by Paula Graves
Sinclair grimaced. If he’d bothered to keep his phone charged, he might have been able to record the camp location rather than hoping he’d remember how to find it. So much for being his sister’s hero. He apparently had trouble finding his backside with his own hands.
“Rest is a good idea.” Ava’s voice interrupted Sinclair’s moment of self-pity. She closed her hand around his biceps and gave a little tug, making him look at her. Her hazel eyes glittered in the filtered moonlight that made her skin look as cool and smooth as porcelain.
“You’re going to stay in the tent with me?” he asked.
“You’re my prisoner, remember?” A hint of a smile softened her words. “Am I going to have to whip out my handcuffs to make the point?”
“Ooh, would you?” He shot her an exaggerated leer, pleased when she smiled in response.
“Come on.” She lifted the flap on the tent and led him inside.
He sat across from her, cross-legged, his knees touching hers. “How’s your hip?”
She made a face. “Feels like someone set it on fire and poured alcohol on it, thank you very much.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. He’d done his best to clean the wound when it happened, but considering how much they’d been traipsing through the woods over the past couple of days, infection remained a valid threat. “Maybe I should change the bandage. It might be getting infected.”
“Not much we can do about it if it is.”
“We can get you back to Poe Creek before it gets out of hand.”
She shook her head. “You’re not benching me on this case.”
“Would you rather die of infection?”
“It’s not that bad, really.” She winced as she shifted position.
“Let me look.” Sinclair caught her chin between his fingers, making her meet his gaze. “Some fresh disinfectant and a new bandage may be all it needs, but I have to take a look to know for sure.”
She closed her eyes briefly, as if warring with herself, before she unzipped her trousers. Wriggling them down over her hips, she turned on her side, exposing the now grimy bandage he’d taped to her hip the day before.
He removed the bandage as gently as he could, bracing himself for what he’d find beneath it.
“Well?” she asked.
“Not as bad as I feared.” The wound, while not appreciably better, was no worse. “A little inflammation, but no obvious infection to worry about. I think we cleaned it up in time. Think you’re up for another cleaning?”
She groaned low in her throat. “Oh, why the hell not?”
He grabbed his backpack and pulled out his first aid kit, frowning as he realized he was dangerously low on some supplies. Of course, the hyper-prepared Coopers out there probably had a mini-hospital packed in their supplies if he needed something.
He gathered what he needed and set to work cleaning the edges of the bullet furrow, wincing in sympathy with each of Ava’s soft gasps. “Sorry. I know it hurts.”
“I’m fine,” she gritted. “Just get it done.”
He felt almost as relieved as she looked when he patted down the last piece of tape and sat back on his heels. “There you go. How’s it feel?”
She shot him a dark look. “How do you think?”
“Terrible?”
She pushed to a sitting position, trying to tug the waistband of her pants back up. But they had become twisted while he was treating her injury, and each tug made her hiss with pain. “It’ll be okay by morning.”
“Or worse,” he warned. “Day two after an injury is almost always worse than day one.”
“Thank you, Mary Sunshine,” she muttered.
“Here, let me.” He tugged her up to a kneeling position. From there, he helped her straighten her trousers so that they slid easily up over her hips.
Her breath burned hot against his cheek, and when he met her gaze, her hazel eyes seemed as dark and deep as midnight. “Thank you,” she whispered.
His whole body seemed to contract to one pulsating pinpoint of sensation, his blood coursing like lava in his veins. He felt viscerally conscious of the smallness of the tent they shared, of a turning point not unlike that moment in Mariposa eight years ago, when he’d been forced to make a quick decision about which way his luck would turn.
And despite the myriad reasons why he should leave her again, this time he feared he didn’t have the strength to walk away.
Chapter Eleven
Ava pressed her palm against his sternum. His pulse hammered against her hand, rapid and strong. She felt a vibrant hunger radiating from him, consuming her, swallowing her whole. Somehow, she found enough breath to whisper, “Do you remember that morning when you showed me the canal near the base of Mount Stanley?”
“Yes.” His breath stirred her hair, a potent reminder of the way he’d held her that morning on the mist-shrouded canal as they watched the sky turn brilliant colors—mango, salmon, vermillion—as the sun burst over the horizon into the azure sky.
She leaned closer, her cheek brushing his. “Sunrise, remember?”
“I remember.” He turned his head until his lips touched her temple. “You told me I was a heathen for knocking on your motel room door so early.”
“I was on vacation.” She smiled at the memory of her grumpy reaction and his youthful enthusiasm. She’d been angry at him, at first, for dragging her out of bed so early.
And then she’d seen the dark fins break the mirror surface of the canal. One, then two, then a half-dozen, arcing their way through the water in a graceful, soul-stirring dance.
“You were right,” she admitted, rubbing her cheek against his beard bristle again, reveling in the raspy sensation. “It was worth getting up early to see the dolphins run.”
He ran his fingers lightly across the skin exposed by her open-necked blouse. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”
Despite the ripple of apprehension his words evoked, she couldn’t suppress a shudder of sheer, sensual response to his artful touch. “The whole truth about what?”
“The dolphins didn’t run only at sunrise.” He brushed his lips against the curve of her cheekbone. His lips were firm, yet soft. She couldn’t stop herself from leaning in to his caress. “They ran all the time, morning, during the day, even late at night. I just wanted to see the sunrise with you.”
She tipped her head back to look at him. “I’ve always been such a level-headed person. But you shot that to hell and back, you know? Even after I knew what you’d done, who you’d become, there was a part of me who just couldn’t stop wanting to spend another Mariposa sunrise with you.”
Sometimes, she’d dreamed of that morning, over and over, as if she could somehow find the right combination of words and touches to keep him with her always.
But she always awakened alone.
He cradled her face between her palms, making her look at him. “Tell me you want me to kiss you. Just like I kissed you that morning. Tell me.”
Fear shimmered in her chest, but it was just one of the sensations rocketing through her, and not the strongest. Desire was stronger. Longing was stronger.
Too strong to still the words hammering at the back of her throat. “Kiss me, Sin.”
Curling his hand around the back of her neck, he tugged her closer and dipped his head, brushing his lips lightly against hers.
A soft, low sound escaped her throat. Pressing closer, she clutched the sides of his T-shirt in her fists and kissed him back. No hesitation. No reserve. Just a hot, sweet, wet kiss that made her head reel and her heart race.
He dropped one hand to the hem of her shirt and slipped his fingers between her blouse and the flesh beneath, tracing the ridges of her rib cage until he reached her back. “You’re so soft,” he whispered as he dragged his lips away from hers to press light, teasing kisses down the curve of her jaw. “But you’re also strong.” He splayed his hand against her spine, his fingers pressing against the muscles of her back. “Fit.”
Her
seldom-worn skinny jeans might beg to differ, she thought, but she wasn’t going to argue with a man whose tone suggested he found her damned near perfect.
“Solano?”
For a moment, she thought she’d said his name herself. But the voice sounded again, a little louder. Just outside the tent. “Solano?”
Sinclair drew away from Ava, his breath coming in staccato rasps. He gazed down at her, his eyes impossibly dark and his expression diamond-hard with desire. “Damn it,” he whispered.
“Solano, are you awake?” It was Hannah Patterson. At least, Ava assumed so, since she was the only other woman in their camp.
Ava nodded toward the tent flap. “Better answer your door.”
With a groan, he crawled to the tent opening and pushed it open. Hannah stood outside with Alexander Quinn.
“What is it?” Sinclair asked, his eyes narrowed.
“We just got a call from our people at the motel. Someone broke into Agent Trent’s motel room and ransacked the place.”
Ava groaned. She’d left her things with Cade Landry, including her notebook computer. Had he put those things in her room?
“What that means,” Quinn added, his expression grim, “is that Cabrera now almost certainly knows he’s dealing with an FBI agent.”
Beside her, Sinclair released a soft profanity.
“What am I missing?” Ava asked.
“A lot, apparently,” Quinn answered.
“If there’s anything Cabrera hates as much as he hates me,” Sinclair explained, “it’s the FBI.”
“Why’s that?” Ava asked.
It was Alexander Quinn who answered. “That, Agent Trent, is a long and sordid story.”
* * *
WHILE HANNAH JOINED her husband and her brother Jake on the perimeter, Jesse and Rick Cooper gathered with their cousin Luke and the others in the center of the small camp, passing around sticks of beef jerky along with a large thermos of hot coffee and several disposable cups. Sinclair poured a half cup for himself and the same for Ava, while she tore into one of the beef jerky sticks.
She looked worried, he thought, and bone-tired. But she was alert enough to ask the obvious question that should have occurred to him. “Is Agent Landry okay?”
Quinn looked surprised by the question. “They didn’t bother him. He spotted people in camo leaving your room, but they got away before he could retrieve his gun and go after them.”
“And they didn’t shoot at him or anything like that?”
“Maybe they didn’t want to draw any attention to themselves.”
“Did they take anything from the room?”
“Landry wasn’t sure what had been in your bags. He said the computer was still there, but it was out of its bag, plugged in and turned on.”
Which answered one question, Sinclair thought. They’d been looking for something specifically about her. “I wonder how they knew she was an FBI agent to begin with?”
“I guess they knew we were in town and did a little snooping around. I didn’t even think to check those first two bodies for radios—did you?” she asked Sinclair.
He nodded. “The three we killed definitely didn’t have radios on them. But that doesn’t mean the others don’t.”
“How much critical information was on your laptop?” Jesse asked.
“At a glance, not a lot. But it would have information about my relationship with the FBI. They might not easily get into the system, but they could easily enough figure out that I’m FBI connected.”
“Maybe that’s what they wanted to know,” Quinn suggested. “They know someone’s out here. I think they’re pretty sure Sinclair is one of those people, but they must know he has an accomplice.”
“You make it sound like we’re the criminals,” she grumbled.
Sinclair couldn’t stop a smile. “According to you, at least one of us is.”
“We can worry about who’s guilty of what after we get Alicia out of there.” Gabe Cooper’s raspy voice came from behind Sinclair’s shoulder. He turned to find his brother-in-law standing near the tent where he’d been sleeping, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looked battered and wobbly on his feet, but he shrugged off his brother Luke’s offer of help and limped to join their conversational circle.
“Here.” Luke unfolded a camp chair and made his brother sit. “We’re trying to figure out the best way to get to Alicia without putting her in more danger.”
“He wants to kill me,” Sinclair said bluntly, tired of pretending there was any other possible approach to their problem. “He took her to lure me in. So we should use it.”
“How? By handing you over like ransom?” Ava shook her head. “That’s not an option.”
“Why not? She wouldn’t be in that camp with Cabrera if it weren’t for me. So let’s give him what he wants.”
“Negotiating with a terrorist never works,” Ava argued.
“Sometimes it does.”
She was furious with him; he saw the anger blazing in her eyes, turning them as dark as night.
“Agent Trent is right,” Quinn said, breaking the tense silence. “Cabrera will just kill you both if you hand yourself over.”
“So let’s set up an exchange in neutral territory. Open-field exchange, no weapons allowed,” Sinclair suggested.
“You’re expecting a man like Cabrera to honor that arrangement?” Ava looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“He’s not going to honor anything like that,” Quinn agreed.
“There has to be a way we can make this happen.” Tension built in Sinclair’s chest until he felt as if his heart was going to implode from the pressure. Alicia had already been with Cabrera for over twenty-four hours. God only knew what he had already done to her. For all they knew, she wasn’t even alive anymore, and he was just standing here as if anything mattered besides getting her to safety.
“What if we set up a meeting between you and Cabrera?” Quinn suggested.
Ava wheeled to face the former spy, her shoulders squared. “No way. If Cabrera gets within shooting distance, he’ll kill Sinclair and ask questions later. For God’s sake, you know that!”
“We don’t know that,” Sinclair disagreed. “If there’s one predictable thing about Cabrera, it’s that he’s unpredictable.”
“All the more reason we don’t risk putting you in the line of fire,” she countered, whirling to glare at him. “This isn’t a movie. The bad guys don’t stand there and give a long speech about their motives before they start shooting. And good guys don’t miraculously survive their wounds.”
Sinclair leaned closer, touching his fingertips lightly to the curve of her waist just above her injured hip. “Sometimes they do.”
“Stop,” she growled, although her features softened as he dragged his fingertips around her to settle lightly against her back. “Please.”
“I think he might have questions.” Sinclair tried to keep his tone reasonable as he dropped his hand back to his side, even though he was chafing against Ava’s dogged caution. “He has to wonder if I was the only double agent in his organization. He may think I can finger others.”
“Double agent?” Jesse Cooper asked.
Sinclair looked at him, realizing everyone else here, besides Quinn, still thought he was a traitor. Pressing his lips in a thin line, he glanced at the former spymaster, who watched him through narrowed eyes.
“He was working for the CIA for the last five years of his time with El Cambio,” Quinn said after a long pause. “It’s not widely known, and if you ask the CIA, they’ll deny it. But it’s true. I handled him during his time undercover.”
Sinclair looked at Ava, trying to gauge her reaction. She looked back at him, her expression thoughtful.
“Well, hell.” Gabe Cooper was the first to speak, his voice coming out in a raspy grumble. “Does Alicia know?”
“Of course not,” Sinclair answered. “I couldn’t let anyone know the truth. It could have jeopardized everything.”
“What? Why?”
“She says the last time she talked to you, she told you she hoped you blew yourself up in your next bomb.”
“Oh.” Sinclair rubbed his jaw to hide the flare of old pain that raced through his chest at the memory. “I didn’t blame her for that. I blamed myself. As far as she knew, I deserved her disgust.”
“She doesn’t see it that way.” Gabe limped closer, all broad shoulders and belligerent anger. “You have a lot to account for where she’s concerned. And don’t think your CIA bona fides are going to wipe it all away.”
“I don’t,” Sinclair assured him.
“But they do matter,” Ava said quietly. “And if it’s possible that Cabrera suspects you were a CIA double agent all that time, it’s even more insane for you to put yourself out there as a target for him.”
“Well, whatever we decide to do, we aren’t going to do it before morning.” Jesse stepped forward, a commanding presence that even Sinclair, who grew up challenging authority at every turn, couldn’t ignore. The elder Cooper had a calm demeanor, an inherent sense of competence, that probably made him one hell of a CEO for a global security company.
He almost gave Alexander Quinn a run for his money.
“Let’s sleep on it,” the former spy agreed. “We’ll take turns manning the perimeter. Four-hour shifts.”
“Hannah, Riley, Jake and Rick can cover the next three hours,” Jesse said. “Luke, Quinn and I will spell them at one.”
“And at five?” Ava asked.
“You’re injured. No guard duty for you. And Sinclair is a target, so no duty for him.” Jesse sent Sinclair a look that quelled his argument before he could make it. “At five, we’ll regroup and figure out what we plan to do.” Jesse gave a brief nod that everyone else seemed to read as a dismissal. They retreated to their tents.
Unfortunately, Sinclair thought as he followed Ava back to the tent, the perimeter guards meant he couldn’t easily sneak out of camp to negotiate his own deal with Cabrera.
“You’re not thinking of sneaking out, are you?” Ava asked quietly a few moments later as they settled into the cramped confines of the tent.
