She swiped away the tear, hating the show of weakness in front of him, but images from tonight kept bombarding her. Such as that poor guy in the warehouse they’d tortured who had died.
And the way Carlos had held the young man, comforting his partner as he drew his last breath. She had a strange feeling few people saw that side of Carlos that conflicted with the hard man who had fought all night to keep them alive.
Where was he taking her and what did his people want with her? Was Durand Anguis at the center of this game she’d become a pawn in? Carlos knew of Durand. Was there a chance anything Carlos had said to Turga was true? That he was delivering her to Durand?
She didn’t think so. Baby Face had clearly been surprised to see Carlos at her rental house.
One thing was clear. Carlos had saved her life. He’d treated her decently even if he had threatened to strip-search her at one point. In hindsight, he’d only been trying to find the Jeep keys so they could get away from the house quickly.
“Hope my car is still here,” Carlos muttered.
“Be serious,” she answered absently, hooking the strap for her laptop case over her shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
She glanced up at his surly tone. “Peachtree City has to be one of the safest cities in Georgia.” She frowned at him. “At least until you came to town.”
The truck’s headlights fanned across a lot three-quarters full of cars when Carlos turned down a parking lane. He studied her for a minute, then winked at her again.
Her heart did a skip.
That was so wrong. He was the enemy.
Gabrielle searched for anything to look at besides Carlos. Her insides did a crazy somersault routine every time he looked at her. Must be a post-traumatic stress syndrome of some sort.
She closed her eyes. That was a mistake.
Images pelted her of Carlos charging Izmir and Turga shooting his man with the clear intent of sacrificing Izmir to kill Carlos. She blinked her eyes open and found a normal scene of teens clustered outside the entrance to the library on the other side of the fountain, oblivious to any danger.
She’d been just as naïvely happy at that age and hoped they never had to face what she had.
They would be much safer once she left this city.
Carlos parked the truck in a spot and lifted her backpack from the backseat. “Let’s go.”
Gabrielle almost smiled, getting used to his standard limited directions. She followed him to where a silvery blue BMW 750i was parked. Didn’t it just figure a man so hot he could stun women with a glance would drive that land rocket?
“Stand here. I’ll be right back.” He strode to the front of the car and ducked out of view. She’d seen enough tonight to know better than to think she was ever out of his sight.
Besides, she was both too exhausted to try anything and needed that backpack to survive. She doubted he worked for Durand, but that didn’t mean Carlos was completely trustworthy.
He said he was taking her somewhere safe. She could extend that much trust, to believe he hadn’t lied to her about tonight.
Fatigue slugged what energy she had out of reach. With the adrenaline rush wearing off she was both hungry and nauseated to go with a headache that refused to quiet down. All she had to do for now was to stay alert and put a lid on the irritation bubbling up. Then watch for a chance to escape.
Carlos returned with keys and a remote car-door opener in his hands. A soft click sounded before the trunk popped open next to her. He reached in and lifted out a blanket, then dumped her backpack inside.
“Put this on.” He held the blanket out to her, patiently waiting.
She would have snapped at him for giving her another order if not for the concern in his eyes. But she was tired of being dragged around against her will. What was this man’s organization? Now that they weren’t dodging bullets, she should start questioning more, like why he was being so considerate. What did he want from her?
Living on the edge for so long had changed her, but not as much as having married a manipulating liar.
Was all this nice-guy routine just Carlos trying to lower her defenses, invoke a false sense of security? Sadly, it was working. She might keep her mind better focused if he didn’t wink, smile, and comfort her.
They were adversaries and she had best remember that.
He’d keep chiseling at her defenses unless she backed him off. Put some emotional distance between them. She’d never cared to be a shrew, but that was one quick way to chill a charmer.
Gabrielle held her hands out and used clipped words. “What? Worried I’ll catch pneumonia at this point and you won’t get as much for me?”
His dark eyes went from warm-brown patient to black pits of irritation.
She drew back at the shift in him. In fact, he looked tired and seriously annoyed. Not a good combination for a dangerous man. And Carlos was deadly.
“No.” He sounded disgusted. “I just don’t want wet clothes on my leather seats.”
His charm turned to icy indifference faster than his wink.
He continued to hold the blanket and now cocked an eyebrow ripe with challenge.
Rather than give an inch or antagonize him, she stepped sideways, lowering the laptop to her feet so she could shove the sleeves of her T-shirt up on each arm. The damp clothes were starting to chafe.
He moved behind her and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders quickly.
The thick material warmed her as fast as a summer day. Her limp muscles would melt into a puddle if she didn’t get in the car soon. She admitted defeat without a word.
Carlos kept his hands on her shoulders and leaned close to her ear. “I’ve had a long day. The last few hours haven’t improved it by any means, so let’s call a truce for a while.”
His deep voice was gentle, soothing the raw edges of her nerves. And there he went comforting her again, his fingers lightly massaging her shoulders. She couldn’t rally a snotty comment when the person who had stepped between her and death now offered a truce and sounded as exhausted as she felt.
Plenty of time tomorrow to battle him.
“Deal.” She waited for him to release her. Sooner would be better than later or she might be tempted to lean back against his wide chest.
His hands dropped away and she had to ignore the disappointment. She lifted her computer bag and followed him to the passenger side, where she sank into the heavenly seat and dropped her head back.
He circled the car with the smooth stride of a man in control. He slid in behind the wheel, filling the interior to capacity with his presence.
The engine roared to life.
Gabrielle focused on staying awake while he maneuvered through the parking lot, then out onto the highway. At Highway 74 he turned north, likely heading to Interstate 85. Heat purred around her legs and soft music shushed through the cockpit.
No sleeping. Watch the route. Her mind knew what she had to do, but her body was not a willing party. She fought to stay alert, observing their route until he reached Interstate 85 and gunned into the northbound traffic flow. Unless he changed course, Atlanta was twenty miles ahead.
The smooth ride and quiet did her in.
Anxiety drained from her body in one fast sweep. She drifted off. Disjointed images flickered in her overloaded mind. Computer entries whirled around coded messages. Linette’s signature-Jane of Art-appeared on a bulletin board, finally after years of Gabrielle hoping to hear from her again. She lunged to answer the post, but when she typed on the keys, a bloody body hanging against a wall appeared on her monitor.
The man’s head lifted. She froze when she recognized the battered face.
Carlos.
She beat against the computer, yelling, “No!” Her screams echoed in the dark room.
Someone caught her hands. He called to her in a low, urgent voice. “Gabrielle, you’re safe. Wake up.”
She blinked her eyes, heart pulsing.
Carlos had her against his chest, telling her
softly, “It’s all right. You’re safe.”
She took a shuddering breath, realizing he had pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road and come around to her side. Her heart raced out of control.
He rubbed a hand up and down her back.
Such a foreign feeling…to be comforted. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be hugged. A real hug, not just a polite hello kind. But he was the enemy. She had to remember that or she’d never get out of this.
Gabrielle breathed deeply. She reached for a strength that had kept her alive over the past ten years and out of the deadly grip of Durand Anguis.
“I’m okay.” She pulled away, foggy from the hard sleep and hungry. “Where are we?” She couldn’t help the surly tone and didn’t particularly care if she sounded unappreciative. The nightmare was his fault, plus she was both sick to her stomach and needed to eat.
He released her and returned to the driver’s seat. Before putting the still-running car into gear, he reached across her for the seat belt. When he paused, his cheek was next to hers, so close it was like an intimate gesture.
Instead of being frightened, as she should have been, in that one moment she felt secure and protected. She was clearly losing her mind.
His eyes widened with some intuitive understanding, then narrowed before he moved back across to the driver’s seat, latching her belt in the same motion. For a man so intimidating in size and solid muscle, his every move was smooth and fluid.
He cleared his throat. “Want something to drink?” He put the car into gear and moved smoothly back into traffic.
“Maybe a water.” Gabrielle searched for a landmark as the car quickly reached cruising speed. They were on Interstate 75 and had just passed under the north 120 Loop overpass, which meant they were in the Marietta area, northwest of downtown Atlanta. She’d slept at least forty-five minutes, but didn’t feel very refreshed. Sort of like on those rare days she grabbed a nap in the afternoon after spending half the night online.
Carlos took the Interstate 575 split and turned off at the Barrett Parkway exit. Fast-food and retail stores choked the one-mile stretch so close to a popular Atlanta mall.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Oui.” She sat up, searching the many options on each side of the road. “But you have to park so I can visit the loo.”
He pulled into a McDonald’s and parked, then came around and helped her from the car. She hurried ahead to the ladies’ room. When she came out, he was camped outside the door with a bag of food. Her mouth watered at the smell. She did love fries. They ate in silence with her watching Carlos, and his gaze tracking everything that moved.
Back on the road, he pushed the car up to cruising speed again. “Now that you’ve had a nap and food, let’s talk.”
“About what? Thought you wanted to wait until I met your people.”
He shrugged. “You could fill in a few blanks tonight.”
“Like what?” Less was better than more.
“You’re the electronic informant Mirage.” He didn’t ask, just tossed that out, and added, “Where are you getting your intel?”
“Who are you and who do you work for?” she asked rather than admit anything, but she couched her questions more politely to encourage an exchange of information.
“If you’re worried about Durand Anguis, I’m not in his pocket.”
A nonanswer. She tapped her fingers on the door handle. “I sort of figured that out in the last few hours. That doesn’t tell me who you are working with…or what you want with me.”
“And, I’m not the one who has to answer questions.”
She got that, but she still needed to know whose team he played on. “Are you CIA or FBI?”
“No.”
“Are you wanted by either of those?”
“No, but I do work for an agency that protects American security.”
She sighed and dropped her head back. “That’s something, I suppose. But I might be more willing to talk if I knew what agency you were with.”
“Let’s just say, no one you’d know.” His eyes crinkled with mirth, but the rest of his features remained as stoic as ever.
“Do the CIA and FBI know about you?”
“No.”
So was he really with some form of law enforcement?
When Interstate 575 ended, Carlos took Highway 5 north.
Warm air curled around her shoulders, distracting her. Between the meal and the heat, her eyelids felt heavy again, but she had to stay vigilant. Any hope of getting away from Carlos depended on knowing where she was and which way to run.
She rubbed her eyes, letting them close for just a second, just long enough to rest them.
“Why were you in Peachtree City?”
His question snapped her awake. She stretched her face and eyes, trying to come alert. Bad sign that she’d fallen asleep so easily again. “What?”
“Peachtree City. Why were you living there?”
“I liked the area,” she muttered, then cleared her voice. “It was quiet with pretty parks and great food. They have miles and miles of paved paths so you can travel all over the city in a golf cart or on a bike. Good food, too. I’m going to miss eating at Pascal’s Bistro. That was my favorite-”
“That’s not what I meant,” he interrupted in a wry tone that poked at her patience.
Gabrielle crossed her arms. “It was just a place to live where I felt safe. No special reason that had anything to do with espionage, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I didn’t know anyone except my landlord, who I rarely saw.” She sat upright. “Good Lord. Harry might stop by this weekend. What about Baby Face’s body?”
“There are no bodies or cars on his property right now that don’t belong to him or you. What did you tell Baby Face?”
“Nothing.”
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“That the DEA wanted to talk to me about…” She forced her mind back over what everyone had said, trying to make sure she only shared what Carlos already knew. “Durand Anguis, but I don’t know why.”
“So Baby Face tracked you electronically-”
“Lucky hit.” She scoffed then frowned. She’d just admitted too much.
“You didn’t just let something slip,” he assured her.
She refused to reply since he picked up on every little thing she said and any reaction.
“Really,” he continued. “We know you’re the Mirage. Baby Face was an electronic mastermind with resources all over the world. He tracked you and so did my people. There’s no telling who else was close to locating you.” Carlos rode in silence for a bit then added, “You’re lucky I found you when I did.”
Gabrielle couldn’t argue that point. How had those two groups found her?
Answering that last post about Mandy needing her help gave someone a break who was watching for a second post, which Gabrielle had provided them with. That’s when Baby Face and the group this Carlos was aligned with figured out about the bounce from Peachtree City to Romania to Russia before the message was fed to several UK and American IPs.
She’d bet the emergency message she’d received about Mandy had been sent by either Baby Face or Carlos’s group.
Stupid mistake, but she would stick her neck out again to save a child.
Carlos had shown up in time to keep her out of Turga’s hands, but her appreciation was going to disintegrate if she found out his people were behind the post about Mandy last night.
That his group had lured her into a trap and exposed her to people like Durand.
Until she figured out what Carlos wanted and whom he worked for, she couldn’t let his protective nature continue to cloud her survival judgment.
“So, where are you getting your information?” he asked again.
She shrugged. “The Internet, where else?”
His scoff of derision rode on a laugh. “I don’t think so. Not all of it. You’ve passed information to the CIA, MI5 or MI6, Interpol, FBI, and a slew of other g
roups that couldn’t have been found randomly on the Internet. Pick a new answer.”
She would not tell him about her associates in South America who had fed her information for the past four years. Contacting Ferdinand and his son for help with Mandy’s kidnapping had been risky after all the trouble she’d gone through to set up a secure process for the Diaz men to feed information to her.
A one-way electronic street. Taking the initiative to contact them first opened a channel someone could track.
Please, God, tell her she hadn’t put Ferdinand and his son in danger by breaking protocol, but Mandy wouldn’t have been found without that information.
Had the young woman even been found? Had anyone, including Carlos and his group, even cared about what happened to Mandy? Was the young girl really safe after all this? As far as Gabrielle could see, everyone was more interested in Mirage’s contacts than anything else.
But asking Carlos about Mandy right now would only confirm what he was fishing for.
She would not give up her South American contacts no matter what his people threatened. Please, God, give her the strength to match that conviction if it came down to torture.
Her mind wandered with disjointed thoughts.
Sleep crooned to her like a lover. Her eyelids drooped.
Carlos ground his teeth against the throb in his temple. He didn’t particularly care what they discussed right now since Gabrielle would be answering every question at BAD headquarters tomorrow. He needed to keep her talking until they were close to the secure residence BAD had in Hiawassee, then she could drift back off to sleep while he drove to the cabin.
Otherwise, he’d have to make a wide circle of the area until she faded again. Or blindfold her and tie her hands, which he really didn’t want to do.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Exhaustion underlined her striking eyes that were such an odd shade of blue-violet at times.
A skilled observer would be hard-pressed to choose her exact age. She wore no makeup and could be anywhere from early to late twenties. Loose hairs from the brunette mane she’d twisted up onto her head with a clamp now fell in restless wisps along her neck. Her oval face wouldn’t turn every head in a room, but she’d force a few discerning male gazes to linger while they considered the possibilities.
Whispered Lies Page 9
