Extreme Measures

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Eve smiled a sickly sweet grin. “Thank you so much. You totally just made our day. Right, Davey?”

  Zane worked for a smile but knew it came out more as a scowl. If she didn’t let go of his arm, he was going to scream. And if that guy leered at her breasts once more, he was gonna pop the bastard in the nose.

  Eve tugged Zane through the gate and finally let go of his arm. “See? Told ya.”

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and followed her out onto the dock. “Your talents are staggering.”

  She leaned back against the hood of the VW while they waited for the ferry. “Photographic memory comes in handy now and then. As you know.”

  He did know. It was part of the whole spook gig. “What now? The real hippie owners are bound to show up at any time.”

  “True, but we’re not staying here. We’re heading there.” She nodded toward a camper RV perched on the back of a beat-up truck in line four vehicles up. “And eventually, we’re going for that.” She pointed toward an ambulance parked two rows over. “I gotta get that arm of yours bandaged before infection sets in.”

  Zane’s gaze drifted to the out-of-service ambulance, which looked like heaven to him. There had to be narcotics of some kind in there.

  He glanced past the ambulance. Guards with bomb-sniffing dogs moved between vehicles. They waited until security moved past the ambulance, then wove through cars until they reached the back of the RV. Lights from above shone down over the pier in the early evening light. Far off in the distance, the approaching ferry grew bigger on the horizon. Luckily, the driver wasn’t in the cab yet, but they had only minutes before he or she returned.

  Eve slinked around the back of the camper, reached up for the door handle, and whispered, “Yes!” Zane checked to make sure no one was watching, then climbed into the back after her and closed the door.

  The camper was musty and dark. A bathroom closet gave way to a kitchen sink on the left. A too-tight table and bench seats sat to the right. Ahead and up three steps, a bed loomed above the canopy of the truck, and thick denim curtains covered the small windows.

  Fatigue settled in as Zane eyed the messy comforter and mattress he knew couldn’t be comfortable but right now looked like an inviting cloud. He’d been awake going on twenty-four hours, fueled by revenge and adrenaline, and as light-headed as he felt, he knew the blood loss from the wound in his arm was catching up with him. He swayed on his feet.

  Eve’s hand landed against his chest. “Whoa, big guy. Careful there. Archer? Are you okay?”

  No, he wasn’t okay. Her hand felt way too damn good, even through the thin T-shirt. And he knew he was seriously losing it if he was reacting to her. He’d gotten over Evelyn Wolfe the day she’d turned her back on America. Had gotten way over her the day she’d set his team up in Guatemala. He was only with her now because he wanted answers. And then wanted to see her pay.

  I work for the CIA. Counterterrorism.

  Her words crept back into his brain, and with them, doubt. She’d been under the influence of amobarbital then. There was plenty of literature to say truth serums didn’t work, but amobarbital had a tendency to make people ramble even when they wanted to stop, which was why it was still used. That didn’t mean she’d been telling him the truth, though. She’d been trained in the same tactics he had. And she’d convincingly lied to him for months while they were in Beirut. She’d even gone so far as to screw him to keep him from finding out the truth. She knew how to beat the system. And yet . . .

  As he stared down at her in the dim light coming through the thin curtains, he couldn’t stop hearing her voice in his head. The only words she’d said in that warehouse that had brought him to a stop.

  I loved you, you son of a bitch! Why would I try to get you killed?

  “Archer?” She looked up at him with those big amber eyes. Eyes that had drawn him in from the first. “What is it?”

  He forced himself to look away. Tried to break the spell she was using to suck him under all over again. Failed because he still felt her hands on his chest and wanted—dammit—those hands everywhere. Even after everything she’d done.

  “I . . . I need to sit down,” he managed. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

  She shifted so he could move past her to the bench, her body brushing his in the process, igniting heat all along his skin. He ground his teeth so he didn’t reach for her and focused on the pain lighting up his biceps and thigh. She bumped into the bathroom door and swore under her breath. The camper rocked.

  “As soon as we get on the ferry and the coast is clear,” she said, rubbing her elbow, “I’ll get supplies from that ambulance.”

  He didn’t care how she was going to do that; he just wanted some relief. And to get his head back in the game so he’d stop reacting to her. Stop thinking of her. Stop second-guessing himself like he was doing now.

  “Archer? Did you hear me?”

  He didn’t look at her, but when footsteps echoed outside the camper, his head came up, and he froze.

  “All right,” a voice said. A male voice. Just beyond the camper door. “I know you’re in there. Open up.”

  Eve froze with her hand against Zane’s shoulder and peered toward the door. Her heart rate jumped, and beneath her palm, Zane went still as stone.

  “I said come out,” the male voice repeated. “I know you’re in there.”

  Eve glanced quickly around the small camper. There was no other exit. The windows were too small to climb through, and in the middle of all these cars, they’d never escape without being seen.

  “Fuck me,” Zane mouthed.

  Perspiration dotted Eve’s forehead, and her adrenaline surged. She was not going down like this, minutes to freedom. She squeezed Zane’s shoulder.

  “Payton,” the man said, “if I have to come in there after you, I won’t be smiling.”

  Payton? Eve’s gaze darted to Zane. His confused expression mirrored her own. Muffled giggling echoed from the front of the truck, followed by heavy footsteps moving around the vehicle, then the cab door opening.

  “I told you to stay with me,” the man said. “Don’t run off again, or I’ll put you down for a nap in the back of the camper.”

  More giggling echoed from the front of the vehicle, followed by a small voice exclaiming, “I win at hide-and-seek!”

  “I hate hide-and-seek,” the man mumbled. Then louder, “Move over, Freckles. The ferry’s about to load.”

  The kid clapped wildly, then the car door slammed shut, and the truck roared to life.

  Eve released the breath she’d been holding. When Zane moved over on the bench, Eve eased onto the seat next to him. Heat immediately enveloped her, followed by the sweet, masculine scent of his skin, and too late she realized she should have sat across from him, not beside him. But when he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, she glanced his way and was glad she’d sat where she had. He was pale, and blood from the wound in his shoulder was starting to seep through the T-shirt she’d snagged downtown. He looked like he could pass out at any moment.

  Worry tightened her chest. A worry he didn’t deserve, but which consumed her. She glanced over her shoulder toward the bed above the canopy of the truck.

  The vehicle rocked, and what little light had seeped through around the edge of the curtains grew dark. They were moving into the belly of the ferry. They both sat still, unmoving and silent as the vehicle stopped and the ignition died.

  A door opened.

  “Let’s go, let’s go!” the kid said in an excited voice.

  “Hold my hand,” the man yelled. Then quieter, “Your mother so owes me for this.”

  The door slammed shut, and footsteps echoed away.

  Eve didn’t move until the sounds around her quieted and she felt the ferry engine come to life. Only then did she breathe again and push to her feet.

  “Come on, Archer,” she said quietly, gently tugging on his good arm.

  “Just want to sit here.”


  “I know. But I think you’ll like this better.”

  It took a lot of coaxing to get him to his feet, and when she did, he swayed. “Whoa,” Eve muttered, placing a hand against his chest, another around his back to hold him upright. Heat seeped from him into her, penetrating her skin, warming places she didn’t want to remember had gone cold. “Don’t fall.”

  “I’m not gonna fall,” he groused. “Just . . . tired.”

  She helped him up the three small steps, and when his head hit the ceiling, she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, rubbing the spot. “This is the worst fucking day ever.”

  “Tell me about it.” Eve knelt up on the mattress above the cab. “Watch your head. The ceiling’s low.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  Yeah, he was a breath of fresh air, this man. She should totally ditch his ass, but she couldn’t. At least not until she got him out of Seattle.

  He grunted and grumbled as he got situated on the mattress, and when he was finally lying on his back, he breathed out a long sigh. “I’m just . . . gonna close my eyes for a minute.”

  Eve looked down at him and had a memory flash. Of him sound asleep on his cot in Beirut. Of her slinking into his room in the middle of the night when Carter had been on watch and thought both of them were catching a few winks. Of stripping him of his pants and taking him into her mouth. And the satisfied groan that had echoed from his chest when he’d finally awakened.

  Her chest grew tighter, and she turned quickly away, hating the lump forming in her throat. “I’m getting something to close your wound. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t go far, Evie,” he slurred. “We’re not . . . done.”

  No, they weren’t done. Eve blinked back the sting behind her eyes and drew a deep breath. They’d never truly be done, at least not for her.

  A quick scan of the camper gave her nothing useful. In a cabinet, she found a metal coat hanger and a screwdriver and figured that would have to do. The car deck was empty of people when she stepped out of the RV and softly closed the door at her back. Just rows and rows of empty vehicles. Breathing easier, she maneuvered through the lanes until she came to the ambulance.

  Her heart rate ticked up, but relief filled her chest. The ambulance was old, which meant it likely didn’t have an alarm system. She moved around the passenger side and peered inside the window. Then jerked back.

  One lone EMT sat in the driver’s seat, reading a book.

  Shit. Shit . . .

  Eve’s mind spun, and she bit her lip, contemplating. The coat hanger trick was never going to work now.

  Quietly, she peeked through the window again. The EMT was so engrossed in her book, she didn’t look up. Eve’s gaze slid over the interior of the vehicle and locked on the fob hanging from the key ring. A remote locking system she could work with.

  She moved back to the camper and gently eased the door open.

  Archer pushed up on his elbows and peered in her direction. “That was fast.”

  Dammit, he was just as handsome as ever—more so now, all rumpled from their run across the waterfront and scruffy from days without shaving. She faltered coming up the two steps into the camper, and more questions raced through her mind, but these had nothing to do with what she needed to do next. They had only to do with him—where he’d been this last year, what he’d been doing, and with whom.

  She knew his background, not because he’d told her long ago in Beirut, but because she’d investigated him thoroughly before being stationed there. His father had never really been in his life. His mother had come from old Southern money. He’d been raised primarily by his mother and maternal grandparents in Savannah, though his mother had instilled a strong work ethic in him and taught him what it meant to be successful without the help of her parents’ wealth. He had no siblings, had excelled in school, and in the summers, instead of hanging out on his grandparents’ estate with his friends, he’d manned the register in his mother’s small bookstore. He’d gone to college on an academic scholarship, and after graduating from Duke University at the top of his class, he’d joined the CIA.

  Their backgrounds weren’t the same, but their single-minded focus on success was. He was a lot like her, she realized now. A loner who’d been more fixated on his career than on marriage. And maybe that’s why she’d been drawn to him from the start. Because with him she’d felt a compatibility—a closeness she hadn’t felt with anyone since Sam. With him she’d been able to push aside memories of the past and everything she’d lost the day Sam had died and just focus on the moment. And with him she’d started to feel again.

  But that feeling had only gotten her into trouble, hadn’t it? Just like it was threatening to do here, by making her wonder who he’d turned to after he’d been injured in Guatemala and who warmed his bed at night now.

  Off-limits . . .

  She gave her head a swift shake. Even if he didn’t hate her guts, he would forever be off-limits, and she needed to remember that fact before she did or said something to make this entire situation worse.

  She closed the door slowly at her back. “We have a slight hiccup. I’m going to need your help to get past it.”

  His hazel eyes narrowed in speculation. “What kind of hiccup?”

  “A pretty blonde, from what I can see. About five foot eight and one hundred and thirty pounds. Should be no problem for you, Superman.”

  Zane stood in the shadows at the rear passenger side of the ambulance and swiped the sweat from his forehead. He’d let Juliet—correction, Eve—talk him into this only because he wanted the narcotics on that vehicle. Not because he was letting her run the show.

  Superman . . . He sorta liked that she’d called him that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been anyone’s hero.

  He ground his teeth against the pain in his shoulder and the stupid thoughts running through his head. No way was he giving her any kind of control over where they went or how they got there, and he definitely wasn’t letting her get under his skin. She wanted to be all cute and sassy? Well, tough. She was still his prisoner whether she thought so or not.

  Reaching for his cell phone from his pocket, he pulled it out and then frowned at the blank screen. No sense turning it on right now. The insides were probably waterlogged. He’d need to pick up a new one soon.

  A tapping echoed from the far side of the ambulance. Zane shoved the phone back in his pocket and went still.

  “May I help you?” The EMT’s question to Eve drifted through the open door.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Eve said in her sweetest voice. “The lock on the trunk of our Honda keeps sticking, and my boyfriend hurt his hand trying to get it open. I was wondering if maybe you could come help me. He’s bleeding.”

  Fabric rustled, followed by boots hitting the car deck. Seconds later, the back end of the ambulance swung open, triggered by remote. “Show me where,” the EMT answered.

  Well out of view of the driver side door, Zane darted into the back of the vehicle.

  A muffled grunt echoed from outside, and the locked storage cabinet in the ambulance popped open, indicating Eve had hit the fob.

  “Be fast,” Eve hollered from beyond the ambulance wall. “You’ve got about nine seconds before she wakes up.”

  Perspiration slid down Zane’s spine. Pain radiated from both his injured arm and leg. The sleeper hold worked wonders at immobilizing and knocking a person out, but the effects lasted mere moments. He thanked his shitty luck for remote locking mechanisms.

  He pulled the tub in the compartment open and pawed around until he found the vials. Then nearly cheered when he discovered it was Dilaudid and not morphine. After grabbing four vials, he swiveled and opened a drawer. Grasping whatever bandages he could wrap his hand around, he shoved the drawer closed with his hip, closed the narcotics compartment, and darted out of the back of the ambulance.

  He paused in the shadows on the passenger side of the ambul
ance, hidden behind the back door, and breathed deep. The pain in his shoulder and leg throbbed, but he pushed it from his mind and waited.

  “Miss?” Eve said. “Miss? Are you okay?”

  “Wh-what happened?” the EMT responded in a dazed voice.

  “I don’t know. You were about to help me with my friend, but you passed out as soon as you got out of the ambulance.”

  Zane fought from smiling. The sleeper hold shut down blood flow to the brain, which left a person with memory gaps, and as he remembered, Eve was good at administering it. He’d been on the receiving end of it a few times when they’d been killing time, sparring in Beirut. This poor girl would never know what hit her.

  When he heard shuffling, he darted around a parked car so he’d be out of the view of the ambulance’s mirrors.

  “Here,” Eve said. “Why don’t you sit down? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m . . . I’m fine,” the EMT replied. “Wow. That was weird. I don’t remember anything except getting out of the vehicle.”

  “You could have low blood pressure. You might want to get that checked.”

  Zane found it mildly ironic that Eve was giving the EMT medical advice, but then, Eve had always been confident in everything she did. The woman could fake it with the best of them. His lips turned to a frown when he thought about how she’d used those incredible acting skills to play him from the start. And that only reminded him of just why they were here in the first place.

  He waited while Eve helped the EMT around the back of the ambulance so she could sit. From his position, he couldn’t see much of the EMT except her boots perched on the bumper. But he could see Eve, standing next to the open back doors, looking concerned and . . . stunning in that ridiculous outfit and wild blonde hair.

  Blondes had never really been his type, but at the moment he wouldn’t mind taking that one for a test drive.

  Dammit. He ground his teeth when he realized where his fucked-up thoughts were going. She still got to him, after all this time. Even after everything she’d done. But he wasn’t a moron. People had died because of her. He’d almost died because of her. And he wasn’t about to forget that.