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real. And just for a few weeks, no more. He had to keep that in mind. And in the meantime, it could work to their advantage that she was the plain-Jane type. Certainly nobody would think by looking at her that she was up to something.
    The justice of the peace went on, and the witnesses, understanding not a word of the ceremony, fidgeted behind them.
    “You may kiss the bride.”
    Spike bit back a smile at the unhappy scowl on her face. Technically, the buildings of the U.S. Embassy counted as U.S. territory, but physical contact would have been grossly offensive to their witnesses, who no doubt would have complained to the mullah. No reason to unnecessarily aggravate anyone. “We’re skipping that part,” he said.
    He could swear he heard her sigh of relief. Which was really strange. The one constant in his life was that women responded well to him. Enthusiastically well. Except Dr. DiMatteo. She was an odd bird, hard to figure out.
    The justice of the peace smiled at them. “Congratulations.”
    Spike shook the man’s hand. “Thank you. I appreciate—?’His ringing cell phone cut him off. “Excuse me.” He stepped away from the small wedding party as he clicked it on. “Thornton.”
    “Have you made contact?” The Colonel’s voice cut in and out.
    “Yes.” He couldn’t say more than that with Abigail and the others standing a few feet from him.
    “Well done. Remember the CIA’s multipronged approach I told you about? Their asset turned up dead yesterday. Then this morning, they rushed the house they’d been keeping under surveillance and found it cleared out. You are it, Logan. You and Dr. DiMatteo. You need to start her evaluation immediately.”
    “Will do.” He had begun the second he’d set eyes on her. From what he could tell so far, she was not fit for the job. She was as see-through as a fancy negligee. The idea of recruiting her for the CIA seemed worse by the minute. Definitely not undercover material. Her face showed every wayward emotion that crossed her mind. She had known that she’d gotten the grant. He’d seen it in her face and had wondered who’d tipped her off. And she had planned to send him packing, which was why he’d gone to bed early, pretending to sleep to gain time until morning.
    He had counted on the mullah’s vigilance and it worked. They were in a country where unrelated men and women didn’t eat, work or spend any time together whatsoever. He couldn’t very well evaluate, recruit and train her like that. But now they were married, and in this part of the world that meant she was under his power in every way, tied to him. He needed that to complete his mission successfully.
    He had two weeks to lead the CIA to the terrorists’ headquarters, probably a training camp either in the mountains or in the desert. If he failed, the U.S. military would have to come in and bomb a variety of possible targets. And since the Beharrainian government refused to give permission for any type of U.S. military operation in the country, that kind of intervention would mean out-and-out war.
    And still, there would be a chance that El Jafar—aka Suhaib Hareb, the head of the terrorist group, according to CIA intelligence, could slip through somehow and succeed with his attack against the U.S.
    Spike dropped the phone into his pocket. Somehow within the next two weeks, he had to find a way to pin down EL Jafar. And his temporary wife was the key to the whole operation. He hoped to hell she was up for the task.
     

Chapter Two
    “Shukran, El Jafar,” Tsemyakov, if that was his real name, thanked him. “I will be in touch about details on transportation.” He extended his hand.
    They kissed on the cheek three times as was customary among friends. He allowed Tsernyakov the familiarity because he wanted him to feel safe.
    “It’s a good deal.” The Russian smiled, visibly pleased.
    An excellent deal. El Jafar watched as his guards escorted the man out of the spacious tent, but in