by Debra Webb
He walked out of her room, surveyed the dimly lit hall but she was gone. If he wanted to, he could find her. She wouldn’t be far away. Maybe in the kitchen or behind one of the closed doors right here in this hall. But he couldn’t do that. He had to respect her needs.
Coming here had been his first mistake tonight. He wasn’t about to make another. Oddly he couldn’t bring himself to regret making love with her. Mistake or not, he refused to regret it for a single moment.
Not in this lifetime.
He stole out the rear exit of her brownstone and into the concealing darkness of the night.
Right now he didn’t have time to work this out. He had an assignment that couldn’t wait another day.
But when he got back one way or another he intended to sway her to his way of thinking. Whatever it took, he wouldn’t give up.
They belonged together.
All he had to do was survive this mission.
He had as many of the facts as was possible to glean from the sparse details they had uncovered. He had the face Elizabeth had given him—his ticket into Maddox’s seedy world of betrayal.
He would get this done. He would return to Elizabeth and then he would make her see that he was right.
Maybe she didn’t feel as strongly about their relationship as he did, though he suspected she did. But that didn’t change a damned thing as far as he was concerned.
He was definitely in love with her.
Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth stared at the tousled sheets on her bed. She’d done it again. Made a huge error in judgment.
She hadn’t been able to sleep in here last night. Not with the smell of their lovemaking having permeated every square inch of the room. Even now she could smell the lingering scent of Joe. If she closed her eyes she could recall vividly the way he’d touched her in the dark.
And now he was gone.
She steeled herself against the fear and worry. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to fall for a man like him again.
Who was she kidding? She’d fallen for him before she’d even known her relationship with David was over. She’d lied to herself, pretended she hadn’t felt the things she felt for Joe. Denial was a perfectly human reaction to anything confusing or fearful. Just because she was a trained physician didn’t make her any less human.
Or any smarter, it seemed.
Elizabeth quickly dressed, choosing her most comfortable slacks and a pale blue blouse. She needed all the comfort she could get today, including a light hand with makeup. Not that she wore that much anyway, but she just didn’t feel up to the extra effort today.
As she exited her bedroom, she refused to think of Joe and the idea that he’d likely begun efforts to infiltrate the enemy. If she did she would only start to worry about where he was and what was happening to him.
Today was the pivotal test of all her work. His face, his mannerisms and speech. All of it would be scrutinized by the group of assassins he needed to fool.
God, what if these evil people had already heard somehow that David was dead?
She couldn’t go there…just couldn’t do it.
Work. She needed work to occupy her mind.
When she reached the door she remembered her blazer and she hurried back to her room to grab one.
Again the tangled mass of linens tugged at her senses. She got out of there, took the stairs two at a time.
Determined to put last night completely behind her, she opened her front door and stepped out into the day.
The sun gleamed down, warming her face, giving her hope that this day might turn out all right after all. A new beginning. Another opportunity to do something good and right. Maybe she would never be as smart as she should be in her personal life, but her career could be enough. It had been for a long time now. Why change a game plan that appeared to work?
“Are you ready, Dr. Cameron?”
Elizabeth smiled at Agent Dawson. Nice, safe, quiet Dawson. Like Dr. Newman. The kind of man she should be seeking, but somehow never gravitated toward.
“Yes, I am, Agent Dawson.” And it was true. She was ready to move on. And she could as long as she didn’t stop long enough to think.
“There’s been a change in plans this morning,” he commented as they moved toward the vehicles parked at the curb. “I’ll need to drive you to the clinic this morning if you don’t have any objections.”
She shrugged. “No problem.” It wasn’t like she had plans to go anywhere during the course of the day. If she had lunch she usually ate in her office. Most likely she’d spend what time she had available between patients going over files and finishing up reports.
That was the least glamorous part of her job—paperwork. Not the insurance forms or billing statements prepared by the clinic’s accounting staff, but the detailed reports on patient history and recommended procedures as well as results of those performed and updates on follow-up consultations. Lots and lots of reports and analyses.
Elizabeth frowned as she glanced out the car window. Was there some reason he hadn’t shared with her that dictated the necessity of an alternate route? This wasn’t the way she usually drove to work.
“Agent Dawson.” She leaned forward to get a better look at him if he glanced her way in the rearview mirror. “Is there some reason we’re going this way rather than my usual route?”
“I can’t answer that, ma’am. I have my orders.”
Elizabeth leaned back in her seat, but she didn’t relax. She had known Agent Craig Dawson for more than a year. Something about his voice didn’t mesh with the man she knew. This was wrong somehow.
“Agent Dawson,” she ventured hesitantly, “is something wrong?”
He glanced in the rearview mirror for the briefest moment and their eyes met. In that instant she saw his fear, recognized the depth of it.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Cameron,” he said, his tone hollow, listless. “They have my family…they’re going to kill them if I don’t do what they tell me. Please believe I didn’t have any choice.”
Terror tugged at Elizabeth’s sternum. They. He had to mean the people who worked with David…the ones to whom he’d sold out his fellow agents.
Her heart bolted into panic mode.
Was he taking her to them?
Or did he plan to kill her himself…in order to save his family?
She moistened her lips and marshaled her courage. “What’re you supposed to do, Agent Dawson?”
His uneasy gaze flicked to the rearview mirror once more. “I have to deliver you to the location they specified. That’s all.” He looked away. “God, I don’t want to do this.”
“We should call Agent Stark.” She rammed her hand into her purse, fished for her cell phone. Her heart pounded so hard she could scarcely think. “He’ll know what to do.”
Where was her phone? She turned her purse upside down and emptied the contents. She always put it back in her purse before going to bed after allowing it to charge for a couple of hours.
“We can’t do that, ma’am.”
The full ramifications of the situation struck her. He’d taken her cell phone. His family was being held hostage.
Agent Dawson was no longer her advocate.
“Stop the car, Agent Dawson.” Her order sounded dull and carried little force, but she had to try.
His defeated gaze met hers in the rearview mirror once more. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Dr. Cameron.”
Panic knotted in her stomach, tightened around her throat. She steeled herself against it, mentally scrambled to consider the situation rationally.
Her movements slow, mechanical, she picked up her belongings one item at a time and dropped them back into her purse. The lip balm she always carried. Hairbrush. Keys. Her attention shifted back to the keys. They could be useful. She tucked the keys into the pocket of her blazer.
She glanced up to make sure Agent Dawson wasn’t watching her, then sifted through the rest. Ink pen. Another possible weapon. She sli
d it into her pocket as well. With nothing else useful, she scooped up the rest and spilled it into her bag.
Okay. She took a deep breath. Get a clean grip on calm and keep it. No matter what happened she needed to keep her senses about her.
She was a doctor. She’d been trained to maintain her composure during life-and-death situations. This was basically the same thing.
Only it was her life on the line.
Searching for a serene memory to assist her efforts she latched on to the sensations from last night. Smells, tastes, sounds of pleasure.
She clung to the recollection of how Joe’s skin had felt beneath her palm. The weight of his muscular body atop hers. She trembled as the moments played in her mind. Their bodies connected in the most intimate manner.
But most of all she held on to the last words he’d said to her…he loved her. He hadn’t needed to utter those exact words, the message had been clear.
Whether she lived through this day or not, she could hold that knowledge close to her heart. She wished she had told him how she felt. Even if it was a mistake, he’d deserved to know. How was it that fear for one’s life suddenly made so many things crystal clear?
She did have deep feelings for Joe. If she were totally honest with herself she would have to say that she loved him. She would also have to admit that it was, without question, a huge mistake. But, under the circumstances, that point seemed moot altogether.
Elizabeth turned her attention back to the passing landscape. She needed to pay attention to their destination. That ability was another thing that no doubt spelled doom for her. Didn’t they always blindfold hostages in the movies so they wouldn’t know where they were taken? Further proof that the outcome for her would not include a dashing hero and a last-minute escape. She would know too many details to risk her survival.
All the more reason to be prepared.
Another thought occurred to her then. “Agent Dawson.” Her voice sounded stark in the car after the long minutes of silence. When his gaze collided with hers in the mirror she went on, “How can you be sure they won’t harm your family anyway?”
He didn’t answer, except the look in his eyes gave her his answer. He couldn’t be sure, but he had to try. His work had brought danger to his family. He had to take whatever risks necessary in an attempt to keep them safe. He wasn’t a field operative. He was reacting the only way he knew how.
Elizabeth didn’t readily recognize the neighborhood. It wasn’t the sort of area anyone would willingly frequent. Dilapidated houses and crumbling apartment buildings. Trash lay scattered in parking lots and along the broken sidewalks. Junked cars as well as newer models, some considerably more expensive than the houses they fronted, lined the street. At this hour of the morning no one appeared to be stirring about. But she didn’t have to see any of the residents to guess at the community profile. Poverty-stricken. Desperate.
Every city had its forgotten corners. Areas where the government failed to do enough. Where people survived on instinct and sheer determination.
No one here would care what happened down the street or on the next block. Survival depended upon looking the other way and keeping your mouth shut.
Elizabeth had never known this sort of hopelessness. No one should. She hoped this sad part of life wouldn’t be the last thing she ever saw.
The car stopped and Elizabeth jerked to attention. Her gaze immediately roved the three-story building that sat on a corner lot. The windows were boarded up and the roof looked to be missing most of its shingles.
Dawson got out of the car and walked around to her side. He opened the car door and waited for her to get out. Vaguely she wondered what he would do if she refused. Would he shoot her? She didn’t think so.
The energy would be wasted. She had no choice any more than he did. Making matters more difficult would serve no purpose. Agent Dawson wasn’t her enemy. It was the people inside this ramshackle building who represented the true threat.
She got out of the car and he took her by the arm. She didn’t resist, didn’t see the point.
He led her to the front entrance and ushered her inside where the condition of the structure was no better than the outside had been.
Though it was daylight outside, the interior was barely lit and only by virtue of the sunlight slipping between the boards on the windows. She wondered if there was any electricity supplying power to the building. Not likely.
Up two flights of stairs and at the end of the hall Dawson hesitated. Elizabeth met his gaze, saw the regret and pain churning there.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Cameron.”
The door behind him swung open and a man carrying a large, ugly gun stepped into the hall. He quickly patted down Agent Dawson and removed the weapon he carried in his shoulder holster. Then he did the same to Elizabeth. He ignored the keys and pen.
“This way,” he growled.
Dawson held on tightly to her elbow as they moved into the room the man had indicated. She wished she had told Dawson that she knew he was sorry and that she understood, but there hadn’t been time.
“Well, well.”
Elizabeth’s attention darted in the direction of the female voice. Blond hair cut in a short, spiky style, analyzing gray eyes. She looked tough dressed in her skintight jeans and T-shirt. Her arms were muscular as if she worked out with weights. She wore a shoulder holster which held a handgun while she carried a larger, rifle type weapon similar to that of her comrade.
“I finally get to meet sweet Elizabeth,” the woman said hatefully.
Elizabeth felt her muscles stiffen. This was the woman. She didn’t have to be told. The woman referred to her in a way that David had regularly, sweet Elizabeth.
Unflinching, she lifted her chin and stared at the other woman who seemed to tower over her. “Who are you?”
The witch with the guns laughed, boldly, harshly. “I think you know who I am.”
Elizabeth ignored Dawson’s fingers squeezing her elbow. His concern for her was needless. She doubted either one of them would make it out of here alive.
“You must be the woman David left every time he came home to me,” Elizabeth said succinctly. The transformation on the other woman’s face let her know her words had prompted the desired result.
Looking ready to kill, the woman strode up to Elizabeth and shoved the barrel of the rifle she carried into Elizabeth’s chest. “You think you know something about me, Miss Goody Two-Shoes?”
Elizabeth held her ground despite the terror sending tremor after tremor through her. “I know David never once mentioned you.”
The woman’s face contorted with anger. Elizabeth braced herself for the fallout. To her surprise the woman’s attention shifted to Dawson.
“Get his wife on the line,” she said to her accomplice.
Dawson tensed. “I did everything you asked. You said you’d let them go.”
“That’s right,” Elizabeth interjected, her heart aching for the poor man, “you got what you wanted. Let Agent Dawson and his family go.”
Dawson looked at her then, his expression trapped somewhere between thankful that his family appeared to be safe for the moment—since he would soon hear his wife’s voice—and downtrodden because of what he’d done to Elizabeth.
The woman said nothing to Elizabeth but tossed a cell phone to Dawson.
“Hello?”
The look of relief on his face told Elizabeth that his wife was on the other end of the line.
“You’re all right?” he verified. Horror abruptly claimed his expression. “No!” He stared at the woman who’d given him the phone, then at the phone. “What’ve you done?”
The oxygen evacuated Elizabeth’s lungs and the room suddenly tilted. Had they…? Oh, God.
“Don’t worry, Mr. CIA Agent,” the woman taunted with a wave of her gun, “you’re going to join them…right now.”
The horrible woman fired two shots. Dawson jerked with the impact, staggered back then collapsed on his side into
a twisted heap on the dusty wood floor. The color of blood spread rapidly in a wide circle on his shirtfront.
Elizabeth dropped onto her knees next to him. She rolled him onto his back and assessed the situation.
Before she could attempt to stop the bleeding, the man with the gun hauled her to her feet.
“He’ll die!” Elizabeth screamed at him as if he were deaf or stupid.
“That’s the point,” he said in that low guttural growl of his.
Elizabeth felt the hysteria clawing at the back of her throat. She felt cold and numb. The urge to scream squirmed in her chest.
She thought of the keys in her pocket and how she might be able to use them. But it was no use. She recognized from the location of the wound that nothing she could do in this setting would benefit Agent Dawson.
His family was dead. Maybe he was better off that way, too. He would never have forgiven himself if he’d lived.
Elizabeth swiveled toward the woman standing only a few feet away. “What do you want?” Her voice carried its own kind of malicious intent.
For the first time in her life Elizabeth understood completely how it felt to want to kill someone. If she possessed a weapon she would not hesitate to murder one or both of those holding her hostage.
The woman grinned, an expression straight from hell. “Everything,” she said with sinister glee.
The man grabbed Elizabeth’s arm again and pushed her toward a door on the other side of the room. “Where are we going?” she demanded, a new kind of fear rushing through her veins.
He cut her a look but said nothing.
The smaller room he shoved her into was empty and just as unkempt as the other one. Before she could turn around he slammed the door shut. She rushed to it, knowing before she twisted the knob that it would be locked.
A surge of relief made her knees weak. At least he hadn’t followed her in here.
She moved back from the door, took a moment to gather her wits. Okay, she had to think.
The events of the past few minutes reeled through her mind like a horror flick. She closed her eyes and banished the images. She didn’t want to see Dawson’s face when he’d heard whatever they did to his wife on the other end of that phone call. She didn’t want to see him fall into a dying heap on the floor over and over.