One last check of her watch showed ten on the dot. Where were they? She scowled at the empty sky.
“Are we too late?” Felix whispered.
“No,” she replied, praying that she wasn’t lying.
Then the rhythmic thump of helicopter blades caught her attention. From the sound, they were still minutes away. But they were coming. Relief flowed over her, and she motioned for him to stay close and low. Now was not the time to lose her head. Now was the time for utmost caution. Because if she heard the chopper, then so did the soldiers searching for herself and Felix.
Patience.
“Shut up, Quinn,” she mouthed to herself.
Prepared for an ambush, she moved into the open. But there were no running feet. No cries of revenge. Nothing reached her ears but the sound of the chopper blades calling her and Felix to freedom.
They were closer. The blades louder.
Grabbing the biologist’s hand, she forced him to keep pace as she darted up the remaining incline, tearing through the bushes, branches whipping against her arms and legs.
They reached the pick-up area, and the helicopter crested the hill. The rotors blew her hair into a tangle and forced Felix to his knees, the tall grass flowing around him like water.
Then out of the corner of her eye, she spotted three men in camouflage emerging from the jungle, guns raised as they ran to intercept.
She raised her weapon, ready to meet force with force. She was getting Felix on that chopper, and no one was stopping her. She refused to fail.
Her finger tightened on the trigger, but shots echoed from the ’copter before she completed the motion. One of the FARC soldiers jerked and fell backward.
Diego? Her stomach rolled, and she realized the silhouette was too big to be the teen. She prayed the young soldier stayed out of sight. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched the helicopter land thirty feet away. The door opened, and someone in the main cabin motioned her to run to them.
Dragging Felix up by his collar, she pushed him toward freedom and dropped to the ground, shooting in the direction of the soldiers, forcing them to hunker down and take cover as the scientist headed toward the still-beckoning hand.
The two remaining FARC soldiers grew brave and advanced toward her. Diego came into her sights. Don’t. Her mouth moved in silent prayer. Please don’t. Just this once—choose what’s right over FARC.
Diego raised his rifle, his intentions clear in the light of the moon.
But she couldn’t. He was just a kid.
Moving behind a boulder for more cover, she propped herself on the edge, took aim, and fired, hitting his leg and knocking him to the ground. He didn’t rise.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Felix reach the helicopter and a camouflaged airman help him inside.
Mission accomplished.
Soon, he’d reunite with his daughter, and she knew why she did what she did—why any of the HRS agents did what they did. It was for this singular moment, when they got to send an innocent victim, abandoned by law enforcement and their own country, home.
A shadowy presence in the copilot seat motioned for her to come onboard, but she ignored it. She couldn’t leave. Not with Claire still out there at the river camp waiting for rescue.
She waived the ’copter off, and another shot rang out. Ah—the third soldier. All she needed to do was dispatch him, and she could head back down the mountain and act the innocent. She was confident the other guerillas would believe her. They thought her a bit of an idiot—she’d made sure to play the part well. It was doubtful they’d think her capable of a rescue mission, much less playing them all for the fools they were.
And as far as Diego went, she’d convince him to keep quiet. Somehow.
Crouched down, she watched for the third shooter to make a mistake. Then someone jumped from the helicopter, pelting toward her.
Oh, crap. She didn’t need this. She gestured him back, but he kept coming.
Seconds later, her would-be rescuer was at her side and drawing her close. His mouth pressed against her ear with an outlandish intimacy considering the situation.
“You screwed the pooch but good, didn’t you, Eva?” a familiar, masculine voice said in her ear.
The sound of the ’copter faded, and the world rushed away. It couldn’t be. Not here. Not now.
He twisted toward her, the moonlight illuminating his features, giving them depth and darkness and an otherworldly strength.
But it was him. And he was here.
“Quinn.”
…
Sniper rifle still in hand, Quinn Blackwood, Director of the South American rescue and recovery branch of HRS and Eva’s direct boss, shook his head at her in what she assumed was disappointment at being caught. But before she could reply, bullets pinged along the outside of the rock behind which they crouched.
Dealing with her would have to wait.
Nestling the rifle butt against his shoulder, he took aim. The last FARC soldier struggled to his feet and fired again.
“Dumbass,” he muttered, targeting him through the night scope. “Gotcha.”
He squeezed the trigger, and the last man fell. Quinn didn’t enjoy killing, but as far as he was concerned, FARC soldiers were terrorists, and if killing them kept innocent people safe, then so be it.
He grabbed Eva’s arm. “Time to go.”
She jerked away, her dark hair whipping around her shoulder. “I’m heading back down.”
Stubborn pain in the ass. It was a quality he both loved and loathed about her. He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”
Even in the moonlight, he didn’t miss the way her eyes flared with anger. “Not happening.”
He sighed. Why did she have to do everything the hard way? He stood beside her, but as she turned away to head back down the mountain, he wrapped his hands around her waist and tossed her over his shoulder, a hand on her hip to hold her in place. She jammed an elbow into his kidney. He flinched at the blow but didn’t break stride as he sprinted for the chopper.
“Goddamn it, Quinn. Get your hand off my ass and put me down!” She shouted the command over the sound of the blades, reaching up and back to try to punch him in the head for emphasis, but it was too late. They’d reached the open door of the helicopter.
The same type of chopper used by the Colombian military, the HRS Blackhawk was devoid of seats in the main cabin. He tossed her inside. “There. You’re down,” he shouted back as he followed her into the helicopter’s cabin.
The craft rose off the ground, nose pointing toward Bogotá.
“You have no right.” She scrambled forward, but he reached behind him and pulled the door of the chopper shut. In seconds, they were fifty feet in the air and following the ridgeline to safety.
It was over. She clenched her hands into tight fists and sank to the floor.
He couldn’t hear her but saw her mouth, “Bastard.”
Securing his weapon, he wedged it under the copilot seat. Retrieving his wireless headset, he slipped it back on and made his way to the rear of the helicopter, intentionally ignoring Eva.
“That him?” he asked the crew members in the back as they bandaged the elderly passenger.
“Yes, sir. Looks like it,” the medic replied, and the old man offered a tired nod.
Quinn leaned back on his heels. Damned if it wasn’t.
Forty pounds lighter and covered with sores, but it was the biologist, there was no doubt about that.
Good for Eva.
Beside him, she yelled at the pilot, demanding to be returned to the mountain so she could complete her mission.
Time to confront his primary reason for accompanying the rescue before she tried to commandeer the chopper. He turned his attention to the petite Colombian operative. Two months in the jungle had left her ten pounds too thin; her lush, black hair had lost its sheen, and the filth on her jacket made him wonder if she’d rolled in mud.
But even in the aftermath of the rescue, every nerve
in his body sang at seeing her again. At the memory of kissing her neck. Touching the softest skin he’d ever felt—
“What the hell are you doing here?” she shouted as she moved into his line of vision.
Or clamping a hand over her smart mouth.
As much as he didn’t want to listen to her tirade, he knew that withholding a headset wouldn’t shut her up. He held up a finger to indicate “wait”, dug through a pouch on the back of the copilot seat to retrieve one of the communication devices, handed it to her, and braced himself. “Say again?”
“I said, what the hell are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” Her ire made it easier to dismiss the more tender memories. Besides, now was not the time for a trip down memory lane.
“Temperance send you?” she asked, back pressed against the side of the chopper and arms crossed over her chest.
The opposite. Temperance, West Coast Vice President of HRS Operations, had tried to talk him out of coming. But Colombia was his territory and his responsibility. “Doing my job. That’s all.”
Her full lips tipped down in a frown. “Since when?”
Since he’d left the training center and gone back into the field so he could keep an eye on her. “I run this region,” he shot back, trying to ignore the dig. He nodded toward Felix. “And it’s a good thing I came.”
“You think so? You blew my mission,” she said, her hands tightening into fists at her side.
Let her be angry. At least she was alive. “No, you blew your mission. There were three people gunning for you. Three.”
“Were,” she shot back, emphasizing the past tense. “Now they’re dead.”
Did she believe that? “Not the one you shot in the leg,” Quinn countered. He’d seen her aim low at the teenaged FARC soldier and knew the kid was alive.
She shrugged.
So she had missed on purpose. He tried to hide his disappointment at her decision even as she continued talking. “I could have dealt with him. He’s young. Confused.”
The disappointment was impossible to hold back now. He’d taught her better than this. “You’d be dead. You know that.”
“What about Claire?” she asked. “She’s my responsibility. I can’t abandon her. Drop me off, and I can fix this.”
Desperation replaced the anger in her voice, and Quinn wished he could give her what she wanted. He knew that same sense of urgency. The sick feeling that came with knowing that failure meant a person was left behind.
He also knew what would happen if he caved to her demands. “You’re done here.”
Chapter Two
“You’re back early!” Eva’s roommate Holly Milano, makeup artists to the stars, bounced into their shared Los Angeles apartment, tossing her gym bag on the coffee table before she swept across the room.
Eva had arrived late last night to find the place empty. Normally, the silence would have been bliss, since she needed time to readjust to her “normal” life. But knowing she had a meeting with Temperance the next morning, she’d been disappointed at the lack of distractions.
Alone, she’d stared into the dark for hours before crawling out of bed and channel surfing until sunrise.
“And you’re observant,” Eva replied with a smile. Pulling her chenille robe tight to help hide the bruises she’d picked up as she rescued Felix, she set her coffee cup on the floor next to her chair and rose to hug her roommate.
“Missed you, smarty pants,” Holly said in her ear.
“Better a smarty pants, than a dummy pants,” Eva voiced the reply to their ritual greeting.
She’d met Holly by answering an ad for a roommate in a local paper and had never regretted it. They were so different— Holly’s pale blond hair, model height, and easy smile a sharp contrast to her own black hair, average frame, and serious demeanor.
And despite the fact that Eva had lied to her every day about who she was and what she did—Holly thought Eva was an accountant—they’d found commonalities and a true friendship that Eva missed when she was on an op.
Holly leaned away and held her at arm’s length. “And you lost weight. Bitch.”
Eva shrugged. “What can I say? It’s London.” Playing an accountant to an international firm might be a boring cover, but it allowed her the excuse of travel for an extended time.
Shrugging off her dark blue athletic jacket, Holly let it drop on the back of their thrift-store couch. “Food that bad?”
“Two words. Kidney pie.”
Holly stuck her tongue out, wrinkled her nose, and then flashed a movie-star smile. “Want to go for brunch? I can hear eggs benedict and bottomless mimosas calling your name.”
Eva wished she could. Anything was preferable to a meeting with Temperance. “Can’t.”
“Got a debriefing?” her friend asked, kicking her sneakers off and under the couch.
She stiffened at the terminology. “What?”
Holly waved her off. “Sorry. I’ve been on the set of a new TV pilot. Some military show. The lingo creeps in. Do you have to file your report?”
Eva smiled. The phrase had caught her off guard and under her already tenuous circumstances had set off alarms. She’d blown her cover in Colombia. One more mistake, and she’d be pulled out of field work and relegated to desk work. Or fired.
The thought of losing her job at HRS almost made her physically sick. “Worse,” she replied.
“What’s worse than writing a report?”
“Meeting with the boss.”
“Sounds like someone’s in trouble.”
Understatement. “The numbers were unimpressive.”
Holly shrugged off the reasoning while untwisting a hair-tie from her long blond hair. “Not your fault. It’s not like accounting is something you can control. It’s math, and math doesn’t lie. Everyone knows that.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
Her roommate offered a sympathetic smile. “Remember that you can’t control everything, and as long as you did your best, I’m sure things will work out.”
If only it were that easy. “How about you?” Eva asked. “New boyfriend keep you out last night?”
“Maybe.” Yanking her shirt over her head, Holly headed toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind her. “Hey, let’s get sushi tonight, and we can catch up.” She closed the door behind her before Eva could reply.
Her roommate’s unending optimism was another reason Eva loved having her as around. Her positive attitude offered perspective and balance when Eva’s tendency to prepare and plan for the worst seemed to override every other scenario.
She glanced at the clock. Again. It was hours until her afternoon meeting with Temperance. Maybe she’d give sleep one more chance. She picked her cup off of the floor, and a sharp knock on the door startled her into almost dropping it.
She went to the door and stared through the peephole.
Through the fisheye lens paced the last man she wanted to see.
Quinn.
It had been easier to dismiss her ex-lover when he’d arrived on the chopper two days ago, an unrequested hero whose interference had made her seem incompetent. Besides, it had been dark, and Felix had demanded much of her attention.
But here? Now? Not so easy when he waited inches away, an unexpected symbol of masculinity wrapped up in charcoal-colored pants, a pale blue shirt, and a striped tie to match.
This was undercover Quinn Blackwood, the epitome of civility and as ordinary and boring as any businessman she might pass on the street.
But she knew better. She knew his mouth was anything but dull. His hands were anything but polite. Heat rolled through her, and her breath caught in her throat.
Primal. That was the word. And with Quinn, she knew the depth of that all-powerful instinct. Her hands had once caressed the hard muscles that flexed beneath the pressed cotton shirts he favored. Her fingers had woven through his thick hair as his mouth claimed her.
And in her bedroom twenty feet
away, she’d stripped bare for him—both body and soul. She knew his strength. His passion. And it all lurked beneath the impeccably dressed man on the other side of the door.
What would happen if she invited him in? Again. Would he accept the offer? A hot shiver raced up her spine at the memories, but she swallowed hard, reminding herself that he was an HRS agent. Nothing more. Not to her. Not ever again. He’d made that clear.
She sucked in a mouthful of air and held it for a moment before blowing it out, mentally sending her desire with it. Better.
Why was he here? Now?
There was only one reason that came to mind. He was sent to tell her to not bother coming to the office. She was fired. She was sure of it. And of course, they’d sent the one person she had no desire to see to deliver the news. She turned and pressed her back against the door, dread overwhelming her.
He knocked again. The vibration raced through her spine.
She tightened the sash on her robe, determined to not give him the satisfaction of crying. Her hand shook, and she willed it to steady as she opened the door.
He glared down at her. “You’re not dressed.”
Dressed? If she were fired, then what she wore wouldn’t matter. Her heart slowed.
In the other room, the sound of the shower was followed by Holly’s voice as she sang at the top of her lungs. The brief interruption gave Eva a moment to think and calm her nerves. “Why are you here? My meeting with Tempe isn’t until one.”
“It’s been changed.” Quinn shoved past her, closed the door, and took a seat on the couch. “I’m your driver.”
She crossed her arms. “I called a cab.”
“Cancel it. Temperance wants you. Now.”
…
Quinn sat across from Temperance Smith, the youngest V.P. in the fifty-year history of the company. He wasn’t sure if her age—only twenty-six—made her more of a hard-ass since she had to prove she was capable, or if it was just her personality.
Either way, she was more driven than men or women twice her age.
He’d brought Eva into the HRS offices per Temperance’s request, and she’d separated them, making the debriefing feel more like an interrogation. “What were you thinking?” she asked, calm on the surface, making him more wary of what might lurk beneath.
Risking It All for Her Boss: A Heroes for Hire novel (Entangled Ignite) Page 2