Chapter Three
“What did they find?” Kim Young-sik didn’t look up from the tablet.
“Pharmacy was broken into, cameras disabled, power cut. The blood at the scene is useless.”
“They were there.” Young-sik laid the tablet down. The signal was dead now. They’d have to find the girl the old-fashioned way.
“Sir?”
Young-sik glanced at the younger man. What else could go wrong?
“Intelligence says Zhang Wei just arrived.”
Young-sik pushed to his feet. This was bad. Very bad.
It only made sense that the Chinese would want the girl, too. He’d hoped they would hesitate making a grab for her now. That he might be able to snag her first. But he’d known that was a useless desire.
Wei was bad news.
“We need more people on the trail. Get everyone we can on the street. Someone must have seen the Americans. We will find them.”
…
Zhang Wei strolled down the busy thoroughfare of the Seoul airport. Two hours of nothing but exploring terminals and restaurants, and not once did it appear as though he were being followed.
It was time to get out of this hellhole.
He sidestepped the foot traffic and found an out of the way spot to pause. By appearances, he was just another businessman in for a meeting. Appearances worked in his favor here. He checked his phone, accessing the tracking app, and zoomed in on the signal.
No movement, just like his source had promised.
Wei changed his course and hopped a train to the next terminal, which put him within twenty yards of the signal, at best guess. Rows of luggage lockers sat back against the wall. Wei walked past them, studying the people closest.
His source was a mole. A rat. The scum of the earth. He wouldn’t trust the person to tell him the whole truth. It couldn’t be this simple, not with the CIA. However, it did not appear as though there was anyone on hand.
He zoomed in more, narrowing it down to a small block of lockers, and strolled toward the signal.
The keys were in all but two lockers.
Wei pocketed the phone and pulled out a small lock pick gun. He turned his back to the foot traffic and slid it in the first locked compartment. The tumblers moved, shifting with the device until the door swung open. A purse, a jacket, a duffel bag—but no briefcase.
He tossed a few coins in the locker and secured it. The internal mechanism released the lock pick.
The second one, then. He took a knee and again inserted the lock pick, holding his breath.
They could only speculate at the secrets the briefcase contained. Supposedly, he could learn the names and locations of spies within China’s borders, as well as traitors in their own ranks.
The lock gave way and the door swung open.
The silver briefcase was nothing extraordinary. The sides were dented, the metal scratched. There wasn’t even a logo. It was completely nondescript.
He used the last of his coins to retrieve the lock pick.
They had one up on the Americans. They’d never know what hit them.
…
Sarah stood in the dim basement apartment, listening to the silence. It was quiet enough she could almost hear her own heartbeat.
Judging by the dust on…everything, she doubted this was where Rand lived. It was another hideout. And this was where he’d left her while he went out to “procure supplies.” Whatever that meant.
Her arm hurt, her stomach was empty yet again, and she smelled. Like days-old sweat, dried blood, and rotting God-only-knew-what on her feet kind of smell.
She checked the door one more time and toed off her shoes, leaving them in a cubby near the entrance. If she couldn’t make contact with her handler, Irene, the only thing left to do while she waited for Rand was to shower.
She had problems to figure out, and a shower always helped her think.
Sarah closed herself in the small bathroom and stripped out of her clothing. As far as she was concerned, it was ruined. Besides, trying to pass through customs with bloodstains on her shirt would draw the wrong kind of attention. She peeled off the bandage, grimacing at the ugly wound. No wonder she’d passed out from the pain. The thing would need stitches, and she was not looking forward to that.
She turned the faucet on and dug out a bottle of shampoo-conditioner stuff out from behind the medicine cabinet that could at least get the job done.
Rand.
She almost couldn’t believe he was there. That she’d finally seen him face-to-face.
He still made her knees a little weak and her heartbeat erratic. It didn’t matter that time and distance had separated and changed them. At least not to her heart.
What was she going to do?
She loved him, but she wasn’t sure going into hiding with him was the right decision, either.
Then, there was the little fact that he believed she’d been sold out.
There was no denying she’d had a tracker put inside of her without her consent. She’d seen it. With her own eyes. The air in her lungs had seemed to freeze, and she wanted to curl up into a little, tight ball. That thing had been inside her for years. Someone, likely a person she trusted, had violated her.
But were they certain someone was tracking her? Maybe the people following her had just lost sight of them when they’d entered the pharmacy.
And there was the package. That most certainly had a tracking device on it, or it did before Rand deactivated it. Why would the MSS agents track her and not the package if they had access to that sort of thing? Even with the delay, they should be able to locate it. But they hadn’t. Which put the focus right back on her. What value was she to them without that? If she left, would they care? She had no knowledge other than where she dropped stuff at and when her flights were leaving. The only reason she knew of Rand was because of an accident. An oversight.
Or was it?
Besides her handler and the director in China, the only person she knew the name of was Rand. On any given trip she did eight to a dozen dead drops. In all that time the only name that had been said around her was Rand’s. Why?
She picked out her bra and panties from the pile of clothes and used the shampoo to scrub them as clean as she could. Leaving her wardrobe choices up to a man wasn’t ideal in this situation, but she couldn’t be too choosy, either.
The facts, as she knew them, began and ended with the knowledge that she was in danger and Rand was part of her life again. Everything else was pure speculation. She had to believe that Rand was trustworthy, no matter what had happened in their past.
Sarah turned the faucet off and stood on the cool tiles, letting the water drip off her. The wound ached, but the pills had dulled the worst of it. Too bad they didn’t begin to touch the twisted feelings she had about Rand.
Seeing him again… All she wanted to do was kiss and strangle him. Too bad he’d never crossed the line. There’d been more than a few moments over the years where, if they’d had five more minutes, she knew in her gut something would have happened. Matt always did have the worst timing. Being cooped up with Rand like this pushed all those frustrated feelings to the surface. She needed air, to think about something else, besides him and the very real problem that someone had betrayed her. More than once now.
She took a towel out of the cabinet and dried off, careful with her arm and the still-tender flesh.
One thing at a time.
First, they’d get the package to the assets. Then, they could figure out who they could trust.
The lock scraped on the other side of the wall.
Sarah pressed her back to the bathroom door and listened, holding her breath.
“It’s me,” Rand announced.
She closed her eyes, reveling in the brief comfort of that knowledge.
Things would be okay. Rand wouldn’t leave her.
She hung her bra and panties up to dry, knotted the towel around her chest, and stepped out into the chilly apartment.
“Please tell me you got more food. I’m starving.” The tile floor chilled her toes, but at least she smelled better.
“I did one—” Rand turned.
“One?” She glanced down at her arm. Was it bleeding again? What was his deal? He’d seen her in towels before. It wasn’t anything new. “That smells amazing.”
“I did one better. I got us dinner.” He lifted a plastic bag and shook it at her.
“My stomach will love you.”
He put the bag down. “Let’s see your arm first.”
“Do we have to?” She was whining, but dang it, all she wanted to do was eat.
“You want to lose your meal?”
“Fine.” She plopped down in the desk chair, clutching the towel to her. Even more of a reason to not put on real clothes. Getting blood on them would suck.
Rand crossed to the desk and pulled a medical bag out of the bottom drawer.
“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” She eyed the suture kit as he laid it all out.
“Yes.”
“You sure you can’t just give me a Band-Aid and kiss it to make it better?” She smiled and batted her eyelashes.
“This is a bit worse than a skinned knee.” He pulled out a bottle and a prepackaged syringe. “Lucky for you, the anesthesia should take the edge off.”
“Oh, goodie.”
“I don’t want to give you too much. Just in case, you know?”
Just in case they had to run or she needed to use her hand. Yeah. She got it.
“You clean this out in the shower?” he asked.
“Best of my ability.”
“Good.”
He sat on a rolling stool and crept forward, pushing one knee between hers, the other along her outer leg, trapping her to the desk. To get away, she’d practically have to crawl over him. It was probably intentional. His way of keeping her a prisoner while he patched her up. Instead, she felt…protected. Shielded. Probably not what he meant, but she wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.
“Take a deep breath. This’ll sting a little.” Rand leaned over her arm.
Sarah stared at the ceiling. She winced at the pinprick of pain that went hand-in-hand with each dose of the painkiller.
“When’d you get your Dr. McDreamy license?” She wiggled her fingers, already going a bit numb.
“SEALs. There’s not always a doctor around to stitch you up. Learned a thing or two from some guys I was stationed with in the CIA at the time. Funny how things work, huh? If I’d known then I would be working for guys like that I might have asked them a few questions.”
“Like speaking Korean?”
“That took effort.” He threaded the needle and dunked the whole thing in a tincture of alcohol.
“How many languages do you speak?”
“Fluently? Or badly?”
“Both.”
“Korean out of necessity, as you can see. I can get a beer and find the bathroom in Urdu, Mandarin, and French. And I can order drinks in Russian, but that’s about it.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“Can you feel this?”
“Feel what?” She stared at the ceiling a bit harder. Yup, there was that queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Dammit, but she was hungry.
“Good. What languages do you speak?” Rand hunched over, his face dropping out of her peripheral vision.
“My English and Mandarin are decent. I can get myself into trouble in Korean, Japanese, and Thai, but I wouldn’t call it conversational.” The tug on her skin was strange, distant and yet part of her. Her nerves twisted up, anticipating pain that never came.
“Focusing on the Asian countries?”
“It’s where they needed me in the beginning. I thought I was going to spend my life in Africa. I’m a little bummed I’m not getting to see savannah cats.”
“Take a vacation.”
“With what time?”
“I hear ya.”
“How long is this going to take?” She fisted the corner of the towel and wiggled her toes. A chill set in, amplified by her wet hair and the tile floor.
“Not too long. I don’t want to skimp on the stitches. This isn’t going to be pretty. I’m sorry.”
“Good thing I’m not vain about my arms.”
“You said you’d tell me the story later.”
“Earthquake when I was in Japan at a conference. We were touring a facility there, looking at their new state-of-the-art water treatment plant when it happened. This unit hadn’t been installed yet, and it fell over, landed on me. I thought I was going to die, honestly.”
“Did you have surgery there?”
“Japan?”
“Yeah.”
“No. I was pretty out of it from the pain, but they got me stabilized and I came home for the reconstructive surgery.”
“Let me guess, your handler was involved?”
“I don’t honestly know. I want to say one of our other people was.” Charlie. He’d gotten her home, then insisted she stay with him a few days on her way back to work after she’d been cleared for work again.
“Just a few more. You’re doing good, Bitsy.”
“Shut up.” She resisted the urge to punch his shoulder.
Rand chuckled and straightened, tossing her a mischievous grin. The boys had always loved to point out her diminutive height.
“Careful. You don’t want me to get this wrong.” He waggled a gloved finger at her.
She tried to not look at it too hard. “Just finish already.”
“Sorry.” He bent back to the work at hand. “So, Matt got married.”
“Yup.”
“You haven’t?”
She snorted before she could moderate her reaction.
“What?” Rand glanced up again.
“When would I have the time to meet someone? Believe me, Mom and Dad would love it if I got married and stopped traveling, but unless I married someone in the company, it’s not happening.”
“What about one of your water people?”
“I work with mostly women, and I’ve never swung that way.”
“Well, I’m partial to women, so maybe I should keep my eye on a job opening.”
Right. Rand, working on digging wells and making nice with local officials. That was so not his thing.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“You would hate doing my job.”
“I don’t know. I think I’d look good in a pair of those wader pants.”
“No one looks good in those.”
“I bet you’re pretty cute. Probably goes up to your shoulders, though.”
“You’re a jerk, know that?”
“I’m a cute one, at least. Last one. I better kiss it to make it all better.”
She swallowed, staring at his reddish-brown head of hair, wishing she could feel the brush of his lips against her skin. But the entire area was numb, so she’d have to imagine what it might be like.
“There. All better.” He straightened, a bit of that same mischievous energy sticking to him as he stripped off the gloves and tossed them in the bin. It was almost like it’d been back then. When they were kids and Rand wanted to make her feel better after hurting herself trying to keep up.
She was staring.
He was giving her a funny look, like something was wrong with her, or maybe she had cooties. But in this moment, he looked like her Rand. It was the slightly goofy smile, the tilt of his head, that spark in his eye that said he was up to no good. She was all too aware of the warmth of his leg between hers, how close they were, the years she’d spent pining for this man, how much she’d missed him.
He lifted a hand and pushed her hair behind her ear.
Endorphins. That would account for the rush of blood past her ears and the driving need eating her up.
His hand tightened on a bit of her hair, tugging at the roots. Her breath caught in her throat. She’d always been aware of him, but now it was a sharp, painful thing.
Sarah leaned forward, closing the space between them. She flattened her right hand over his shoulder and kissed him. Just like she’d imagined doing for years. Ever since she realized that boys weren’t all like her brother. That Rand was someone else—someone she wanted in a sexual way.
The muscles under her hand tensed, coiling tight, but he didn’t move.
What was she doing?
The cold reality of it slapped her in the face. She was high on endorphins, exhausted, and trying to kiss her brother’s former best friend.
It was not a good look for her. Desperate had never been her color.
Besides, when had Rand ever treated her as anything but a friend? There’d been hints, moments when something might have happened, but they’d never crossed the line.
God, she’d fucked up. What the hell should she do now?
Sarah leaned back.
They could chalk it up to her being crazy, right?
Rand’s hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her forward. His lips sealed over hers. Hot. Unyielding. Demanding. He rolled forward, forcing her left leg up over his, hiking her towel up her thigh.
Holy shit. Was that his tongue in her mouth?
It was her turn to freeze, caught in the moment. Her body lost no time. Waves of heat and lust swept her. Goosebumps broke out along her arms. Her nipples tightened and her pussy clenched. She gripped his shirt, hanging on for dear life while his mouth moved against hers.
Rand Duncan was kissing her back.
…
Rand suckled her lip between his teeth, working the bit of flesh, licking her smooth skin. She groaned into his mouth and her hand clenched his shirt. The weight of her thigh over his drew his attention lower. He closed his hand over her knee, then slid it up until terry cloth brushed his fingers.
This was a dream. A false reality where Sarah Collins wanted to fuck him. It wasn’t real.
Sharp teeth nipped his lip, pinching a little too tight. Holy shit.
This was happening.
And it shouldn’t.
She was Matt’s little sister. He’d just sewn up her arm. They were exhausted, in hiding and safe for the time being. He hadn’t spoken to another person he could trust in months.
Her tongue stroked his and her hand slid between the buttons, caressing his chest.
He needed to get closer.
Rand shifted, rolling his chair away from the desk, and pulled her onto his lap, until she straddled him. She was so much smaller than him, breakable, precious.
Matt’s fucking sister. His little sister.
That factoid mattered less and less the more she shifted against him, rubbing her body over his. Her thighs tensed and she rocked her hips into his. His already aching dick throbbed.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, trapping her close to him, giving her the leverage to continue tormenting him through the layer of denim separating them. The towel dropped, draping over his arm.
He slid his hand up her bare leg, over the swell of her hip, the dip of her waist, and flare of her ribs, until he could cup the heavy weight of her breast.
Not so little anymore.
Rand tore his mouth from hers, kissing down her neck, licking her collarbone. She smelled of him. He knew it was because of his soap. It made sense. But the primal part of his brain only registered the single meaning: she was his.
His.
It was a lie, but for a moment he wanted to believe it. That in an alternate world, Sarah would be his. That he could thrust into her hot, tight pussy all night long, every night of his life.
They lived in a dangerous world, made more so by their commitment to their country. He ran through a mental checklist. Door—locked. Security system—armed. Motion sensors outside—activated. He’d done as much as he could to ensure they were as safe as could be for the time being.
She leaned back, thrusting her chest up.
Don’t mind if I do…
He was right. Her baggy clothes hid dangerous curves. Breasts big enough to fill his hands. Hips made for thrusting. Her nipples were dusky brown, the tight points beckoning him. He licked one breast and used his fingers on the other. She yanked at his shirt and buttons went flying. Like he cared. It was a shirt. Tasting her was far more important.
Was she as wet as he was hard? He released her waist and cupped her mound. Her skin was damp, slick to the touch.
Christ, she was Matt’s sister.
“Rand.” The way she said his name, infused with need and frustration… There was no doubt she knew exactly who he was. But did she realize what they were doing?
He’d just stitched her arm, for fuck’s sake. She was injured. And here he was, about to stick his fingers inside her hot, sweet body.
“Sarah?”
“Yes!” She shifted her hips, pressing down.
It would be so easy to slide into her. But he couldn’t. Not like this. It wasn’t right, no matter what he wanted or how hard his dick was. He couldn’t do this and live with himself.
“No—stop.” Rand pulled his hands back and clasped her around the waist. It was the safest spot for them. He was so going to hell for this.
“What?” Sarah panted, her eyes narrow slits, lips glossy and swollen.
“We have to stop.” How he hated those words.
“What?” she said again, this time sharper.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” He picked up the towel in a vain attempt to cover her.
“You have got to be joking.” She didn’t take over the covering herself gig. If anything, the glare she leveled at him said one thing. Pissed.
“I’m not.” He draped the towel over her shoulders, covering all the important things. It was easier to tell her no when he didn’t have to see her breasts. “You’re hurt. This is a stressful time for you. I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”
There were enough regrets to his name to not add another.
She leaned forward and the towel slipped off one shoulder. She prodded his sternum with a finger, glare sharp enough to cut him.
“You don’t get to put this on me. If you want to stop, that’s on you. Not me.” She shifted, planting her weight on one foot, and swung her other leg over his lap until she stood next to him.
The fucking towel fell onto the floor.
She was a good foot, foot and a half taller than him sitting. Putting him at the perfect height to become better acquainted with her lovely breasts. Her partially dry hair hung down past her shoulders, and she tipped her chin up, as if she were daring him to do something. He just didn’t know what.
Goddamn, she was something else.
“You have two options.” Sarah placed a hand on one hip.
He’d been too busy to notice the neatly trimmed patch of curls covering her mound. Natural. Nice. Fuck, why was he paying attention to that?
“Yeah?” He swallowed and dragged his eyes up. He meant to look at her face. Really. But her boobs—man. Had they been that big when he’d seen her last? Round and full, with nipples— Stop. He had to stop now.
Rand shook his head and forced his gaze to hers.
She smirked. And why shouldn’t she? She was a beautiful woman fully aware of what was going on in his mind. How she affected him.
He couldn’t think about that too much, or he’d get jealous of some nameless, faceless fuckwit who’d had the brains to stick around and love her like a real man. Instead of someone like him, who left. Because he hadn’t been able to face what he’d done.
“What did you say?” Had she finished whatever gauntlet statement she was about to throw down?
“You have two options, Rand. I’m getting off one way or another. You can sit there and watch, or you can play along. Your choice.”
Whoa. What?
Sarah backed away from him, hands trailing down her torso, cupping her breasts. She was a woman completely confident in herself. In her sexuality. And he’d never wanted her more. This wasn’t the same sweet, innocent girl he’d idolized. She’d grown up. And what did he expect from her, anyway? She’d always gone for what she wanted. Even when it meant playing dirty. And Sarah was not being nice.
The back of her legs hit the bed and she sat down, knees opening wide, giving him a glimpse of the forbidden fruit he’d touched. He fisted his hands, trace amounts of her moisture still clinging to his fingertips. She leaned back on her left arm and covered her mound with her right hand.
Fuck. She wasn’t shy at all, not that “shy” was a word he’d ever associated with Sarah.
He was a bastard. A guilty son of a bitch. Was this any worse than what he’d already done? Matt hated him. Always would. Rand had wanted Sarah since she stopped wearing those matching kid outfits, though what he wanted from her had changed from innocent to…something much sweatier over time.
He couldn’t get guiltier. It wasn’t like Matt was ever going to forgive him. Why not take this one chance he was offered? Not having a chance with Sarah had always been one of his biggest regrets. He couldn’t keep her—but he could have her for a little while.