Quinn woke feeling warm and safe. She didn’t want to open her eyes and dispel the illusion. She hadn’t woken up with this feeling in months.

She snuggled deeper into the warmth, and something tightened slightly around her waist, drawing her closer to that warmth. Her gaze snapped open, and she saw a male arm, heavy with muscle and dusted with dark hair, flung over her.

Memories of yesterday cleared any remaining fog. She paused for a moment, letting herself savor the feeling of waking up in someone’s arms, even if she didn’t fully trust that someone. Her body seemed to. In fact, she ached to turn in his arms and shift closer to him. To lift her face to his.

Bad body.

She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a pretty face and hard muscles.

With a soft sigh, she slid quietly from the bed and padded to the window. Marc shifted behind her, also awake. Had he been awake long enough to know that they’d ended up entwined like lovers?

She ran a hand through her hair, which had come loose from the braid, and pushed aside the curtain to peek outside.

Morning sunshine gave everything a golden glow as it crept over the eastern mountains. People stirred on the street below, but it definitely wasn’t as busy as last night. She spotted a Pan Pa Yá—a quick serve restaurant where she could get some takeaway breakfast. Her stomach grumbled.

She quickly re-braided her hair, before she buckled on her waist holster and flipped her shirt over it to hide her gun. She plopped on her ball cap and stuck her braid up under it, then snagged her wallet and headed for the door.

Marc yawned as he sat on the side of the bed and scrubbed his face with a hand. Stubble darkened his jaw, giving him a dangerous look even as the sleep left his face. “Where’re you going?”

“Coffee and food.” The hotel room didn’t have a coffee machine, and even if it had, hotel room coffee was always horrendous.

He shot to his feet. Only a slight wince betrayed him.

“Sit,” she said. “I’ll be back in five. You can watch me from the window.”

He sighed. “Be quick. I need caffeine.”

She jogged down the two flights of stairs to the street and out onto the block. At the restaurant deli counter, she ordered two buñuelos and tintos. Large donut-like balls of fried doughy yumminess and coffees. Breakfast of champions. She added two chicharrón con arepitas as well. Bacon in cornbread should fill them both. The coffee was strong, but not bitter. She’d miss it when she went back to the UK. She took a moment back on the sidewalk to enjoy a few sips while she stood in the sunshine.

And noticed the man across the street. He, too, was stopped, and his dark gaze crossed hers for the barest moment. Five eleven, dark hair under a battered baseball cap, olive skin weathered by the sun, dirty jeans, and muddy boots.

Muddy boots. Like hers after tromping through the jungle.

He looked down and then back up at her hotel, watching it a moment before he pulled out his phone.

He didn’t move from his spot, his gaze fixated on the hotel. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She plastered a contented look on her face and took another sip of coffee, scanning the street casually.

A second man stood down the block by a kiosk, a phone in his hand and a hard look in his eye. He, too, watched the hotel with an unblinking gaze.

Fuck.

She didn’t know whether they were Pérez’s men or not, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. If she’d been on her own, she’d have taken off and not chanced going back. But she couldn’t leave an injured man to face these men alone.

She strolled along the street, just a tourist out for an early coffee. Thank goodness she’d hidden her red hair, a telltale flag of who she was. But she’d had a lot of experience in hiding it or dying it if she needed to.

She entered the hotel lobby. A man with the same rough attitude as the two watchers spoke to a frazzled clerk.

“I’m not supposed to give out room numbers,” the clerk said quietly.

She ducked her head and took the stairs. The clerk wouldn’t last long before he buckled to pressure. Plans came and went in her head. They had to make a run for it. The men below would have reinforcements only a phone call away.

She pounded only once on the door before Marc swung it open, waiting for her.

“Who’s out there?” he asked.

She didn’t know how he knew—from watching or just guessing by her face—and there wasn’t time to ask.

“Not sure, but it could be Pérez’s men.” She moved into the room, thankful they’d packed up the night before. She slung her pack on and held onto the coffee and food, not wanting to leave it behind as any kind of clue for the men below. She’d chuck it when they got outside. They’d need their hands free if they ended up in a fight. Marc already had his pack. He’d almost definitely armed himself already. “They’re not well trained. I spotted two on the street. One in the lobby. They didn’t tag me. Don’t shoot if you don’t have to. The police respond quickly, and Pérez can easily find us in jail.”

“Got it.” He led the way into the hall and toward the set of stairs at the back of the building. “Did you scope the back?”

“No. We’ll have to chance it.”

Voices echoed up from the stairs that she’d just come up. She started to jog and then cursed, remembering Marc’s leg.

He was right behind her. “I’m fine. I won’t slow you down.”

She took him at his word. They made it to the stairs before anyone entered their hallway. She breathed a small sigh.

At the back entrance, she wrinkled her nose at the smell of rotting garbage and piss in the alley. She chucked the food into an open dumpster. They walked away from the street and through back alleys for about ten minutes in silence.

“I just stepped in something that squished,” she said.

Marc chuckled softly. “Let’s head for the main road. We should be safe enough.”

“We don’t even know if those guys were there for us.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “I didn’t take you for a believer in coincidences.”

“Gah. You’re right.” She shook her head as she moved past an overflowing garbage can and toward the noise of the main street. “But how the hell did Pérez find us?”

“I was wondering the same thing.”

Something in the evenness of his voice made her glance sharply at him. His face was as bland as his voice. Did he think she had something to do with this? She blinked. Why would he suspect her? If anything, she should be suspecting him. But why would he help her escape if he wanted Pérez’s men to catch them? It made no sense.

Unless those weren’t Pérez’s men back there.

Her mind whirled with possibilities as she stepped into the flow of the early morning pedestrian traffic in the Candelaria District. Should she confront him, or just leave him?

Her phone rang. She snatched it up. “Hello?”

“Quinn, it’s me,” Ian said. “Can we meet?”

“Where and when?”

“Plaza de Bolívar at ten thirty.”

She frowned. That was a wide open square that reminded her of Trafalgar Square, right down to the pigeons, and bordered on each side by historical buildings, including the Palace of Justice and the National Capital. “Why there?”

“It’s just what I ended up near last night.”

“Why don’t I come to you right now?”

“I slept in and want to shower,” he said. “You know I’m not a morning person.”

True. Ian hated mornings. Besides, she felt sorry for him. He’d come to this country to help people, and now he was on the run because of something she’d done. So she could give him a bit of leeway.

“No worries,” she said. “Call me if you run into problems. I’m not too far.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

She named a district near the business sector far from where she and Marc were. “But I can get to you in minutes,” she reassured him.

“Thanks, Quinn.”

After she’d hung up, Marc nodded at the phone. “Why’d you lie to him?”

She’d lied because she’d been trained to never tell her location over an unsecure line. “Instinct, I think?”

He quirked an eyebrow but didn’t reply.

He didn’t believe her, but she didn’t care. Her cover was a mess, but just because he suspected something didn’t mean she was going to tell him anything. “There’s a breakfast shop across the street. Let’s get some food before we head to the Plaza.”

The restaurant was busy, but they found a table near the wall where they could see both the front door and have access to the rear exit. They sat and ordered a decent breakfast of arepas stuffed with eggs, cheese, and chorizo.

“How do you think they found us?” Marc’s voice was casual, his face bland and his gaze steady on her.

Her instincts went on high alert. Marc wasn’t her enemy, but neither was he her friend. She had to remember that.

She shook her head and tapped her fingers on the table. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense,” she said. “Unless someone alerted him that we were there.”

“It wasn’t me or my team.”

Again with that even voice. It made her want to snarl.

“It wasn’t me,” she said.

“I know,” he said simply.

Her anger deflated like a popped balloon. “What do you mean, you know?”

“It makes no sense for you to turn yourself in to Pérez.” He put a little more hot sauce on his eggs, unconcerned he’d stopped her short with his statement. “You’d have to be either an idiot or suicidal to believe anything Pérez told you about guaranteeing your safety. And you, Red, are neither.”

“What about your team?”

“It’s not my team,” he said. Apparently he thought it wasn’t up for discussion.

She shook her head at his presumption. “I also believe it wasn’t you,” she said, “for the same reasons, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

She didn’t let his sarcasm faze her. “But your team…” She let her suspicion hang there. It had to be someone on his team who had given them away. “You called them and the next morning…”

He set his fork down carefully and leaned in. His face had dropped the mask of civility and took on an almost feral intensity. “My team would never betray me.”

She tilted her head, studying him. Someone had betrayed him before. Ilona, the woman from his nightmares? “Our lives are depending on that,” she said finally.

“Did you contact anyone?” he asked abruptly. “Anyone at all?”

“No,” she said. “You’ve been with me constantly. The only one I’ve spoken with is Ian.”

That wasn’t completely true. She had sent a quick text to her handler, but that wasn’t something she was going to admit to Marc. Not that it mattered. She hadn’t mentioned their plans to Damien.

* * *

They took a cab and had it drop them a block from the square.

Monserrate, the green mountain to the east, dominated the view. The sun’s warmth burned off the coolness of the morning, and the air smelled of coffee and fried dough. The cobblestone streets and colorful historic buildings drew the eye. In the square, people were setting up temporary market stalls.

“If we get out of this without being wanted by the local policia,” Marc said, “then I’m coming back here on vacation.”

Quinn smiled at him and kept walking. The smile caught him, pulling him to follow her. He had an absurd desire to make her smile again. He gave himself a mental shake. He couldn’t fall under her spell. She might be manipulating him. He couldn’t act like a teenager with no hormone control.

“I love it here too,” Quinn said. “From the moment I first stepped off the plane, saw the mountains, the lush greenery everywhere, felt the cool breezes. And the food!” She grinned. “A bit of heaven for this Scottish lass, used to the cold of the highlands.”

“I thought all Scots loved their homeland?”

Her voice took on a heavy burr. “Och laddie, I do. But, canna a girl appreciate a bonny place?”

He laughed. “Okay, Highlander. Just leave your sword at home for this one. We’re an hour early. We should do a sweep.”

“A sweep?” The sparkle in her eye made him want to close the distance between them. “We’re just meeting Ian. He’s not dangerous.”

“Humor me.”

She shrugged. “So what are we looking for?”

As if she didn’t know. “Possible ambush locations, sniper positions, Pérez’s men, or any suspicious person…”

“The usual then.” She laughed.

His heart skipped a beat at the sound. It was the first time she’d laughed around him, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

This unusual woman seemed too good to be true.

“Why a medic?” Marc asked suddenly. He needed to know more about her.

She shrugged. “I like helping people. I wanted to make a difference.” She glanced at him. “I suspect you got into soldiering for the same kind of reason.”

“Nah. I just like to shoot guns.”

Her laugh was loud, joyous, and he loved it. Damn, he had it bad. He forced his gaze away from her and scanned the area. Nothing stood out, but he had to stay professional. The risk factor of Pérez finding them here was low, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Especially not with Quinn. Don’t get attached, Koven.

“I don’t believe that,” she said. “You’re probably a decorated hero.”

Something inside him squeezed at her words, at her belief in him—a near stranger. He was highly decorated. But that didn’t make him a hero. He’d made too many mistakes and let too many people die to be considered that. He was just a soldier doing the best he could.

“I’m no hero.”

“Hey,” she said softly and stopped walking. “Look at me.”

He gave a last scan of the area around them. People were just setting out their wares of clothing and food in the brightly colored market stalls. No one seemed to pay them any attention. He turned to Quinn.

She stepped toward him and laid one hand on his cheek, her skin warm against his. “Anyone who puts his life on the line for others is a hero.”

That thing inside him squeezed again at her words, her belief in him. She didn’t understand. He clenched his jaw against the sarcastic denial that wanted to spew forth.

She must have read it in his eyes, because she gave a quiet snort. “Yes, I did a psychiatric stint, and I’ve seen my fair share of PTSD.”

“I don’t have PTSD.”

She started to pull her hand away from his face, and he grabbed it, holding it there. He scratched her palm with the stubble on his jaw, and she sucked a breath in, her eyes widening. Yes, he wanted her affected just as much as he was. “I may not have PTSD,” he continued, keeping her hand trapped. “But I’ve seen its effects, and… I appreciate you trying to help me.”

He didn’t want her concern. He just wanted her. He wanted to take her hand and drag it down his body, over his chest, down his stomach, and farther south where he hardened at her nearness.

Instead, he used her hand to pull her closer.

“Marc?” she asked, her voice unsure.

He turned his head and kissed her palm, letting his tongue flick out to taste her skin. The breathy sound that escaped her made him step closer, keeping his gaze locked on hers. He licked once more, wanting to hear the sound again, while his thumb rubbed the soft, sensitive skin inside her wrist. Her lips parted, and his heart pounded in his ears.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against her warm, soft ones. Her quick intake of breath made him dip his head again, pressing a little firmer this time, but he forced himself to move slow and gentle no matter how much he wanted her. Her lips parted, and her tongue touched his. Lightning struck a path through him. He slanted his mouth over hers to get better access while his hands cradled her face, tilting it just so.

She moaned into his mouth. The sound hardened him further. He was barely holding on to his control. He wanted to shred his clothes, her clothes, and find a wall to push her up against—

Fuck.

This couldn’t happen. He pulled back, his breathing ragged even though he’d barely kissed her. He was on a mission. She was a civilian in danger. He was supposed to protect her, not try to fuck her in public. What the hell had he been thinking?

“Marc?” she asked again.

He swallowed hard and straightened. He needed space, and she was dangerously distracting. “Sorry about that.” He put on the fake, charming smile she hated. It did the trick. Her heated gaze dimmed. Time to reinforce the fact that he wasn’t her hero. Or anyone’s. “Sometimes I get carried away with my role.”

She frowned. “Your role?”

He made his voice light, flippant, though his gut clenched at the sight of her confusion. He was such an asshole. “Our role,” he said. “We’re tourists out enjoying the market. We can’t look like we’re scoping the place.”

Tourists who kissed.

But she nodded slowly. “Right… That…makes sense.”

Frustration had him clenching his jaw again. He hated that she believed him.

But it was for the best.

He scanned the area again. Nothing suspicious stood out. He nodded to an outdoor cafe. “I’ll set up there. Why don’t you come in from across that street?” The cafe in question sat in the southeast corner of the square and was mostly in shade. For the final block leading to the square, the adjacent street was pedestrian traffic only and had mostly shops that weren’t yet open for the day. Nowhere for anyone to hide.

He kept his face calm, with no hint of the turmoil her nearness had caused. She just nodded and left without a word, which frustrated him almost as much as not being able to touch her again. Because he wouldn’t.

At least not until the mission was over. Not until they were safe. Then he could indulge in seducing her. A weekend together should get the itch to touch her out of his system.

Quinn strode away, her hips swaying slightly.

Maybe a week.

He went to the cafe and sat at a table with a clear view of the steps of the Primary Cathedral of Bogotá and most of the square as well. The cafe was on the southeastern side of the square, so it was closer to Monserrate and the mountains that corralled that end of the city and elevated the cafe’s patio enough that he really did have a good vantage point.

Quinn wandered to a market stall not far from him and pretended to peruse the scarves the vendor sold. He ordered a tinto from the waitress and gave her money for the small, black coffee right away in case he had to bolt. He didn’t need a screaming waitress to signal where he was.

He used the time to call Cat on the burner phone.

She picked up on the first ring. “We got word that the British SRR were observing Pérez’s operation.”

“Was Anna Bishop theirs?”

“No. I still can’t track down why she was there or who sent her. The cover for the SRR operator was a doctor. It’s a good bet your friend is their operator.”

Fuck.

He should have seen it. She’d handled both unarmed and armed combat better than she should. She was smart, tough, and sexy. Marc almost shook his head. Sexy had nothing to do with this.

She drove like a fiend, was an expert shot, and didn’t break under pressure. Quinn could definitely be the operator with the British Army’s Special Reconnaissance Regiment.

So she was a hell of a lot more than a medic. “Definitely more lethal than she’s letting on,” he muttered.

“But that’s not everything,” Cat said. “Our source told us the operator went rogue.”

“What the fuck?” Quinn? Rogue? That made her potentially crazy or dangerous. Probably both. “What are my orders?” he growled.

“Blackwell wants you to stay with her. Find out what she’s up to. There’s something big going on, and he wants to know what it is.”

“Copy that.” He hung up.

So Quinn McKenzie, if that was even her real name, was playing him. And sure, he also wasn’t telling her the complete truth, but that didn’t assuage the irritation tightening his skin. How much had she faked? And now he had to keep pretending as if he didn’t know anything. Especially if she was a rogue operator. She might try to kill him if he let on he knew about her.

Ten minutes before the meeting time, he spotted Ian walking through the crowd from the north end of the plaza, headed for the cathedral steps. Quinn wouldn’t be able to see him yet. He didn’t like not having proper comms with her, but he’d already met Ian and this was just a pickup, so he wasn’t too worried.

He tipped his hat back and scratched his head. Quinn, who now perused another stall, signaled her acknowledgment at his message by swiping a finger along her jaw. She pulled off her hat, letting her red braid spill down her back, and her posture changed. Her shoulders straightened, not to soldier-straight but more teacher-straight. Her hands twisted together, and she visibly scanned the crowd. Amazing. She’d gone from a nondescript person who didn’t attract attention to a visibly nervous tourist looking for someone. She moved hesitantly through the crowd.

Marc watched for anyone whose gaze lingered too long on Quinn. If anyone was after Ian, they’d know about Quinn and her red hair. Hopefully their attention would shift from Ian to her.

Marc zeroed in on Ian. The man had stopped on the steps of the cathedral in almost the exact posture Quinn had just adopted. Though he wasn’t rubbernecking, he stared at his shoes.

Odd. Why wasn’t he looking for Quinn?

Ian gave a sidelong look, and Marc followed his gaze.

A man with a beard and wearing blocky sunglasses, jeans, and a loose gray t-shirt stood in the shadows of the building on the far end, watching both Ian and the crowd. His right hand rested at the small of his back. Marc would bet his life the guy had his hand on a gun.

This was a trap. And Ian was the bait.

Quinn hadn’t been spotted yet. Marc called her cell. If they’d had radio contact, he could have aborted the pickup. He left the cafe, with the phone to his ear, and walked as fast as he could without drawing attention.

Pick up, Quinn.

No one seemed to have keyed into the fact that Quinn was in the crowd. Marc kept an eye on where Ian stood while the damn phone kept ringing. Another man, similar demeanor to the first but small and wiry, stood in a gap between buildings; his gaze scanned the crowd. His face reminded Marc of a ferret. Two men meant a team. They’d probably have backup as well as a driver somewhere.

Marc checked the four main roads that entered the plaza area. The north road. Two men in sunglasses stood, smoking by a black SUV—not talking, just watching the steps of the cathedral.

Quinn was about fifty meters away. Marc could shout her name, but that would clue in the targets that he was with her. The market crowd was growing. He pushed through people now, not caring whether Pérez’s men spotted him. If they took Quinn, he’d have a hell of a time following and getting her back.

Quinn had almost made it to the steps.

Marc pulled his weapon and ran.