by Dawn Atkins
Then he felt the sharp jolt of something pressing into his back, and Zoë was yanked from his grasp.
“Don’t make any sudden moves, and we won’t have to hurt you,” a gruff voice behind him said.
ZOË’S HEAD WAS SPINNING, but the sharp spurt of pure adrenaline helped her to focus. Several things were crystal clear. The huge mountain of a man who was currently holding her arm in a viselike grip had jerked her from Ethan Blair’s arms, and he now had the barrel of a gun pressed into her temple. Another man, shorter, leaner and much meaner looking, was standing behind Ethan, and though she couldn’t see it, she strongly suspected that he had a gun, too.
“I’ll cooperate fully if you’ll let the lady go.” Ethan’s tone was soft, the accent clipped.
The man gave a soft laugh, and the sound made Zoë’s skin go icy. “It’s the little lady we came for,” he said. “If you don’t want a bullet in your spine, you’ll do what you’re told.”
The beefy man next to her pressed the gun more firmly against her temple, and Zoë found that she was having trouble breathing. Adrenaline was keeping at least a part of her mind sharp, but the fear lodged in her throat was blocking her windpipe. She concentrated on getting some oxygen into her system.
“Now, we’re going to walk up the street to that SUV.”
Zoë spotted it parked in a driveway four houses up the block. The motor was idling.
“We’ll go first,” the man said to Ethan. “Two by two, just as if we’re taking a little nighttime stroll. No false moves or Bobby will put a bullet in the little lady, and we wouldn’t want that.”
Zoë and the linebacker fell into step behind Ethan and the other man. They must have looked like an odd kind of a parade. The thought had a bubble of laughter rising, and there was a strange ringing in her ears—a combination of hysteria and panic, no doubt.
Think, Zoë told herself. Think. She made herself take in another breath. The one thing that had been stressed in her karate classes was never give the opponent an advantage. So they couldn’t get into that car. Bobby and his buddy didn’t want to shoot them in the middle of a Georgetown street. So the best chance of escape for her and Ethan was right now.
Zoë focused on her surroundings. Bobby had a firm grip on her arm, but she was banking on the fact that since she hadn’t once struggled, she’d lured him into complacency. Plus, he probably figured he could handle anything she could try.
What was she going to try? That was the question. They were quickly closing the distance to the dark SUV. Two more driveways to go. Out of the corner of her eye she caught movement as a man stepped out of the front door of a Federal-style house. He was followed by a sizable dog. It was too dark for her to recognize the breed, but Zoë prayed it was vicious. A golden retriever was not going to be of much help. Then relying on pure instinct, she stumbled and let out a startled cry.
“What the—” The man with Ethan turned his head.
Noting that her head was currently beneath the muzzle of Bobby’s gun, Zoë used all her strength to bring her left foot down hard on his instep.
Bobby grunted, tightening his grip on her arm, but she still managed to bring her knee up hard into his crotch.
His howl had the man across the street, yelling, “Hey, what’s going on?”
The dog started barking.
“Help!” Zoë shrieked. She broke free of Bobby’s grip just as Ethan placed a well-aimed kick in the face of his captor.
Before she had time to do much more than register the skill involved in the move, he grabbed her hand and muttered, “Run.”
Run they did. They’d only taken a few steps before she heard a muffled sound and Ethan stumbled, almost causing them both to go down. But at the last moment, she caught her balance and pulled him forward. His legs were longer than hers, and since she had to run three steps to his two, it was difficult to get into a rhythm. As they turned the first corner, she glanced back to see that the SUV was backing out of the driveway.
Once back on a commercial street, Ethan dragged her into a shop entranceway and they flattened themselves against a glass window. Through it Zoë saw the black SUV turn the corner and drive slowly past. Fifteen long seconds ticked by before Ethan said, “They turned right. They’re probably going to drive around widening their circle until they spot us.”
Then grabbing her hand, he pulled her out onto the sidewalk and they ran in the same direction. As they stormed up the next block, hand in hand, Zoë worked to get into a rhythm. Ethan stopped at the corner and shoved her behind him long enough to send his gaze up and down the cross street.
“Clear,” was all he said. Then he dragged her diagonally across the intersection. A block later, he pulled her across the street and urged her down a flight of steps. Tourists were familiar with the stairs because they’d figured in a prominent scene in the movie The Exorcist. A body had been found at the bottom. As they hit the spot running, Zoë tried not to think about the body.
At the next corner, Ethan didn’t stop, didn’t even slow his pace. They simply ran around it and raced on. Later, she would recall how surreal it was—the bursts of muffled laughter that floated out from pubs and restaurants, the odd stares they received from the few pedestrians they zigged and zagged around, the patches of streetlamp light that they raced in and out of.
Her calves and lungs had begun to burn by the time she realized they’d left the commercial area and entered what appeared to be a winding drive through a park. When a car turned the corner ahead of them, Ethan jerked her behind a large elm and pressed her against the trunk.
Zoë concentrated on getting her breath. Her lungs were on fire. But it wasn’t just her lungs that were burning up. Her body seemed to be on fire at each and every contact point it made with Ethan Blair’s. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the car make its way slowly up the drive. But even as the sound of the motor faded in the distance, Ethan didn’t move.
She didn’t want him to.
The realization should have shocked her. Someone had tried to kidnap them, and they were running for their lives. She should be thinking about that. But she couldn’t seem to focus on the danger they were in. Not when her eyes were staring at the pulse that was beating in his throat. She wanted to put her lips against that pulse. She wanted to taste his skin. At the thought, the heat she was feeling grew more intense and her own pulse raced even faster. Her gaze moved to his mouth. She wanted to kiss him again.
The one kiss that they’d shared hadn’t been like most first kisses. He hadn’t taken the time to tempt or explore. Instead, he’d taken instant possession of her mouth as if they’d kissed before.
But they hadn’t. She would have remembered the slow way he’d probed her mouth with his tongue as if he’d been determined to sample and savor every part of it. Just thinking about it had that strange ache building inside of her, just as it had in the shadow of that hedge.
When she felt his finger move lightly along the underside of her jaw, she began to tremble. He tipped her face up so that she had to meet his eyes. For a long moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak as a longing filled her. She was almost sure she saw a reflection of what she was feeling in his eyes.
“You’re really something,” he said as he dragged the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip.
The heat inside of her grew so intense that she thought some of it must be escaping as steam.
Then, with a sigh, Ethan drew back from her. “We can’t stay here.”
She hadn’t even realized that she had grabbed fistfuls of his jacket to keep him close until he pried her fingers loose.
Disappointment and embarrassment streamed through her. But he was right. Of course, they couldn’t stay here—wherever that was. They weren’t out of danger yet. And they were in a public place.
She dragged her gaze away from his and tried to gather her thoughts. And that’s when she saw it—a dark stain on the sleeve of his jacket, just above where she’d grabbed it.
“You’
re bleeding.” Some of the blood was on her hand. Even in the pale light from the streetlamp, it looked bright red. “They shot you.”
“So they did. They must have used a silencer.” With a finger under her chin, he urged her gaze upward until it met his. “It’s just a scratch, Zoë.”
“They could have killed you,” she said.
“You were the one they were after. Why?”
9
IT HAD BEEN SEVEN YEARS since Gage Sinclair had engaged in any cloak-and-dagger work for his country, and he had to admit that doing a favor for Jed Calhoun had brought back a thrill he’d been missing. Most of the consulting work he did was analytical and it didn’t shoot the same zing through the blood as the kind of jobs he’d done before his injury.
He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard of his car and then back up at the windows in Zoë McNamara’s apartment. In the last ten minutes, since Bailey Montgomery had entered through the front door, he hadn’t seen so much as a flicker of light.
She was good. Gage Sinclair frowned as he thought about that. When Jed had faxed him the information two days ago that Bailey Montgomery had been the one who’d shot him in Bogotá, Gage had been surprised. That she’d failed in her mission had surprised him even more.
Somehow she’d learned that he was going to meet Jed Calhoun at the Blue Pepper tonight. That meant that either his phone or Jed’s had been tapped. It also meant that Jed was probably right and Bailey had spotted him at that party.
He intended to check his phones. In the meantime, he wanted very much to know what Agent Montgomery was up to.
He’d found himself a spot across the street from the Blue Pepper after he’d left the envelope with the bartender. When Bailey hadn’t followed him, he’d known that she was sticking around to see where the envelope ended up. That’s what he would have done.
He’d watched “Ethan Blair” leave and return and then leave again with Zoë following. Believing that Jed had that end of things under control, he’d remained to keep an eye on Bailey, and he’d followed her to Zoë’s apartment.
It had taken her less than twenty minutes to get a name and an address for Zoë McNamara. Pretty slick work. But then Bailey Montgomery was the best agent he’d ever recruited and trained.
And she was still very easy on the eyes. All in all, she was one well-put-together package. Not only was she beautiful in a classic sense, but she’d been first in her class at Yale when he’d met her. Over the years, he’d kept tabs on her career, and he couldn’t think of one other assignment she hadn’t successfully completed.
Truth was, he’d kept his eye on Bailey Montgomery over the years because in the early days he’d had a yen for her. Of course, he’d never acted on it. Number one, he was her senior by eight years, and fraternizing with fellow agents was frowned upon. Plus he’d been her mentor. And while he might have been tempted to ignore all that after she’d been at the agency for a while, Bailey Montgomery wouldn’t have. She was a stickler for following rules. One of the reasons he’d gone back into fieldwork was to get away from a growing attraction that he couldn’t act on.
Later, after he’d left the CIA, there’d been other reasons why he hadn’t acted on his attraction to her, not the least of which was the fact that he’d lost a leg during his last little government caper. It had taken a while, but modern medicine worked miracles, and there were very few people who were aware that he wore a prosthesis.
Gage’s eyes narrowed as Bailey reappeared out of the shadows at the side of Zoë’s house, then walked quickly down the street to her black Beetle convertible. In Gage’s mind the car suited her to a tee—the color was conservative but the style was wasn’t.
Maybe that was what had always intrigued him about Bailey Montgomery—the fact that she was prim and proper on the outside, but there was that hint of the risk taker underneath.
Case in point: Miss Follow-the-Rules had just broken into Zoë McNamara’s apartment. He couldn’t help but wonder what other rules she might be willing to break.
And then there was the big question. What had caused her to bungle what should have been a fairly simple job in that alley in Bogotá?
He intended to find the answers.
JED PACED BACK AND FORTH in his hotel suite as he waited for the front desk to pick up. A glance at Zoë, sitting a few feet away on a sofa, assured him that some color had come back into her cheeks. She’d been a bit pale when he’d bundled her into the taxi. But she’d certainly kept her cool when those two men had grabbed them.
He’d barely felt the bullet, he’d been so focused on getting her away from those men. But his blood had been on a slow boil since he’d gotten her safely inside the room. Before that, he’d had to keep his mind clear and sharp.
That’s what he should have done when he’d been in the shadow of that hedge kissing her. If he hadn’t been so lost in that kiss, in her, he would have known that someone was approaching. He’d nearly gotten them both killed. He would have if she hadn’t come to the rescue.
His safest option had been to bring her here to his hotel suite. He certainly couldn’t have taken her to her apartment, not when there was a good chance that whoever had sent those two thugs had identified her.
His hunch was that Bailey Montgomery had sent the two men. It made sense that she would have come with backup. She’d seen the waiter deliver Gage’s envelope to Zoë, and she must have ordered the two men to snatch Zoë.
Thanks to him, Zoë was now in mortal danger.
“Front desk,” said a voice in his ear.
“Room 549. I want you to send up a first aid kit as soon as possible.”
“Are you injured, sir?”
“No.” He’d been lucky. The bullet had only grazed his flesh. He’d rinsed the wound in the bathroom and tied a hand towel around it as a temporary bandage. He’d also called Ryder on his cell phone, told him what had happened and insisted that Ryder send men to protect Zoë.
“Sir, we have a policy. We have to note down the reason whenever a first aid kit is requested.”
Jed called on his sorely depleted store of patience. “On our walk back from dinner, my wife took a little spill and scraped her knee.”
“Did she fall on the hotel grounds?”
Jed heard real concern in the desk clerk’s voice, probably not because a guest had sustained an injury but because of possible litigation. “No, we were in Georgetown when she fell. I just want to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
“I’ll send it up right away, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“A bottle of brandy.” They both could use some. “What do you have?”
“I’ll connect you to room service. They’ll be able to help you.”
While he listened to another phone ring, Jed returned his gaze to Zoë. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her for very long since they’d gotten here. He should never have asked Gage to send that envelope to her.
She had such a pull on him. No other woman had ever affected him this way. Even now, he couldn’t look at her without being very aware that there was a bed through the open door to his left—a bed that had been carefully turned down for the night.
Studying her, he was aware once again of the difference in the way she was dressed tonight. The lace and silk top he’d noticed in the Blue Pepper was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen her wear. And he couldn’t help wondering if she was wearing anything beneath those jeans.
Ruthlessly, he shoved the thought away. He had to decide how to answer the questions she was sure to ask as soon as he hung up the phone.
He knew that she was even now formulating and categorizing them in her mind. She’d start with the one he hadn’t fully answered before he’d kissed her.
“Who are you?”
That was the question all right. If he told her the truth, that he was Jed Calhoun, she’d want to know why he was disguised, and he’d have to tell her his story—that he was supposed to be dead, and that if he showed up alive, he’d
have to face murder charges.
She’d keep his secret. He didn’t doubt that for a minute. What was holding him back was the fact that if she knew the truth, she might be in even more danger than she was now.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Bailey Montgomery would track her down. Ryder could protect her from the thugs in the SUV, but if Agent Montgomery questioned her, it might be better if Zoë didn’t know any more than that she’d met a man named Jed Calhoun who’d been living with his friend Ryder Kane on a houseboat. And that Jed Calhoun had completely disappeared.
“Room service,” a voice said in his ear.
“I want a bottle of your best brandy and two glasses,” Jed said.
“Let me see what we have available.”
“Whatever you have will do.” But Jed realized that he’d been put on hold.
He shifted his gaze back to Zoë. If he remained Ethan Blair, then he could insist that she remain here for the night. He could sleep on the pullout sofa and drive her home in the morning where Ryder would have two men watching her.
Still pacing, he turned that scenario over in his mind.
Just then, the voice on the other end of the line rattled off the names of three brandies. Jed chose one and listened while the man repeated it and confirmed the room number.
As he hung up the phone, Zoë rose from the settee. For a moment neither of them said a thing. In spite of his resolve, Jed wanted nothing more than to go to her and finish the kiss he’d started earlier.
“Is your arm all right?” she said.
Jed very nearly smiled. Not who are you or who were those men and why did they want to kill us. Instead, she was still concerned about his arm. Sooner or later, he was going to figure out why she could always surprise him.
“You handled yourself very well back there,” he said.
“So did you. I imagine you do this a lot, don’t you?”
His brows shot up. “You mean get shot?”
“No, I mean escape from goons like that. You knew what you were doing. You reminded one of my friends at the Blue Pepper of James Bond, and I think she might have been right.”
