She nodded, trying desperately to get into character. Unfortunately, every man she’d ever cared about had been a liar, a cheat or both, and the only emotion she could dredge up was fear. “Do you think he’s noticed us?”
“Not yet, but if you keep looking like a deer in the headlights it’ll only be a matter of time before he does.”
“I told you I’m not a good actress.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to compensate.” Before she knew what he’d planned, Hawke whirled her into his arms and kissed her. The contact was brief, a quick press of his lips to hers. Something that should have been nothing, but felt like much more. Electricity. Chemistry. All the things she would have wanted if they were a real couple on a real honeymoon.
Her cheeks heated and she had to resist the urge to press her fingers to her lips.
Hawke seemed unfazed by the contact, his arm wrapping around her waist once again, his focus on the customs official who was waving them forward. “Hand me your passport, babe.”
She pulled it from her purse, trying to still the fine tremors that raced through her, trying to calm the wild racing of her heart.
Hawke handed the man both passports, smiling down at Miranda as the documents were checked and stamped.
“Do you have anything to claim?” The official’s words were deeply accented, his eyes dark brown and blank—he asked the question a thousand times a day and probably expected nothing out of the ordinary.
“No.” Hawke’s own accent had slipped away, replaced by a Texas drawl that made Miranda wince. Obviously, he had no formal training in voice disguise, but the customs official didn’t seem bothered by it. He stamped the passports, waving Hawke and Miranda through and turning his attention to the next person in line.
One down. One more to go.
Miranda was sure she felt eyes spearing into her as she and Hawke sauntered away. The tension in Hawke’s arm told her he felt it, too, and she met his gaze, saw the warning there.
Please, God, don’t let us get stopped now.
The prayer chanted through her mind, her feet moving by rote, one plodding step at a time. Her body felt disconnected from the fear that thrummed along her nerves. Shouldn’t adrenaline be pumping through her, adding a burst of energy to her flagging reserves? She was sure it should, but there was nothing. Not even a little oomph to help her move more quickly.
“You okay, darlin’?” Hawke spoke loudly, his drawl attracting attention from half a dozen people.
“Just tired.” She hoped that was the response he was looking for.
“You sure? ’Cause you’re lookin’ a little green around the gills. If you need to use the little girl’s room it’s right down this hall.” If the situation hadn’t been so serious, the implications of his words so frightening, Miranda might have laughed at his suddenly overdone acting.
As it was, she was sure she was turning the greenish hue he’d mentioned, fear pulsing through her as she realized what Hawke must be trying to tell her—they’d been spotted. “I am feeling a little queasy. You know what a bad traveler I am.”
“You’ll feel better once we get settled in.” He steered her toward a corridor as he spoke, his hand hard against her waist. “Looks like the restroom is right down this hall. Come on.”
He pulled her into a narrow corridor marked with restroom and pay-phone signs, led her a few steps into the dimly lit hall, then dropped his hold on their suitcase, his arm slipping from her waist, his hand claiming hers. “Run!”
Before she could catch her breath, think things through, decide what Hawke’s plan was, they were racing down the hall toward what looked like an emergency exit, slamming into it, forcing it open. A high-pitched shriek split the air, the sound of screams and footfall echoing into the corridor. Chaos followed them into bright sunlight and buzzing traffic, honking horns and thick, humid air. Miranda could barely breathe, whether from fear or from the moisture hanging so heavy around her, she didn’t know. Her heart slammed in time with her pounding feet, her breath gasping from searing lungs.
And they ran on, past startled street vendors and waving taxi drivers, turning one corner after another, moving from affluence to squalor, from suits to rags, running on and on until Miranda was sure her heart would burst with the effort.
She stumbled, her foot catching on cracked pavement, and skidded onto her knees, pain slicing through her as Hawke yanked her back upright, barely breaking his stride.
“Come on, babe. You said you could run three miles. Prove it.” He growled the words, his grip on her hand painfully tight.
“I didn’t think I’d have to do it at this fast a pace.” She panted the words out, her anger at Hawke and at her weakness, at the situation making her grit her teeth and move faster.
“We do what we have to do to survive.” He yanked her down a dank alley, slowing his pace from a dead run to a jog. Still, Miranda couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t get her heartbeat to slow. Of all the ways to die, this would be the last she’d ever imagine for herself—collapsing from heart failure in a back alley in Southeast Asia.
Things slithered and scurried in the dark shadows, the sounds carrying above Miranda’s gasps and the pounding of shoes against pavement. Snakes, rats, huge spiders, Miranda imagined any and all lurking just out of sight. None were quite as bad as what she imagined might be coming behind her. Men. With guns. Men who wanted her dead.
The thought alone was enough to keep her going.
Finally, Hawke stopped, glancing behind and ahead before approaching a run-down apartment building. “This is it.”
“Home?”
“Of a sort.”
“You don’t think the DEA will be waiting for you here?”
“They don’t know about it. Come on. We can get supplies and call for a ride.” He tugged her up crumbling cement steps and into the dark lobby of the building. The water-stained red carpet must have once been lush and thick, but now looked dingy and old, the mildewy scent that emanated from it thick enough to make Miranda’s eyes water.
She coughed, her empty stomach rebelling, her vision swimming, the dim light fading.
“Hey, you okay?” Hawke’s hands rested on her shoulders, holding her steady, his eyes staring into hers, anchoring her even more than his firm grip.
“Fine.”
He didn’t move, his gaze searching hers as if he might find another answer within the depth of her eyes.
The intensity of his stare lodged in Miranda’s stomach and she pulled away from his hands. In the two days they’d spent traveling, she’d learned little about her companion, their conversations limited by the public nature of their transportation. She’d wondered, though, who he was, what had made him decide to take the job the DEA had offered, whether or not he was telling her the whole truth about what was going on. In the end, she’d found no answers, only a still-quiet voice that told her Hawke was her best hope for survival.
She fidgeted under his stare, brushing at the faded denim of her jeans and tugging at one long, dark lock of her phony hair. “Aren’t we going to your place?”
“Only if you can make it up four flights of stairs.”
“I’ve made it this far. I can make it a little farther.”
“Good.” He started up, and Miranda followed behind, the scuffed wood railing and paint-peeling walls closing in on her as she hurried up one flight after another. At any moment she expected to hear sounds of pursuit, a door slamming open, footfall, gunshots. But besides her own gasping breath and the pad of her shoes and Hawke’s, the building seemed empty.
By the time they reached the fourth-floor landing, she was ready to collapse, her wobbly knees and shaking legs making her wish she’d kept up the exercise program she’d started at the beginning of the year. Next year she’d do better. If she survive
d that long.
Hawke grabbed her hand, pulling her to a stop. “Wait here. I’m going to check things out.”
“What things?” Miranda’s heart skipped a beat at the look in his eyes. “You think someone is waiting for us?”
“If I did, we wouldn’t be here, but I’m still going to check.” Hawke could tell by the look on Miranda’s face that she didn’t like the idea of waiting around while he did recon, but he planned to do it anyway. Anything else would be a foolish risk. He’d come too far to get caught now.
She shifted from foot to foot, the dark wig she wore framing a face that was gaunt with fear and fatigue. Despite that, despite her obvious stress, her skin was flawless, her cheeks pink with exertion. Her lips…
He stopped the thought cold. Kissing her in the airport had seemed a good idea. Until he’d done it. Now he was doing his best to forget the touch of her lips against his. Thinking about the softness of her mouth was not the way to do that.
“Stay here.” There was more force to his words than necessary, anger at what he’d done making his voice harsh.
If she noticed, Miranda didn’t seem to care. Her hand fisted around his wrist. “We can go together.”
“And risk getting caught together? You stay here. I’ll come back for you if it’s clear.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Then you need to find your way to Mae Hong Son.” It’s where his home was, the only place he ever felt truly safe. If she made it there, his team would take care of her. If. Miranda knew nothing about Thailand, nothing about who she could trust and who she couldn’t. Without him, she’d be lost.
So, he’d just have make sure she didn’t have to be without him.
Her compassion for a stranger had gotten her into this mess. His determination would get her out of it.
He hoped.
Hawke grimaced, raking his hair back from his forehead. The pounding pain in his head had faded hours ago; the dull ache that replaced it was more tolerable. Adrenaline hummed through his veins, stealing exhaustion. Here on his home turf, he knew the rules, knew how to play the game. All he had to do was stay one step ahead of his enemies. And that’s exactly what he planned to do.
“Do what I say and stay here.” He threw the words over his shoulder as he pushed open the door that led to the fourth-floor hallway. There were apartments on either side of the long, narrow space. All had been abandoned years ago, their doors yawning open into debris-littered rooms. Even here in one of the more derelict sections of Bangkok, money could be made from renting out the space. Hawke had no desire to do so. The occupied apartments on the lower levels were for those who had no other place to go. Women mostly. Though a few men were there, as well. Displaced, homeless, but all with families who depended on them. Hawke had given them a place to stay. In return, they kept an eye on the property. If there’d been trouble here, one of the occupants would have posted a lookout and warned him before he arrived. Still, it didn’t pay to take chances and he approached the one closed door on the floor with caution, his fingers itching to wrap around the gun he’d had to leave in the States.
The door was locked just as he he’d left it nine months ago. He used his key, shoving the door open with one hand, his body pressed close to the wall. No barrage of bullets followed, no whisper of sound or pinprick of warning along his nerves. He waited anyway, his body still as death, everything inside him straining for out-of-place sounds, shifting shadows. Five minutes passed. Then seven. When nothing moved, he went in low, his gaze scanning the room. No furniture. No closets. Nowhere for someone to hide. Just the way he’d planned it.
He moved around a corner and into the empty kitchen and found no sign that his safe house had been discovered. He hadn’t expected it to be. He’d told no one about the place. Not his brother and not any of his men. Betrayal could come from the most trusted ally. Even family. He’d learned that lesson too late to save his parents and sister. It was one he would never forget.
He shook aside thoughts of the past, refusing to allow distraction. One moment of hesitation, one second of inattention could cost a man his life. Another well-learned lesson. One he’d been lucky to survive.
Lucky?
The question whispered through his mind as it had so many times since the day six years ago when Noah Stone had saved his life. The jungles of Mae Hong Son weren’t a place where men ran into each other. Yet somehow Noah had found Hawke lying nearly dead in the summer overgrowth.
The past again. It seemed to haunt him these last few days. Perhaps it was Miranda, her quiet resolve and obvious normality reminding Hawke of all he’d lost. Or perhaps it was his own need for something more than the life he’d made that had him dwelling on the times better forgotten. Whatever the case, he couldn’t afford the distraction.
He grabbed the doorknob to the only bedroom in the apartment. Locked. Just as he’d left it. He used a second key to unlock the door. He pulled it open, his gaze dropping. A thin white thread stretched across the doorway a foot above the floor.
Hawke smiled, relaxing for the first time in days.
Unlike the rest of the apartment, this room was furnished with a bed, a desk, a computer, a dresser and a chair. To the left, a door opened into the apartment’s only bathroom. To the right, a closed door concealed the supplies Hawke needed. He moved quickly, unlocking the closet door and the metal safe within it, pulling out the gun and ammo he kept there, a handful of cash and coins and a cell phone. He’d call Simon, make sure his younger brother was staying out of trouble, then call one of his men to arrange transportation.
He pushed speed dial, pulling on a shoulder harness while the phone rang. “Come on, Si, pick up.” Hawke muttered the words as he strode back across the room, a sense of urgency feeding his steps. Miranda was waiting. Hopefully in exactly the place he’d left her.
The phone continued to ring, no answering machine and no answer, until Hawke finally hung up. There was something wrong. Really wrong.
A sound carried on the still air, a whisper of movement just out of sight. Hawke eased up against the wall, the gun in his hand a familiar friend, adrenaline coursing through him as it had so often in the past ten years. This was his life. What he had become. What it seemed he would always be. A man one mistake away from death.
Another sound followed the first, a brush of fabric against the wall or the soft sigh of someone’s breath. Hawke stayed put, letting the intruder come to him, listening to the air, feeling the slight disturbance of another’s presence even before he saw the dark shape rounding the corner.
And then he didn’t wait any longer. He lunged.
Chapter Eight
Miranda would have screamed if she’d had time, but she didn’t. One minute she was creeping through a seemingly empty apartment, the next she was tackled, a full-body collision that would have sent her sprawling if a hand hadn’t clamped around her waist, yanking her upright.
“Are you crazy?” Hawke’s shout penetrated her terror and Miranda’s legs went weak with relief.
“You didn’t come back. I thought you’d passed out.” Or been injured. Or worse.
“I told you to stay where you were.” Hawke’s eyes blazed with fury, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
“You didn’t tell me how long to wait.” Her own anger reared up. “If you had, I wouldn’t have had to come looking.”
“You could have gotten yourself killed.” He released his hold on her waist, waved a gun near her face. “This isn’t a toy. We’re not playing a game. Mistakes like you just made cost lives. Do you understand?”
Miranda’s eyes were riveted to the gun, her throat so tight she couldn’t speak. She nodded instead, the movement jerky. Death had never been something to fear, though now, in the face of what might have happened, Miranda desperately wanted to avoid it.
&
nbsp; “Good, because I didn’t come into this mission planning to lose you. From now on you stay where I leave you. I can’t spend the next few days worrying that every noise I hear might be you. Hesitation kills. I can’t afford to hesitate.” His voice softened as he spoke, the muscles in his jaw relaxing.
He traced a line down her jaw, lifting her chin and peering into her eyes. “Come sit down on the bed. You look like you’re about to keel over.”
Miranda didn’t argue as he urged her down onto a soft comforter. Her legs were weak, her mind empty. “I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“Sure you were. You were thinking about me. Next time, think about yourself.” He shoved the gun into the holster he now wore, pulled his hair back at the nape of his neck, grabbed clothes from a dresser and a backpack from a closet, his movements methodical and easy, as if he’d performed them a thousand times before.
“Are we going somewhere?”
“I’m going somewhere. You’re staying here until I get back.”
“I don’t think I like that idea.”
“Babe, there hasn’t been an idea of mine yet that you have.” He shot her a crooked grin, pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call my brother and arrange a ride for us. Then I’ve got some business to attend to in Bangkok. The safest place for you is here.”
Miranda wanted to argue, but doing so would only be a waste of time. The sooner Hawke left and came back, the sooner they could find the person who’d set him up and Miranda could return home. “All right.”
He cocked an eyebrow, leaned a shoulder against the wall and watched Miranda through dark eyes. “All right? Will it be that simple this time?”
“I’m too tired to do anymore running.”
Valley of Shadows and Stranger in the Shadows: Valley of ShadowsStranger in the Shadows Page 7