She laughed. “No kidding. I owe you.”
Peter sent her the coordinates of the island. “See you soon.”
“Looking forward to it.” She thanked him and put down the phone and punched the air. The guy wasn’t great in bed, but he gave good information and he’d always been kind to her, unlike certain other people she could mention. She usually had to get him drunk because he was squeamish about his wife, but she never put pressure on him and always made it about old times and a bit of harmless fun. She needed to keep him on her side. Sure she could blackmail him, but dinner and blowjobs were a lot less effort.
By keeping a broad perspective she’d narrowed down Killion’s exact location even though he thought he was so clever. He was predictable in the fact he used his friends and connections rather than striking out on his own. She looked up the island on Google Earth. Completely isolated and vulnerable. She wished she could be the one to do this job, but it was logistically impossible. And who knew what a Colombian drug lord would do to an active CIA operative? She winced. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty. C’est la vie.
She picked up the phone and passed on the information to her partner who was in boss mode and obviously worried by the level of incompetence being shown by his Colombian friends.
He didn’t ask when she’d be home.
Pissed, she tossed down her pen and picked up her purse. She was about to go shopping and buy something nice as a treat for herself, and he was going to pay the bill. Diamonds, she decided, for all the men she had to screw and assholes she had to kill. She deserved something pretty, something eternal, something that reflected her true value, even when the rest of the world was determined to take her for granted.
Chapter Eight
AUDREY’S FEVER HAD broken a few hours ago, and now she slept peacefully as Killion watched from a nearby chair. Her skin was pale and she looked about fifteen as she lay there with her dark hair spread over the snow-white pillow, dark lashes draping the heavy circles under her eyes. He’d barely left her side over the last two days except to scope out supplies, make sure there wasn’t any indication of where they were or whom this place belonged to. He didn’t want any blowback from this operation if Audrey Lockhart turned out to be the assassin he’d initially suspected.
It was nighttime with the moon silvery bright in the navy sky. He stared through a picture window where the orb was reflected in the calm Caribbean ocean.
The place was paradise. Perfection. Tranquil, indolent, and rich. The house was built into a hillside on the leeward side of an island about a mile wide by two miles long. It had its own beach, its own helipad and according to all sources of information he’d located and removed, belonged to someone called Haley Cramer, one of Alex Parker’s partners in his exclusive security business.
The house had running water, electricity from solar panels, and an emergency back-up generator. The pantry was full and the freezers well stocked with everything from milk to steak. The main deck had a fantastic sunset view Killion hadn’t yet been able to enjoy.
It was Nim’s Island on steroids.
He went and grabbed a fresh T-shirt from his duffel. His gear was here in the same room because that had been the easiest way to nurse her and also get some rest. Thinking about it, she was the first woman he’d slept with in over a decade. It had felt surprisingly good to hold someone in his arms. Of course, she’d been comatose.
His usual encounters with the opposite sex—outside work—were more of the hit and run variety. It was for their own good. He was upfront about what he wanted, some fun, a little downtime, and no expectations beyond some naked tangoing of whatever variety the woman preferred. He didn’t have a normal job. He didn’t have a normal life. Nor could he advertise his trade to excuse his bad behavior. His life was a series of secrets stacked upon secrets like a thousand cobwebs, each layer intricate and discrete. Build enough lies and eventually even you forgot where you came from—and it was better that way. It protected the few people in the world he cared about.
He yawned widely. Logan and Noah had helped him carry Audrey and their gear up a series of steep steps from the helipad. Killion and Audrey were stranded on the island until someone arrived in a chopper or they flagged down a passing boat. Great for privacy, not so great in an emergency, as he’d discovered about a day too late.
Still, he was pretty sure she was over the worst. She looked like she’d probably survive. Not that it mattered. She was just a suspect. A “detainee” until he said otherwise. His hands clenched into fists. He eyed the sweet bow of her lips and reminded himself not to get played, else he might find himself drinking arsenic with his next cup of joe.
Exhausted, he rested his eyes for a moment.
When his body jolted awake in the leather recliner hours later, the room was bathed in weak golden sunlight. He didn’t know what had woken him until he glanced at the bed and found a pair of violet-blue eyes staring straight at him. He’d never seen eyes that color before, like some sort of exotic flower.
“Hey. You’re awake.” Relief flooded his veins.
“Patrick.” Audrey’s voice was scratchy, her smile pale and tired. She touched her forehead. “I feel like I went ten rounds in a UFC cage.”
His lips kicked into a grin. “Me, too.”
A line cut between her brows. “You’ve been looking after me?”
Killion nodded.
“Just you?” She glanced around in confusion and then down at the clothes she was wearing. Her eyes widened as they cut back to his.
“Just me. And, yep, I’ve seen you naked—thank you. I did not close my eyes, but I did behave as a perfect gentleman even though there were no witnesses.” He crossed a finger over his heart. If errant thoughts had entered his mind it wasn’t his fault. It was biology. If anyone understood that it would be Audrey. “Hey, we even slept together, but you managed to control yourself.”
She nodded, looking more resigned than unhappy, then glanced around the huge bedroom with the flowing net drapes that opened out onto a wide deck.
“Where are we?” She blinked as if trying to focus. He’d forgotten she usually wore reading glasses. He knew from his research she was a little long-sighted—just enough to look cute when she squinted.
“Somewhere safe.” He leaned over and put his hand on her forehead as he’d done countless times over the last few days. This time she pulled away and her eyes dilated—definitely back in control of her faculties.
He felt a pang of unexpected loss. Idiot.
Now the hard stuff began.
The key to a successful interrogation was to understand the emotional needs of the subject and to relieve the fear they felt when being questioned—not to increase it. He had to establish a rapport and figure out the motivation of the person he was questioning. A good interrogator made the subject want to tell him what he wanted to know.
So how did he get Audrey to want to tell him what he needed to know?
And what if she didn’t know anything?
She shifted uncomfortably. He’d been staring at her stupidly, trying to figure out a way to dig inside that brain of hers.
“Do you want to sit up?” he asked, stalling for time.
She nodded and he reached over, grabbed the pillow he’d been using and slipped it behind her upper back. Her hair brushed his hand—soft and tangled. He already knew he was going to miss the satiny texture of it as it sifted through his fingers, and he was going to have to compartmentalize those thoughts to get his job done.
“How’s your side feeling?” The stab wound had healed nicely, forming a thick scab over her skin. The two stitches had held up well and he’d kept it clean and dry.
“It’s a lot better than it was. Sore,” she admitted. “But not painful.”
“It healed okay, but you came down with a fever. You seem a lot better now.”
She nodded.
“So why did Hector Sanchez try to kill you?”
She shook her head. He passed her so
me water, suddenly aware of the sound of the air conditioner kicking on, and her small hands wrapping around the cup. Her nails were short, and she wore a gold signet ring on the pinkie of her right hand. Her cheeks hollowed out as she drank through the straw. She’d lost weight during her battle with the infection and there hadn’t been much of her to start with. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the idea of her suffering, didn’t like how frail she looked. Even sitting up seemed to tire her.
He didn’t like that he didn’t like it.
“It must have something to do with the attack from the night before.” Her voice regained some of that huskiness he’d noticed during the talk she’d given on frogs. He’d forgotten the effect her slight Kentucky accent had on him.
“The one you reported to the cops?”
She nodded.
“No police report with your name on it was filed that night.”
“What?” Her surprise looked genuine. No micro expressions of deception.
“I checked,” he added.
“How?” She frowned.
He shrugged. “I asked around.”
“But why wouldn’t they file the report? I was with them for two hours.”
No record of that either.
Her confusion turned to anger. Righteous indignation rising to the surface with every breath. “The caretaker warned me the cops might not take me seriously.”
“Can you remember the detectives’ names?”
Her lips were dry and cracked as she pinched them together. He passed her the salve he’d already applied several times and she took it with a cautious expression. “Thank you.”
He avoided looking at her mouth when she put it on. Obviously he was suffering from whatever the reverse of Stockholm syndrome was, where the captor felt sympathy for their captive. His subjects were usually stinky, ugly, hairy guys, much easier to detach from, but he hadn’t rescued and repeatedly saved them from death, nor bathed with them naked—thank God. Maybe this was a biological thing—his wiggly DNA wanting a chance to divide and conquer.
As long as he recognized the issues he could deal with them, and use them to his advantage.
She frowned as she struggled to remember. “One guy was called Ortez, he gave me a card which is in my purse in the lab.”
Or more likely in evidence—or destroyed—but he didn’t tell her that. Interestingly a detective called Patrice Ortez had been on duty that night, alongside a guy called Diego Torres. Alex Parker had gotten the names of all the detectives working in the area, now he’d hopefully be able to pull the right phone records. Apparently it wasn’t as easy as it sounded—and it sure as hell wasn’t legal.
Audrey didn’t know about her dead student yet and he wasn’t about to enlighten her. He was saving that information for when he might need leverage, or to knock her emotionally off balance. Yep, he was a real prince.
He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “Like I said, nothing was filed. There is no report.”
“I don’t know if they’re corrupt or incompetent.” She put the glass on the bedside table. “I should get to an American police station immediately and tell them exactly what happened. Can you call someone for me?”
“No.” He let his eyes get hard. It was time to get down to brass tacks while she was still weak from her illness and vulnerable from the uncertainty of her situation. “Time for the truth, Audrey. I know who you are.”
She blinked twice. “I didn’t realize who I was was ever in question.” Her tired features pinched further. “I want to make a phone call and talk to someone official.” She pushed the bedclothes off and swung her legs carefully over the edge of the bed.
It took every ounce of self-control to force himself to sprawl back in his chair and let her struggle. “Knock yourself out.”
As she placed her toes on the sheepskin rug she tugged the T-shirt as low as it would go—mid-thigh. Her legs wobbled as she pushed to her feet and staggered to the doorway that led to the deck. The fresh sea breeze swept through the room and cleared out the scent of the sickroom, but the effort was obviously too much for her. She sagged against the doorframe as she looked outside. “Where are we?”
He moved to stand behind her. She swayed and he scooped her up when she would have collapsed to the floor. She grabbed onto his shirt, fingers curling tight over his heart.
“Just tell me who you work for and I’ll get us both out of here.” Up close her eyes were almost lavender. The fire in them told him exactly what she thought of answering his questions when he wouldn’t answer any of hers, but she surprised him.
“I work for the U of L and hold adjunct status at the university in Bogota. My boss is the head of department, Professor Paula Renault. Now I’ve told you what you wanted to know. Get me out of here.”
Killion shook his head and carried her out onto the deck and spun them in a slow circle. “See this?” She clutched his shirt tighter, holding on as if dizzy. “There’s no one here except us. There’s no one to talk to except me, and we’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth about who you work for.” The sky was so blue and the sun so strong Audrey tucked her face into his chest, and he hated how the action affected him. His voice grew softer. “I’m all for hanging out until you tell me who hired you. But you aren’t fooling me. I know what you did. I know who you killed, and I don’t mean good old Hector. So let’s cut to the chase and get this over with.”
Her mouth dropped open as she looked up at him.
“Hey, I’m not judging you.” He tilted his head and gave her his best smile.
“You know who I killed but you’re not judging me?” She gaped, then took a swipe at his cheek with her open hand.
He easily avoided the blow, and laughed. Mistake. She started to struggle, so he gripped her tighter and returned to the bedroom. He laid her down carefully on the crumpled sheets and leaned over her, staring deep into those indignant eyes.
“I mean it when I say we’re not going anywhere until I get the truth.”
She opened her mouth to say something and then stopped, biting her lip in a way that flipped his small brain to the “on” position. No doubt about it, he needed to burn off a little steam in the sex department.
She frowned thoughtfully, as if replaying something in her mind. “Spook.”
Uh-oh.
He blanked his features.
“Someone said you were a government spook.”
Something a good operative would never call another on. He straightened. “You’re mistaken.”
“No, I’m not. It was that other guy. The big Brit.” Her eyes grew huge. “He thought I was asleep. You’re not a tourist at all, are you? You’re a spook. A CIA agent.” She said it like it was akin to being a child molester. Her pupils flared and she shrank back against the pillows. “What do you want with me? Why have you kidnapped me? I’m a frog biologist, for God’s sake.”
Boom.
She’d been awake ten minutes and he’d already lost control of this interrogation. Never underestimate smart people. Rather than screw it up further by trying to regain the upper hand, he turned on his heel and left. He didn’t bother locking up. There was nowhere for Dr. Audrey Lockhart to go.
* * *
AUDREY LAY IN bed with her heart hammering like a hamster on a red-hot wheel. This wasn’t a rescue. This was a kidnapping.
As soon as “Patrick” left, Audrey rushed to her feet and headed for the garden doors. She was wearing nothing except a long T-shirt, but if she flashed the neighbors while trying to escape she didn’t really care. She had to get away.
Her wound was healing, but she was careful not to jar it as she staggered out onto the balcony. The sun reflected off the surface of the topaz ocean so brightly tears stung her eyes. The house was perched near the top of a steep hillside covered in dense forest. She looked around frantically. There wasn’t another house in sight, nor were there any people visible. She thought about shouting for help but didn’t want to attract the wrong sort of attent
ion until she knew exactly what she was dealing with.
A wave of wooziness flowed over her and she clutched the railing until it passed. The heat sapped her meager strength and even this short walk to the balcony left her tired and breathless. The deck didn’t lead anywhere. There were no steps and nowhere to go unless she wanted to climb thirty feet down a sheer rock face.
Not today. Not any day for that matter.
Surely, if she went out the front door there would be a road and she could flag someone down for help?
One thing was for certain, she wasn’t sitting around for the insane government agent to come back with more of his ridiculous accusations. She went to the bedroom door and peeked out along the corridor toward a living room with hardwood floors. The house was constructed with beautiful clean lines of pale wood and white-washed walls and if it wasn’t for the fact she was being held captive when she should have been at work, she might have paused to admire the architecture of this tropical paradise.
“Patrick” wasn’t anywhere to be seen. If he was a spook—and there had been no reason to lie as they’d thought she was unconscious at the time—she doubted Patrick was his real name. It felt wrong not even knowing his name when he held her life in his hands, but even more disorienting was not knowing where on the planet she was being held. She didn’t even know what day it was. Did her parents know she was missing? She hoped not. Her mother would freak. Her mom and dad were already run ragged keeping Sienna from going off the rails and looking after their grandson. It wasn’t fair to put them through anything else.
Using the wall for support, she made her way to an airy open-plan living room and staggered past a large center island that marked off the kitchen. It was empty, thank goodness. There were huge seascapes on the walls, but no personal pictures anywhere. Was this a rental cottage? She couldn’t imagine it was a CIA safe house, but if it was, it certainly explained her taxes.
Her head started to pound. What was she doing here? She had a busy schedule, experiments to run. Students to teach. Frogs to care for. Things like this didn’t happen to her—then she remembered her friend, Rebecca. They’d been walking home from a club one night and a mugging had turned into murder when their attacker had pulled a gun.
Cold in the Shadows 5 Page 9
