Chapter One
Rand Duncan sat cross-legged in the dark, eyes closed. His every fiber strained to hear the one out of place sound that would mean this location was compromised. The North Korean Ministry of State Security was circling, closing the noose in their effort to discover the United States’ objective and Rand’s mission. He’d spent the last several years working with an asset inside the North Korean borders, putting all of their lives at risk. Even in his current hideout in Seoul, he was still in danger from the MSS operatives.
One more week, maybe a couple days to set up the extraction for his asset-informant, and Rand was home free. This gig would be over, and he could be Stateside sipping a beer and watching hockey in time for the playoffs. He was hoping the Bruins did something interesting. He’d never say that around Dad, a diehard Red Wings fan.
The cell phone perched on his knee lit up, bathing the tiny, windowless apartment in LED light. His stomach dropped and his throat constricted. He pried one eye open to catch the number.
A phone call was never a good thing in his line of work.
“Hello?” Rand stood, stretching the kinks out of his muscles.
“The courier has been made.” The speaker’s voice was monotone, devoid of inflection. And yet those words were made from the stuff of nightmares.
The courier.
His courier.
Her.
Rand didn’t know her identity, only her handwriting. She was part of his team, the crucial element that ferried information and resources from his handler to him. And now she was most likely in danger.
“What should I do?” He crossed to the wardrobe and paused.
The rifle case—assassinate the woman he only knew through scribbled notes.
Or the pack—everything he needed to run and maybe save her.
“Hold.” The line went silent.
Courier Girl.
She’d been leaving packages for him at a variety of dead drops all across the city for the last year, maybe longer. Sadly, it was the most legitimate human interaction he’d had since settling into this gig. Solo missions overseas were more about blending in, becoming invisible and being in the right place at the right time. Things he excelled at. Still, that bit of human connection had gotten him through some touch-and-go moments. The idea that there was someone out there who knew what he did. That might miss him. Though, why would she miss someone she’d never met and had only written a dozen or so sentences to?
The first note had been in haste. A changed drop, some trouble, he’d never really known what happened. The words scrawled on the envelope hadn’t made sense to him at first—because they were in English—and he’d been living, speaking, and thinking in Korean for a year.
Sorry about the blood.
Crimson had stained one corner of the envelope.
Rand shouldn’t have known her gender, but at the three-month period, it’d slipped out in a briefing with one of the analysts. A new guy who hadn’t known better. Knowing her gender wouldn’t put her in jeopardy, but it was a detail Rand could have lived without. In the dark, alone, his mind concocted the strangest narratives to keep him occupied.
He’d burned the envelope but kept the strip of paper her words were scrawled on, and the next time he dropped a package, he’d included a note for her—and a Band-Aid.
It was silly, but he’d been going stir crazy. Rand hated these deep-cover, sit-and-wait, watch-the-paint-dry gigs.
He slung the pack on, secured his headset into place, and gathered what he thought he might need.
Getting kidnapped by the MSS would be a death sentence. Killing Courier Girl if she wound up in their hands would be a mercy. A short, painless end. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, but if it did, he’d do that for her. Just as he would wish someone to do for him if the tables were turned.
“Rand.” Hector’s voice was an electric charge after whoever the hell he’d been speaking to.
“Thank God. What’s the call?” Rand had worked with Hector since his recruitment as an off-the-books CIA operative. A contractor, technically speaking.
“Find her. She’s not a field agent, she won’t last, and if they catch her, we lose everyone in Asia. Everyone, Rand. This is bad.” Hector rattled off an address and the name of a noodle bar.
“You got it.” Rand switched the call to his headset to free his hands for arming the apartment. “Is there an extraction planned?”
“No. Go to ground. Keep her safe. We’ll get a team there soon to pull her out.”
“Will do. Leaving now.” Rand set the tripwire for his homemade claymore bomb and slipped out the door.
Hold on, CG. I’m on my way.
…
Sarah Collins hunched against the wall. The restaurant was clearing out. It was just her and the package. She’d ditched her cell phone, her bag, everything except her clothes, the scarf to disguise her hair, and the envelope for the dead drop.
She checked the time again.
The rendezvous should have happened two hours ago, but she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being followed. In all the years she’d been a courier for the CIA, she’d never had a true close call. No funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. Not a single one. Until tonight.
At first, she’d thought she was being paranoid, which was common in this line of work. But then she’d spotted the same man tailing her with another guy. She’d cut through short cuts and across busy sections of the city without losing the two men until a little bit ago. Now, she needed to stay breathing and keep moving until her contact found her or she ran out of options. If she had to decide between giving up the package and her life, she knew what the right choice was. She’d never thought it would come to this.
“Ma’am?” The hostess approached her, hands clasped, smile strained.
“Thanks. Tea.” Sarah spoke in broken Korean, stringing together the few words she knew. She finished off the tiny cup and slid off her stool.
Her thirty minutes was up.
That was her routine, what she’d been told to do since ditching her phone. Find a place. Hide. Wait half an hour. Then move again. Repeat. Whatever was in the package, the CIA could track. She couldn’t talk to her handler or anyone with the company, but they knew where she was, and if her luck held, someone would come for her. Someone she could trust.
Sarah just had to hope they found her before those men did.
She gripped the end of her scarf and plodded slowly toward the open doorway. Night had fallen, both a blessing and a curse. She’d be harder to pick out, but she wouldn’t be able to identify the men who’d followed her earlier all the way from the airport to her drop location.
A steady amount of foot traffic clogged the sidewalks. Streetlights kept everything decently lit. The sense of safety was false, but she clung to it, desperate for hope.
She took a deep breath and joined the pedestrians. Each step pressed the package tucked into the front of her jeans against her abdomen. Whatever happened to her, she could not allow anyone to capture the envelope. She didn’t even know what was in it, but that was the nature of her job. All she needed to know was that if she let it fall into the wrong hands, more people than just her would die.
Had she told her family she loved them before she left?
She’d been Stateside for a few days. Barely enough time to squeeze in a visit with her parents. She hadn’t been able to see her brother, his wife, or their babies. God, she hoped she’d told her parents at least that she loved them.
Sarah paused at an intersection with the rest of the pedestrians. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and she squeezed the ends of her scarf with both hands.
She didn’t have a weapon; all she had was her brain. Was she being followed? Or was this her paranoia?
She turned right, down the lesser-traveled side street, and darted a quick glance behind her.
A man maybe six feet back caught her eye.
Shit.
Definitely not Rand.
If it was Rand at all. She’d only guessed at the South Korean agent’s name because she wanted it to be him. Her brother’s best friend.
Rand had vanished on them following the accident that took her brother’s arm. Since then his parents spoke in vague terms about what he was doing, never sharing much, but she’d seen a few post cards, recognized some knickknacks. It was all a guess. She couldn’t be entirely certain, but she’d hoped that the man on the other end of the notes was the one she missed.
She sped up, stretching her legs as far as they would go with each stride, searching the street for a place to hide, a shop or store or something, but it was dark. Empty.
There was no way to tell if the guy was after her or if she was jumping at her shadow. He wasn’t one of the two she’d spotted earlier following her through the crowd. She’d caught sight of them several times, but this one, he was new. This guy could have just had a bad day and happened to be looking her way…
Sarah turned to her left abruptly and darted across the street.
Crap.
Two men, including the one she’d locked eyes with, headed straight for her. They weren’t even trying to hide now. The second was the same man in plaid she’d spotted earlier. Too much of a coincidence. She was cut off from the main thoroughfare of activity. They’d grab her before she got back there. Panic filled her chest and she tasted bile on the back of her mouth. She inhaled, forcing herself to take deep breaths and keep her eyes peeled.
Her only option was to run and try to lose them. If she were lucky, Rand would find her. She knew he was out there somewhere.
She pushed the packet down farther into her pants on one stride, and the next she sprinted forward, doing a ten-yard dash to the mouth of an alley. She ducked down the warren of shadowy corridors. Men’s voices, yelling, the pounding of footsteps—they were right behind her.
Oh God, this was bad. So very bad.
This wasn’t what she was trained for. Where was Rand? He could protect her. Adrenaline gave her speed, but she didn’t know where she was going or how to break free.
The shadows thickened until each step was perilous. Garbage, and God only knew what, littered the ground. The stench of rotting things clogged her nose.
She took a right and a left. At each turn, she glanced over her shoulder—and her pursuers were just a little closer every time.
There was no way she’d make it out of here. They were going to catch her before Rand had the chance to find her.
She had to get the package off her person. At the very least, the company could recover that. But, her handler could track the package, not her. If she hid the envelope, Rand would find it. And she’d be gone. Dead. Before she’d had a chance to see if the man on the other end of the notes was the man she hoped was there. To make things right. To beat some sense into his thick skull.
Sarah’s lungs burned and her muscles screamed. After almost twelve hours on planes, she wasn’t in any shape to sprint for her life. She choked out a sob as she ran.
Streetlights beckoned her forward, into the halo of safety. If only she could reach the crowd of people. She dug down deep for a burst of speed.
Ten yards.
The shape of a man separated from the wall. He’d been waiting for her.
Her scream stuck in her dry throat. She was going too fast to stop.
He grabbed her around the waist, sweeping her off her feet, one hand slapping over her mouth.
No!
She kicked, swung her arms, jabbing him with her elbows.
“Stop,” he said in very clear English.
She froze.
Rand?
He dragged her up against the wall. A door opened at their back. He pulled her through it and eased it shut while the sound of footsteps thundered down the alley.
Sarah stood, shaking in the darkness. She could smell…spices. Her sweat. Oil?
“Come on. Give me your hand.” He reached for her, his fingers brushing her arm.
She grasped his wrist, squeezing tightly.
Was it Rand?
She’d told herself it was him because she needed to believe, she needed the hope, but she didn’t really know.
He guided her across the rear of what seemed to be a clothing shop, navigating the counters, a row of baby strollers, out the back of the store, and through the loading dock exit.
“They’ll figure out they lost us and double back. We don’t want to be here when they do.” He spoke so calmly, as if this were a normal thing. And for him, it might be. This was his life. A life she knew nothing about.
She was smart enough to know that whatever agents were stationed in South Korea were working things across the Demilitarized Zone in North Korea. No one had to tell her that. The tense relationship with North Korea and the rest of the world was all over the news. It only made sense that Rand would be doing something here to facilitate the gathering of information. But, was this man her brother’s former best friend? Or was he a stranger?
He propped the exit closed and moved a garbage can in front of it, maybe to hide the busted lock.
“How’d you know I’d go this way?” She could have taken other turns.
“I didn’t. Come on.”
There still wasn’t enough light to see him by. She got the impression of a strong jaw and a nose that’d been broken one too many times. Her heart squeezed and she blinked away unwanted tears. Stress and lack of sleep and food did funny things to her head.
She needed to know if it was Rand. “I’m—”
“Don’t. No names.”
The order burned her. But she knew better. The rules were the same for both of them. The company stressed anonymity.
“This way.” He held out his hand again, and she took it. The touch of him was familiar, settling.
As children, Rand had been a second, older brother to her. All of her memories contained him, next to Matt. She’d tagged along behind the boys, forcing them to include her. Matt had whined and complained, while Rand smiled and made room for her.
They walked, sometimes jogged, for what felt like hours. He doubled back and went in complete circles a time or two. It all began to blur together. Her throat was dry, her lungs ached, but the cramps in her calves and thighs were the worst.
“Shit,” he muttered. “They’re still behind us.”
“What?” That perked her up. Sarah glanced over her shoulder, peering into the deep shadows.
The faint sound of voices drifted to her ears. This late, there was nothing to mask the sibilant sounds of hushed conversation.
“What do you have on you? What are you carrying?” He stopped and faced her.
There was just enough light from the window behind her to make out some of his face. The reddish brown hair. Those stormy eyes.
It was Rand.
She swallowed.
“What are you carrying?” he said again.
“N-nothing. My clothes. The package. There’s a tracker on the package.”
“There has to be something else on you. The package is on a long-delay device. They can’t track you in real time. Lose the jacket and scarf. Come on.”
Sarah wiggled out of the coat. The scarf went with it. Rand shoved both into a garbage can. He snatched her hand, and they took off at a fast jog. They zigzagged across the streets, through alleys and a train station.
At one point, Sarah caught a clear visual of three people right behind them. Not just the two she’d seen before. She patted down her pockets, her hair, even groped her bra.
Rand pulled her into an alcove after another fifteen minutes of silent evasion.
“Have you had surgery recently? Anything that would put you under?” He was close enough that his breath warmed her forehead. This was her Rand—and he didn’t even know her.
“I—uh—yeah.”
“Where?”
“Once.” She held out her left arm. “The radial bone got crushed. I’ve got rods and pins all in this arm now.”
“Goddamn it.”
“What?”
“That’s what they do.” He took her arm, pressing none too gently along the inner side of it where the scar was the most pronounced.
“You think there’s a tracker in me? The Koreans did that?” She couldn’t even begin to fathom that.
“No. The company. There. Feel that?” He put her thumb over the fat-lump at the swell of her forearm, a few inches down from her elbow.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s a tracking device. Somehow the MSS has locked onto it”—he jerked his head behind them—“and they’re going to home in on you.”
“You can’t be serious.” Her handler had specifically told her there was no way to track her like that. Sarah had asked. It was the kind of thing she’d wanted to know about back in the beginning.
What if her handler didn’t know about it? What if someone else had done this to her?
“What do we do?” she asked.
“Come on. There’s a pharmacy two blocks over.” He grabbed her elbow and hauled her forward.
Rand snatched what looked like a huge piece of tinfoil out of a garbage can and wrapped it around her arm. On closer inspection, it had more in common with a windshield reflector than foil.
“Will this help?” she asked.
“Maybe. Anything to disrupt the signal.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Cut it out.”
“Seriously?” A dozen different spy movies came to mind. She doubted it would go quite so easily for her.
“You have a better plan? Because if we don’t cut that out, I see my options as kill you or kill you.”
Holy shit. She couldn’t breathe.
This was bad.
“The Koreans are about the worst people to be captured by.” Rand kept his voice low and her close to his side. “There’d be nothing left of you to save—and the company will deny our presence or their involvement with us. If you want to live, I need to cut that tracking device out.”
“But…my doctor said it was just a fat deposit.”
“Look, if you want to argue—”
“No, no. I’m sorry, I’m just—this is above my pay grade.” She took a deep breath. It was fun and all to play at being a spy, but in reality, she was a glorified delivery girl. She didn’t mind her role. She was proud of what she did, and it didn’t hurt that her everyday employer got preferred treatment when it came to funding. Because the more they were able to expand, the more valuable she was to the company.
He squeezed her hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.
Rand…
He’d told her that when her dad insisted the training wheels come off her bike.
He’d told her that when she’d been too scared to walk past the older kids at school on their way home.
He’d told her that so many times.
And he’d never let her down. Not once.
Now she’d have to trust him with her life and pray that when he figured out she was his former best friend’s little sister he didn’t leave her high and dry like he’d done with Matt.
…
Rand grabbed a bottle of antiseptic from the shelf and tossed it in his basket. His jaw hurt from holding the flashlight between his teeth, but he’d had to cut the power to keep the alarm from going off.
This was going to shit fast, and if he didn’t figure out how to lose their tail, he didn’t see many options left.
Someone at the company had not only bugged her, but sold Courier Girl’s tracking tag frequency. The stuff they used these days was high tech. Unless someone had the information to tune in to her specific device, maybe even a password, she should be invisible to the Koreans.
He couldn’t deal with conspiracy theories yet. First, he had to keep her alive. Then, they’d figure out where to go from there. His established safe house was out of the question now.
If she’d been sold out, then chances were he had been, too. He couldn’t risk that kind of danger.
And what about his asset in North Korea?
Everything was changing faster than he could brainstorm contingency plans for his contingency plans.
Rand carried his haul back to the break room. CG had a few battery-operated lanterns set up on the counter and was scrubbing her arm in preparation for his field surgery.
He hadn’t been able to get a clear look at her, besides, they’d had more important things to worry about. Every time there was light, he found himself staring down at a head of dark hair and nothing else. She was petite, much shorter than him, which was probably why she fit in so well on the street and was able to move around without much notice. He could probably pick her up under one arm and carry her for miles. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
She turned off the water and shifted, the light catching her face. The memory punched him in the gut so hard he couldn’t breathe.
The upturned nose. The slight widow’s peak she’d hated and tried to shave off as a child.
He was staring, but by God, this had to be a dream. “Sarah?” His mind screamed. No! Don’t say her name! It can’t be real.
She was taller now, but not by much. Her cheeks were no longer round and rosy. She’d been just out of college when he’d seen her last. They’d been in her brother’s hospital room, and she’d cried on his shoulder. He’d held her, hating himself for thinking more about her than her brother.
His heart knocked around in his chest, and those long-dormant emotions sprang to painful awareness.
He’d harbored one hell of a forbidden crush for her. All those afternoons helping her with her homework and making sure the boys in her class knew not to mess with her. His best friend’s little sister.
“Hi.” She didn’t seem shocked to see him.
“You knew.” Not a question.
“I guessed. You sent your parents that painting of the Seoul city line.”
She’d known who he was? And she hadn’t sold him to the Koreans? After what he’d done to her brother?
Holy hell.
“I’d love to catch up and all, but I’m going to lose my nerve if we don’t do this right now.” Her voice was steady, but reed-thin. It was hard to imagine the girl he’d grown up with, scared of her own shadow, here. In the middle of all this shit.
Which brought him crashing into the present.
Sarah had a tracker in her arm. A device that endangered her life. And it was up to him to cut it out or kill her. Because he would not allow her to be captured. He’d rather take the bullet himself if he could, but if it came down to getting captured or dying, a fast death was kinder.
He swallowed. The part of him that had always been drawn to her smile was repulsed by the idea of ending her life, but he knew what torture did to a person. How it warped them. That couldn’t happen to her.
He set the basket down and lined up the supplies, grounding himself using the momentary activity. He’d save her life, and then get some answers.
“I’ve got these for later.” He shook a bottle of painkillers. “I’d give them to you now, but you look like hell. I don’t want them to knock you out.”
“Gee, thanks.” One side of her mouth twisted up.
He remembered that smile, how she used to pull his leg, make him think he’d hurt her feelings. Those were the worst, those few moments he spent kicking himself for being scum, and then she’d laugh at him. Man, she’d been a brat sometimes.
He twisted open a topical anesthetic and waited for her to extend her hand toward him. Her throat flexed. The girl he remembered used to cry over a skinned knee, and now he was asking her to hold it together while he cut a chunk of skin out of her. He couldn’t decide if he was more proud of her, or disgusted with what he had to do.
Rand traced the six-inch scar. He hated seeing the lasting marks of pain on her body. She was all his best memories of the life before rolled into one person. He’d wondered about her often enough over the years, and now here she was. The best damn thing he’d seen in ages.
“How’d this happen?” He slicked the liquid over her skin.
“Long story. I’ll tell you about it later.” She gripped the edge of the counter. Her face creased in anticipation of pain.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
He was thirsty for more. Anything to do with Matt, Sarah, their family. He’d grown up across the street from them. Their parents had been best friends, and Matt was practically his brother. Sarah, though, he’d always felt closer to her. Being without them these eight years…he’d missed part of himself. But after what he’d done, he couldn’t be near them. Going cold turkey without them had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
“This is going to hurt some. It’s scar tissue, so it shouldn’t be as bad. You can’t scream, okay?”
“Do it already,” she snapped.
He felt for the chip again.
There, just under the surface.
He uncapped the scalpel and pressed the tip along the scar that ran the length of her forearm.
What kind of an accident had she been in that caused this? The most dangerous thing Sarah had ever done growing up was volleyball. He couldn’t even coax her up into his treehouse, for Christ’s sake.
“Come on already,” she snapped.
Rand applied more pressure to the blade. She hissed. The skin yielded, blood bubbling up, but he didn’t stop.
He couldn’t allow himself to get caught up in the reality that this was Sarah. His Sarah. Right now she had to be another operative, someone who knew the score. The tracker had to come out, or they were both dead. The how or why she’d been burned—or what the hell she was doing here in the first place—didn’t matter right now, only that he could save her. The cut-throat voice in the back of his head pointed out that she also knew his name, where his parents lived, and other crucial information he could not allow to fall into the wrong hands.
But this was Sarah.
Her name was a punch to the gut. The smell of her brought back all the old memories of Christmases and summers spent together. She was so much more important than another agent or asset.
She was…his.
Rand shut the door on that thought before it led to more. There was too much history, too much shit, in their past.
First, he’d cut the chip out. Then, he’d figure the rest out.
“I’m going to be sick.” Sarah panted, slumped over the sink.
“Almost got it. Hang with me.” He needed to distract her. Get her talking. “How’re your parents?”
“Good.”
“Seen Mom and Dad lately?”
“Seven months ago?”
“How’re they looking? Dad’s knee holding out?”
“Yeah, I think so. Oh, God.” She buried her face against the crook of her other arm.
He grabbed the tweezers and worked the tiny bit of metal out from the tissue. “Got it.” He dropped it into the drain and turned on the water.
The MSS guys could chase that for a bit. Good luck to them.
“How you holding up?” He poured the peroxide on her arm.
Sarah’s eyes bulged and she grabbed a towel, covering her face with it. She smothered a yell and stomped her foot. The liquid bubbled and frothed. It wasn’t kind. He could be gentler, but there wasn’t time for that.
He wrapped her arm in gauze and a bandage, doing a hack job. Later, he could dress the wound properly, sew it up. For now, he’d just be happy if she didn’t leave a blood trail.
Rand doused the area in bleach and did a quick wipe-down. It would have to do.
“Come on.” He wrapped an arm around Sarah’s waist and steered her toward the back door.
“I don’t feel so hot.”
“You’re doing great. Hold out just a little bit longer, okay? How long were you in the air? When’s the last time you ate?”
There was a place he could go. It wasn’t his, but they didn’t have the luxury of being picky.
“I dozed on the plane, but I haven’t eaten since… Wow. Dizzy.”
Shit.
“Come on, you can do this.” Rand tightened his grip a moment before Sarah’s knees gave way and she slumped against him, all the life gone out of her.
Great. Now he just had to carry her eight blocks and avoid the MSS. No problem, right?
…
Kim Young-sik glared at the cell phone. He was right over the signal—and the target was nowhere to be seen. The American girl was gone. Vanished. They’d almost had her. He’d seen her. Knew what the whites of her eyes looked like when she was scared. And somehow she and the man she’d met up with had still managed to evade them.
“Spread out. She can’t be far.” He shoved the phone into his pocket and turned to the two shadows at his back. The MSS agents melted into the night on silent feet.
If they lost the girl… He didn’t want to contemplate that.
For the price he’d paid for the information, there would be others on her trail. They needed to get to her first. There was a mole on the north side of the DMZ, and Young-sik intended to cut their throat for that betrayal. First, he’d find the American girl.
She’d be easy to break.