Chapter Nine
KILLION WAS PISSED. He was pissed that he was pissed. Audrey Lockhart had knocked him sideways. First, the expression on her face when she’d guessed he was CIA, like he was some sort of sexual deviant, rather than a respected and upstanding member of the intelligence community. Then she judged him and all his co-workers by leaping to conclusions about the kind of work he did.
“Fuck.”
He went to the window and stared out at the miles of glistening water. His job was classified. He didn’t talk about it, period. Not even to defend himself. But he wasn’t a whipping boy who’d stand around letting others take potshots at him, either. He was a decorated patriot who fought for his country in a covert war that never ended. This was what he did, this was what he was good at. What the hell would he do with himself if he wasn’t picking up bad guys and squeezing them for information?
Audrey Lockhart had no right to judge him. Sure, she’d suffered. Being attacked and nearly dying wasn’t a picnic. But if she’d murdered Ted Burger then certain risks had to be anticipated.
If…
His problem was this ever-growing tendril of doubt. Doubt about her involvement. Doubt in himself. She wasn’t behaving like an assassin should, on any level. She wasn’t following any of the unwritten rules. She was just being her wide-eyed ingénue self and if it was an act it was a damn good one.
Interrogation required the same skills as a good case officer handling an asset—except an asset was a willing participant whereas a detainee was generally pissed. But it was an intense relationship where trust was critical.
When interrogating detainees in Abu Ghraib—after the terrible events that had preceded his arrival in the country—he hadn’t worried about uncertainty. He’d been sent to glean as much information from key prisoners as possible. Contrary to what everyone thought and accused him of on a regular basis, he hadn’t used “enhanced interrogation techniques.” He hadn’t needed to.
His hands weren’t clean. He didn’t condone torture, but he’d been complicit in watching other CIA and military personnel question suspects and he’d seen them go hard on one captive in the early days of the Iraq war. He’d been too green to know better, too low on the rungs to alter the course of events, but it hadn’t taken long to figure out that it wasn’t the way he wanted to uphold his vow.
At the time the operators had felt justified. They’d been searching for information on a particular high-value target who’d been on everyone’s shit list and they hadn’t been shy about extracting it. The operators hadn’t cared about rules of engagement, they’d been desperate, believing the US was under imminent threat. They’d gained the information they required and Killion had no doubt they’d saved lives. The operators had fast-tracked the interrogation process, but it could have gone either way. The real key lay in the fact they’d scooped up the right person off the street, someone who’d known the relevant information.
Killion might not believe in torture, but he wasn’t about to condemn the people on the ground who’d been part of the most ill thought out military campaign since the trench warfare of WWI. Actually, no, that wasn’t fair. The campaign itself had been masterful. It was the lack of planning for the aftermath that had been a goddamn disaster.
Despite the early hour, he poured himself two-fingers of bourbon then hunted in the freezer, pulling out a large steak and finding potatoes in the bottom of the fridge. Audrey probably wouldn’t eat much, but cooking eased his mind and he hadn’t eaten a decent meal since Logan’s stew a couple of days ago.
No matter what Killion threw at Audrey she never dropped out of character—that of being an innocent biologist caught up in something she didn’t understand. She’d gotten him to spill his guts. Not operational details, but he usually kept his mouth shut, period.
She pushed his buttons.
It would be hard to break her—mainly because he liked her too much. Maybe he should pass her over to someone who could do the job they were being paid to do.
His phone rang. The island had its own satellite connection. He checked the number. Jed Brennan. He’d been expecting the call.
“How’s the va-cay?” Jed asked.
“About the same as yours was before Christmas, except for the getting laid by a good-looking woman part.”
Jed had helped Vivi Vincent and her young son escape from terrorists during a mall attack last year. All three of them had come close to death and Jed could have lost his career over some of the choices he’d made. Thanks to Professor Lockhart, Killion understood Jed’s decisions a little better now. Not the playing happy families bit, but the running-and-hiding and assessing your position part.
“Win some, lose some.” Jed laughed.
“Smug bastard.” Killion looked out the window at the spectacular view, but all he saw was Audrey’s pretty eyes turning a distinct shade of disappointed. He jammed his fingers into his hair. “Honestly, I’d rather be stranded in Wisconsin eating raw turnips.”
“Because that’s what we eat. I take it she’s still alive?”
“Alive and well. But now I’m tempted to smother her with a pillow.”
“I’m sure she feels the same way.”
“She practically accused me of being a pervert.” Killion complained as he put the steak in the microwave and programmed the defrost option.
“You are a pervert.”
Killion laughed. “Yeah, but she doesn’t know that. I’ve been the perfect gentleman.” He remembered her naked body and the memory was enough to make him hard. Dammit. At the time he’d been strictly professional, but now that she was recovering his subconscious seemed to have decided she was fair game. Not what he needed, although as he’d told the woman herself, he’d use it if he had to.
Big sacrifice—he rolled his eyes at himself. “So, who’d she call?” The cell phone had been left lying around as bait but she’d gotten to it way faster than he’d anticipated. Parker was tracing any numbers she called, though she’d been blocked from actually making contact.
“Nine-one-one, her parents, and an ex-boyfriend.”
Killion didn’t like the unpleasant surprise of the latter. He hadn’t thought there was anyone special in her life from the background checks he’d run on her. “Who?”
“Devon Brightman.”
She’d dated Devon for a few months more than four years ago. Why call him?
“Interestingly Devon’s father was a friend of Senator Burger’s. So we’re going to look into him further.”
They finally had a tangible link between Audrey and Burger, even if it was a tenuous one. So why did he feel disappointed?
“What’s the plan?” Jed asked. “You letting her sweat?”
Killion thought about the way her damp hair had stuck to her forehead when she’d been delirious with fever and closed his eyes. Crap. He’d really thought she was going to die for a while there. He hadn’t liked the idea. Not at all. “I don’t think sweating it out will work with this one. She’s pissed. Already figured out I was CIA.”
“But you still think she’s innocent?” Jed sounded dubious.
“She’s whip-smart and overheard a conversation she shouldn’t have. Put two and two together. It was sloppy. Nothing I can do about it. What’s the other news?”
“The Colombians have issued an international warrant for her arrest for the murder of the student.”
Ah, shit. Audrey was fucked.
“So what is the next move?” Jed asked again.
Killion heard the uncertainty in Jed’s voice. Did the guy really expect him to make her hold a stress position when she could barely walk ten steps? Maybe force the truth out of her by threatening the people she loved? He’d done plenty of things he wasn’t proud of but he couldn’t do anything like that to Audrey—and she sure as hell better not figure that out or he was screwed.
Bottom line was, he’d never physically hurt a woman. He wasn’t about to start now. “What’s the profile of your typical hired killer?” he asked instead.
“You actually want me to do what I’m paid for?”
“You’re talking to a spook who is playing nursemaid to a sick woman, so stop whining.”
“Murder-for-hire. There’s no general psychological profile. Despite what you see on TV most murderers for hire aren’t that bright. They don’t cover their tracks, they brag about their kills and then they get caught. They tend to be men, younger than the so-called mastermind and often have criminal records. Whoever killed Burger doesn’t fall into that category. Firstly, the killer was female, which is unusual. It was more like a targeted political assassination and the killer was a professional—probably government trained?”
But which government?
“Could the killer be cartel?” Killion was searching for a way for this to make sense.
“Sure, but I don’t see them training a woman like Lockhart. I mean, when? Where?”
Frazer’s team had gone through Audrey’s background in intricate detail. She hadn’t had time to fit assassin training into her academic schedule. But backgrounds could be faked. The CIA did it every day.
“Maybe they threatened someone she loved?” Parents, sister, nephew?
“Because she just happened to work with the deadliest creature on earth and her former boyfriend’s dad was a friend of Senator Burger? Seems like a stretch.” Jed paused. “The best bet for finding a killer is usually by looking at the victim. But Burger had so many enemies that doesn’t help us.”
There was also the five hundred grand in the Caymans registered to an account in Audrey’s name, but that could also be a set up. Frankly, Ted Burger had been such a world-class asshole a lot of people would have killed him for free. And surely a woman with a Ph.D. would be smart enough to use a shell company to cover her tracks?
Killion tossed back the rest of his drink. “I need a few more days. Maybe spending time with me will make her so desperate to get out of here she’ll confess to everything.”
“As good a plan as any.”
“Thanks for the ringing endorsement, pal.”
“You getting itchy feet?”
Downtime was not something Killion did well. Last time he’d taken time off was for a broken ulna. He’d lasted twelve hours. “I think we’re missing something and being purposely misled. Rather than being able to track down information I’m sitting here with my thumb up my ass, playing nursemaid.”
“We’re working all the angles.”
Killion grunted.
“What’s the problem?”
Killion poured himself another shot of bourbon. There were too many problems to count. “All the facts point to Audrey.”
“And?”
“Even the facts that we know aren’t true point to Audrey.”
“Like the dead student?”
Who she still didn’t know about. “Yeah. And if I hadn’t been Johnny-on-the-spot when Hector tried to off her we’d probably have believed any tale they spun. If they can set that up, maybe they can set up the rest.” He stabbed two potatoes with a fork, wrapped them each in tin foil. He didn’t know how much Audrey might be able to eat but she had to try to regain her strength—probably so she could verbally beat the shit out of him. “Something about this whole thing isn’t adding up.” And it bothered him too much to ignore. The microwave dinged for the steak. “Make sure you tell that beautiful interpreter of yours that it’s not too late to have a chance with me if she’s changed her mind about you.”
“You’ve got more chance of leading the Mars mission.”
Killion grinned. Thinking about it, when they first met, Vivi had looked at him the same way Audrey looked at him after she’d realized he wasn’t taking her to the cops or letting her go. Like he was something nasty that needed scraped from the sole of her shoe. It was not the usual effect he had on women. Women liked him. He had a smile that promised a good time and the patience to deliver. Apparently Vivi and Audrey were both immune to his charm. Smart ladies.
He said goodbye to Jed and tossed back the rest of his drink. The heat of the liquor warmed his throat and the relaxed feeling it evoked made him want to pour himself another and just get trashed. Instead he checked the steak. He’d need all his faculties to get through the next few days and figure out exactly what information his captive held. Guilty or not, he had a feeling Audrey’s life depended on him finding the answers.
* * *
AUDREY PUSHED HERSELF up in the bed and blinked herself awake. She’d slept most of the day and felt more refreshed than earlier, less blitzed. Before going to sleep she’d found underwear and a pair of workout shorts in the dresser and borrowed them with a silent apology to the owner.
She needed all her wits to cope with this man and couldn’t afford to be distracted by her lack of clothes. He was scary intelligent and not afraid to break the rules to get what he wanted. She wasn’t used to dealing with this sort of man on any level, she hadn’t even had a boyfriend in eighteen months. Her last long-term relationship had been a disaster when the guy had turned out to be screwing a summer student even though they were dating. Before that had been Devon. It had taken months to realize they were drawn together by loss and grief, and had zero chemistry. Not the healthiest of foundations. She was grateful they were still good friends, especially now that he was dating her sister, but she wished that part of her relationship history had never happened.
Relationships came with too heavy a price and she wasn’t willing to pay it anymore. Nowadays, Audrey preferred to be alone.
Why was she thinking about relationships and dating?
The sound of the lock turning, followed by a knock on the door startled her. Patrick stuck his head in warily as if expecting her to throw something at him again. His hair was a little rumpled as if he’d been napping too. Bed head suited him. She suspected there weren’t many situations where the spook didn’t look like some purposely ruffled model from a men’s cologne ad.
Patrick had said he wasn’t fussy about the women he slept with, but she knew the type of women men like him dated. The beautiful ones, the ones who worked out daily and got their faces airbrushed into place every morning. She rarely even bothered with make-up. Her frogs didn’t care.
Why was she thinking about looks? Heat flooded her cheeks and she gripped the sheets. Looks were irrelevant. First chance she got she was going to scream bloody murder to anyone who’d listen.
“Truce?” He was clearly feeling out her mood.
She glared at him then remembered that old saying about catching more flies with honey than vinegar. Plus, she didn’t have the energy to fight. She had nothing to lose by putting away her hostility as long as she kept up her guard. “Fine.”
“I made dinner.”
She hugged her knees tight to her chest. “I’m not hungry.”
Beneath an unbuttoned shirt, a rumpled tee stretched over his well-defined chest. She tried not to notice.
“You’ve gotta eat. Build up your strength before you waste away.”
“You sound like my mother.” Her poor mother fussing over her sister who’d rather smoke crack than eat a proper meal or look after her two-year-old son. Sadness settled under her ribs. Audrey wasn’t big on self-pity, but after being stabbed and abducted—by a helicopter full of black ops soldiers she remembered suddenly—she’d earned a little feel-sorry-for-herself time.
And now it was over. Time to move forward, stop moping and figure a way out of this mess. The only person going to take care of her was her and she’d better start now. She threw back the covers and Patrick took in her new clothes with a carefully blank expression. She was beginning to see he revealed more in those moments when he hid everything, than in the rest of their time together.
“I’m just going to use the bathroom.” She went to turn away but a memory stopped her cold. He’d helped her to the bathroom on several occasions, waiting outside the door before helping her back to bed. She glanced back over her shoulder, seeing him differently this time.
He’d taken care of her.
Memories flooded in as she stared at him. The endless sips of cool water. Sponging her brow with a wet cloth. The feeling of flying when he carried her because she was too weak to walk on her own. The tired lines around his eyes were from lack of sleep because he’d been by her side the entire time she’d been sick. The entire time.
“It was cold,” she said.
A slight crinkle formed between his brows. He didn’t understand.
“When you put me in the tub the water was cold…” She swallowed her confusion.
“You were burning up. I didn’t know what else to do.” From the wary expression in his eyes he thought she was about to get mad again.
She remembered something else. Pressing as close as she could get to a big warm body, and that body wrapping around her until heat suffused her bones and her teeth stopped rattling.
He’d saved her life. For all the wrong reasons, but he had saved her life. Maybe it was a starting point.
“Thank you,” she said slowly. “For taking care of me.”
He watched her, eyes guarded. Gave her a small nod. “Come on out when you’re ready. We can eat in the kitchen.”
Audrey went into the bathroom and closed the door. She didn’t know what to think anymore. Snippets of memory were reappearing and they didn’t jive with someone about to force information out of her.
He’d never admitted to being an interrogator.
He’d never admitted to being anything at all.
She used the facilities and washed her hands. The mirror over the sink revealed a gaunt oval face. Messy hair. Dark circles under her eyes over ivory pale skin. She squinted. She looked exactly like what she was. A serious-minded scientist recovering from a severe illness. She didn’t look like some crazy killer.
Why did he think she was? There had to be a logical explanation.
Why had someone from the Mano de Dios stabbed her? It had to be a case of mistaken identity, right? Excitement burst through her. This was something they could fix. And she could go back to her life as soon as the misunderstanding was cleared up.
She splashed her face with cold water and her stomach growled. For the first time in days she was actually hungry. Drying herself she padded barefoot into the bedroom. Already feeling tired from this small exertion, she headed through the door and found her captor in the kitchen, buttering a piece of toast. It was dark outside. They must have both slept the day away. He’d laid out two place settings. One had a glass of water and a plate with half a potato and three thin slices of meat. The other had a large steak, loaded baked potato, and peas. A bottle of beer was front and center.
“Take a seat.” He indicated a stool at the kitchen island and plunked the buttered toast beside her plate. “I wasn’t sure what you might want.”
“This is great. Thanks.” She climbed gingerly into the chair and looked around. “This is a beautiful place. Is it yours?”
He shook his head. “You want anything else to drink? There’s juice, milk, tea, coffee. I’m withholding alcohol until further notice.”
She smiled even though he avoided answering her question. She wrapped her fingers around the cool glass and tried not to resent him. “Water’s fine.”
He sat kitty-corner to her and it felt weird. Like they were suddenly supposed to pretend to be two normal people when everything leading to this moment had been extraordinary.
The silence got louder and louder until she couldn’t stand it any longer. “So, where’d you grow up?”
He swigged his beer. “California. You?”
She picked up the toast, wondering if he was telling the truth and how you’d ever really know with a man like him. “I assume you know. In fact, I assume you know everything about me from my dental history to my menstrual cycle.”
He winced. “Not quite. But I know a lot. Born in Montana, moved to Kentucky when you were twelve. Still living and working in the Bluegrass State except for when you’re down in Colombia doing your funky frog thing.”
“I explained my work with the frogs during my talk the other day. You were too busy feeling up that poor tourist to pay attention to what I was saying.”
He shook his head. “Harmless flirtation. And I was listening. Frogs are dying and you’re trying to help them. I paid attention, but didn’t know I was gonna get a test on it.” He sliced into his steak and started eating.
She bit into her hot buttered toast and her toes curled as the salt from the butter dissolved on her tongue. She wiped the crumbs from her lips. “This is delicious.”
“Cheap date. Good to know.” He smiled, a dimple flashing in his chin. “You took a gap year after high school. Where’d you go?”
“This sounds like an interrogation but as I’ve got nothing to hide I’ll tell you.” She took another tiny nibble of toast. “I went to Europe, then Thailand, then Australia and New Zealand.”
“Your parents didn’t mind you taking off on them?”
The reminder of her parents brought a flash of remorse. They’d already suffered enough. Picking up her glass and taking a sip of water, she pushed the worry away. One stressor at a time. Once she convinced Patrick she wasn’t a killer, she’d find a way to contact her parents and let them know she was alive.
“They weren’t happy about it, but I needed to get away. I’m pretty sure I’d literally have gone insane if I’d stayed home.” She’d been suffocating on the inside, desperate to escape the pressures from school and her home situation. Full of a burning desire to travel and see the world.
“I take it your sister’s drug addiction has been hard on your family.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I had no patience with Sienna when she started using.” The inner anger that lived deep inside her broke free. “Honestly? I was mad with all of them. My sister was a screw up but my parents let her be. They indulged her from the day she was born. If she was sick she stayed home from school. If she didn’t do well in class it was the teacher’s fault. If I said anything I was acting out, being mean, jealous.” She wasn’t usually this frank about her family dynamics, but Patrick apparently knew more about her than anyone else on the planet. She’d give him some meat to go on those bones. “I needed to get away from everyone and everything to save my sanity.”
“Did it?” he asked.
“Some days that is debatable, but yeah.” She nodded. “That year taught me a lot about myself and what I was interested in. My passion. I came home with more patience and maturity than when I left.”
He watched her with those blue eyes of his that missed nothing but never looked wholly convinced she was telling the truth. Normally people assumed she was as transparent as glass and as interesting as drying paint. A small part of her enjoyed being an enigma for once.
“Do you have a family?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“You don’t want to talk about them in case my frogs and I go on a rampage?” She sniggered, holding her side. Maybe the joke was in bad taste, but so was being stabbed and abducted.
He wiped at a ring of condensation on the wooden countertop. “On your world adventure, which was your favorite place to visit?”
She eyed him over the top of her glass, telling him she knew he was trying to control the conversation and that she’d let him, for now. “I take it you’ve traveled?”
He nodded.
“Could you choose a favorite out of Venice, Paris, Rome?”
“Anywhere people don’t try to kill me goes on the happy list.” The look in his eyes told her he wasn’t kidding. He surprised her by continuing. “I guess if I had to pick one, I’d choose the desert somewhere. Australia, maybe. Utah, North Africa—I like heat, and the colors. The quiet.” He shrugged and she thought he might actually be telling the truth. “You must have a favorite place,” he persisted.
“I loved Australia. The wildlife there is phenomenal.”
“Bugs.” He pulled a face. “You’re a crusader. Trying to save the world.”
“I thought you said I was a murderer?” She arched a brow.
“People can be both.” Patrick looked like he’d met quite a few of them.
“Who exactly do you think I killed?”
He took a swig of beer. “It’s classified.”
She laughed, and then realized he was serious. “Seriously? How am I supposed to defend myself against a crime when you won’t tell me what the crime is?”
“Tell me every crime you’ve ever committed and we’ll go from there.” His smile promised many things and Audrey didn’t trust it even a little bit.
She was suddenly unwilling to do this dance when all he really wanted was to pump her for information. She put down her toast.
“Hey,” he raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just making conversation. You need to eat.”
“Fine.” She sipped her water and wished she didn’t feel so weak and helpless. “Let’s see. What’s the worst thing I’ve ever done? In Venice I found two hundred dollars and I didn’t hand it in to the authorities. I was broke and that money lasted me an entire week. It was wrong and I’m assuming illegal, but I did it anyway because I didn’t want to have to beg my parents for help when I’d told them I could take care of myself. What else? I once went skinny dipping in New Zealand, which was a huge mistake given how cold it was. I used to get into bars when I was underage with a fake ID. I jaywalked in NYC—”
“Everyone jaywalks in NYC.”
“And while I try to stick to the speed limit I admit that I’ve occasionally put my foot down on long wide open stretches of highway.”
He cut into his potato, then pointed at her plate with his knife. “Eat.”
“What about you, what crimes have you committed?”
He chewed and swallowed, then grinned. “Aside from leaving the scene of a suspicious death and stealing a plane from a Colombian drug lord? Nothing recently.”
“What about kidnapping?”
He looked startled by that, then one side of his lips curved. “You got me.”
She ate more toast and managed to finish one entire slice before pushing the plate away.
“Do you work on live frogs back in the States?” he asked.
She tilted her head at him. Surely he knew this? “I ship samples and specimens back home, but I try and do as much of the work as possible in Colombia.” She grimaced. “That way I can avoid all the admin hassle associated with my job.”
“Aren’t you young to be faculty?”
“Thirty.” She nodded, but a chill swept over her arms. Would she be fired over this debacle? She’d worked hard for everything she’d achieved. Goose bumps formed on her skin and she rubbed at them. He obviously noticed because he shrugged out of his cotton shirt and handed it to her. She slipped it across her shoulders, grateful for the extra warmth, but wishing it didn’t smell so much like the man himself. The black shoulder holster he wore on his T-shirt was an unwelcome surprise. She hadn’t known he was armed.
She was completely at this guy’s mercy and she mustn’t forget that, despite the pretty face and disarming grin.
Crumbs fell onto the table and she swept them up and put them on her plate. “Why do you think I killed this person?” But the mental light bulb flashed, bleaching her brain and bringing clarity to her thought processes. “Ah… Someone was killed with batrachotoxin.” She frowned. “You know that can be synthesized, right?”
His gaze remained steady on her face. “It was analyzed and there were indicators it came from a natural source in the region you work in. DNA.”
She felt almost light-headed with relief. This was how the CIA conducted operations? On evidence that flimsy? “Anyone could have put on some gloves and gone and picked up a frog in the rainforest. You just need to know where to look. I can’t believe you used that as grounds for accusing me of murder.” Then she frowned. “This can’t be why the cartel tried to kill me. They’d know better than that. And they’d know exactly how to get hold of a native frog. Am I a scapegoat? The convenient clueless white girl?”
Those blue eyes drilled into her, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Her heart gave a little flutter. “But you’re not going to tell me, because it’s classified.”
He broke the connection, looked down at his plate and carried on eating. Audrey lost the little appetite she’d had. She pushed her plate away and stood. “Thank you very much for dinner. Now I’m going to bed.” She went back to her room and slammed the door. The sound echoed hollowly throughout the house and reminded her that it didn’t matter how much noise she made, there was no one around to hear.