by Misty Evans
“She seems quite happy,” Charlotte said.
“Thanks for your help.” They drove down the long driveway and stopped at the gates. “He’ll think twice about threatening her again. Meantime, I suggested she start keeping these gates closed and locked. I taught her self-defense while I was working for her, but she needs to quit making it easy for him to get to her.”
Miles used a Bluetooth to call his boss and report in as they hit the highway headed back toward the city. Once the two men had disconnected, he glanced at her. “You did good back there. I appreciate it.”
“Sure,” she said, keeping her gaze on the passing night scenery. While this whole side trip was keeping her from her mission, she’d told the guy the truth. She’d learned torture from the best.
They drove for a few minutes in silence. She could feel Miles’ questions hovering in the air around them. His citrusy scent tickled her nose.
They were a few blocks from her motel when he finally spoke. “So why all the sneaking around, Charlotte? Why didn’t you come straight to me and ask for the necklace back?”
“It was safer to stay out of your life. To get in, get the necklace, and disappear again. No one could track me to your doorstep.”
“Seems more like you were chickenshit to say hello.”
That too. “I was protecting you.”
“Being chickenshit doesn’t seem like you. Not the woman I remember. You weren’t scared of anything back in those mountains.”
He was wrong, but she never let anyone see the underlying fear she lived with. She’d been brought up by a military father who expected her to be fearless, courageous, to value honor and loyalty. And then he’d betrayed her.
That was all in the past. No dwelling, she reminded herself. “We’re all scared of something. I just don’t let my fears get in the way of what I want.”
“Which makes you a good spy, I imagine.”
A siren sounded behind them. “I’m not a double agent, like they say. I love my country. I would never betray her.”
Red lights flashed through the rear window. The siren blared louder, a long mournful sound that made the hair on Charlotte’s forearms stand up.
Miles slowed and pulled to the side. Charlotte checked over her shoulder, fearing the police were chasing them.
But it wasn’t the police. It was a large red fire truck that whooshed by them, another one on its heels.
Once they were gone, Miles pulled back onto the road. “How did you end up on that mountainside and find me?”
No point in playing dumb. “I had followed Nico. He was meeting a man I believed to be the terrorist he was going into partnership with. I was trying to get the man’s identity and record any interaction they had. They were testing new weaponry Nico had secured from the black market through me. My handler had set it up. Weapons so advanced and new, the U.S. and Britain hadn’t even given them to their soldiers yet.”
“What happened?”
“I hooked Nico up with the weapons as instructed by my handler. It was part of my cover in a sting to set up Nico and the terrorist. I was inside Nico’s organization, but just barely. I had to get him to trust me, believe I could help him, in order for him to bring me deeper into the clan and find out who the terrorist was he was working with.”
“Dr. Alexander, a nuclear physicist, died because of your sting. My men died because of it.”
She fisted her hands. The frustration that ate at her night and day burned in her stomach. “No one was supposed to die. My instructions were to do whatever it took to hook Nico up with the terrorist. There wasn’t supposed to be a plane in the area. No plane crash, no SEAL team sent to rescue anyone.”
They made a right turn, swung a corner. “So it was simple coincidence that the plane, and then our helo, was used as target practice?”
Charlotte sat up straighter as a line of gray smoke intersected the distant night sky. Memories of the plane crash, a similar trail of smoke rising into frigid night air, assaulted her. Her throat tightened.
“Charlotte?” Miles stopped at a red light, glanced at her, then followed her line of sight. “What is that?”
“How far are we from my motel?” She estimated less than a mile. “Tell me that smoke isn’t coming from there.”
More sirens split the air, another fire truck and a police vehicle racing through the intersection. Miles wheeled the vehicle through the red light and accelerated.
A minute later, they navigated past the gathered crowds, parking as close as they could get. Jumping out of the truck, she didn’t wait for Miles to catch up with her before she ran toward the scene.
The entire east end of the motel where her room had been was ablaze. Firefighters blasted it with water from long hoses. At the opposite end of the L-shaped building, a body, covered by a white sheet, was being rolled out to an ambulance.
Miles, suddenly by her side, touched her arm. “Stay here. I’ll find out what happened.”
But Charlotte already knew. Nicolae.
Putting up the hood on her sweatshirt, she faded backward into the crowd, searching for his goons, anyone who seemed more interested in watching the people rather than the fire.
Miles spoke to a police officer, showing him an ID. Charlotte watched as the cop replied, motioning at the flames, the front desk. Miles glanced back to the spot where he’d left her. His face went hard—harder than before—and he nodded at the officer before he began fighting his way through the crowd toward her.
She should run, disappear again. He was in too much danger if she stayed.
But she had nothing, just like when she’d escaped Nico.
Her eyes danced over the flames that were at that moment engulfing her clothes, her shoes, her money, her passport, everything. Where would she go without the necklace? Who else would help her?
So stupid, Charlie. She never should have left her belongings—as meager as they were—behind.
“Going somewhere without me?” Miles voice, low in her ear, made her jump.
He took her hand and drew her deeper into the shadows. “The desk clerk was shot in the head. Double tap, execution style. Nothing is missing but it looks like they messed with the office computer, might have been checking security camera footage and names of those registered.”
Another man had died because of her. A creeping numbness spread through Charlotte’s body. “I need to get out of here.”
He started to lead her back to his truck. “Let’s go.”
She tugged her hand out of his. “Not with you.”
Her took her by the elbow and forced her feet to move along with him. “You’re on my turf, my country, and I’m not giving up the cross until I have answers, Charlotte.”
They stopped next to his truck a block down. As he dug his keys out and hit the fob to unlock the doors, she tried to whirl away from him.
He was too fast for her, grabbing her wrist and drawing her back. She lost her balance and stumbled into his chest. He pinned her against the truck door and held her immobile.
Even in the shadows, she saw his jaw dance with irritation. “We’re not done here.”
She stared up into the brooding eyes and wanted to kiss him. Kiss away his irritation with her. Kiss away this awful night.
“Don’t you see?” she said, fighting against the rising tide of hopelessness inside her. “Everywhere I go, people die. He won’t stop until he brings me back to Romania. If he doesn’t get me first, MI6 will.”
The hold on her wrist loosened. He rubbed his thumb across the sensitive pulse there. “Bourean is never touching you again.”
For that alone she really did want to kiss him. His protective stance. His determination and loyalty after what she’d done to him.
Instead of kissing him, you should knee him in the balls and rip the necklace from his neck. Make him hate her and get the hell out of his life. It was the only way to save him.
She was about to raise her knee and hate herself even more than she already did, when he
leaned down and kissed her.
Chapter Four
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HE’D WANTED TO kiss her from the moment she walked out of the bathroom. He had to know if it would be the same. If it would feel the same.
It didn’t.
Oh, no. It didn’t feel the same at all.
It was a hundred times better.
So fucked.
Her lips were as soft as he remembered, still as full and responsive. He ran the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip, tasting her, then deepening the kiss when she moaned into his mouth.
Once upon a time, she’d tasted like comfort and salvation. Now, she tasted like danger.
Deception.
Risk.
God help him, if that didn’t make her kiss better. Sexier.
He wanted her even more.
Not here. Too vulnerable.
He broke the kiss. Released her wrist. Stepped back. “We need to move.”
Her eyes were half-lidded. She licked her bottom lip. “I need to move. You need to go back to your life and forget you ever saw me.”
“Enough with the ‘I’m a danger to you’ shit.” He opened the truck door and boosted her into the seat against her protests. “Every job I’ve had, outside of dog sitting in middle school, has involved danger. Danger is my middle name.”
He belted her in, shut the door and hit the lock button on his key fob. She grabbed the door handle and tried to get back out, but the child safety locks were on. She went nowhere.
Keeping a close eye on the surrounding area, he took off his flak vest, adjusted his weapons.
“You can’t hold me against my will,” she said once he’d climbed in the truck and started the engine.
He did a U-turn in the street and took off north. “Watch me.”
She bit her lip and stared out the window. Thinking about the kiss? At least she hadn’t hauled off and smacked him, which he totally deserved.
The scars on her body were testimony to the fact someone else had held her against her will, and after a minute of her silence, a twinge of guilt gnawed at him. “I simply want to keep you safe, Charlotte.”
“You can’t. The only way for me to ever be safe again is to put Nico away for good and clear my name.”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
Nothing about her body language changed, but he sensed a change in her mental outlook. That’s right, sweetheart. Resistance is futile.
When they’d been stuck in that cabin in the mountains, he’d become so in tune with her mentally, emotionally, and physically, he could often tell what she was thinking without even looking at her.
Had that all been conjecture on his part? Had he simply wanted her so bad, he’d imagined he knew her? He never suspected she was an operative, and he had plenty of experience working with undercover agents from the CIA to Special Ops. He should have known.
He took the highway out of San Diego, heading for a private residence up the coast. A place with top-notch security where he could catch his breath a minute and think.
Charlotte continued her silence for a long while, not even asking where they were headed.
The night closed in around them. Miles kept an eye on his rearview, traffic thinning in the hour after midnight.
When she finally did speak, her voice was low and quiet, like the night. “Thank you for pulling me out of that motel room. Otherwise, I might be dead at this moment.”
“How do you think Bourean tracked you?”
“Wondering the same thing and I’m quite clueless. I escaped three weeks ago and I’ve stayed off the grid, used false identities, moved around constantly. Tonight was the first night I checked into a motel. I’ve been sleeping in cars, varying my appearance. It makes no sense.” She glanced over at him. “How did you find me?”
“Slipped a tracker on your rental.”
“I tossed that tracker into another car.”
“I saw you do that.” He grinned and shrugged one shoulder. “You didn’t really believe that was enough to stop me, did you?”
“So you’re a ghost now? Or is it a chameleon, blending in with your surroundings?”
He looked a heartbeat away from amusement. “I’d tell you my secrets, but what fun would that be?”
“Hmm.” She gnawed on her lip and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “You’re good, but I lost my edge while I was inside.”
Inside Bourean’s mafia. The thought made him want to punch the dash. “Hard not to under those circumstances. How long were you under?”
“Four months before I got snowed in with you at the cabin.”
She fell silent again. A stiff, hard silence that filled the cab of the truck and made his jaws clamp together and his fingers grip the steering wheel.
Once more, the urge to kiss her overcame him. He wanted to make her forget the cruelty she’d suffered. Make her remember the passion they’d shared. He’d never experienced anything like those weeks in the cabin with her. Never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her.
Even now, when he knew she was only with him at the moment in order to get her necklace back.
“It’s a key, right?” He tapped his shirt where it covered the cross. “Where’s the safe? The one it unlocks.”
“I can’t tell you.”
He slowed and took an off-ramp. “Well, sweetheart, you’re going to have to since I’m going with you to recover the contents.”
Frustration rang in her voice. “The less you know, the better. If you come with me—and that’s still a big if in my book—you’ll have to trust that I’ll lead you there.”
“Why can’t you simply tell me?”
She looked down at her hands, still clasped in her lap. “If Nico catches you, he’ll torture the information out of you.”
Offended at her lack of confidence in his skills—first that he would get caught, and, second, that he would give up information—Miles had to give her credit for protecting her own backside. She seemed damned good at that. “And you can’t risk anyone giving up that intel to him.”
“I know it sounds callous, but yes. If you choose to come with me, so be it, but I can’t risk the location of the safe falling into Nicolae’s hands before I secure the video that will expose the terrorist he’s working with and prove I’m not a traitor. It’s not personal. Anyone stupid enough to go with me would receive the same treatment.”
There was a hint of teasing in her last statement. Teasing she’d used regularly on him back when he was recovering from his injuries and was desperate to escape the painful therapy sessions she put him through.
The safe house was just ahead on the left, part of a group of large, expensive homes with views of the Pacific. As he crawled through a couple of adjacent neighborhoods, he continued to watch for anyone following him. Satisfied they were in the clear, he circled back to the community he wanted. Nearing the gated entrance, he pointed at the glove compartment. “Small, blue box, looks like a garage door opener. Hit the button, would you?”
She opened the glovie, the tiny light illumination allowing her to see as she rummaged through the napkins, old parking tickets, and miscellaneous hand tools. She produced his backup weapon, a small pistol he usually strapped to his ankle, and laid it in her lap. Finding the box in question, she pulled it out and hit the button as Miles drove up to the gate.
The light next to the unmanned guardhouse went from red to green and slowly, the gates retracted. With one last glance in his rearview, Miles goosed the gas pedal and crossed into a place where he could breathe again.
“Now I need the black box,” he said.
She dug some more and handed a small, plastic remote to him.
This one was a garage door opener for Emit Petit’s vacation home. To his wife’s dismay, the place had been converted into a safe house since Emit didn’t take vacations anymore. Like everything Emit owned, it was tricked out with the latest
technology and security system. The man was paranoid, but in this business, you had to be in order to be successful.
“Wow,” Charlotte said. “What is this place?”
Outside lighting spotlighted the walkway and landscaped areas around the front of the modern multi-story beach house. An American flag was on the south side, also spotlighted, the red, white, and blue fluttering gently in the breeze. A large wraparound porch extended to the back, where a lap pool, an infinity pool, and a wide beach with sand dunes led to the ocean. A dock and a boat in a boat slip were waiting for them if they needed to escape land.
The garage door glided up and Miles drove in, waiting until the garage door shut again before turning off the key and popping the locks. Charlotte carried his pistol as he exited the truck, her eyes scanning the three-car interior where two other vehicles—a Land Rover and a Mercedes SUV—silently waited.
Miles punched in the security code and opened the interior door that led to the expensive, modern house.
“Welcome to the West Coast Division of Rock Star Security,” he said to Charlotte as she walked by him, her eyes going wide as she took in the commercial kitchen and open living room filled with vintage art and antiques that cost more than a year’s worth of Miles’ salary.
She gravitated to the glass doors at the other side of the living room. Come morning, there would be a beautiful ocean view.
“A safe house?” she said, tapping the gun in the palm of her hand as she sauntered back to him.
“Well, I couldn’t exactly take you home to meet Momma.”
“Funny.”
He checked the house alarm and held out his hand for his pistol. “Lose the clothes.”
“Excuse me?”
“I need to burn them in case there’s a tracker on you. You’ll find a closet of clothes with a variety of sizes and styles in the master bedroom on the top floor.”
“I only bought these clothes two days ago. They’re all I have left.”
“Can’t take chances.”
With a testy sigh, she relinquished his pistol. “When do I get my gun back?”
