by Trish Loye
“It makes no sense for you to turn yourself in to Pérez.” He put a little more hot sauce on his eggs, unconcerned he’d stopped her short with his statement. “You’d have to be either an idiot or suicidal to believe anything Pérez told you about guaranteeing your safety. And you, Red, are neither.”
“What about your team?”
“It’s not my team,” he said. Apparently he thought it wasn’t up for discussion.
She shook her head at his presumption. “I also believe it wasn’t you,” she said, “for the same reasons, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
She didn’t let his sarcasm faze her. “But your team…” She let her suspicion hang there. It had to be someone on his team who had given them away. “You called them and the next morning…”
He set his fork down carefully and leaned in. His face had dropped the mask of civility and took on an almost feral intensity. “My team would never betray me.”
She tilted her head, studying him. Someone had betrayed him before. Ilona, the woman from his nightmares? “Our lives are depending on that,” she said finally.
“Did you contact anyone?” he asked abruptly. “Anyone at all?”
“No,” she said. “You’ve been with me constantly. The only one I’ve spoken with is Ian.”
That wasn’t completely true. She had sent a quick text to her handler, but that wasn’t something she was going to admit to Marc. Not that it mattered. She hadn’t mentioned their plans to Damien.
They took a cab and had it drop them a block from the square.
Monserrate, the green mountain to the east, dominated the view. The sun’s warmth burned off the coolness of the morning, and the air smelled of coffee and fried dough. The cobblestone streets and colorful historic buildings drew the eye. In the square, people were setting up temporary market stalls.
“If we get out of this without being wanted by the local policia,” Marc said, “then I’m coming back here on vacation.”
Quinn smiled at him and kept walking. The smile caught him, pulling him to follow her. He had an absurd desire to make her smile again. He gave himself a mental shake. He couldn’t fall under her spell. She might be manipulating him. He couldn’t act like a teenager with no hormone control.
“I love it here too,” Quinn said. “From the moment I first stepped off the plane, saw the mountains, the lush greenery everywhere, felt the cool breezes. And the food!” She grinned. “A bit of heaven for this Scottish lass, used to the cold of the highlands.”
“I thought all Scots loved their homeland?”
Her voice took on a heavy burr. “Och laddie, I do. But, canna a girl appreciate a bonny place?”
He laughed. “Okay, Highlander. Just leave your sword at home for this one. We’re an hour early. We should do a sweep.”
“A sweep?” The sparkle in her eye made him want to close the distance between them. “We’re just meeting Ian. He’s not dangerous.”
“Humor me.”
She shrugged. “So what are we looking for?”
As if she didn’t know. “Possible ambush locations, sniper positions, Pérez’s men, or any suspicious person…”
“The usual then.” She laughed.
His heart skipped a beat at the sound. It was the first time she’d laughed around him, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.
This unusual woman seemed too good to be true.
“Why a medic?” Marc asked suddenly. He needed to know more about her.
She shrugged. “I like helping people. I wanted to make a difference.” She glanced at him. “I suspect you got into soldiering for the same kind of reason.”
“Nah. I just like to shoot guns.”
Her laugh was loud, joyous, and he loved it. Damn, he had it bad. He forced his gaze away from her and scanned the area. Nothing stood out, but he had to stay professional. The risk factor of Pérez finding them here was low, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Especially not with Quinn. Don’t get attached, Koven.
“I don’t believe that,” she said. “You’re probably a decorated hero.”
Something inside him squeezed at her words, at her belief in him—a near stranger. He was highly decorated. But that didn’t make him a hero. He’d made too many mistakes and let too many people die to be considered that. He was just a soldier doing the best he could.
“I’m no hero.”
“Hey,” she said softly and stopped walking. “Look at me.”
He gave a last scan of the area around them. People were just setting out their wares of clothing and food in the brightly colored market stalls. No one seemed to pay them any attention. He turned to Quinn.
She stepped toward him and laid one hand on his cheek, her skin warm against his. “Anyone who puts his life on the line for others is a hero.”
That thing inside him squeezed again at her words, her belief in him. She didn’t understand. He clenched his jaw against the sarcastic denial that wanted to spew forth.
She must have read it in his eyes, because she gave a quiet snort. “Yes, I did a psychiatric stint, and I’ve seen my fair share of PTSD.”
“I don’t have PTSD.”
She started to pull her hand away from his face, and he grabbed it, holding it there. He scratched her palm with the stubble on his jaw, and she sucked a breath in, her eyes widening. Yes, he wanted her affected just as much as he was. “I may not have PTSD,” he continued, keeping her hand trapped. “But I’ve seen its effects, and… I appreciate you trying to help me.”
He didn’t want her concern. He just wanted her. He wanted to take her hand and drag it down his body, over his chest, down his stomach, and farther south where he hardened at her nearness.
Instead, he used her hand to pull her closer.
“Marc?” she asked, her voice unsure.
He turned his head and kissed her palm, letting his tongue flick out to taste her skin. The breathy sound that escaped her made him step closer, keeping his gaze locked on hers. He licked once more, wanting to hear the sound again, while his thumb rubbed the soft, sensitive skin inside her wrist. Her lips parted, and his heart pounded in his ears.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against her warm, soft ones. Her quick intake of breath made him dip his head again, pressing a little firmer this time, but he forced himself to move slow and gentle no matter how much he wanted her. Her lips parted, and her tongue touched his. Lightning struck a path through him. He slanted his mouth over hers to get better access while his hands cradled her face, tilting it just so.
She moaned into his mouth. The sound hardened him further. He was barely holding on to his control. He wanted to shred his clothes, her clothes, and find a wall to push her up against—
Fuck.
This couldn’t happen. He pulled back, his breathing ragged even though he’d barely kissed her. He was on a mission. She was a civilian in danger. He was supposed to protect her, not try to fuck her in public. What the hell had he been thinking?
“Marc?” she asked again.
He swallowed hard and straightened. He needed space, and she was dangerously distracting. “Sorry about that.” He put on the fake, charming smile she hated. It did the trick. Her heated gaze dimmed. Time to reinforce the fact that he wasn’t her hero. Or anyone’s. “Sometimes I get carried away with my role.”
She frowned. “Your role?”
He made his voice light, flippant, though his gut clenched at the sight of her confusion. He was such an asshole. “Our role,” he said. “We’re tourists out enjoying the market. We can’t look like we’re scoping the place.”
Tourists who kissed.
But she nodded slowly. “Right… That…makes sense.”
Frustration had him clenching his jaw again. He hated that she believed him.
But it was for the best.
He scanned the area again. Nothing suspicious stood out. He nodded to an outdoor cafe. “I’ll set up there. Why don’t you come in from across that street?” The cafe in ques
tion sat in the southeast corner of the square and was mostly in shade. For the final block leading to the square, the adjacent street was pedestrian traffic only and had mostly shops that weren’t yet open for the day. Nowhere for anyone to hide.
He kept his face calm, with no hint of the turmoil her nearness had caused. She just nodded and left without a word, which frustrated him almost as much as not being able to touch her again. Because he wouldn’t.
At least not until the mission was over. Not until they were safe. Then he could indulge in seducing her. A weekend together should get the itch to touch her out of his system.
Quinn strode away, her hips swaying slightly.
Maybe a week.
He went to the cafe and sat at a table with a clear view of the steps of the Primary Cathedral of Bogotá and most of the square as well. The cafe was on the southeastern side of the square, so it was closer to Monserrate and the mountains that corralled that end of the city and elevated the cafe’s patio enough that he really did have a good vantage point.
Quinn wandered to a market stall not far from him and pretended to peruse the scarves the vendor sold. He ordered a tinto from the waitress and gave her money for the small, black coffee right away in case he had to bolt. He didn’t need a screaming waitress to signal where he was.
He used the time to call Cat on the burner phone.
She picked up on the first ring. “We got word that the British SRR were observing Pérez’s operation.”
“Was Anna Bishop theirs?”
“No. I still can’t track down why she was there or who sent her. The cover for the SRR operator was a doctor. It’s a good bet your friend is their operator.”
Fuck.
He should have seen it. She’d handled both unarmed and armed combat better than she should. She was smart, tough, and sexy. Marc almost shook his head. Sexy had nothing to do with this.
She drove like a fiend, was an expert shot, and didn’t break under pressure. Quinn could definitely be the operator with the British Army’s Special Reconnaissance Regiment.
So she was a hell of a lot more than a medic. “Definitely more lethal than she’s letting on,” he muttered.
“But that’s not everything,” Cat said. “Our source told us the operator went rogue.”
“What the fuck?” Quinn? Rogue? That made her potentially crazy or dangerous. Probably both. “What are my orders?” he growled.
“Blackwell wants you to stay with her. Find out what she’s up to. There’s something big going on, and he wants to know what it is.”
“Copy that.” He hung up.
So Quinn McKenzie, if that was even her real name, was playing him. And sure, he also wasn’t telling her the complete truth, but that didn’t assuage the irritation tightening his skin. How much had she faked? And now he had to keep pretending as if he didn’t know anything. Especially if she was a rogue operator. She might try to kill him if he let on he knew about her.
Ten minutes before the meeting time, he spotted Ian walking through the crowd from the north end of the plaza, headed for the cathedral steps. Quinn wouldn’t be able to see him yet. He didn’t like not having proper comms with her, but he’d already met Ian and this was just a pickup, so he wasn’t too worried.
He tipped his hat back and scratched his head. Quinn, who now perused another stall, signaled her acknowledgment at his message by swiping a finger along her jaw. She pulled off her hat, letting her red braid spill down her back, and her posture changed. Her shoulders straightened, not to soldier-straight but more teacher-straight. Her hands twisted together, and she visibly scanned the crowd. Amazing. She’d gone from a nondescript person who didn’t attract attention to a visibly nervous tourist looking for someone. She moved hesitantly through the crowd.
Marc watched for anyone whose gaze lingered too long on Quinn. If anyone was after Ian, they’d know about Quinn and her red hair. Hopefully their attention would shift from Ian to her.
Marc zeroed in on Ian. The man had stopped on the steps of the cathedral in almost the exact posture Quinn had just adopted. Though he wasn’t rubbernecking, he stared at his shoes.
Odd. Why wasn’t he looking for Quinn?
Ian gave a sidelong look, and Marc followed his gaze.
A man with a beard and wearing blocky sunglasses, jeans, and a loose gray t-shirt stood in the shadows of the building on the far end, watching both Ian and the crowd. His right hand rested at the small of his back. Marc would bet his life the guy had his hand on a gun.
This was a trap. And Ian was the bait.
Quinn hadn’t been spotted yet. Marc called her cell. If they’d had radio contact, he could have aborted the pickup. He left the cafe, with the phone to his ear, and walked as fast as he could without drawing attention.
Pick up, Quinn.
No one seemed to have keyed into the fact that Quinn was in the crowd. Marc kept an eye on where Ian stood while the damn phone kept ringing. Another man, similar demeanor to the first but small and wiry, stood in a gap between buildings; his gaze scanned the crowd. His face reminded Marc of a ferret. Two men meant a team. They’d probably have backup as well as a driver somewhere.
Marc checked the four main roads that entered the plaza area. The north road. Two men in sunglasses stood, smoking by a black SUV—not talking, just watching the steps of the cathedral.
Quinn was about fifty meters away. Marc could shout her name, but that would clue in the targets that he was with her. The market crowd was growing. He pushed through people now, not caring whether Pérez’s men spotted him. If they took Quinn, he’d have a hell of a time following and getting her back.
Quinn had almost made it to the steps.
Marc pulled his weapon and ran.
13
Quinn walked through the growing crowd of shoppers, scanning for trouble. Trying to put the kiss out of her mind. Had he been acting, like he’d said? It had felt so real. Too real.
Not that it mattered, according to Marc. He’d just been playing a role and gotten carried away. He probably wasn’t even interested in her at all. The memory of waking up in his arms brought a flush to her face. Damn, he’d probably been embarrassed by her cozying up to him.
She shook away her thoughts. She had no time to moon over a man, especially a man she wasn’t even sure she could trust.
She glanced at Marc, who sat and sipped coffee. His gaze, even over this distance, connected with hers and her heart began to thud. She swallowed. Why couldn’t she control herself? He pushed his hat back and scratched his head.
He’d spotted Ian. Time to get to work. She took her hair from under her cap and assumed the role of naive doctor, weaving through the stalls of the market toward the steps of the cathedral. She couldn’t see Marc any longer with the crowd, but she could at least trust he kept an eye on things.
Ian came into view. He mounted the steps of the cathedral and then stood and faced the crowd. Quinn almost put up her hand to wave when he glanced to the right, where a man with a mustache stood, holding something under his jacket with one hand.
She’d seen him at the compound. One of Pérez’s men.
Fuck.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. It was silently ringing with Marc’s number.
“It’s a trap,” Marc said, breathing hard. He was running.
Quinn shifted so she stood behind a group of people and pulled her ball cap back onto her head, hiding her hair a bit. “How many men?”
“I’ve got six so far, one on either side of Ian and two more across the plaza and two drivers. They haven’t spotted you yet. I’ll meet you at the south end of the square.”
“I’m not leaving Ian. They’ll kill him.”
Marc’s heavy sigh carried through the phone. “Will you let me handle it?”
“No. We do this together.” She stepped beside a stall and out of direct line of sight of the open plaza.
“Fine. I’ll do the distraction, and you grab him.”
“What type
of distraction?”
“You’ll know it when you see it. Keep the phone line open.”
“Wilco,” she said without thinking and then silently cursed her slip.
Marc didn’t comment on her use of the military short form of the words “will comply.” Maybe he was too preoccupied to notice. “Give me two minutes,” he said. “Be prepared.”
She stuck her phone in the pocket of her shirt and moved as close to the steps as she dared. The other solo guard was a wiry, lean man who stood in a gap between buildings. She came to within ten meters of him, hiding behind another stall, and waited for Marc’s distraction.
It didn’t take long.
The guard closest to her perked up and stopped scanning the crowd to look at the bearded guard on the other side of the building. He pulled out a walkie-talkie and spoke into it. His voice grew louder.
“Carlos. Juan. Answer me.” He shook the walkie-talkie and repeated his call. Someone must have said something that she couldn’t hear because he started shouting into the thing. “Who the fuck is this?”
Marc had to be taking out the guards one by one. She liked his style.
She used the distraction to move up behind the man, gripping her weapon. It was too public an arena to shoot him, so she used the butt to strike him on the back of the head. He crumpled to the ground.
Ian stared at her, his eyes wide. He shook his head. “They’re everywhere. Run!”
“Come with me now, Ian,” she commanded.
The bearded man sprinted toward them.
Ian stood there without moving. What the hell was his problem? She ran up the steps. “We have to go.”
“They’ll kill you. They’ll kill me for talking to you. What did you do, Quinn?”
She didn’t bother to explain; she grabbed his arm and tugged him down the steps. Ian stumbled after her, jerked off balance.
“Please let me go.” He pulled on his arm. “They said if I went with you or warned you, then they’d kill me.”
She gripped his arm harder, not letting him stop. The bearded man was almost on them. “They’re going to kill you anyway. I can protect you.”
