Cold in the Shadows 5

by Toni Anderson

  She eyed him over the top of her glass, telling him she knew he was trying to control the conversation and that she’d let him, for now. “I take it you’ve traveled?”

  He nodded.

  “Could you choose a favorite out of Venice, Paris, Rome?”

  “Anywhere people don’t try to kill me goes on the happy list.” The look in his eyes told her he wasn’t kidding. He surprised her by continuing. “I guess if I had to pick one, I’d choose the desert somewhere. Australia, maybe. Utah, North Africa—I like heat, and the colors. The quiet.” He shrugged and she thought he might actually be telling the truth. “You must have a favorite place,” he persisted.

  “I loved Australia. The wildlife there is phenomenal.”

  “Bugs.” He pulled a face. “You’re a crusader. Trying to save the world.”

  “I thought you said I was a murderer?” She arched a brow.

  “People can be both.” Patrick looked like he’d met quite a few of them.

  “Who exactly do you think I killed?”

  He took a swig of beer. “It’s classified.”

  She laughed, and then realized he was serious. “Seriously? How am I supposed to defend myself against a crime when you won’t tell me what the crime is?”

  “Tell me every crime you’ve ever committed and we’ll go from there.” His smile promised many things and Audrey didn’t trust it even a little bit.

  She was suddenly unwilling to do this dance when all he really wanted was to pump her for information. She put down her toast.

  “Hey,” he raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just making conversation. You need to eat.”

  “Fine.” She sipped her water and wished she didn’t feel so weak and helpless. “Let’s see. What’s the worst thing I’ve ever done? In Venice I found two hundred dollars and I didn’t hand it in to the authorities. I was broke and that money lasted me an entire week. It was wrong and I’m assuming illegal, but I did it anyway because I didn’t want to have to beg my parents for help when I’d told them I could take care of myself. What else? I once went skinny dipping in New Zealand, which was a huge mistake given how cold it was. I used to get into bars when I was underage with a fake ID. I jaywalked in NYC—”

  “Everyone jaywalks in NYC.”

  “And while I try to stick to the speed limit I admit that I’ve occasionally put my foot down on long wide open stretches of highway.”

  He cut into his potato, then pointed at her plate with his knife. “Eat.”

  “What about you, what crimes have you committed?”

  He chewed and swallowed, then grinned. “Aside from leaving the scene of a suspicious death and stealing a plane from a Colombian drug lord? Nothing recently.”

  “What about kidnapping?”

  He looked startled by that, then one side of his lips curved. “You got me.”

  She ate more toast and managed to finish one entire slice before pushing the plate away.

  “Do you work on live frogs back in the States?” he asked.

  She tilted her head at him. Surely he knew this? “I ship samples and specimens back home, but I try and do as much of the work as possible in Colombia.” She grimaced. “That way I can avoid all the admin hassle associated with my job.”

  “Aren’t you young to be faculty?”

  “Thirty.” She nodded, but a chill swept over her arms. Would she be fired over this debacle? She’d worked hard for everything she’d achieved. Goose bumps formed on her skin and she rubbed at them. He obviously noticed because he shrugged out of his cotton shirt and handed it to her. She slipped it across her shoulders, grateful for the extra warmth, but wishing it didn’t smell so much like the man himself. The black shoulder holster he wore on his T-shirt was an unwelcome surprise. She hadn’t known he was armed.

  She was completely at this guy’s mercy and she mustn’t forget that, despite the pretty face and disarming grin.

  Crumbs fell onto the table and she swept them up and put them on her plate. “Why do you think I killed this person?” But the mental light bulb flashed, bleaching her brain and bringing clarity to her thought processes. “Ah… Someone was killed with batrachotoxin.” She frowned. “You know that can be synthesized, right?”

  His gaze remained steady on her face. “It was analyzed and there were indicators it came from a natural source in the region you work in. DNA.”

  She felt almost light-headed with relief. This was how the CIA conducted operations? On evidence that flimsy? “Anyone could have put on some gloves and gone and picked up a frog in the rainforest. You just need to know where to look. I can’t believe you used that as grounds for accusing me of murder.” Then she frowned. “This can’t be why the cartel tried to kill me. They’d know better than that. And they’d know exactly how to get hold of a native frog. Am I a scapegoat? The convenient clueless white girl?”

  Those blue eyes drilled into her, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” Her heart gave a little flutter. “But you’re not going to tell me, because it’s classified.”

  He broke the connection, looked down at his plate and carried on eating. Audrey lost the little appetite she’d had. She pushed her plate away and stood. “Thank you very much for dinner. Now I’m going to bed.” She went back to her room and slammed the door. The sound echoed hollowly throughout the house and reminded her that it didn’t matter how much noise she made, there was no one around to hear.

  Chapter Ten

  KILLION JERKED AWAKE and realized he’d fallen asleep on the recliner in the lounge. He held still as he listened for whatever had woken him.

  There it was again.

  A cry. Audrey.

  He rocketed up out of his chair, SIG in hand as he sprinted to the bedroom. He paused with his hand on the door handle, listening hard and heard the cry again. He eased open the door. The bathroom light was on and the door ajar.

  She was alone.

  Audrey lay twisting in the bed, fighting with the covers. There was no attacker except in her dreams. He felt a pang of guilt that he might be responsible for these nightmares.

  She started sobbing and wailing. Damn. What the hell was he supposed to do? Hesitant, he went inside, and sat on the edge of the mattress. Sweat glistened on her brow. Had her fever returned? He put the gun down on the bedside table and pushed her dark hair off her forehead. Not feverish, thank God, but hot and sweaty.

  “Aud,” he called gently. He’d missed sleeping in here with her he realized. It was a weird thought for a man who preferred his own company.

  She rolled her head in the opposite direction. “Rebecca. No. No!”

  The sobs twisted him up inside.

  He’d had these sorts of dreams for a few years. He’d been embedded with an SF unit, negotiating with the local elders for tribal support of the new Afghan leader, looking for help rounding up any Arab fighters passing through the region. Although the elders hadn’t been convinced they should openly defy Mullah Omar, Killion had earned their trust after weeks of cultivating the relationships. He was invited to attend a wedding there. Another intelligence officer, a woman who’d been competing with Killion since their days at the Farm, had received conflicting intel from a source Killion had known was fundamentally unreliable and out to make a buck. The source had convinced the female IO that fugitive Taliban leaders were holed up in the village right under Killion’s nose, preparing to take him and his group hostage. She’d used her influence to have the place bombed. He’d tried to stop the attack, but it was too late. Two airstrikes had reduced the place to smoking rubble.

  The images of broken humans, some of them friends, some of them children, had haunted him for years. There were days when he was angry that the dreams had faded—that the memories of those people and the culpability of his own agency had diminished over time.

  Trust was an ephemeral thing, but once gone it was gone forever. Needless to say they’d lost the support he’d worked so hard to establish. T
he US Government had later apologized for any civilian casualties. The female intelligence officer had been shipped back to HQ and had eventually resigned.

  “Rebecca!”

  He snapped back to the present.

  “Don’t die! Please don’t die.”

  He put a hand on each of Audrey’s shoulders and squeezed gently.

  She jerked awake and grabbed hold of his forearms. Her eyes were wild and he could see the pulse beating strongly in the base of her throat. She blinked, seeming to come into herself.

  “Patrick.” His name came out as a sigh and her grip on him tightened. Why that felt like coming home, Killion didn’t know.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear. “You had a bad dream. You’re okay now.”

  She nodded, but her pulse jumped crazily beneath her skin. The thought of placing his tongue on that exact spot made something curl in his stomach, something hot and sensual that had no place on this assignment. But he wasn’t a eunuch and he was only staring at her neck for chrissake.

  “Who’s Rebecca?”

  She relaxed back into the pillow and let go of his arm. She stretched out beneath him and he tried not to think about that soft female body just inches away.

  “She was my best friend in college.” She closed her eyes and when she opened them her lashes were damp. “Five years ago, we went out clubbing and were mugged on our way home. The guy shot her. Tried to shoot me, too, but his gun jammed.”

  How had they missed this?

  He ignored his own pounding pulse. “I don’t know if that makes you the luckiest woman on the planet, or the unluckiest.”

  Her answering smile dissolved into tears. “Me neither.” She quickly wiped her eyes. No breaking down for Audrey Lockhart. “Rebecca died in my arms at the scene. I tried to save her, but the doctor told me later the bullet nicked her aorta. She never stood a chance.”

  “I’m sorry.” He’d held people when they died. Soldiers. Friends. Kids.

  Bearing witness to human mortality was the most sobering experience imaginable, especially when it came about through violence.

  Her pink lips pressed together. And now he was thinking about what she might taste like while she was reliving her best friend’s murder.

  He was going to go to hell.

  He reminded himself he had a job to do. “What was her surname?”

  The light in her eyes altered when she realized he wanted this information for work and he didn’t like the disappointment that flared there.

  “Rebecca Brightman. It was big news at the time because her father is the big industrialist Gabriel Brightman.”

  He frowned. “You dated her brother, right?”

  She nodded. “After Rebecca died.”

  And she’d called him earlier, so they were still close. Did they still have feelings for one another? The idea didn’t sit right, but it had nothing to do with the mission.

  He frowned. “Why didn’t I know you witnessed your friend’s death?”

  “Did I forget to mention that on our first date? Sorry.” Her voice had that husky amused quality that turned him on like a freaking light switch whenever he heard it. Not what he needed when his brain was supposed to be engaged in prying out relevant information.

  “Don’t go firing your analysts just yet.” Her eyes rolled tiredly. “I was the only witness, but I never saw the guy’s face. He wore a mask. The cops and DA kept my identity secret because they wanted to pretend ‘the witness’ knew more than she actually did and I refused WitSec because I was halfway through my Ph.D. and no way was I throwing that away for some stupid mugger. They set up a sting operation with a woman police officer as a decoy, but they never caught the guy. The case is still open, but no one thinks they’ll find him after so many years.”

  She sat up and reached for the water. By the time he realized she wasn’t going for the cup he was staring down the barrel of his own gun. The space between heartbeats felt like an eternity.

  Well, hell.

  “I need you to back away from the bed, Patrick.” The heavy gun wavered in her one-handed grip. Her finger was hooked around the trigger.

  He could lunge and maybe knock the weapon out of her grip, but taking a bullet from that gun at close range meant he’d bleed out before he even made a phone call.

  He raised his hands, palms facing forward. “Careful, Aud. That thing is locked and loaded.” He eased his weight from the bed and backed up a half step. “You don’t want to do something you’re going to regret.”

  “Shooting someone who kidnapped me and held me against my will?” Her bottom lip wobbled. “What US court would have a problem with that? I don’t even know if you’re really CIA because it’s classified and I only overheard part of a conversation when I was almost unconscious. For all I know you made that up, too.” The gun wavered and she wrapped both hands around it, but it was still unsteady.

  Killion eyed her narrowly. He wasn’t a big fan of having a loaded weapon pointed in his direction, but a professional assassin would have already pulled the trigger.

  “No court in the country would convict an innocent woman on that basis,” she told him.

  He edged to his right. “Unfortunately they might not be so understanding toward a woman already wanted for murder.”

  Her eyes widened. “They think I murdered Hector in cold blood? Oh, my God.” He didn’t correct her assumption it was Hector they thought she’d killed. She looked like she was going to start to cry again. “I have to talk to an American official.” Her voice rose in bewilderment. “I need to tell them the truth. You have to help me!”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the weapon in her hands. “You gonna shoot me or not?”

  “No!” She lowered the gun so it rested on her thighs. “Any sane person would shoot you. You’re arrogant, annoying and so goddamned secretive. And you could be a deranged serial killer for all I know.” She wasn’t making a lot of sense. “But I don’t care what anyone says or thinks, I’m not a killer.” She wiped her eyes. “I just want to go home.”

  “I’m beginning to see that, Dr. Lockhart.” He reached out and lifted the gun out of her lap and stuck it back in his holster, feeling like a damn fool. His heart regained its normal sinus rhythm and a sense of relief filled him. Not just because she hadn’t shot him, but also because any doubts to her innocence had been obliterated.

  “Remind me sometime to show you how to take the safety off a SIG—just not today, okay?” He leaned down and dropped a kiss to her forehead. The desire to climb in beside her and hold her close almost overwhelmed his good sense, so he stood and backed away. She was no longer someone to be played for information. She was an innocent who needed his protection.

  “Go to sleep.” He paused on his way out of the room. “And call me Killion. Only my grandma calls me Patrick, and that’s only when she’s pissed.”

  * * *

  KILLION PICKED UP his satellite cell phone and punched in Jed’s number. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “What’s the good news?” It was the middle of the night and he’d obviously woken the guy, but Jed didn’t complain.

  “No way is Audrey Lockhart our professional assassin.”

  “What’s the bad news?”

  “No way is Audrey Lockhart our professional assassin.”

  “Dammit. You’re sure?”

  “I’d bet my reputation on it.”

  Killion expected a joke about that not being much to lose, but Jed took him by surprise and grunted. “Good enough for me. So why were we led to this woman?”

  They’d been fed just enough information to find her before someone had tried to take her out of the picture, permanently.

  “I just found out Audrey was Gabriel Brightman’s daughter’s best friend when the daughter was murdered during a mugging a few years ago. Audrey survived because the guy’s gun jammed.”

  “Why didn’t we know about this?”

  “Cops and DA kept her name out of the reports t
o protect her identity,” Killion told him.

  “Audrey dated the brother, right?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know about the friend/sister connection until tonight.” He was kicking himself for not knowing something so vital.

  “What happened tonight?” asked Jed.

  Killion’s career was built on passing along information and Jed was someone he trusted with his life. This wasn’t gossip. It was data. And how’d you like it if your nightmares ended up in a database, asshole?

  “Her friend’s death came out in conversation. Cops never caught the guy. You gotta get Frazer or Parker digging into Gabriel Brightman. He sounds like a perfect candidate for The Gateway Project. Friend of Burger’s. Getting revenge for a dead kid? Maybe involving the cartel? Maybe blaming Audrey for surviving when his daughter didn’t, so setting her up to take the fall?”

  “It’s the closest we have to a motive, although why take out Burger if they were supposed to be friends?”

  Killion shrugged. “Maybe he figured Burger had gone too far?” The VP had helped fund a terrorist attack in some twisted effort to increase the fight against them. “Maybe Brightman figured if Burger got caught he’d bring him down, too?”

  “I suppose.” Jed sounded tired.

  “You all right?”

  “It’s four AM.” Jed’s voice held an edge.

  “I forgot you feds were nine-to-five government employees.”

  “Said the man living it up in the Caribbean.”

  “Which reminds me. I need to get off the island. Now that we know Audrey doesn’t have information to squeeze, I need to keep searching for the assassin.” And the more time he spent with Audrey the more involved he became. He didn’t like it. Didn’t want it. She wasn’t the kind of woman he could walk away from without one or both of them getting hurt, and he always walked away.

  Time to move on.

  But no matter how many reasons he came up with for ditching the biologist the idea still felt wrong. How about the fact he’d attacked her that first night? And that his attack and her subsequent report of the attack probably got her stabbed the next day and her grad student murdered—not that she knew about that yet. Another fact that would make her hate him if she ever found out.