Chapter Five
NEXT TIME AUDREY surfaced she was lying on a bed with a strange man leaning over her.
“How you feeling?” The stranger had the prettiest gray eyes, surrounded by thick black lashes and spoke with a sexy British accent. A shard of memory drifted through her mind. He’d been in the hangar when they’d landed.
“Like someone stabbed me.” She tried to lift her hand but even that was too much effort.
The Brit pressed a straw against her lips and cupped the back of her head so she could drink. “Just a sip until your stomach gets used to it.”
At least that sounded vaguely optimistic that she might live. The pain in her side had eased, but she still felt like she was burning up from the inside out and was incredibly weak.
“Where am I?” Her voice was a dull rasp.
“Somewhere safe.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Not long.” Those pretty gray eyes were smiling, but she didn’t miss the fact he wasn’t answering her questions. “How you feeling? Headache? Nausea?”
“Both.” She nodded, and then winced as the motion set off a gyroscope inside her skull.
His hand touched her arm as he adjusted her IV. She wasn’t used to being so utterly dependent on anyone, especially not a stranger. “Are you a doctor?”
“Medic.”
She shifted in bed and realized that under an unfamiliar white T-shirt she was naked. Embarrassment crept into her cheeks. Someone had stripped her and changed her clothes. A feeling of vulnerability and helplessness swept over her.
“I didn’t see anything. Promise.” His gray eyes twinkled. “Your guard dog protected your modesty. I’m Noah, by the way. My mum always said that she should never have called me that because all I ever said when I was little was ‘no.’”
“I can think of a few things she should have called you,” came a familiar voice from the open doorway. Her eyes darted to her rescuer who leaned a shoulder against the frame. “But I probably shouldn’t use them in polite company.”
She was polite company? A confused half-naked, half-dead frog biologist?
The blue eyes were bright and piercing, but there were shadows in their depths. His blond hair could do with more than a trim and there was a light scruff on his jaw. He wore a dark T-shirt with black canvas pants, but his feet were bare. Whereas the Brit, Noah, was tall, dark and charming, this guy was lean, blond, and exuded confidence like a pheromone.
When he’d been at the visitor center yesterday she’d assumed he was part of a family and hadn’t paid too much attention, as she didn’t make a habit of ogling other women’s husbands or boyfriends. But at some point he’d told her he didn’t have a girlfriend so she must have been mistaken in her assumption.
Intelligence gleamed in the blue eyes that scanned her face. Enough intelligence to make her nervous.
She forced some moisture onto her tongue. “And what did your mother call you?” she asked pointedly.
His eyes narrowed for a moment before the smile returned. “On a good day she called me Patrick.”
Noah’s expression was flat, but even that was telling her something. These men were being careful with the information they shared with her. Were they some kind of criminals? But they hadn’t hurt her and would criminals really go to this much effort to help a woman they didn’t know? If Patrick was correct about the man who’d stabbed her being part of the Mano de Dios cartel, he’d saved her life at great risk to his own.
She owed him.
Another wave of pain hit and she lay back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. She wished she could wind the clock back twenty-four hours and start the day over. “Where are we?” she asked. “Have you contacted the embassy for me? I need to talk to my parents. My mom is going to freak.”
Noah pushed to his feet. “I’ll make you both a cuppa.”
Patrick moved farther into the room as Noah left. Her injury was neatly bandaged, but she was well aware her midriff was on display. She inched the T-shirt down and his gaze rose guiltily to meet hers. Was that interest in his eyes?
“Feeling any better?” he asked.
“Compared to yesterday when someone tried to kill me? I feel better. Compared to the day before that? Not so much.”
He nodded. Those eyes of his watched her with some kind of an agenda but she had no idea what that might be.
“I don’t understand,” she said, finally.
One brow rose. “Which part?”
“Any of it. Why I was attacked?” Her voice rose in agitation. “Why you brought me here?” A man like him didn’t need to kidnap a woman to have sex. Even some sort of perverted serial killer would have easier ways of finding his victims than stealing planes from drug lords and flying across the South American continent. His actions didn’t make sense. “I don’t understand why you haven’t taken me to the hospital. It’s almost like you’re holding me captive but there’s no reason for you to do that.”
Patrick continued to search her face, as if looking for an answer to some unspoken question. He shook his head. “I can’t take you to the hospital.”
“But why not? Surely the cartel doesn’t have spies everywhere? Surely when they figure out they made a mistake attacking me they’ll just leave me alone?”
He sat on a chair beside the bed, leaning forward, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees. Even though she felt like crap she was uncomfortably aware of him as an attractive male, sitting close beside her, as she lay half-naked in bed.
“Why would the cartel leave you alone?” he asked quietly. “They have billions of dollars and fingers in every imaginable pie. If they want you dead why would they ever leave you alone?” His anger echoed softly off the plain white walls.
She swallowed. “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”
His lip curled as if he thought she was lying.
“Honestly.” Why didn’t he believe her? How insulting was that? “Look, they’ve made a mistake. That man who stabbed me also attacked me the night before. Told me ‘The Gateway Project was over’ and I was to tell my boss. But my boss didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, either.”
“Were you hurt the first night?” The expression in his eyes was guarded, like he didn’t trust she was telling the truth, which was crazy. If she had the energy she’d roll her eyes. Why would she lie about any of this?
“He tied me up, scared me to death, but didn’t hurt me—not then anyway. He obviously came back to finish the job.” Her energy started to lag. Her eyes felt heavy. “I reported it to the cops who were probably scarier than the perp.”
Her brain grew fuzzy. She had a suspicion there was some sort of painkiller and sedative in her IV because she wasn’t hurting anymore but couldn’t keep her eyelids open.
“Patrick?” she asked drowsily.
“Yeah?” His voice sounded close, as if his lips were next to her ear.
She turned her head toward the sound, opened her eyes to find him an inch away, staring at her with an expression she couldn’t read. “Thank you for saving my life.”
* * *
TRACEY WILLIAMS SAUNTERED into the Colombian police station and smiled at the bored young officer who sat behind the front desk. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band and he had that amped up male vibe about him, all testosterone-driven virility. One of the easily manipulated. She was older than he was, but she kept in perfect shape. She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing attention to her impressive cleavage displayed by the deep vee of her tight white blouse. Then she bent just a little to smooth her hand down her just-above-the-knee dove-gray skirt. His eyes flickered. Good. Now she had his proper attention. She smiled straight into his dark chocolate eyes and watched his pupils heat.
“Hola, mi nombre es Meredith Childs. Trabajo con la compañía de seguros.” My name is Meredith Childs. I’m from the insurance company. Another false identity. In truth, she had so many she’d almost forgotten her real name—it was better that way. “Necesito ver el carro de alquiler que se quemó anoche para evaluar sus daños.” I need to see the burned out rental car from last night to assess it for damages. Her Spanish held just the barest trace of an American accent but, to her annoyance, he replied in perfect English.
“Trust me, Señorita, the car is a write off.”
“I understand, Officer, but if I don’t personally set eyes on the vehicle, I can’t process the claim for the rental company, and then they can’t press criminal charges for destruction of property against the renter.”
A look of amused disbelief crossed the young man’s face.
She pushed. “My firm will send somebody else until one of us actually lays eyes on the car. You know how insurance companies are.” The same the world over.
The young man gave a heavy sigh and shouted through an open door to some cops in the back room. The place was hopping after a murder—Dr. Lockhart’s student to be exact. Apparently Mano de Dios had thought the kid might have an idea where his supervisor had gone and had tried to beat it out of him. They’d discovered absolutely nothing. The cartel operated on violence and intimidation, but not smarts. They also operated on bribes.
She’d bet her new BMW Z4 Roadster that the investigation into the student’s death was already written up and the cops had concluded that Dr. Audrey Lockhart was the prime suspect. Poor Audrey, all she’d ever tried to do was beat back the disappointments and tragedies of her life by burying herself in her work. The biologist’s future looked increasingly bleak. So sad. Too bad. Life happened and you adapted. Or died.
The uniform led her out through the front door and around the side of the low squat building. She maneuvered carefully over the hot, cracked, pitted concrete in her four-inch, black, patent leather pumps.
He pulled keys from the belt at his side and said something about the weather. She smiled with just the right amount of sparkle. His expression was more relaxed now. Attentive. Interested. All because his Tab A might fit into her Slot B. It was the only form of biology that had ever interested her.
They approached a large lot filled with cars and boats, surrounded by a ten-foot high chain link fence. The acrid stench of smoke and gasoline tainted the air. A burned-out SUV sat on the back of a flatbed tow truck. The cop swung up inside the cab and started to slowly lower the SUV to the dusty ground. She peered closer as the vehicle dropped to her level. Gas cap was missing. Small pieces of what looked like incinerated paper were stuck inside the pipe. Definitely a torch job. All the interior upholstery had melted away and the inside was a twisted mess of carbonized plastic and steel. Just the skeletal frame of the seats remained. Whoever lit it up had done a good job.
The car came to rest on the ground with a bump and a groan.
“Did they find any prints?” she asked when the cop turned off the winch.
“Nada. We sent a knife and samples of material covered in what looked like blood to the crime lab but it might not be possible to get DNA.” He shrugged in that sexy arrogant way some Latino men had.
The blood probably belonged to Lockhart. From the information she’d received Lockhart had miraculously killed one of the cartel’s trained monkeys, but had been stabbed in the process. What Tracey needed to know was the identity of the mysterious white knight who’d ridden to the biologist’s rescue.
Despite the public cover up, someone was actively investigating Ted Burger’s death—probably someone in the US government. Tracey would be more concerned if it were The Gateway Project, but that shadowy vigilante organization had unexpectedly shut down in December, and the secretive cabal had disbanded without her or her boss learning their true identities. Burger had been pissed by the decision, but he’d also been afraid. She’d enjoyed the look in his eyes when she’d told him The Gateway Project had sent her to exact revenge, but she had no real desire to come to their attention.
Tracey was smart enough to tread lightly. Once she figured out who was involved, then she’d know where to start looking for Little Miss Lockhart.
A dead “assassin” suited everyone. Especially her. Tracey had wanted to kill Audrey before this, but her lover hadn’t let her. A mistake. Tracey didn’t like mistakes.
She eyed the cop up and down. If she couldn’t get what she needed out of this guy she’d have to risk going to the car rental company and try to bluff her way into seeing their records. She took photographs of the vehicle from all angles, and wrote notes on her iPad as he eyed the outline of her flat stomach and full breasts under her business attire.
She bit her lip and frowned. “I need the vehicle identification number to confirm this is the right car and then I can close the case from my end.” She gestured to her clothes, which were not suited for exploring a burnt out vehicle, and pouted. “I don’t really want to get too close.”
He raised his eyes, gaze shrewd and calculating.
Come on, pretty boy. Give me what I want and I might do the same for you. She smiled.
“I have the information inside,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
He was young, fit, good-looking—unlike some of the people she’d screwed for information. Back inside the police station, the officer went through to the rear of the building and returned with a thick file.
She eyed it avidly and he saw her interest. She bit her lip and raised her brows. “I don’t suppose you have anything in there that might save me a trip to the rental office, do you?” She leaned over the counter, providing a nice view of her breasts enclosed in a lacy bra. “I have to be at the airport by three and can think of better things to do with my lunch hour.”
“Señorita, that is not possible I’m afraid,” he said loudly. Then she watched him photocopy the entire contents of the file before he returned it to the officers in the back.
He made a big show of putting the photocopies into a large envelope while she watched his every move. He thought he had all the power here, all the control, not realizing she was leading him around with a firm grip on his hefty young balls. He held out the envelope and she went to take it, but he didn’t let go. His dark eyes smiled and he tilted his head slightly, not threatening, but arrogant enough to know he held a few cards of his own. “Perhaps I could take you to lunch before you have to catch your flight?”
“That would be very sweet of you.” She fluttered her lashes. “But, considering my boss is an ass, it depends on what’s in the envelope.” She flicked long blonde hair over her shoulder. “He won’t be happy if I don’t get the information I need and I can’t afford to get fired.”
He let go of the envelope and she quickly peeked at the name and signature on the rental agreement. She recognized neither. The photograph on the driver’s license, however, made her whole body freeze. His identity shouldn’t have shocked her. But it did.
She should have known. A ball of hatred rose up inside her. The person responsible for her fall from grace. A man whose pretty blue eyes and irreverent grin were as famous at Langley as his unconventional way of doing things. The thought of ruining his legendary reputation, of making him look like an incompetent fool sent a thrill rushing through her blood.
She shivered with anticipation. After all these years she could finally make him and the CIA pay for ruining her life. But could she do it without getting caught? A challenge, she conceded, but not impossible. Not if he wasn’t expecting it. The idea of getting the better of a man like that was both tantalizing and seductive.
The cop walked around the counter to guide her out of the building to her car. Along the way he whispered in her ear, “I know a motel nearby. Perhaps you’d like a different kind of lunch today?” The chocolate eyes held a dark promise.
“Maybe I would.” The information he’d given her was worth celebrating. Giving her the opportunity to destroy the man who’d ruined her was worthy of a reward.
He walked to his own car with a male swagger in his step and she almost laughed. Men were so predictable—except for her boss, her lover, her partner in crime. She never knew what to expect from him, which was probably why she’d fallen for him quite so hard.
He might not let you take the revenge you want to take, a little voice inside niggled. And he might not know until the dust settled, she argued back. She’d take her chances. And as unpredictable and brilliant as he might be, right now, he needed her more than she needed him.
The cop rolled up beside her in his shiny gray muscle car as she started her rental’s engine. A huge rush of adrenaline surged through her. She was buzzing with pent up energy and the burning desire to show her true colors if only to a strange man in a paid by-the-hour motel room. Having a connection inside the police station could prove useful.
She waved her fingers at him and put her car in gear, following him out of the parking lot toward the outskirts of town. Romeo better make getting sweaty and naked worth the effort. She didn’t deal well with disappointment, as the spook and Audrey Lockhart were about to find out.
* * *
KILLION STARED THOUGHTFULLY as Audrey drifted off into another drug-induced coma. Why would she mention The Gateway Project in her report to the cops? Why the hell would she do that? No one involved in that organization would want it to be a matter of public record.
The facts didn’t make any sense. The situation didn’t make sense.
The night that he’d grabbed her and tied her up, she’d told him she didn’t speak Spanish, but he’d known she was lying. Right now if someone asked his professional opinion as to her veracity, even though he’d watched Hector Sanchez die at her hand, he’d say she was telling the truth. It raised the awful prospect that she might actually be innocent.
If she was innocent—huge if—but if she was, it was possible the police report she’d filed about his little warning visit two nights previous had spooked someone into sending Hector Sanchez to permanently take care of the problem. And, if Killion followed that line of reasoning, it meant that he was indirectly responsible for the attack on her yesterday and, therefore, the death of Gómez’s chief enforcer.
He could live with the latter. The former, however…
The thick bandage on Audrey’s waist, the smooth curve of her cheek and the idea she might be blameless made a wedge of remorse lodge in his throat. He really didn’t want to believe she might be innocent, but he’d seen that kind of denial before—in people who’d crossed so far over the line they couldn’t afford to admit they might have made a mistake. Or maybe his radar was off because of his attraction to her?
He didn’t know—and he wasn’t used to that either.
He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept. There was an air of naivety about her that was hard to fake. But there was too much evidence and too many coincidences to believe this woman was uninvolved. She was either playing him like a maestro—because he was ready to wrap her up in cotton wool and personally take care of her in every way—or she’d been set up and he’d foolishly swallowed a line attached to a big fat juicy hook.
Neither was palatable.
The first priority was keeping her alive. The second was interrogating Audrey Lockhart-of-the-trusting-violet-blue-eyes-and-tremulous-smile because, whether she knew it or not, she held the answers to his questions.
He couldn’t afford to let down his guard. There was still the very real possibility she was playing him until she got the chance to put something appropriately noxious in his coffee. She wouldn’t be the first woman to want him dead, but she would be the first frog biologist to ever go there.
“She out of it?” Noah came back into the room with a mug of hot tea. Killion hadn’t drunk the brew until he’d been stuck in the middle of the desert with a bunch of tea-swilling Brits. He’d figured out that the quickest way to defeat the British Army would be to put an embargo on Tetleys.
“Totally. What’d you put in her IV?”
“Morphine. She’s responding well to the IV antibiotics but she’s going to need to be on them for another forty-eight hours at least. Stitches will come out on their own. I’d recommend keeping her lightly sedated until the infection clears up, otherwise she’s going to be trying to get out of bed and generally be a handful.”
“She’s going to be a handful all right.” Killion dragged his hand through his hair. Damn. This wasn’t part of the plan.
He walked into the kitchen where Logan was dishing up lunch. The TV on the kitchen wall was switched to the local Spanish news channel.
Logan thrust a bowl in his direction and tossed him a bread roll. “We’ve got a job that’s just come up. Have to head out tonight. You can lay low here with your friend if you want.”
“’Preciate it.” Killion dug into his stew, knowing Logan was a good cook from their time together in Afghanistan. His encrypted phone rang and his one hand paused with his spoon halfway to his lips as he checked the screen. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d started eating.
It was Jed Brennan.
“You missing me already?” Killion said and then carried on chewing.
“Like a dose of the clap. Vivi says ‘Hi’ too, by the way.”
“Sure she did.” Jed’s new squeeze was slowly coming around to Killion’s special brand of friendship, but she wasn’t quite there yet. “You got anything for me?” He stole another mouthful of stew and chewed fast.
“I’m going to send you some coordinates,” Jed said.
He swallowed. “I thought these phone lines were secure?”
“Yeah, but when you get the coordinates you’ll understand. You’ve got free run of the place for two weeks before the owner returns.”
“Security?”
“Tight as a duck’s ass,” Jed said.
“It isn’t Wisconsin, is it?” Please, God, don’t let it be Wisconsin.
“What the hell is wrong with Wisconsin?”
Killion had known Jed would take the bait. “Nothing, if you’re a cheesehead—”
“Kiss my—”
“And then there’re the Packers…”
“Hey, buddy, don’t cross a line that can’t be uncrossed,” Jed warned. “Anyway, it isn’t the Badger State. We begged but they wouldn’t take you.”
Killion grinned and ate.
“So two weeks,” Jed continued, “is that long enough to, er…get the information you need out of the woman?” His words were measured.
Killion shook his head. It pissed him off that his friends believed he might be a party to torture, but he did perpetuate the myth, and he did get results. “Depends on when I drag out the thumbscrews.”
“You could seduce it out of her. Shouldn’t be a problem with your good looks and winning personality.”
Killion’s levity instantly evaporated. “Screw you.” He let out a tired sigh. “Something feels off. I’m not a hundred percent convinced she knows anything.”
There was a long pause. “You said it had to be her. You said you were certain.”
“She’s involved, I just don’t know how she’s involved.”
“What about the bank account? The poison?” He heard the resignation in Jed’s voice. Then the guy swore. “Why couldn’t the killer have just shot the bastard?” Jed sounded dog-tired all of a sudden. No doubt Brennan had come back to work too soon after nearly dying in the line of duty.
But right now Killion was grateful. He needed all the help he could get from people he trusted. “Do me a favor, see if there’s any way of getting hold of a police report Audrey Lockhart says she filed the night before last.”
“The night you warned her off?”
“Yep. She says she reported it. I want to know exactly what she said and what the detectives did with that information. How’s Frazer?” Killion changed the subject.
“Bitten by the love bug apparently.”
“Are you kidding me? This is worse than losing George Clooney. It’s like a contagious disease. All my bachelor icons are falling.”
“Pretty sure you’ll never have that problem.”
Hurt flashed quick as lightning along his nerves. He hid it under his usual banter. “Because I could never deprive the female population of their favorite stud?”
“Because you’re never in one place long enough to meet a woman.” There was another short pause. “And you never let them closer than your bed.”
He felt tightness in his throat. “That’s close enough for what I have in mind.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“Seriously?”
“Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to.” Jed laughed but Killion heard something behind the humor. Frustration, because Killion didn’t talk about personal shit with anyone.
He wasn’t some teenage girl. He was an Intelligence Officer for the Central Intelligence Agency. “It’s safer not to go there in my profession. For their sake and mine,” he blurted. Where the hell had that come from?
“Sounds like a crappy profession.”
“Like the feebs have it any better.”
“I’ve got it pretty good.” He could hear the smugness in Jed’s tone.
“That’s because you have a good-looking redhead to climb into bed with every night.”
“Not every night.” Jed sounded pissed now. “She’s in Fargo packing up her and Michael’s things and putting her house on the market. I was going to help, but with Frazer out of commission we’re short-handed here. I even have a rookie to break in.”
“Frazer will be back before you know it.”
“I’m more worried about Vivi and Michael.”
“Worried she might leave you for someone better looking?”
“With nicer friends,” Jed agreed.
Killion felt a pang of envy at Jed’s life. The guy had been shot and almost died, but he had a fiercely loyal woman in his life and her very cute kid, and the lifelong gratitude of the President of the United States. He also had a job he loved with colleagues he didn’t mind seeing every day.
Most of Killion’s colleagues were grounded at Langley for a reason. Aside from Crista, his favorite people were the ones assigned overseas—like the Station Chief of the Pakistan field office who’d helped Killion through numerous inter-agency fuck-ups including one time when the State Department accidentally released all the names of CIA personnel operating in South East Asia to the Press Corp. And another time where a team of Navy SEALs were deployed to rescue three female hostages who’d already managed to escape with the aid of a CIA asset Killion had activated. Thankfully, the bad guys hadn’t discovered the SEALs or the hostages and everyone had come home alive.
The last couple of years he’d been attached to the Joint Terrorism Task Force, followed by this collaboration with the FBI. It was as close to freedom as he’d ever known with the Agency and he liked it. But he had a feeling the autonomy was about to end, just as soon as he figured out who was behind Ted Burger’s untimely demise.
“I’ve gotta go,” Jed said suddenly. “I’ve got an agent in New York State and he’s on the other line. Series of killings at an exclusive university. Pissed off rich people and slaughtered co-eds don’t go down well. Shit hitting the fan from all directions.”
Maybe Jed’s job wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. “Don’t forget to look into that police report for me,” Killion reminded him.
“On it. I’m sending those coordinates right now. Two weeks. Parker cleared it with the owners.”
They hung up and Killion dug into his stew again, appetite renewed, until Logan grabbed the remote and boosted the volume on the TV. Audrey’s passport photo appeared on the screen, and that of some young guy, a student apparently who’d been found dead in his apartment early that morning. Killion stopped eating. Damn. The reporter was talking excitedly at the camera. Professor Lockhart had disappeared and it was unclear at this point whether she was a killer or another victim. No mention of Hector Sanchez or stolen airplanes. Gómez must have gotten rid of Hector’s body because he wouldn’t want to look weak to his competitors.
Killion stared at the screen, not really seeing it anymore. Gómez had gone after Audrey via her student—but if she was the assassin someone wanted Killion to believe she was, why bother? A professional would be long gone and her student wouldn’t know a damn thing about it. Anyone who’d hired her would know that. It was another “fact” that didn’t add up to the whole picture of this frog biologist being a cold-hearted killer.
His phone beeped with the coordinates of the safe house. Killion grinned and shook his head when he checked the GPS and saw the location was right in the middle of the ocean.
He turned the screen of his cell toward Logan whose brows rose. “We’ve got a destination, but I’m gonna need a ride.”