When Noah left, Killion grimaced. The Brit was right, he needed to wash all the dried caked blood off her body and see exactly what they were dealing with, but he’d slipped a mild sedative into the water bottle and she was going to be out for hours. Shit. He maneuvered them both into the bathroom and eased the purple shirt off Audrey’s shoulders and tossed it in the sink. Then he did the same with her pants, pushing them along with her panties down her legs, tugging when the blood stuck them to her skin. They jammed on her ankles so he sat her up against the wall, unhooked her sandals and trousers and panties and tossed them all in the sink. He turned on the shower and tested the temperature until it felt right. Even that didn’t wake her. He glanced at the spray of water and the almost naked woman lying on the floor of the shower and realized the water alone wasn’t going to get her clean. He toed off his boots, pulled off his T-shirt and trousers, and climbed in beside her. Grabbed soap and then hooked his hands under her arms and hauled her carefully to her feet. She was like a rag doll in his arms, the white cotton tank top doing precious little to cover anything now that it was wet. He tried not to notice. Tried to pretend she was just some skanky terrorist he’d picked off the streets.
Didn’t help.
Great.
The idea of being attracted to his captive didn’t sit easy. He reminded himself she’d killed the VP with sociopathic coolness, and downed an experienced operator like Hector Sanchez without even a handgun for self-defense. But the woman he’d rescued hadn’t been cool or competent. She’d been floundering. Desperate. Confused.
Hell, maybe she was just better at this shit than he’d ever be.
Or maybe she was innocent?
That was the real soul eater. What if he’d been wrong about Audrey Lockhart?
He anchored her with one arm and washed her from the top down, soaping her skin, making sure he was thorough and as clinically detached as possible—which wasn’t very clinically detached at all.
Killion loved the female form and he’d have to be a monk not to appreciate the slim, but curvy figure she’d hidden beneath practical clothes. He wasn’t a monk. Not even close. His wet boxers clung to him uncomfortably. He was supposed to despise this woman but it didn’t seem to matter. If anything he grew more aroused.
Great. Just great.
He unpinned the bandage he’d put on her way back when on the side of the road and unwrapped it from around her waist. The bleeding had stopped and the wound had started to knit, but one part of it was an angry red and obviously infected. The skin around the wound seared his fingertips.
Okay, so it was official—he was a dog for lusting after a sick woman, but what else was new. He wasn’t gonna get any awards for good behavior. Not in this lifetime.
Irritated with himself he turned off the water and wrapped her in an enormous towel. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, leaving a trail of water in his wake. Noah stood waiting for him, which killed any arousal stone dead.
“Let’s get her wet top off and the dry shirt on instead.”
And now Noah was going to see Audrey naked, too. Killion didn’t know why he was pissed at that thought. Removing a prisoner’s clothes was usually the first step of a rendition, but there was nothing usual about any of this. Audrey chose that moment to sigh in his arms.
His throat got tight and he couldn’t speak.
Killion laid her gently on top of a couple of bath sheets Noah had spread out on the bed and adjusted the towel she was wearing so it draped over her lower hips, keeping her decent. Noah raised her arms and started to ease the top higher.
Killion grabbed the bottom of the shirt and held on. “I’ll do it. Turn around.” He told the other man.
“Hey, I’m a professionally trained medic.” Noah shook his head, but turned away, clearly amused by Killion’s attempt to preserve Audrey’s modesty. Killion got rid of Audrey’s top and bra and pretended he didn’t see small perfect breasts with tight rosy nipples. A clean T-shirt smacked him on the side of the head and he jerked back to the moment. Crap. He eased it over Audrey’s head and pulled her arms through the armholes, covering her so only her midriff was bare.
Noah was now looking at him with a curious smile, as if Killion had revealed more than he wanted to. Bottom line was, he wasn’t as callous and ruthless as he’d once been. He’d learned caution and a measure of respect for those in his custody. He hadn’t gone soft or grown a conscience, he’d just refined his methods. Experience told him being kind to Audrey would get him a lot further than being a hard-assed prick. The best intel came when people trusted one another and both had something to gain from the exchange of information.
Not soft. Smart.
Noah inspected her injury and inserted an IV needle into her arm. “She’s burning up, but this should help.”
Killion turned away from the sight of the ugly wound against such pure white skin. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to shower and crash. Need me?”
Noah glanced up at him absently. “No, mate. We’ll see how she is after the first dose of antibiotics and try and get this fever down. She might still need a hospital.”
“No hospital.”
Noah’s lips tightened.
Gómez had a long reach and a simple phone call could lead to an injection of something deadly and that would be all it would take to get rid of this woman and the information she held.
She let out a deep sigh and turned her head away from him. Her cheeks were flushed compared to the rest of her face. Her hair was a tangled mess of dark wet silk against the white cotton. Killion told himself not to look. Not to care. If Audrey died at least he’d tried. Her odds were far better with him than alone against the cartel.
Ironically, Audrey’s rescue—if that’s what anyone could call it—followed the KUBARK human resource interrogation manual’s recommendations for a successful rendition. It had achieved surprise and maximum discomfort, an intense feeling of shock, insecurity and psychological stress. Audrey was suffering, confused and didn’t know who had her or where she was.
Gold star for Killion.
He grabbed his bag and gathered up his clothes, walked into the bedroom next-door, taking the key out of the lock. He jumped in the shower and scrubbed himself with soap. He rinsed and dried off just as fast. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he stuck his head back into Audrey’s room.
“Call me if she wakes.”
“Gotcha.”
“As soon as. I mean it,” he said sternly.
Noah eyed him narrowly. “I heard you the first time. You look like shit, mate. Get some sleep before you fall over. I’ll look after your date.”
Killion fought the urge to stay and watch over her, and that told him he was already too invested. But he could get the information he wanted by being charming as easily as by being a prick. The knowledge left him a little hollow, but he put that down to being too world-weary to whore himself out for his country.
The memory of holding a dead child in his arms flashed through his brain but he pushed it away. No more guilt for fulfilling the oath he’d made to his country. He went next-door and crashed. Wishing he was too tired to give a damn.
Chapter Five
NEXT TIME AUDREY surfaced she was lying on a bed with a strange man leaning over her.
“How you feeling?” The stranger had the prettiest gray eyes, surrounded by thick black lashes and spoke with a sexy British accent. A shard of memory drifted through her mind. He’d been in the hangar when they’d landed.
“Like someone stabbed me.” She tried to lift her hand but even that was too much effort.
The Brit pressed a straw against her lips and cupped the back of her head so she could drink. “Just a sip until your stomach gets used to it.”
At least that sounded vaguely optimistic that she might live. The pain in her side had eased, but she still felt like she was burning up from the inside out and was incredibly weak.
“Where am I?” Her voice was a dull rasp.
&nbs
p; “Somewhere safe.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Not long.” Those pretty gray eyes were smiling, but she didn’t miss the fact he wasn’t answering her questions. “How you feeling? Headache? Nausea?”
“Both.” She nodded, and then winced as the motion set off a gyroscope inside her skull.
His hand touched her arm as he adjusted her IV. She wasn’t used to being so utterly dependent on anyone, especially not a stranger. “Are you a doctor?”
“Medic.”
She shifted in bed and realized that under an unfamiliar white T-shirt she was naked. Embarrassment crept into her cheeks. Someone had stripped her and changed her clothes. A feeling of vulnerability and helplessness swept over her.
“I didn’t see anything. Promise.” His gray eyes twinkled. “Your guard dog protected your modesty. I’m Noah, by the way. My mum always said that she should never have called me that because all I ever said when I was little was ‘no.’”
“I can think of a few things she should have called you,” came a familiar voice from the open doorway. Her eyes darted to her rescuer who leaned a shoulder against the frame. “But I probably shouldn’t use them in polite company.”
She was polite company? A confused half-naked, half-dead frog biologist?
The blue eyes were bright and piercing, but there were shadows in their depths. His blond hair could do with more than a trim and there was a light scruff on his jaw. He wore a dark T-shirt with black canvas pants, but his feet were bare. Whereas the Brit, Noah, was tall, dark and charming, this guy was lean, blond, and exuded confidence like a pheromone.
When he’d been at the visitor center yesterday she’d assumed he was part of a family and hadn’t paid too much attention, as she didn’t make a habit of ogling other women’s husbands or boyfriends. But at some point he’d told her he didn’t have a girlfriend so she must have been mistaken in her assumption.
Intelligence gleamed in the blue eyes that scanned her face. Enough intelligence to make her nervous.
She forced some moisture onto her tongue. “And what did your mother call you?” she asked pointedly.
His eyes narrowed for a moment before the smile returned. “On a good day she called me Patrick.”
Noah’s expression was flat, but even that was telling her something. These men were being careful with the information they shared with her. Were they some kind of criminals? But they hadn’t hurt her and would criminals really go to this much effort to help a woman they didn’t know? If Patrick was correct about the man who’d stabbed her being part of the Mano de Dios cartel, he’d saved her life at great risk to his own.
She owed him.
Another wave of pain hit and she lay back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. She wished she could wind the clock back twenty-four hours and start the day over. “Where are we?” she asked. “Have you contacted the embassy for me? I need to talk to my parents. My mom is going to freak.”
Noah pushed to his feet. “I’ll make you both a cuppa.”
Patrick moved farther into the room as Noah left. Her injury was neatly bandaged, but she was well aware her midriff was on display. She inched the T-shirt down and his gaze rose guiltily to meet hers. Was that interest in his eyes?
“Feeling any better?” he asked.
“Compared to yesterday when someone tried to kill me? I feel better. Compared to the day before that? Not so much.”
He nodded. Those eyes of his watched her with some kind of an agenda but she had no idea what that might be.
“I don’t understand,” she said, finally.
One brow rose. “Which part?”
“Any of it. Why I was attacked?” Her voice rose in agitation. “Why you brought me here?” A man like him didn’t need to kidnap a woman to have sex. Even some sort of perverted serial killer would have easier ways of finding his victims than stealing planes from drug lords and flying across the South American continent. His actions didn’t make sense. “I don’t understand why you haven’t taken me to the hospital. It’s almost like you’re holding me captive but there’s no reason for you to do that.”
Patrick continued to search her face, as if looking for an answer to some unspoken question. He shook his head. “I can’t take you to the hospital.”
“But why not? Surely the cartel doesn’t have spies everywhere? Surely when they figure out they made a mistake attacking me they’ll just leave me alone?”
He sat on a chair beside the bed, leaning forward, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees. Even though she felt like crap she was uncomfortably aware of him as an attractive male, sitting close beside her, as she lay half-naked in bed.
“Why would the cartel leave you alone?” he asked quietly. “They have billions of dollars and fingers in every imaginable pie. If they want you dead why would they ever leave you alone?” His anger echoed softly off the plain white walls.
She swallowed. “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”
His lip curled as if he thought she was lying.
“Honestly.” Why didn’t he believe her? How insulting was that? “Look, they’ve made a mistake. That man who stabbed me also attacked me the night before. Told me ‘The Gateway Project was over’ and I was to tell my boss. But my boss didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, either.”
“Were you hurt the first night?” The expression in his eyes was guarded, like he didn’t trust she was telling the truth, which was crazy. If she had the energy she’d roll her eyes. Why would she lie about any of this?
“He tied me up, scared me to death, but didn’t hurt me—not then anyway. He obviously came back to finish the job.” Her energy started to lag. Her eyes felt heavy. “I reported it to the cops who were probably scarier than the perp.”
Her brain grew fuzzy. She had a suspicion there was some sort of painkiller and sedative in her IV because she wasn’t hurting anymore but couldn’t keep her eyelids open.
“Patrick?” she asked drowsily.
“Yeah?” His voice sounded close, as if his lips were next to her ear.
She turned her head toward the sound, opened her eyes to find him an inch away, staring at her with an expression she couldn’t read. “Thank you for saving my life.”
* * *
TRACEY WILLIAMS SAUNTERED into the Colombian police station and smiled at the bored young officer who sat behind the front desk. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band and he had that amped up male vibe about him, all testosterone-driven virility. One of the easily manipulated. She was older than he was, but she kept in perfect shape. She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing attention to her impressive cleavage displayed by the deep vee of her tight white blouse. Then she bent just a little to smooth her hand down her just-above-the-knee dove-gray skirt. His eyes flickered. Good. Now she had his proper attention. She smiled straight into his dark chocolate eyes and watched his pupils heat.
“Hola, mi nombre es Meredith Childs. Trabajo con la compañía de seguros.” My name is Meredith Childs. I’m from the insurance company. Another false identity. In truth, she had so many she’d almost forgotten her real name—it was better that way. “Necesito ver el carro de alquiler que se quemó anoche para evaluar sus daños.” I need to see the burned out rental car from last night to assess it for damages. Her Spanish held just the barest trace of an American accent but, to her annoyance, he replied in perfect English.
“Trust me, Señorita, the car is a write off.”
“I understand, Officer, but if I don’t personally set eyes on the vehicle, I can’t process the claim for the rental company, and then they can’t press criminal charges for destruction of property against the renter.”
A look of amused disbelief crossed the young man’s face.
She pushed. “My firm will send somebody else until one of us actually lays eyes on the car. You know how insurance companies are.” The same the world over.
The young man gave a heavy sigh and shouted through an open door to some
cops in the back room. The place was hopping after a murder—Dr. Lockhart’s student to be exact. Apparently Mano de Dios had thought the kid might have an idea where his supervisor had gone and had tried to beat it out of him. They’d discovered absolutely nothing. The cartel operated on violence and intimidation, but not smarts. They also operated on bribes.
She’d bet her new BMW Z4 Roadster that the investigation into the student’s death was already written up and the cops had concluded that Dr. Audrey Lockhart was the prime suspect. Poor Audrey, all she’d ever tried to do was beat back the disappointments and tragedies of her life by burying herself in her work. The biologist’s future looked increasingly bleak. So sad. Too bad. Life happened and you adapted. Or died.
The uniform led her out through the front door and around the side of the low squat building. She maneuvered carefully over the hot, cracked, pitted concrete in her four-inch, black, patent leather pumps.
He pulled keys from the belt at his side and said something about the weather. She smiled with just the right amount of sparkle. His expression was more relaxed now. Attentive. Interested. All because his Tab A might fit into her Slot B. It was the only form of biology that had ever interested her.
They approached a large lot filled with cars and boats, surrounded by a ten-foot high chain link fence. The acrid stench of smoke and gasoline tainted the air. A burned-out SUV sat on the back of a flatbed tow truck. The cop swung up inside the cab and started to slowly lower the SUV to the dusty ground. She peered closer as the vehicle dropped to her level. Gas cap was missing. Small pieces of what looked like incinerated paper were stuck inside the pipe. Definitely a torch job. All the interior upholstery had melted away and the inside was a twisted mess of carbonized plastic and steel. Just the skeletal frame of the seats remained. Whoever lit it up had done a good job.
The car came to rest on the ground with a bump and a groan.
“Did they find any prints?” she asked when the cop turned off the winch.
“Nada. We sent a knife and samples of material covered in what looked like blood to the crime lab but it might not be possible to get DNA.” He shrugged in that sexy arrogant way some Latino men had.
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