Where are you?

The text from Damien had come in as they’d been dumping their previous car on the outskirts of Bogotá. Quinn stood on a residential street filled with apartment buildings and broke the back driver’s-side window of an older model sedan. She flipped the lock on the driver’s door and slid inside before answering.

On route to Cartagena.

It took only seconds for him to reply.

Meet tonight.

He sent a time and place for that evening. She pressed her lips together at the order before shoving her phone away. She’d think about it later. Right now, they needed to switch cars to keep the police off their tails. Marc hobbled toward the car as she twisted wires together under the steering column. He frowned and increased his pace when the engine caught and roared.

She should leave him. Damien would tell her to. Press down on the gas, Quinn.

She hesitated.

Marc scrambled into the passenger seat. “You weren’t thinking of leaving me behind, Red, were you?” He buckled up.

“It’s not like you couldn’t handle yourself,” she muttered.

“I just want to help you.”

Marc had only ever helped her. But how could she continue to trust him when she didn’t know who he really was? She was positive he’d lied about his identity—not that the lie mattered so much to her; it was more that she didn’t know who he worked for. He could be working for a hostile agency, one that wanted whatever Anna had hidden on the flash drive.

Could she trust him enough to bring him as backup to retrieve the information Anna Bishop had hidden? She had a responsibility to Anna to see that the information the woman had died for ended up in Fletcher’s hands. Not that Quinn even knew who Fletcher was or how to find him.

But that wasn’t insurmountable. Quinn could accomplish this mission on her own. The main problem, the one she didn’t want to acknowledge, was that against all logic and training, she wanted to trust Marc. She barely held in the sigh that wanted to escape.

“One problem at a time, Red,” he said in a soothing voice. “Let’s focus on getting to Cartagena. We’ll figure things out when we get there.”

She nodded, putting off the decision to trust Marc. Easy enough. She pulled into traffic and her shoulders loosened. “Hope you went to the bathroom. It’s a long drive.”

The first hour was spent in companionable silence. But the hours passed slowly with only short stops in small towns for gas and food. The farther they got from Bogotá, the more relaxed she became. They didn’t speak often and when they did, it was of non-consequential things, like favorite books, movies, and pets. It turned out they both liked reading thrillers, though she didn’t mention her addiction to romance novels. Action movies made them laugh. And Marc told a story of his mother setting him up on a blind date with a cat-lady.

“But cats aren’t bad,” Quinn said. “We had one growing up.”

“They’re not the same as dogs and you know it,” Marc said. “Cats don’t love their owners. They love the food the owners give them.”

She laughed and they moved onto music, another safe topic. Safe and yet…they learned about each other. She couldn’t make herself lie about the little things. And she had a feeling Marc felt the same way.

During the last hour, as they got closer to Cartagena, the silence came back, but this time it stretched tight between them, where breaking it might cause it to snap back on them in a dangerous way. The scenery on either side of the highway—green, lush, and vibrant—couldn’t hold her attention. She drove on auto-pilot and let her mind dwell on the task ahead and the man beside her.

“You’re going to get a headache, you know,” Marc said finally.

She blinked. “What?”

“Thinking so hard. It’ll give you a headache,” he said with a slight smile.

She let her sigh out finally. “Unavoidable.”

“I’m here,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to handle this alone. I can help.”

“I don’t need—”

“I get it,” Marc said. “You’re not a freaking flower. You don’t need my help.” He paused. “But tell me honestly, do you want it?”

She didn’t say anything. Afraid of what her honest answer would be.

“Okay. Then how about you tell me what you’re really doing in Cartagena?” Marc asked.

He wasn’t stupid. And he’d be useful as backup. She could use him. Just like he was probably using her. She shook away her doubts, took a deep breath and made a leap of faith. “I have to retrieve a flash drive.”

His smile disappeared. “Why? What’s on it?”

“I don’t know.”

He growled. “Quinn, this won’t—”

“Hold on.” She stopped him. “I meant I really don’t know what’s on it. I just know…she died for it.”

He was silent for a moment. Was she trusting him too much? “Who died?” he asked quietly.

In for a penny and all that. “Anna Bishop. At least that’s what she told me her real name was.”

“Anna Bishop asked you to get this drive,” he said slowly.

“Yes.”

“When?”

Quinn bit her lip and told the lie she’d been contemplating. One that was almost the truth. It would allow her to keep her cover. “The day before you showed up at my clinic. Pérez had called me to care for Anna. He’d beaten her badly.” Her throat tightened. “I wish I could have done something for her.”

“So you treated her?” he asked. “And she happened to tell you about a flash drive?”

“The guards had given us a bit of privacy when I tried to treat her injuries.” Her fingers gripped the steering wheel too hard as she remembered what Anna had gone through. “She told me about the flash drive and who to send it to.”

“But not what was on it.”

Quinn shook her head. “It was important, though. I think it’s why Pérez tortured her.”

“And is probably why he’s still after you.” Marc leaned back and stared at the road ahead for a moment. “You definitely need my help.”

Holy arrogance. “Actually, I don’t. And honestly, I don’t even know if I can trust you.”

“You trust me at your side, to help you fight,” he said.

She shifted in her seat. But did she trust him at her back?

Yes.

Okay, so she did trust him. To a point. It would be useful to have backup when she retrieved the flash drive. Then inspiration struck. “We could be partners,” she said.

He glanced at her. “Partners?”

She smiled and nodded. “We don’t need to know everything about each other to help each other. I can help you with your leg and you can be my backup while I get the flash drive.”

Marc sat in silence for a moment. “Does a partner get equal say?”

Hmmmm. “Okay. You can definitely have your say.”

“Then deal. We’re partners until we find the flash drive.”

Until they find the flash drive. And then he’d turn on her? She hoped not. She didn’t want to have to kill him. She kept her thoughts hidden. “FYI, partner doesn’t mean I’ll actually listen to what you’re going to say.”

When Marc laughed, it warmed something in her. She couldn’t help but smile back.

He seemed relaxed and open. A good time to dig for info. “So I’ve told you what I’m doing. Are you going to tell me who you really work for?”

He gave a sharp nod. “I work for a covert military group.”

She waited. “Is that it?”

He shrugged. “What more do you want?”

“What country? What group?”

A small smile crossed his face. “I can’t tell you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You like driving me crazy.”

He laughed. “I work for an ally of the UK. Does that make you feel better?”

“Not really.”

“We’re partners now,” he said. “I’ve got your back on this.”

“Partners,” she said, sealing her fate. “I’ve got your back too.”

“Good,” he said. “Do you have the location for the flash drive?”

She told him the address. “I looked it up. It’s an apartment building in a downtown residential district.”

“Okay then,” he said. “I’ll check online for hotels nearby. We need a plan to get the drive.”

“Just because we’re partners doesn’t mean you get to boss me around.”

“I’m sure it was in the paperwork you signed.”

She gave him a side look. “You’re not funny.”

“Oh, I’m funny. You just need a better sense of humor.”

It felt good to have moved from two people on the run together because they had to be, to where they were now. Not friends exactly, but more than they’d been this morning.

“I’m trying to get us a hotel room with a view of the street,” Marc said.

“Well, if we’re putting in all requests, then I’d also like a balcony and room service.”

He snorted. “How about just one without bedbugs?”

“Clean sheets would also be nice.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with, Red.”

By the time she navigated them to within a couple of blocks of the hotel, they were ribbing each other like any member of her unit. Marc’s quick wit and humor reminded her of the friends she’d left back home. It put her at ease.

Was that calculated on his part? Something inside her twisted painfully as she parked the car and got out. Damn. This was driving her crazy.

Marc grew silent as he limped beside her to the hotel.

“How’s the leg?”

“It’s fine.”

“Really? ’Cause from the way you’re walking, I’d say it needs a break.”

“I just sat on my ass for a seven hour car ride. It doesn’t need a break.”

“Touchy.” She pursed her lips. “What’s got you worried?”

“I’m not—”

She just looked at him.

“My instincts,” he said. “I feel like I’m missing something, and I can’t pinpoint what it is.”

She nodded. “Okay. I get that. We’ll just be extra cautious.”

His head tilted as he watched her. “Thanks.”

She turned her face away from his scrutiny and ignored the butterflies swirling in her stomach from his perusal.

She paid in cash for a room and then suppressed a groan when there was only one bed. She did not want to end up snuggled up to him again.

Liar.

Quinn dumped her pack on the floor and went to the window. People wandered the street below, mostly business people in their suits, with a smattering of tourists. She’d blend easy enough in her pants and t-shirt, though it would be better if she had more upscale clothes and could pretend to be a downtown shopper.

She glanced at Marc’s outfit. It had only been a day, but their clothes were both dirty and sweat-stained. Nothing said “on the run” more than sweat stains and, in Marc’s case, a scruffy beard. “We need fresh clothes, and you need a razor,” she said.

Marc scratched his jaw. “You don’t like stubble? I thought all women liked the rugged look.”

His hand rubbed along that bristly jaw, and her throat went dry. An image popped into her head of Marc rubbing that jaw along her sensitive skin. How it would feel.

“What are you thinking?” His voice was low and his gaze intense.

She looked away. “Nothing.” She stared at the bed. The bed, where too many forbidden thoughts lay.

Omigod, get a hold of yourself, Quinn. Stop looking at the bed!

She turned back to the window to hide her burning face. “I think only a certain type of woman likes the mountain man look,” she said crisply.

“Mountain man?” he mumbled. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

He came to stand beside her and scanned the street below. When he didn’t say anything further, the warmth gradually left her face. She breathed out a silent sigh. Crisis averted.

“What type of woman?”

She started and turned to him. “What?”

“What type of woman likes a mountain man?”

Her heart stuttered. He stood so close. And he smelled so damn good. Trees, gun oil, and underneath…something spicy. She wanted to lean closer and breathe in a bit more of him.

Quinn forced herself to step back. “Women who read romance novels and chase happily-ever-afters.” She didn’t see the need to mention the stack of romance novels sitting by her bed at home. There was nothing wrong with wanting a little happiness when she wasn’t working. Whether or not a guy had scruff made no difference to her.

Such a liar.

His head tilted and he leaned against the wall. “You don’t believe in happily-ever-after?”

She took another step back. Better safe than sorry. “No. Do you?”

“No,” he said. “And yes.”

She snorted. “Waffle much?”

“My parents still love each other. I believe some people can find that ever-after thing.”

She leaned against the wall behind her, mimicking his pose. “But?” Why did she even care?

“But it’s not for me.” He straightened and then sat on the bed. Closer to her. “You don’t believe in it either,” he said. “Why not? What’s your sob story?”

“No sob story,” she said. “I was raised by a single mom. She worked hard, loved us and was an amazing woman. I just haven’t seen a couple together who wasn’t wearing on each other by the time they’d gotten over their lust. I think there’s lust and there’s friendship.”

“You don’t believe in love?”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug. She sure as hell hadn’t seen any evidence of it, but then she had taken a pretty lonely path. She hadn’t had time for serious relationships when she was young, and now… How did she meet a man who was her equal, but didn’t resent her for it? Or a man who wouldn’t question her disappearing on missions? “It’s not that I don’t believe. I just think it’s rarer than people think, and it’s not in the cards for me.”

He leaned back on his arms. His t-shirt stretched tight across his muscled chest. “Why not?”

She looked away from the chest that made her mouth water, avoiding Marc’s question and his gaze. How had they even started talking about this? “What’s your story?”

He stretched his hurt leg out, focusing on it, but not before she’d seen the darkness in his eyes. “Not much to tell,” he said. “I believe in love. It’s real, and it’s out there. But I had my chance and it’s gone.”

She stilled at his low words and the steel in them. “What happened?”

He waited so long to answer she thought he wasn’t going to. “She was killed.”

Holy fuck. She couldn’t even imagine the pain of that. “How?”

Marc’s face had a cold look when he turned to her. “She betrayed her country and it cost her her life.”

A few things clicked into place. “She was Russian?”

His eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“You spoke Russian that first night.” There was no harm in being honest about this. “You said the name Ilona.”

“It was a long time ago.” He got up and went to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. End of discussion. He probably already regretted opening up to her.

As water ran, Quinn checked the time. Thirty minutes until she was supposed to meet Damien. When Marc came out of the bathroom, she was ready. “I’m heading out. I’m going to grab us some food and fresh clothes. Stay here.”

“What happened to equal say?”

“Your leg needs rest. I’m not retrieving the flash drive without you, but we’ll blend better with new clothes.” She narrowed her eyes and took in his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Damn, she wanted to linger over her perusal. “I think I’ve got your size figured out.”

“You’ll make me blush if you keep eyeing me,” he said in a deadpan voice.

She laughed. “I don’t think anything could make you blush.” She checked her weapon and took her phone. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Underwear,” he said. “Boxer briefs.”

Her face heated, and he smiled. “I like finding things that make you blush.”

“Whatever.” She strode from the room, ignoring the burning of her skin and the laughter of the man who’d caused it.