamn self.” My hands are on the sides of her shoulders, and my face is mere inches from hers. “You think you can waltz into my meet and take the fuck over?”

In an attempt to control my fury that’s spiraling out of control, I release my grip and stalk away from her a few feet. I’m loyal to a fault, so to feel betrayed is something I don’t take lightly. When I turn back around, Beaux’s shoulders are pressed against the wall, her eyes are wide, and her mouth is slightly open – shock written all over her face – and the words I’m about to shout die on my lips.

She looks like a frightened child.

It takes me a second to see through the haze of my fury to realize I’m fucking losing it. I’m standing with fists clenched and more angry than I’ve been in some time, wanting to throw a punch like she’s some damn guy. But I know beyond a doubt she’s so far from that, it’s comical.

I roll my shoulders and try to rein my emotions in because the woman makes me a goddamn lunatic. Add to that I don’t know what to say or do besides shake the truth out of her, and that’s not a fucking option.

I’m not sure if it’s the look on her face or the memories dredged up in my mind, but I have a flash of clarity that causes me to take a step back. I’m out of control, my anger over what happened to Stella is being transferred to Beaux, and the certainty I had ten minutes ago that she was trying to steal my story now has more holes in it than a fishing net.

I begin to speak, but instead just shake my head, run my fingers through my hair, and blow out a breath as I turn on my heel and stalk into the hotel. All I can think about as I jog up the stairwell is how my always sure self is nonexistent these days and how fucking hard that is for a man used to being in control of everything – work, relationships, instinct.

When I shove the door of my room open, it slams into the wall behind it. I push it closed with my shoulder, but I’m so distracted that all I can think about is hitting the gym to try and work this all out of my system before taking a scalding hot shower to wash away the day and the doubt that feels like a damn constant since I’ve been back here.

I forgo unbuttoning my shirt, grab hold of the back of my collar, and pull it over my head, tossing it to the bed behind me without glancing back. In a practiced habit, I pull the Glock from my waistband.

“You had a gun?” Beaux’s quiet but surprised voice cuts through the tension pulling me so damn tight, a fucking breeze might cause me to snap.

I grunt in response but look toward her standing in my door anyway. Her head scarf is off, hair pulled back like that first night we met with little curls falling softly on those defined cheekbones of hers, and sincerity is reflected in her eyes that keep darting to my weapon on the tabletop beside me.

“Ever heard of knocking?”

“It was open.” I hear the startled inhale of someone not used to dealing with guns when I release the magazine from the butt and set it on the dresser in front of me.

“Lots of places are open in this city that I wouldn’t go inviting myself into, FYI.” I slide an impatient glance her way as I double-check to make sure that the weapon is empty and safe.

“I – I just didn’t realize that you could carry a weapon here.”

“You can’t. Next topic or get the fuck out because frankly you’ve used up about all of my patience, and it’s probably best if you’re not around me right now.” I swear my anger must roll off me and slam into her, because she just stares with her mouth agape. “That’s what I thought. Thanks for the chat. Now if you’ll see yourself out…,” I say as I turn to the barely there closet where my suitcase is stowed to get some gym shorts, dismissing her and her surprised eyes.

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.” My step falters at the contrition in her voice, causing me to turn to stare and wait for her to continue. The silence between us stretches, and I can tell that my gun sitting out in the open unnerves her by the way her eyes keep flickering to it. Does she agree with the brass? Think I’m losing it too? “Tanner…”

“You didn’t tell me you were fluent in Dari.” Screw waiting for her and her placating tone. I’m a man of action, and we need to get to the bottom of this right here, right now.

“You’ve been so busy holding a grudge against me, you didn’t care to ask.” She sets her camera down on the nightstand, and with her shield now gone, her posture changes and becomes more defensive.

“Don’t you think that’s something that was important for me to know?” I lean my hip against the edge of the dresser, but my eyes never leave hers. I’m trying to gauge her body language by her responses.

“Why didn’t you —”

“I’m the one asking the questions here. Not you.” I cut her off. I want answers, and I intend to get them. “Who are you working for?”

Her eyes widen slightly, and her brow narrows in confusion. “Worldwide News?” She answers hesitantly, drawing the words out as if asking me if it’s the correct answer.