2
Shanti followed Bram down the maze of hallways, her heels clicking on the dark tile floor. When she’d first come to work at the ICC two years ago, it had taken her almost three months to learn her way around the building. She would have left trails of bread crumbs or paper clips if she hadn’t been afraid it would get her fired.
She was glad finally to be leaving for Bangladesh, but she still wasn’t happy about the idea of traveling with a security team. “What do you know about the company? Have there been any criminal prosecutions against them?”
The last thing she wanted was an escort made up of men like the one she was trying to bring to justice—men who had butchered innocent people and were little better than war criminals themselves. That would compromise her principles.
“Relax. They’re squeaky clean. I’ve been told they’re the best.” Bram opened the conference room door and held it for her.
She stepped into what looked like a photoshoot forGQ. Several tall, handsome men stood around the conference table, all of them impeccably dressed in tailored suits.
“Not the Rambos you were expecting, are they?” Bram whispered as he took his seat on her left. “Gentlemen, welcome to The Hague and the International Criminal Court. I’m Bram Meijer with the Office of the Prosecutor, and this is Shanti Lahiri, one of our shining stars.”
Shanti willed a smile onto her face, lifted her gaze—and found herself looking into a pair of deep blue eyes. “Thank you for meeting with us.”
The words came out without conscious effort, her mind blank, her gaze fixed on the man across from her. He had thick, dark brown hair, his face rugged but somehow also …beautiful. Full lips and long lashes softened the impact of his chiseled jawline and a nose that looked like it had once been broken. There were hollows beneath his cheekbones. One cheek bore a small white scar.
She willed herself to look away as the men introduced themselves.
“Derek Tower, one of the owners of Cobra International Security.” Mr. Tower was hard-edged, his face tanned from years outdoors, his hair a sandy blond.
“Malik Jones.” Mr. Jones, a visibly ripped black man, could easily have made it as a model or actor. “I served with the US Army Rangers.”
“Dylan Cruz.” He looked either Cuban or Puerto Rican with a warm smile that reached his brown eyes. “I worked with the Teams at DEVGRU.”
“Ah, yes. SEAL Team Six.” Bram chuckled. “You’re famous.”
“In his own mind,” Mr. Jones muttered, making the other men grin.
“Connor O’Neal,” said the man with blue eyes, his gaze still focused on Shanti. “I served with US Army special forces.”
“McManus, ma’am,” said a redhaired mountain of a man, a Scotsman by his accent. “British Secret Air Service.”
“O’Neal will command your escort,” Mr. Tower said. “We’ve asked the Bangladesh government for permission to get drones overhead while you’re in the camps. We’ll also have a helicopter at the nearest airport.”
Drones? Ahelicopter?
Shanti gaped at him. “Is all of that necessary?”
“As I’m sure you’re aware, the situation in the camps is far from safe. If Naing’s men were willing to cross the border to abduct British journalists, imagine what they’d be willing to do to stop a criminal investigation.”
A shiver slid down Shanti’s spine.
Connor sawthe shadow of fear in Ms. Lahiri’s amber eyes, her pupils going wide. She was right to be afraid.
“You’re paying us to be prepared for any contingency,” Tower said. “We would rather have assets available and not use them than be caught with our pants down.”
Connor wished Tower had used a different metaphor. The physical reaction he’d had when Ms. Lahiri had walked through the door made any mention of pants awkward. The photo he’d seen during their briefing yesterday morning hadn’t done her justice.
Or maybe you were hungover.
She wasn’t just pretty. She was …hot.
Dark hair that hung, thick and straight, down her back. Wide amber eyes framed by dark lashes. A delicate nose. Soft brown skin. That full lower lip. Curves in all the right places, curves her tailored skirt suit couldn’t hide.
Damn.
“The organization appreciates your thoroughness, Mr. Tower,” said Meijer.