by Vanessa Kier
You haven’t disarmed her, a voice deep inside him commented, because you’re too busy being enchanted with her.
Mark scowled. It was true. He wanted to knock the gun away, then scoop her up in his arms and take her someplace safe.
Protective instincts? Him?
He glanced back at the elegant brick facade of the restaurant. Had Jamieson slipped something into his drink that was affecting his mood? Or was this another side effect of the changes brought on by what he’d witnessed in Dr. Ivanov’s lab in Moscow?
The nose of the gun prodded his side and Mark turned, his lips twitching in amusement at the woman’s courage.
Or stupidity.
She nudged him again. “Start walking.” She nodded her head toward the dark mouth of the alley between the restaurant and the closed women’s boutique next door.
“Why?” he asked.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand his question. “Because you’re one of Jamieson’s associates,” she snarled, sounding more like a punk teenager with an attitude than a first grade teacher. “I can’t get past his bodyguards, so you’ll have to do.”
Mark narrowed his eyes in speculation, reassessing his opinion of her. Intelligence. Determination. And an all-too-familiar bitterness that came from a personal wrong not yet righted.
“Do for what?” he demanded.
“Walk.” She nudged him again with her gun.
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” With an abrupt, impatient movement Mark knocked the hand holding the gun aside, then plucked the weapon from her lax fingers. He pocketed the weapon and took her arm. “Let’s talk.” But instead of taking her toward the alley, he led her toward his car.
She jerked back, trying to break his hold. “Wait! What are you doing?”
Mark just dug his fingers deeper into her arm, hitting a pressure point that would cause her enough pain to obey him, and yanked her forward. “You’re coming with me.”
“I most certainly am not!”
Mark could hear the fear in her voice, mixed with bewilderment over how easily he’d taken control. Still, he rolled his eyes when she planted her feet and leaned back, forcing him to stop or risk making a scene.
Grabbing both her arms, he leaned down until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. And tried to ignore her tantalizing sugar-cookie-and-cinnamon scent. “Listen,” he said with barely concealed impatience. “You’re the one who wanted to talk badly enough to hold a gun on me. Well, it’s not safe to talk here.”
He inclined his head toward the club. “Jamieson will be coming out soon. Do you really want him to see us together?”
She slanted an uneasy glance back toward the restaurant. The woman was well informed if she understood that Jamieson was the more dangerous man.
For some reason, he wanted to soothe her fear away with a kiss. But then she flattened her lips and notched up her chin. “Just because I don’t want to be caught here by Jamieson doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to get in a car with you.”
Mark stared at her. Didn’t she realize that he held all the power? He had her gun, for God’s sake. But instead of reminding her of that fact, he found himself saying, “I’m not the danger, woman. I would have hurt you by now if that was my intent. But since you know his name, you’re a threat to Jamieson. You’re going to come with me and tell me everything you know. Then I’ll protect you.”
“Protect me? No, thanks. I can take care of myself.”
Mark snorted in disgust and shook his head. “Right.” He tugged her toward the car. This time she didn’t resist. “That’s why I disarmed you so easily.” He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eyes and saw something like chagrin cross her face.
“You’ve never even used a gun, have you?” he guessed.
“Yes, actually, I have,” she said. “I just…loathe…guns.”
There was a wealth of complex emotions behind that comment. Grief. Hatred. A tinge of guilt.
But the grief was what interested him the most.
“It doesn’t matter. No one would take you seriously in that outfit,” he commented. Not true. If she’d held the gun like a pro he would have considered her a threat even if she’d been stark naked.
Or, given his reaction to her clothed body, maybe that was an incorrect assessment.
He caught her grin out of the corner of his eye, then turned so he could feel the full impact of it head-on. It was like being hit by a super nova. The skin around her coffee brown eyes crinkled and her cheeks developed a lovely dimple.
“That’s the point,” she replied, tucking a few of the tissues back into her pockets. “This is an earthy, quirky neighborhood. I’d look more out of place in an ordinary pair of jeans than this hodgepodge of an outfit.”
Well, at least she admitted the outfit was a poor fashion statement. But Mark wouldn’t have cared if she wore a neon green sack, if he could just get her to aim another one of those smiles at him.
“Your expensive suit doesn’t fit in here at all,” she commented. “But then, everyone who comes to this restaurant stands out.”
Mark figured Jamieson had chosen the location because it was in a small, touristy town neither man would normally visit. Yet the woman had a point. During the day their business attire would stand out from the tourists and bizarre locals.
Thank heavens it was night and so late that this end of the street was deserted. Except for him and his would-be kidnapper.
“You look like a high school librarian,” he said, sensing that saying she really resembled a first grade teacher would not earn him any points. “Not a killer. Anyone with a brain could see you don’t have the stomach to kill.” He shot her a look. “Which makes me wonder why you held a gun on me if you’re so afraid of them. Did you really plan on killing me if I didn’t cooperate?”
“Of course not,” she huffed with a feminine toss of her head that sent thick, curling ribbons of hair spilling out of her ponytail.
He could not believe he was getting hard because of this messy woman. Yet he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a strong, honest reaction to a woman.
“I just wanted to scare you into talking to me,” she added.
Mark beeped his navy blue BMW unlocked and shoved her into the passenger seat. As he slid behind the wheel, the restaurant door opened. “Duck down,” Mark ordered.
“What? Why?” She twisted in her seat to look out the back window.
Infuriating woman. He pushed on her shoulder to lower her head below the windows just as one of Jamieson’s guards looked their way.
“Stay down or Jamieson’s men will get a good look at you and you’ll be on their kill list.” Mark accelerated slowly out of the parking lot as if he hadn’t noticed the group of men at the restaurant door.
The woman made a sound of frustration, but scooted down until she was tucked under the dashboard. “Kill list? Why? I haven’t made any threat against Jamieson, so why would they want me dead?”
Only when he’d driven two blocks with no sign of being followed did he bother to answer her question. “They’re loyal to Jamieson and he’s very paranoid. Plus, he doesn’t entirely trust me right now. Anyone seen with me will be considered either a potential threat or a potential lever to get me to behave. And no one who knows me would ever think you’d matter enough to be leverage.”
After a heavy silence, during which he wondered if he’d managed to insult the woman, she asked, “Can I sit up now?”
He checked their surroundings. This nearly deserted street would soon dead end into the beach access road. Per his earlier reconnaissance, there were several wooded stretches along the beach where he could pull over. Since the two other cars on the road were headed in the opposite direction, Mark told his passenger, “Yes, you can sit up.”
The woman scrambled into the seat. Mark forced himself to look away as her clothing pulled tight. But when her arm accidentally brushed against his shoulder, a sexual jolt shot straight to his groin.
“So. Are you CIA,
too?” she asked.
He considered lying to her, but didn’t see the point. “Yes. Jamieson is my boss.”
Her face paled and for a second he thought she was going to try and jump out of the car. But then she squared her shoulders and settled against the seat back.
Mark wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her that he was one of the good guys and would protect her from Jamieson. But the truth was that he’d been skirting the line between right and wrong for a very long time without concern for anything but achieving his revenge. His urge to keep this woman safe threatened that mission.
He didn’t understand this new side of himself and he certainly did not like being guided by emotion rather than reason.
“So, if Jamieson is your boss, why doesn’t he trust you?”
“Because he ordered my father killed.” Even after ten days, Mark was still reeling from that discovery. He’d thought he’d killed everyone involved in the kidnapping and torture that led to his father’s death. But then he’d seen his father’s good luck charm, a tiny, bronze, Etruscan horse, on Jamieson’s desk. And he’d known he’d been played. Jamieson had ordered his father’s death.
“Jamieson doesn’t know if I’ve figured it out yet and am secretly working against him,” Mark continued, “which I am, or if I’m clueless and really as loyal an employee as I’ve led him to believe.”
The woman didn’t answer, but Mark felt her eyes on him. Weighing his statement. Probably debating whether or not she could believe him.
For the first time in a very long while, it mattered that someone believe in him. A dangerous thought, particularly since he should be solely focused on determining if she could be used as a tool in his fight against Jamieson. Instead, he wanted her trust for entirely personal reasons.
Fool.
After checking again to make certain Jamieson’s bodyguards hadn’t followed them, Mark turned the car onto the beach access road. There was a secluded picnic area not far from here that would allow them to talk without the car being spotted.
And it was a perfect place to make out.
Enough with the sex thoughts! Mark resisted the urge to check his image in the rearview mirror to see if he had an unexplained lump on his head. Something was causing his libido to go crazy and he was damned if he accepted that this odd woman had such power over him. But his reflection showed no contusions or other abnormalities. Leaving him only one conclusion regarding his strange behavior.
I must be losing my mind.
Chapter Three
Faith’s stomach did a nervous little flip-flop when the elegant, mysterious man pulled the car onto a sandy road that curved out of view into a stand of pines. Oddly enough, her gut told her she was safe with him. And while she might not have been honing her instincts lately by reporting from the war-torn countries of the world, dealing with teenagers kept her truth-and-danger-meter in prime condition.
This sexy, arrogant man definitely seemed more annoyed by her than angry. Hell, he’d even said he wanted to protect her. He’d obviously assumed that because her hand shook when she’d held the gun she wasn’t used to violence. The truth was the opposite. Her assignments overseas had toughened her to the point that it had been routine for her to carry a knife or gun on her person even when running to the grocery.
But if appearing weak and helpless got this man to tell her what she wanted, good. She’d just ignore the traitorous heat spiraling in her belly from his presence. And she’d pretend she didn’t notice how the scent of his rich, musky cologne filled the car, making her skin heat as if he were touching her instead of sitting a foot away.
She’d also ignore how his dark hair lay in hair-sprayed perfection, making her want nothing more than to separate the thick strands with her fingers, messing his hair up and marking him as hers.
Whoa. What?
He was one of the bad guys. Maybe not quite as bad as Wayne Jamieson, true. She couldn’t imagine Jamieson saying he wanted to protect her. If the ruthless CIA director learned she’d been following him, he’d swat her away like an annoying fly and order his bodyguard to kill her. But even if this man seemed less dangerous, she had absolutely no business picturing herself acting on this crazy attraction.
He was her best lead for finding her missing brother. That was all that mattered.
And yet…when he stopped the car her stupid heart fluttered in anticipation, nervous as a teenager on a date with her hot crush.
But he didn’t turn his body toward her or reach for her hand. Instead, he flicked her a glance she couldn’t interpret, then stared out the windshield. She bit her lip, swallowing disappointment and calling herself a fool for wanting attention from this man when, for more years than she could count, she hadn’t wanted the bother of dealing with a relationship.
“How did you come to be outside that restaurant?” he demanded. “Who were you following?”
“Not you,” she reassured him, sensing that his ego wouldn’t accept any other answer. Luckily, she was telling the truth. “I followed Jamieson. The one who’s in charge of Kerberos.”
His head jerked toward her. Even in the dimly lit interior of the car she saw his eyes flash with alarm, then fury. “How did you hear about Kerberos?”
There was danger in his tone. Maybe even death. But nothing was going to stop her from finding her brother.
The man’s eyes bored into her, reminding her that he was waiting for an answer. She frowned. This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to turn out. The plan had been for her to question him. Not the other way around.
Suddenly it didn’t seem such a good idea to be sitting here in the dark with this stranger. He was one of Jamieson’s colleagues. True, this was the first time she’d seen him with Jamieson, but that didn’t make him innocent. After all, she’d only been following Jamieson for a few days, so she didn’t know how close the two men were. For all she knew, once the stranger finished questioning her, he’d kill her.
Panicked, she grabbed for the door handle.
The man exhaled, the sound one of patience reaching its end. “Stop trying to run away and just tell me what’s going on. I am not going to hurt you.”
“Right. You’re going to protect me,” she shot back, letting sarcasm drip from her words. Yet her hand stilled on the door handle.
His eyes narrowed, but to her surprise he didn’t deny it. Which for some reason caused her heart to flutter.
And whether it was her libido talking, or some other part of her, a little voice pointed out that regardless of whether she could fully trust him or not, she had little choice but to cooperate. She needed answers. Toby had already been missing for nearly five weeks. She didn’t believe in psychic visions, but for the past couple of days her dreams had been full of blood, death and a driving sense of urgency. Each morning she awoke exhausted and filled with dread.
Wherever Toby had disappeared to, she need to find him. Fast.
“Woman, I don’t have all night. Will you please answer my question? Where did you hear the name Kerberos?”
“My name isn’t woman,” she grumbled, even though for some strange reason hearing this man call her woman turned her on. “It’s Faith. Faith Andrews. Who are you?”
He hesitated, but not with recognition of her name. Good. Instead she suspected he was trying to decide if he wanted to tell her the truth or not. “Hey mister has a nice ring to it,” she offered.
His eyebrows lifted in astonishment. Okay, yeah. This wasn’t exactly the type of situation that invited teasing. But she often resorted to humor when she was nervous. Or in danger.
“Mark,” he finally admitted. “My name is Mark…Tonelli.”
She opened her mouth to say something smart alecky, but a slight hardening of his expression had her biting her tongue.
“Kerberos?” he prompted.
Faith sighed. Was she really going to confide in a total stranger? Why? Because he claimed to be working against Jamieson? Because he used the word please and hadn’t hurt her,
or even been angry with her for holding a gun on him? Because he was the sexiest man she’d met in months?
No. Because I’m desperate and if there’s even the slightest chance he can help me, I have to take it.
“Okay, Mark. Before I tell you anything, I want your promise that after I’m done you’ll answer my questions.”
He studied her for so long, her cheeks grew warm under his scrutiny. What did he see? Did he find her attractive? Think her a fool? She clenched her teeth and reminded herself again that it didn’t matter what he thought, as long as he gave her the answers to help her save Toby. Still, she wished they had met when she wasn’t wearing a wig and colored contacts.
Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he gave a curt nod.
“Okay.” She turned and stared out the windshield at the moonlight shimmering on the incoming waves. “My brother Toby is with military intelligence,” she began. “A couple of months ago, he started an assignment that kept him more out of touch than usual. He’d warned me of this ahead of time and promised to check in every two weeks to our secure email account. When he missed two check-ins in a row, I started to worry.”
She plucked at the hem of her sweater. “Then I received a package in the mail. From Toby. With a letter, a bunch of handwritten and typed notes, and two flash drives. In the letter, he explained that he’d instructed the lawyer to send the package out if he hadn’t checked in for four weeks.”
Faith shivered, despite her thick sweater. She hated thinking about her brother being in pain. Tortured.
“The flash drives held all the details of his investigation into missing military and law enforcement personnel. He’d traced several of the men back to an organization called Kerberos. And he pointed to Wayne Jamieson at the CIA as the head of Kerberos.”
Mark didn’t say a word, but she felt his increased tension.
“Toby had been closing in on Jamieson before he disappeared. In his notes were details on the man’s schedule, where his office was located, his home address, everything I needed to start following him.”
