“We don’t have much choice. Gómez framed her for the murder of her student. Cops aren’t going to listen to any alternate explanation when they have their prime suspect wrapped up with a nice pretty bow.” His arms tightened on his charge. “I can’t protect her if she’s in custody.”
“She’s getting worse,” Noah persisted.
“The last thing you need is the cops turning up on your doorstep and finding you harboring a wanted fugitive.”
“They won’t find her.” Noah’s chin jutted out.
“How will you know?” Killion challenged. “You won’t be there.”
“He doesn’t have a choice and neither do we.” Logan backed up Killion from the driver’s seat. “She has to get out of the country and this is the fastest, most efficient way to accomplish that.”
“You gave me the instructions to keep her fever down, the medicine and antibiotics.” Killion tried to reassure the younger man.
“That doesn’t make you a bloody doctor.” Noah did not look happy.
Killion wasn’t exactly dancing a jig himself.
“We can get her to a clinic somewhere off the mainland.” Noah divided a look between him and Logan.
They all knew it wasn’t possible.
“As soon as she goes in the system she’s as good as dead,” Killion stated baldly.
Noah held his gaze. “She might die anyway.”
“I won’t let her,” he snapped. He pressed his lips together to bite back anything else. He was slow to lose his temper but once it was gone it was hard to stuff back into its box. These guys were helping him and he owed them, but he didn’t see any alternative that didn’t involve sacrificing Audrey to the cartel. He wasn’t willing to do that, not at any price. She had information he needed. “I’ve got a backup plan if she gets any worse.” Not that his friends in the FBI would be that keen to secretly smuggle Audrey into the US for emergency medical treatment, but Killion was the master of getting his own way. He’d make it happen.
Noah kept quiet this time. Logan turned off the main road and drove down a dirt track so narrow the trees touched the SUV on either side. They pulled up sharply and Noah got out to open a gate.
“This is the place?” Killion could just make out an opening in the canopy that was about the size of a basketball court. “Please tell me we aren’t hot air ballooning to the Caribbean?”
Logan grinned. “Don’t be a pussy.” He drove the SUV into a large garage. They got out, Killion still carrying Audrey in his arms. Logan and Noah grabbed his duffel and heavy kit bags for themselves, and locked the garage behind them. Killion hadn’t asked where the former soldiers were going—he’d just taken them up on their offer to drop him and Audrey off along the way.
A hum vibrated through the night sky, distant but growing steadily louder. Killion recognized the sound from his days in Afghanistan, and shifted Audrey higher in his arms. What was she going to think when she woke up?
“Pretty fancy transportation you got, fellas. Private work must pay well.”
Logan’s grin burst out. “Better than government spooks.”
“That’s for damned sure.” Killion laughed, then realized Audrey’s glazed eyes were open and blinking up at him. Logan winced in apology. They’d let their guard down and forgotten there was a possible hostile in their midst. But it didn’t matter. Her eyes were already closing again and he doubted she’d remember any of it.
The noise of the approaching helicopter got louder and louder. Finally a dark shadow appeared over the top of the forest. The rotors beat at the leaves of the surrounding trees and the downwash had them all bracing against the wind and flying debris. The bird landed gently in the middle of the field. Killion kept his eyes on the pilot who was lit up in the front seat. Once the guy gave the signal, they all hurried across to the sleek black chopper. Inside, six men were kitted up in a similar fashion to Logan and Noah, heavily armed, their faces blackened. Even if Killion knew these guys he wouldn’t recognize them tonight. Probably a good thing.
One of the men took Audrey from his arms and laid her on the floor between two rows of ATAC boots. Someone else put a blanket under her head and another man held the IV bag so it dangled between his knees.
Killion strapped himself in and pulled on a headset.
“Slight detour, boys,” Logan announced to the others through the comms. “Gotta drop these two lovebirds off at their honeymoon suite along the way.”
Noah smirked.
“It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it.” Killion grinned back even though he wasn’t relishing what lay ahead with Audrey.
White teeth flashed in the darkness.
“If you want to swap places…” Noah offered with a glint in his eyes.
“Maybe next time.” His grin was sharper. Noah’s reputation with the ladies was probably worse than his. Noah would never behave inappropriately when she was sick, but when she recovered? Hell, yes, he’d be as inappropriate as she was willing to get.
Then they were airborne and everyone grew quiet, watching the lights of Cartagena getting smaller and smaller to the west as they headed northeast. Suddenly they were out over the ocean, blades slicing the air and making an urgent pulse throb against the water. His gaze turned back to Audrey who lay unmoving and vulnerable on the floor of the aircraft.
Did she realize her life as she’d known it was over? Or was she too sick to appreciate anything except for pain and discomfort? If she was guilty she probably had a thousand options lined up to disappear. But if she was innocent…if she really was some biologist battling to save frogs, her world had just collapsed and she didn’t even realize it yet.
* * *
AUDREY LAY IN darkness pretty sure she’d descended into the pits of hell. It was pitch black but the flash of a red light glanced off the silhouette of a man wearing dark military clothing and face paint. Her eyes rolled in her head and she barely kept herself from sinking back into oblivion. Something moved and somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind she registered there was another man, then another. The loud throb that encompassed her was a helicopter. She was in a helicopter and they were flying…
She tried to shake her head and felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Hold still,” someone shouted above the din. She recognized the accent—it was the Brit from before. “You’re going to be okay, but don’t shift around or you’ll pull out the IV. The antibiotics are helping to fight the infection.” The fingers squeezed her shoulder in reassurance then let go.
Not dead, yet, then.
She was beginning to wish she were.
She felt so ill she didn’t care about all the pairs of eyes on her. She didn’t care that she was lying on the floor of a helicopter between the feet of what looked like a casting call for a Tom Clancy movie.
Her gaze searched for and finally found a familiar pair of eyes glistening in the darkness. He was still here. Her savior. She swallowed the unexpected burst of relief. Her heartbeat leveled off as she took a deep calming breath. Her rescuer was still with her. Still trying to get her to safety. She didn’t know what was going on or who these people were, but she trusted this enigmatic stranger who was doing his utmost to make sure she survived.
* * *
HE EYED THE screen and checked the manifests of two shipping containers headed from Colombia to Australia. He had key figures planted strategically within his organization, people who were paid handsomely to make sure certain special cargo items looked exactly like the real deal. They also made sure no one noticed when some of the inventory disappeared at the other end. Tracey took care of anyone who proved intractable.
This shipment contained enough crack to keep his Colombian business partners happy even though they’d so far failed to find Audrey Lockhart.
The Mexicans were tough competition, and together with the Dominicans pretty much controlled New York and much of the Eastern Seaboard’s drug supply. The DEA were concentrating on watching the old shipping routes—the mules, the
tricked out vehicles crossing from Mexico, or coming in via the thousands of miles of unguarded Canadian border. They weren’t looking at highly respectable businesses shipping manufactured goods around the world.
He called his PA and had her book dinner at a fancy restaurant for tonight. Life had to go on as normal, which is exactly what he had to pretend it was.
His burner phone rang. He answered but said nothing. She’d taught him well.
After a few moments Tracey Williams spoke, “She’s in the wind.”
Shit. His fist tightened. Audrey couldn’t get away. He’d spent too many years plotting his scheme to fail now. “She’s wanted for murder,” he said. “How far can she get?”
“Well, that depends on who’s helping her and how lucky they are.”
Something in her tone made his pulse jump. Tracey was smart and bloodthirsty. He’d discovered her true identity years ago and had been using her for his own ends ever since. She was in love with him and thought they’d be together one day. He was careful to perpetuate the myth.
“You know who she’s with?” he asked.
“Yes.” The word was careful. She was always careful.
“But you don’t know where they are,” he concluded.
“It’s only a matter of time before I find out.”
He was sick and tired of waiting. Audrey should have died years ago. He uncurled his fingers slowly and looked at his computer screen. The screensaver showed two girls, Audrey and Rebecca, grinning at the camera. It was taken the same month Rebecca had been shot dead in the street. His mouth went dry and a quiet rage filled him. “I want this finished.”
“It’s not a problem.”
It was his damn problem. He rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Do it.” He hung up and stared out of the window. The sooner Audrey Lockhart joined Rebecca six feet under the better, just as she should have done five years ago.
Chapter Seven
THE PEOPLE WHO’D told him he was a jackass and had his head up his ass may have had a point. Right now Killion would barter just about anything to rewind his choices and take his pretty little frog geek to a real hospital with real doctors. For the past thirty-six hours he’d done nothing but fight to keep her alive.
The water was icy cold as he climbed into the enormous bathtub with his arms full of delirious female. A female who’d just spiked a temp of 105 F. He knew there was a risk of cardiac arrest from what he was about to do, but it was the only thing he could think of to stop her brain from being fried. He eased into the freezing depths and felt his balls retract to the point of no return.
“Holy mother trucker.” Goodbye manhood, it was fun while it lasted. He gritted his teeth as the water climbed higher, creeping closer to the top of the tub, almost to the edge but not overflowing. Audrey’s head rested on his shoulder, lolling in a way he didn’t like. He did not want her to die.
They were both naked. It was easier this way and she was too out of it to give a shit. Anyway, his dick was now a worthless icy nub that would probably never recover from this experience, which served him right for believing he could handle everything himself. He shivered but Audrey’s skin sizzled to the touch. He’d run out of IV antibiotics four hours ago, so he’d crushed up tablets and put them on her tongue. Now all he could do was keep her hydrated and try to keep her body temperature within the normal range—normal for raging fever, anyway.
“Don’t die,” he whispered in her ear, hugging her closer and trying to ignore the fact he had an unobstructed view of her naked breasts. He’d taped plastic over her wound and was careful not to disturb that area.
He wasn’t an asshole, but he wasn’t blind, and he didn’t know whether to be grateful or horrified when his dick stirred. At least it hadn’t snapped off down there.
What the hell had he been thinking? Playing God with someone’s life? But no matter how much he berated himself he knew it had been the only choice.
“Please don’t die.” He already had a village full of dead people on his conscience. He couldn’t take any more. He stroked the hair off her forehead. Then picked up her wrist and searched for her pulse near the delicate blue veins. Fast, racing, scaring the shit out of him.
He pressed his lips to her temple; she was still searing hot while his teeth were starting to hammer. She let out a little moan and started to twist in his arms. He held her tighter.
“Come on, Aud. Fight this. Stay alive and if you’re innocent I swear to God I’ll do everything in my power to get you out of this mess.”
After another five minutes, his arms were shaking so badly he was worried he wouldn’t be able to lift her out if he waited any longer. He pulled the plug with his right foot and clambered awkwardly to his feet using his elbows for purchase.
He found a big fluffy towel and wrapped it carefully around the woman in his arms. Barely five-two and yet she was hanging in there valiantly, fighting for life with everything she possessed. She reminded him of his grandmother—diminutive, but feisty, just like he’d told her when he’d had her bound on her kitchen floor and she’d still gone for his balls.
He laid her on the bed and grabbed another towel, using it to squeeze the water out of her hair, then patted her dry, doing his damnedest not to think about the fact she was a living breathing woman. He removed the plastic covering her injury and examined the jagged wound closely. It was healing nicely. There was nothing weird or sexual about his actions—he was trying to keep her alive. Even so, as soon as she was dry he grabbed a baggy T-shirt that belonged to the owner of the house and eased it over Audrey’s head and arms—no easy feat—and adjusted the sheet to make her decent.
He’d never been offended by anyone who wanted to walk around naked, but that was a choice, and right now Audrey didn’t have a choice about anything that was happening to her.
He dried himself off and pulled on boxers from his duffel bag. A rattling noise startled him, and he realized Audrey was shivering so badly her teeth chattered. Shit, had he cooled her down too much too fast or was this a natural progression of the fever? He had no clue. He stood there stupidly wondering what the hell to do. Then he crawled into the big ass bed, wrapped his body around her much smaller one, warming her as best he could. She burrowed back against him, a perfect fit.
“Come on, Aud. You can do this, baby.”
She trembled in his arms, and he found his eyes slowly drifting shut, his brain finally dis-engaging from the craziness of the last three days. Sleep came, surrounded by soft white sheets and the pure clean scent of a woman. It didn’t even matter that she might be a cold-hearted killer; he just wanted her to live.
* * *
TRACEY WILLIAMS HAD traveled back to the States, heading for Patrick Killion’s last known address though she wasn’t stupid enough to break into the place. A man like Killion would be prepared for intruders and probably wouldn’t leave anything useful around anyway. As far as she could discover the guy had no family. He’d just been spawned one day for the sole purpose of ruining her life.
She sat in her hotel and had been scouring the news coming out of South and Central America, looking for clues as to where Killion and Lockhart might be. She stared again at one news report that made her senses tingle. A large oil tanker approaching the Panama Canal from the Caribbean had reportedly been hijacked a couple of days prior and the hijackers had threatened to ram into the gates of the canal unless the Panamanians paid a fifty-million dollar ransom. Peanuts compared to the cost of shutting down that shipping channel for even a few days. Panama had apparently worked with Colombia to retake the vessel and—so sad, too bad—all the hijackers had been killed during the liberation.
Wouldn’t want any would-be terrorists thinking this was a smart idea.
But the thing was, Panama wasn’t usually that chummy with the Colombians and the situation rang alarm bells. She picked up the phone and called a contact, Peter. They made small talk and arranged to meet for a drink while she was in town, then got down to business. “Can you get me det
ails on the company used in the rescue of that oil tanker near Panama?”
Her questions wouldn’t seem too outlandish. The company she worked for shipped billions of dollars of goods around the world annually. Piracy was a big deal.
There was a long pause as Peter accessed information. “It was an outfit called ‘Penny Fan Solutions.’”
She felt like she was missing something. “I don’t suppose you know who owns it?”
She heard tapping. “There’s a shell company, but,” more tapping, “As far as I can tell it’s registered to some guy called Logan Masters.”
She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling with a smile on her face. She should have known. Killion had turned to his old SAS pals to get him out of Colombia. She rolled her eyes at herself for taking this long to figure it out. Had he taken Lockhart with him? Of course he had. If she weren’t with him he wouldn’t need covert ops.
“Anything else you need?” Peter asked.
“Yes, actually.” She leaned forward in her chair again. “Do you know if they flew straight from Colombia to the tanker?” This was a bit of a weird question, but she’d make it worth his while.
A moment of silence before he said, “No. They approached the tanker from a US naval frigate based in the Caribbean. Hmmm.”
She waited, nerves plucking like guitar strings. Would Killion have boarded a naval ship with a wanted fugitive? Possibly, if he knew the captain. That would make Lockhart virtually untouchable.
“I’m looking at some satellite data we had on aircraft in the region. We focused extra resources on it after the ship was jacked. Looks like the helicopter made a detour north before heading to the frigate. Maybe refueling or picking someone up?”
Or dropping someone off.
“Can you tell me where it went?”
“Tiny island also owned by a private security company but this one based in DC—Cramer, Parker and Gray. Security Consultants—sounds more like a law firm. I’m obviously in the wrong business.”
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