by Amy McKinley
The emotional rollercoaster he was on, which began the moment he’d learned she was on the plane that went down, continued through her disappearance during the rescue, became more intense when the weapon conveniently disappeared along with her, and grew even worse when he thought about her assumed treachery, had him in a tailspin of unpleasant theories.
Images of Hannah invaded his thoughts. The first time he’d laid eyes on her, almost a year before, flashed through his mind, creating a barrage of sensations. He’d been at the CIA, needing to talk to Rich and checking to see how long Chris would be working on a project for them. Henry had been there for a meeting and had brought her along to take notes and be on hand should he need anything else. Bright, artificial light had illuminated the hallway as he bypassed employees to get to Chris’s temporary office. Annoyance sparked as he brushed against another suit who had his face buried in his phone.
Used to, but not a fan of, the level of distraction from the busy agents and employees who traveled those halls, he studied them as he neared Chris’s office. They were mostly the same type—suit and tie or no suit coat but tie and a harried expression. Bored, he swung his gaze past the two men he’d just passed and tensed at the sight of the leggy blonde directly in his path. She strode with purpose, her focus also on her phone. His eyes slid over her black pencil skirt, which highlighted the curve of her hips and small waist, before snagging on her attention-grabbing platinum hair then lingering on her plump lips.
The prospect of meeting her had elicited a grin. She had a face that promised heaven and a body that would deliver sin. While she wasn’t watching, he let his gaze wander over her curves again. She was toned all over and soft in all the right places, at least from what he could tell through the tight skirt and how the creamy silk of her blouse lay against her.
She lifted her head, and when they locked eyes, a spark of electricity charged the air. Her mysterious, pale-blue eyes held his attention. She continued toward him, and he had an irrational desire to slam her against the wall, press against her sexy body, and kiss her hard and well enough to take her breath away.
“Jack.” A voice from the other side of the hallway shattered his focus on the blond woman.
With reluctance, he turned from the temptress to acknowledge Sally, Rich’s secretary, as she hurried after him.
“Rich meant to give you these files too.”
“Thanks.” He nodded before turning back to the invisible thread that tied him to the other woman. A man walked by her while gesturing animatedly in his conversation to a colleague. As he passed her, he jostled her with an overeager elbow. Annoyance flashed over the blonde’s face as papers rained down while he hurried past, barely acknowledging the folders that had flown from her grasp.
The guy mumbled a hurried apology as he resumed his conversation with the other man. What a dick. Jack closed the distance between them as she bent to scoop up the folders, shoving the contents back in the two that’d opened. One lay closest to his feet, so he picked it up and handed it to her.
The name at the top of the folder caught his attention—Chris Shaw. What the hell? What is she doing with a file on Chris?
“Thank you.” She flashed him a smile, and his mind went blank. “Hazard of the job. I’m Hannah, by the way.”
“Jack.” Grinning, he rose as she did, her belongings once more in her arms. The need to know more about her compelled him. “Who’s your boss? We should have a word with him about the dangers in the hallway. Maybe get a bodyguard,” he teased. “I can stand in for the job.” Her throaty laughter sent a bolt of desire through him. “Or you could have dinner with me.”
She tapped a finger against her phone before she inclined her head. “That sounds nice. I get off work at seven. I’ll meet you out front.”
“Seven it is.”
In no time at all, he found himself once more at the entrance to the CIA’s headquarters, leaning against the railing, his feet crossed at the ankles. He kept an eye on the door to the building and the people milling about.
A flash of silvery-blond caught his attention as Hannah exited the building and angled toward him in unhurried steps. A small smile played around the edges of her full lips. He stayed where he was, content to watch the gentle sway of her hips as she neared.
“Hi, stranger.” A mischievous glint entered those seductive eyes of hers.
They ended up at the steak joint down the street, sharing a bottle of red wine. The conversation stayed light, and he learned she was the executive secretary to Henry Williker and was only at the CIA that day due to the meeting he and Rich had. The file that’d sent alarm bells clanging through his head made sense because Henry would have access to details about Chris. Hell, they were working on some top-secret project together, collaborating with Rich. With her job, he was surprised the dipshit in the hallway hadn’t been aware of her. Her position should have commanded respect.
In all the dates he’d gone on since his ex-girlfriend Jenni, none had ever affected him the way Hannah seemed to. Their conversation flowed, and mutual attraction sizzled. As the night wore on, cracks formed in the wall he’d built around his heart after Jenni. Part of him wanted to run far and fast, but he couldn’t. Besides, it’d been too long, and he needed to let his past go. She wasn’t Jenni—they’d been just kids in a messed-up Romeo and Juliet type of scenario. The situation wasn’t the same—family wasn’t keeping them apart. History wouldn’t repeat itself.
The night had ended with Jack taking Hannah home and walking her to her apartment door. Electricity continued to crackle between them, and her hesitation when she pulled out her keys further heightened their awareness of one another.
He crowded her into the door so her back pressed against it. With a burning need to touch her, he raised a hand to her hip and leaned in slowly. Brushing his lips over hers in a slow caress, he teased her until her arms circled around his neck. He closed the space between them, pushed her against the door once more, and pressed his body into hers. She was soft in all the right places.
She opened for him, and he slid his tongue inside. Tangling his hand into her soft hair, he cradled the base of her neck, tilting her head for an angle that allowed him to deepen the kiss. She trembled beneath him, and he softened the kiss before breaking it. Their breaths collided in heavy puffs. Seconds passed while each regained their composure.
Holy hell. “I’d like to see you again. This weekend.” Need laced his voice. He wanted nothing more than to have her invite him inside, but they’d only just had their first date.
She nodded, her eyes glazed with desire, her pupils dilated. Swollen lips tempted him to taste them again, but instead he took her keys from her hand, opened the door, and guided her inside before dropping them back in her hand. “Lock the door behind you.”
“Always.” She grinned. “Thanks for tonight.”
The cry of a monkey pulled Jack from the memory of their first meeting and their first date, which had led to several more then the odd way they left things.
He’d covered most of the distance between the two towns. Only about a mile remained. The problem was what the hell he was going to do with Hannah once he found her.
Dark clouds rolled in, and the humid air thickened with the promising scent of rain. A storm was coming. It was still October, and they were in the midst of the rainy season. Jack eyed the clouds to judge when the deluge would begin. Any minute. As he thought it, lightning split the sky, and thunder cracked and boomed shortly thereafter. Spying a café with a rather long overhang, he dashed for it, never expecting to run into the very person he searched for.
A woman sat at one of the outdoor tables, just beneath the overhang. He went on instant alert the closer he got. The set of her shoulders. The way she held herself. The curve of her cheek and tilt of her head. The rich brown hair that fell past her shoulders didn’t deter him. It used to be a shimmering blond, but it didn’t matter. He would recognize Hannah anywhere.
Anger churned in his gut as he
approached the small table under the protective lean-to. He pulled out the seat opposite her.
Pale-blue eyes flared with recognition, the only sign of emotion visible on her flawless face. He’d witnessed her ice-queen act before, though it had never been directed at him. He held her stare while signaling for the waitress to fill the coffee cup he righted. When it was full, he let the anger he’d held in check slowly bubble to the surface.
“I thought you were dead. Reported the probability that you were.” Clenching his hand under the table into a fist, he repressed the urge to simultaneously hug and shake her. “While I’m relieved you’re alive, your very presence here leads me to believe you had a hand in orchestrating the plane crash. The briefcase is missing too. Where is it? Who the hell are you working for, Hannah?”
“It’s good to see you too, Jack.” Her lips quirked into a mocking grin. “Maybe the more important question is, what are you going to do?”
She’s different. “There are many things I could do. Which one depends on your answers.” Where is the goddamn weapon? It was hard to even entertain that she had a part in stealing it, but that was a possibility he couldn’t rule out. A tic pulsed in his jaw. He covered the telltale sign of his agitation by taking a sip of the scalding coffee.
They were in a standoff of sorts. Nether said a word as another rumble of thunder sounded above. It matched his mood. The threatening clouds made due with their promise as rain burst from the sky and fell in a loud chorus around them.
Hannah placed her forearms on the table and leaned closer. An arctic chill emanated from her as she dropped her gaze and let it slowly travel over him. “There’s not much for me to tell you. Things are complicated.” She shrugged. “I’m here. I’m not dead—yet.”
“That tells me nothing, Hannah. Not who you’re working for, why you’re here, or if you had anything to do with Chris’s disappearance.”
She frowned. “Chris isn’t back?” Her face lost color. “Henry. Is Henry okay?”
Interesting. “Henry is fine.”
She visibly relaxed.
So she cares about him? “And no, Chris is not back, and I think you know why. What’d you do?”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t do anything to him.” A second passed as she seemed to weigh her options. “But I did do something for him.”
Jack fought the urge to shake the answer from her. Interrogations of any kind weren’t a problem for him. But with Hannah, it was personal. She meant something. For the first time since he was a teenager and in love with Jenni, he had wanted to commit to a woman—to Hannah. “So you were involved.”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.” She did a quick sweep of the tables around them. “Look, I tried to help him. To give him a reason to leave.”
The rain provided enough noise and a barrier from prying eyes. It seemed to appease her—he needed to find out why. “Why would you need to misdirect him? Help me out here, Hannah. Otherwise, I’m just going to think the worst.”
She laughed in that rich, throaty way that drove him wild. “Go ahead. Think the worst, Jack.” With a long finger, she traced the edge of her saucer as she picked up the cup with her other hand. “You can’t hold me, you can’t keep me here, and you definitely can’t return me for prosecution for something you know nothing about.”
“The crash wasn’t an accident. Are you the mole?”
“Maybe. Or maybe not the way you think.” Her lips briefly compressed into an aggravated line.
He reached out and pulled her hand away from the saucer, removing her option to launch it at him. With barely restrained aggression, he stayed seated and instead pressed her for more information. “Tell me about Chris, help me understand.”
Setting the cup down, she tugged her hand free. “After I escaped—”
“Escaped.” His body tensed as a surge of anger rushed through him. “You expect me to believe that?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she huffed. “Fine. Let’s just skip ahead. I found myself in the jungle, a ways away from where the camp was. I came across a woman and ended up saving her from an unpleasant situation. She needed help.” With a shrug, she took another sip of coffee. “After walking for a while, we ran into Chris, and I left the two of them together. She was desperate to cross the border, and I knew he’d do whatever he could to help her.”
“So you expect me to believe he would do that without contacting us?”
“He didn’t have any way to get in touch with you, and you didn’t see the woman.” She grinned. “Besides, it was better that he stayed hidden in the jungle and got out through Panama before contacting you for retrieval.”
“Why?”
She pursed her lips. “Don’t you know? He created a highly sought-after weapon for your government. He was in danger here. Wanted.”
Fuck—she’s guilty. “I know about the weapon, Hannah. Where is it?”
“Time’s up.” Hannah’s features hardened, and she launched the saucer at his throat.
Jack managed to lean to the side, and the porcelain skimmed his neck before it crashed behind him. Jumping to his feet, he raced after her in the pouring rain. Visibility sucked. A blur dashed off to his left, and he took off after her at full speed. She was only a few feet ahead.
Splashing through puddles of rain that’d fallen too fast for the dry ground to absorb, he closed the distance between them. Within grabbing distance, he halted, and clamped a hand on her arm. He jerked her around. It wasn’t Hannah. Dammit. What is she up to?
Chapter 13
Hannah
Jack being in Colombia was a huge problem. He had been a mistake, a weakness she’d stupidly indulged in. Hannah had a job to do and the training to execute it without distractions—but he was one.
Not far behind her, Jack swore. He was closing in fast. She passed another woman in the street, her feet splashing in the puddles as she ran. She pumped her arms. There were trees ahead. Detouring to the left, she pushed herself to sprint faster while the rain continued to fall in sheets.
With a quick turn, she skidded to a crop of trees and threw herself behind the closest one. With her fingers clutching the wet bark, she panted from her all-out sprint. Without meaning to, her mind replayed the seconds before she’d leapt up from the table and run. Did I really do that? The saucer had left her hand, and she’d fled before it struck his windpipe. There hadn’t been a choice.
Seeing him had been painful. There was no future for them, and there never had been. She’d tried to be fair while they’d dated, letting him know she wouldn’t—couldn’t—commit. In the beginning, he didn’t care, but she could tell she meant something to him. He did to me as well.
There was no way she could have stayed there and chatted with Jack at the café without letting him in even further. She wasn’t kidding about having no life. What he also didn’t know was she had no country to call her own. Not anymore.
Not only that, she didn’t have time for their cat-and-mouse games. The meeting was to occur in about thirty minutes. Where the pilot told her to go wasn’t far—a building on the outskirts, just before the dirt road that led out of town. The rain provided cover as she weaved through the empty streets, careful to stay clear of where Jack could have been hiding.
Visibility was terrible, but the change in weather cooled her on an otherwise scorching day. As she walked, she contemplated her second contact with another Russian spy in nine years. The pilot had been the first.
Thinking of the pilot sent off warning bells. There had been something so familiar about him. Her instinct to fight had been immediately triggered.
The rendezvous point was just ahead. Will I remember him? Per the instructions, she should’ve had Chris in tow. That wasn’t going to happen, and she needed to come up with a reason for why he wasn’t with her.
I could’ve used Jack and pretended he was Chris—if he would’ve gone along with her ruse. For a few moments, she toyed with the scenario. Will my contact know what Chris looks like? Doubtful.
Still, it was a risk she couldn’t take. Better to say she had him stashed somewhere safe or that she’d killed him. She could proceed from there.
Palming a knife, she kept it close to her thigh, hidden from view. She would have preferred her gun, but it was better not to raise any alarms. She rounded the corner and stopped short. A man leaned against the back of the building, shielded mostly from the rain by the small overhang. A cigarette danged from his lips and flared a bright orange as he inhaled. Unease skittered along her exposed skin.
“Sister.” He nodded, his steely eyes flaring. “Where is the weapons specialist?”
The greeting almost elicited a reaction because a comrade was easier to deal with. None of the people involved were related to her. Her sister was dead. Everything had changed. “He’s safe. No point in risking him knowing too much by meeting with us.”
He grunted. “Your job is mostly done. Tell me where the weapons specialist is, and I will take care of him.”
Arrogance dripped from his words, and she had to forcibly restrain herself from attacking too early. “Of course.” An image of a boy danced in her mind, and immediately she placed him from her past. “Ilya?”
A grin stretched across his craggy features. “You remember me. I was beginning to wonder. It’s good to see one another again after such a long time.”
She stepped forward and clasped his hands. “It is. To be so alone here…”
“Yes. I look forward to completing our tasks so I may return to our mother country once more.”
“You’re going back?”
He nodded. “Yes, my cover will soon be blown. I am to deliver the codes you give me. You have them?”
“Oh, yes.” She rattled off the series of numbers Henry had given her for the case. “There is no other contact to be made?”
“No. We are radio silent now. I’ll bring the code to my handler.”
She grinned—that was good. “And what am I to do?”