The Equalisers. Debra Webb

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      “She’s busy right now,” the lanky, mean-looking guy glaring at Anders snapped. “Unless you’re a cop, I’d advise you to get lost.”

      Sobbing from inside the room made Willow’s chest tighten.

      “I’d like to do that, buddy,” Anders offered, “but you see, I have a problem with jerks like you.”

      His next move happened so fast Willow would have missed it entirely if she hadn’t been watching so closely. He slammed the guy square in the jaw with his fist. The jerk dropped to the floor without so much as a grunt. “You okay, ma’am?”

      Willow blinked, and in that fraction of a second, Anders was attending to the woman who’d rushed past the fallen jerk and straight into her savior’s arms. By the time the cops had arrived, Anders had ordered Willow back into the room and closed the door.

      She peeked past the curtains and watched him comfort the woman as the police took away her boyfriend or John or whatever he was. Nearly a half hour later the cops, as well as the jerk and the woman were gone.

      Willow jumped away from the window when Anders knocked on her door even though she’d watched him walk right up and rap his knuckles there.

      “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” he said as soon as he’d stepped back into her room.

      Her brain kept telling her to say that she understood, but her lips wouldn’t form the words.

      That intense gray gaze settled on hers once more. “I wanted to give you one last chance to change your mind about going with me to Kuwait. I’m not sure you fully comprehend the magnitude of the danger we may very well encounter.”

      She should have anticipated that he would attempt to dissuade her again, but somehow she hadn’t.

      “I’m going, Mr. Anders. Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

      She stared right back at him with all the defiance she could muster in her current state of teetering between total exhaustion and absolute confusion as to what she’d just witnessed with the couple next door. Unfortunately, her body betrayed her and attempted to tremble beneath his continued visual assessment. Dammit, she should be stronger than that.

      “In that case, I won’t waste my time or yours.” He reached for the door once more. “I’ll see you in the morning, Ms. Harris. Try to get some sleep.”

      Then he left. No more questions or warnings, nothing. He just walked right out as if her answer had been all he needed to move forward.

      Willow locked the door and slid the chain back into place. She measured how he’d stepped in to rescue the woman next door against how easily he’d accepted her answer and gone on his way.

      A paradox, she decided. One she wasn’t sure she possessed the wherewithal to decipher.

      Whatever he was or wasn’t, she sincerely hoped he could follow through with his promise to get her son back. She needed him to be able to do that.

      Right or wrong, her son was all that mattered to her just now.

      Call it mother’s intuition, but every instinct was screaming at her that time was running out fast. Very fast.

       Chapter Five

       Wednesday, February 23

       Aboard a flight to Kuwait

      Spencer watched Willow Harris sleep. She had fought the need for hours before finally surrendering. Then she’d curled up in the window seat next to him. He was glad she’d given in. This might be her last chance to get any decent sleep until the mission was over.

      Another hour and they would land at the airport in Kuwait City. He’d spent most of the travel time asking questions about the way she’d met al-Shimmari. The story went like most others with a similar ending. Girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy. Boy uses wealth and power to take advantage of girl who has not a clue how the cultural differences will eventually impact her life.

      The adage love is blind was too damned true.

      The story got somewhat muddy during the last year she spent in Kuwait. No matter how he’d phrased the questions or from what angle he had approached the subject, she’d found a way to dodge being completely forthcoming about that timeframe.

      He didn’t understand her reasons for holding back. As badly as she wanted to regain custody of her son he had to assume that she would share any possible information even if only remotely relevant. That assumption would lead him to figure that nothing about that final year was significant. However, there was a strong probability that she couldn’t see past the emotional wall she’d built to protect herself from those final months of her marriage. She could be holding back information that would prove useful without even knowing it. That was the part that worried him.

      Of course he couldn’t be certain that anything about her marriage, other than the clash of cultures, was pertinent to the current situation, but he had a feeling.

      After a decade of diving into covert operations in various settings and under a wide array of conditions, he’d learned to trust his gut implicitly. His instincts had only let him down once.

      Spencer leaned back deep into the seat, allowing his thoughts to wander back just over two years—something he rarely permitted. The mission had been as uncomplicated as they came, get in, retrieve the hostages and get out. He and his team had done it a hundred times before.

      But that last time something had gone wrong. The hostages were already dead when the team arrived. Spencer had taken the fall for the intelligence leak that had led to the deaths of the hostages.

      He hadn’t been able to prove his innocence, but neither had the military investigators assigned to the case been able to prove his guilt.

      As far as he was concerned there was only one man to blame for what happened. Colonel Calvin Richards. Richards was retired now, but he’d managed to destroy Spencer’s career before taking that retirement.

      Bitterness burned through Spencer. This was why he didn’t let himself think about that particular part of his past. His fingers tightened on the arms of his seat. He hadn’t deserved that kind of end to his career. Prior to the incident two years ago he’d been touted a hero. He’d never wanted the attention that went along with being labeled a hero, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected to be called a traitor.

      “Would you like something to drink, sir?”

      The flight attendant smiled down at him, ready to provide whatever refreshment he required. The answer to her question was no. He told himself to utter the single-syllable word but the thought of having a drink—just one—was almost overpowering. One drink would likely do the trick. He could relax… let go the tension now twisting his gut.

      The other passengers seated around him in first class had been served already. Beer, wine, cocktails, bourbon. It would be so easy. Having a drink once they landed in Kuwait would be near impossible since alcohol was illegal.

      Sweat beaded on his forehead. He wished he could work up the courage to just say no.

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