The door swung shut behind Quinn. Marc ran a hand through his hair. Why had he told her about Ilona? He hadn’t told anyone about her. It had been so long ago, in his first year working undercover for CSIS. He hadn’t even known Ilona was also a spy until he’d been dating her for three months. He’d been a trusting fool.

And he wasn’t one anymore.

He strode to the door; his leg twinged with every step, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Quinn was up to something, and he was going to find out what it was.

He followed her to a store, keeping well back so she didn’t see him. She must have sensed him, or maybe she was just that careful, because she stopped frequently to check her surroundings. In a department store, she quickly picked out pants and shirts for them. He almost laughed and blew his cover at the look on her face when she covertly snagged a package of underwear for him.

He continued to follow her through the store, always keeping out of sight. She didn’t talk to anyone and wasn’t on her phone. Maybe she’d been telling the truth. Maybe she had just wanted him to rest. If she went to get food next, then he’d stop tailing her and head back to the hotel. He’d need to be back there before her anyway.

After the department store, she paused outside and checked her hair in the reflection on a store window. Classic maneuver to check for a tail.

He hung farther back for another block. She ducked into a restaurant. He frowned. It looked like a sit-down restaurant, not take-out. He waited outside, but she didn’t come out.

He cursed his leg as he shuffle-jogged around the block to the back of the restaurant rather than going into it to check for her. He stopped before he entered the back alley. It took him a few moments to locate her crouched beside a trash can, watching the back door of the restaurant she’d come out of. He waited almost out of sight on the corner of the street.

She finally shook her head and strode out of the alley. Her eyes scanned the area. He ducked just in time, and then waited longer than he normally would before taking a quick glance around the corner.

She was gone.

Fuck.

He almost stepped into the open to look for her, but some instinct held him back. He stayed hidden in an alcove between two storefronts, his view of the alley limited. A car honked in the street, and the driver shouted at someone crossing the road in front of them.

It had to be her. She knew she was being followed and was now hunting him.

He darted into the closest store, an explosion of white lace and sequins. An elaborately carved ivory desk blocked those wandering in off the street from getting to the frothy white dresses lining both sides of the shop. A small dais and three-way mirrors were at the far end.

A fucking bridal shop. His luck.

A woman stood on the dais, wearing a puffed-up gown with two other women crowing over her. One looked over at him. “I’ll be right there,” she called in Spanish.

“No hay problema,” he said.

Three white chairs that looked as though they’d break if he sat in them lined the wall. He sat in one and picked up a magazine, ducking his head to hide his face while he pretended to read about the latest bridal styles. Thankfully his dark hair blended in with the majority of the residents of Colombia.

Just in time. A familiar ball cap-wearing woman strode by the window, checking out the interior before she passed on.

Thorough. Competent.

Just what he’d expect an SRR operator to be.

Marc set the magazine back down. She was almost as good as him.

Almost.

He left the store and followed her at a farther distance than he had before, barely keeping her in sight. She passed a number of take-out places and a small grocer without stopping.

“What are you up to, Red?” he asked the air.

He followed her to a street filled with art galleries and cafés. She ducked into an alley opening and stood in the shadows, her gaze trained on one café in particular. It had a few tables set out front. Quinn’s focus seemed to be centered on the man at a table with a coffee in front of him. His dark hair showed a bit of silver. The man took off his sunglasses to check his phone. Strong jaw, clean shaven, and wearing a white button-down and khakis. He could be a businessman or an affluent tourist.

He was neither from the way Quinn stared at him.

She frowned, scanned the area and stiffened. Marc followed her gaze. A pair of men sat at a restaurant patio within sight of the café, and no food on their table. Neither made any attempt at conversation and from the way they watched the street, Marc would guess they were looking for someone.

What was going on? Was this Quinn’s handler? Or was she meeting with someone to sell Bishop’s flash drive to?

But whoever Quinn was meeting, it looked as if they planned to double-cross her. He automatically checked the surrounding rooftops.

A glint of metal across the street.

Shit. A sniper.

He strode forward, the pain from his leg hardly registering. He didn’t try to blend in. Seconds ticked by. He had to get to Quinn before she stepped onto that street. She straightened as though she were girding herself for battle and moved forward.

He snagged her arm and swung her back into the shadows of the alley. She twisted out of his grip and threw a palm strike at his nose.

He blocked the hit. “It’s Marc.”

She stilled, her body in a fighter’s stance. “What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms. “Isn’t it obvious? I followed you.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you, of course,” he said. “Tell me who you’re meeting and why he has a sniper on the roof across the street?”

She gasped and peeked out onto the street. “Son of a bitch.”

“I suggest we get out of here,” he said.

She nodded. But he held up his hand to stop her. “I need to know who that was. I need to know whose side you’re on.”

She bit her lip. “I’m not sure what I can tell you. Let’s get somewhere safe. I need to make a phone call and then we’ll talk.”

* * *

She walked with Marc back to their hotel. They both scanned the crowd, looking for anyone who might be following them. She no longer tried to hide her skill set. Earlier she could have sworn she’d spotted Marc outside the department store where she’d power-shopped some clothes for them. But she’d done everything she could think of to lose a tail. Switchbacks, baiting, and even turning the tables and hunting. But she’d found nothing.

And somehow Marc had still followed her.

She no longer knew who to trust. Damien was her handler and her friend. At least she’d believed that until she saw the sniper on the rooftop. The sniper had watched the street, not Damien. He hadn’t been there for Damien, but for her.

And Damien had been sitting in the open. There had been an empty table against the brick wall of the café but he’d chosen to be in view of everyone. That was what had made her stop and assess the situation. Damien was paranoid, and rightly so. He’d been in this business for decades. He would never choose to sit at that table.

Unless there was a reason.

She’d seen the men across the street and couldn’t figure out why Damien had brought backup. But she’d decided to trust him and go ask.

Until Marc had pointed out the sniper.

What the actual fuck was going on?

She pulled out her phone. Marc would hear her side of the conversation while they walked, but he already knew too much.

“Damien,” she said when he picked up. She ignored Marc’s lifted eyebrows and carried on with her conversation. “I can’t make it.”

“Really?” Damien replied. “That’s too bad. I’m having the most delicious cappuccino considering the hovel of a café I’m at.” His voice was accent-less, even though he was from London. He almost sounded American, but there was still a crispness to his words. He was making an effort to disguise himself, but not a huge one. Or maybe he was just so used to speaking without an accent, this was now his normal. It happened to some operators while on overseas tours.

She kept her voice even. “I don’t have time for a coffee. I’m with someone.”

“Someone? Is he the someone who compromised the mission?”

She frowned. “Why do you think it’s a he?” At her question, Marc’s interest laser-focused on her.

Damien huffed. “The clinic was shot up and people saw a man and a woman leaving it. A man who wasn’t Ian. What happened?”

Damn. She thought they’d gotten away without anyone spotting them. “Pérez’s men came by.”

“And?”

“They were looking for someone and thought that person was in the clinic.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Quinn?”

She chewed on her lip. “What do you know about Anna Bishop?”

Marc yanked her to a stop, a complete what-the-fuck expression on his face. She waved him off. She needed answers.

“I don’t know an Anna Bishop,” Damien said. “Why is she important?”

Quinn started to walk again and Marc followed. “I was hoping you could tell me. I think she was an operator from the UK.”

“Was?”

“She’s dead.”

Damien hummed thoughtfully. “I haven’t heard of her. Was she the reason why the clinic was shot up?”

“Yes.”

“If she was from the UK, then that would have put her under me.”

They were only a block from their hotel now. “Any chance there’re operators here without Crown approval?”

“No chance,” he said. “I know most of the key players here. Why don’t you come meet me and we’ll figure it out?”

No fucking way. “Are there teams here from the States?”

He sighed in her ear. “Of course. The US has its own not-so-secret DEA office here.”

“What about the military?”

“Not supposed to be here, besides you, of course. Do you think this Bishop belonged to them?”

She halted within sight of the hotel. They still needed food before they went in. And this conversation with Damien had gone on too long. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I have to go.”

“Who was the man who left the clinic with you?” Damien asked quickly. “Is he why you won’t meet me?”

No, it’s because you fucking set me up. But she didn’t bother to answer.

“Wait,” Damien said. “Are you responsible for the shooting in the Plaza de Bolívar?” He sounded almost angry.

“Good-bye, Damien.”

“I never suspected you’d let sex come between you and your op.”

She gasped. He thought she’d abandoned her op because she was having sex with Marc? “Asshole.” She hung up the phone.

She and Marc didn’t speak as they popped into a restaurant and grabbed some chicken and arepas to bring back to the room. By the time they got there, her stomach was growling and her head ached from tension.

Marc faced her, his hand close to his holstered Sig Sauer. “Talk to me. And tell me the truth this time. No more bullshit stories.”

She rubbed her temples. “His name is Damien Mills, and I thought he was a friend.” She took the two waters they’d bought and handed Marc one. “He’s my handler.”

Marc grunted, whether in acknowledgment of the information or as a thank-you, she didn’t know.

When he didn’t say anything, she followed her instincts. “I was sent by the British government to watch Pérez. He’s believed to have ties to the UK, but so far I haven’t found any.” She paused. “Is this going to be quid pro quo? I’d also like to know who I’m working with.” She wasn’t going to be the only one baring her soul.

“I can’t tell you everything,” he said.

“Who do you work for?” she asked, maybe too quickly from the way his eyes narrowed. But she couldn’t get his Russian words out of her head.

“I can’t tell you the organization,” he said. “But I work for the good guys.”

She rolled her eyes. “Everyone thinks their team are the good guys.”

He shrugged and smiled. “I’m Canadian.”

She straightened and let her Scottish accent have free rein. “No shite?”

He laughed. “Why would anyone make that up?”

Canada had an excellent reputation in the special ops community, but the fact of the matter was that they were a small unit compared to some of the big guns out there. “So what are you doing here?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You first. Why do you care about Anna?”

“You know why,” she said. “I was summoned to Pérez’s mansion to treat her,” she said, finally answering his question. “I didn’t know she was there or I would have brought weapons. As it was, I went in thinking I was going to treat Pérez for a headache.” She sighed. “I had nothing to help her. I was surrounded and…” Her hands clenched as she remembered the look of hopelessness on Anna’s face. She caught Marc’s gaze. “No one deserves to die like that. I decided to go back and put her out of her misery.” She swallowed hard. Time to bare all. “Instead…I tried to rescue her.”

Silence filled the room as he absorbed her words. Then his eyes widened. “Fuck. You’re the soldier I ran into.”

She nodded.

“You carried me out.”

She nodded again.

“Fuck,” he muttered a second time, before he gave her a quick grin. “Thanks for not leaving me.”

Her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t return his smile. “Instead, I left Anna.”

Marc opened his mouth, but her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen. “It’s Damien.”

“You going to answer it?”

She debated briefly before she switched it off. Her lips firmed. She wasn’t going to give Marc any more info without something in return. “Why are you in Colombia?”

“My unit was called to extract an SIS agent.”

She blinked. “Anna. She was SIS.” Her thoughts raced. “But what about her team? Her handler?”

“According to our info, she was solo.”

Quinn stood and began to pace. If Anna had been SIS, why couldn’t she trust her people? Damien? “This doesn’t make sense. Why would she be here without a team or a handler?”

Marc ran a hand through his hair. “Someone sent her here solo. Why would they do that?”

She shook her head. “Someone has to know. Damien said he’d never heard of her being in-country, and he should have been told.” She shrugged. “He’s probably lying. Anna told me not to trust anyone but a guy called Fletcher with the flash drive. Happen to know him?”

Marc frowned. “I can check with my team.”

She kept moving. Sometimes simply walking kept her thoughts focused or let her mind open to things she hadn’t thought of before.

“You look like a caged tiger,” Marc said. “Listen, Anna didn’t want you to trust anyone with the flash drive, right?”

She didn’t stop pacing. “Right.”

“So we don’t. We find this Fletcher like she wanted.”

His suggestion brought her up short. That meant continuing to work with Marc. Trusting him.

“You’re thinking too hard again, Red.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that this doesn’t have to be a hard decision for you. It’s a simple matter of picking up the flash drive and getting out of the city before anyone’s the wiser.”

“You want to get it tonight.”

Marc nodded.

What could it hurt? Once they’d retrieved it and saw what was on it, then she could decide her—their next step. The familiar thrill of an upcoming mission zinged through her. She smiled. “Let’s do it.”