“I’m sure,” Quinn said. No hesitation in his voice, but he couldn’t ignore the insinuation, and for a moment, he had to question her actions. Not that she was involved, but was she so burned out that she’d missed crucial information when the plane was hijacked? Her undercover work was demanding, and Colombia was her third job in a year. She wouldn’t be the first, or last, agent to need a mental holiday.
But even as doubt rose, he squashed it. He knew Eva. She wasn’t involved or ignorant. He’d heard the tension in her voice as she’d talked to the kidnappers and the fear when she’d landed the aircraft. She was good but not good enough to fool him.
And the edge that made her bitchy made her as sharp today as she’d been before Colombia.
Harris might wonder about her loyalties and her attitude, but Quinn was sure of one thing—and that was the woman in the other room. “She knows who she is and what side she’s on,” he replied.
A crash sounded in the room that held Eva, and both men jumped to their feet.
Through one of the long, thin windows that edged either side of the door, Quinn watched Eva beat the chair she was cuffed to against the floor. One. Two. Once more, and the frame splintered, pieces flying through the air.
She was free.
Harris was already at the door, but it refused to open.
Through the glass, Quinn saw another chair wedged under the doorknob.
The handcuff dangled from Eva’s wrist with the arm of the chair still attached. She glared at Quinn through a window while Harris worked to open the door, and then she opened the window and swung her legs over the ledge. Three stories up. There was no way she was going to jump.
She waved and slipped off the edge.
“Shit!”
Grabbing a chair, he broke through the tempered glass, reached in, and removed the chair wedged under the door knob, then ran to the window.
There was no sign of Eva.
Where the hell had she gone and how?
He looked down. Two feet beneath the sill was a ledge, or what passed as a ledge. It was small. Two inches maybe. Not big enough for him but enough, maybe, for someone of Eva’s petite build and skill.
And she was motivated.
He scanned the area. The building next door was only two stories. She must have jumped to the roof.
As if on cue, she popped into view, running toward the far end. What was she thinking? This would solidify her guilt in the police’s eyes. “Eva!”
She stopped. Looked back.
Quinn shook his head. When he’d told Harris she was passionate, he’d known it was an understatement but hadn’t realized how much. “Get back here!” he shouted.
There was no stopping her now, and there was nothing he could do but watch as she reached the ledge of the building next door, lowered herself over, and disappeared.
…
This might be the biggest mistake you’ve ever made.
After her drop from the building and onto the top of a parked delivery truck, Eva had beaten a path down the alley. Watching for signs of pursuit, she worked her way over a few streets, broke into a closed dress shop, and hunkered down in the dark until more police cars passed.
This was getting more complicated than she liked.
And she knew it wouldn’t be long before foot patrols would head her way, if they weren’t already in the area. Grabbing a navy blue swing coat off a nearby rack, which was much more fashionable than she normally wore, she tossed it around her shoulders like a cape. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror.
“I look like an idiot.”
But there wasn’t much choice.
Stealing a gray, knit cap more suited to skiing than the stylish coat, she headed back onto the street, hiding the cuffs and the attached chair arm beneath the dark blue wool.
It might be early in the morning, but the streets grew more crowded with each footstep, giving her much-needed cover. She hurried toward a busy intersection, and a police car whipped by her. Stopped. And started backing up.
Crap.
She backed into the throngs of people heading to work and slowed her pace. Running would only get her noticed. She had to blend.
Were they coming after her, or was there something else going on? She took a chance and glanced backward as she rounded a corner. The police were still in the car. Maybe...
The car doors opened, and she ducked her head.
She had to assume they had verified her identity. Keeping pace with the crowd, she dodged into a coffee shop and took a seat toward the back. Taking a table, she tried not to fidget as she waited for the waitress to arrive. After ordering a coffee and pastry, she went down a long hallway and locked herself in the one-stall bathroom.
First thing was first. She had to get the chair arm off the other end of the cuffs. Slipping off the coat, she put one foot in the middle of the wood, grabbed both ends, and heaved upward, ignoring the pressure as the metal bracelet dug into her wrist.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Occupied,” she called back.
She pulled harder. The wood remained solid.
“Damn.” They didn’t make furniture like this anymore.
Another knock. “In a minute.”
It seemed she was stuck with the cuff and chair arm until she reached someplace where she could take the time, and perhaps find the tools, to remove it.
The safe house on Baker Street.
Although rarely used by HRS, it was a convenient place to stash witnesses if needed, and she’d used it before. The trick would be to make it there undetected.
Her pulse calmed at having a plan, she turned on the tap and splashed cold water across her face.
The person outside knocked a third time, and she yanked the door open. “I said—”
A cop stood in front of her, a Taser in hand. He raised the weapon, electricity arcing between the posts. She grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and pressed it into his side before he could react.
He dropped to the tile, his body twitching.
“Amateur.” Quickly, she rifled his pockets. There wasn’t a handcuff key, but she grabbed his radio from his belt. It would come in handy.
“What are you doing?” A woman stood at the other end of the hallway, eyes wide.
Dammit. “Uh, he collapsed. Can you call an ambulance?”
She didn’t move.
“Now,” Eva snapped.
The woman ran back to the front of the shop. Eva ran out the back door and found herself in another alley. This one smelled of day-old garbage.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and she started yanking on doors until one opened into the back of a kitchen that smelled of old beer and fried food. She entered the bar. She peered into the dim room and found a small group already greeting the day with a beer. Normally, she frowned on drinking first thing in the morning, but right now, a shot of mescal sounded better than eggs.
The bartender eyebrows raised in surprise as she sat down. She slid onto the stool in front of him.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
She was broke, and there was no way she could hit an ATM if she wanted—Harris still had her wallet. And she needed money for more than a cup of coffee. The safe house was on the other side of town, and there was no way she could walk there—not with half of DC searching for her.
She slid off her ring. The gold setting held a small emerald. “I’m broke and need help.”
He frowned at her, not even glancing at the ring she held in her palm. “Can’t help you.”
She set it on the bar. “I’m not offering to sell it.” The stone was perfect, but even more important, it had belonged to her mother. “If you can give me twenty dollars, I’ll pay you back. You can keep the ring as collateral.”
He sighed and picked it up. “How do I know if it’s real?”
“Trust me?” She gave him her most miserable, vulnerable, puppy-eyed look. It wasn’t hard.
He shook his head, opened the till, and ha
nded her the money plus ten extra. Then he placed the ring in her palm and closer her fingers over it. “Keep your jewelry.”
She smiled at the unexpected kindness. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Ever.”
“Of course not.”
A cab ride and thirty minutes’ worth of sitting in traffic later, she stood in front of the safe house.
She watched the cab pull away, then strode to the door with a confidence she didn’t feel. Flipping open the doorbell to reveal a key pad beneath, she punched in the code, and the lock clicked open.
Deep breath.
She slid inside. Quinn sat on the stairs. Blue jeans fit snuggly against his thighs and a blue collared shirt both made his eyes bluer and showed the breadth of his shoulders.
Shoulders she’d once leaned on, both physically and emotionally. And now, she needed them again.
“What took you so long?” he asked.
She wasn’t alone. Eva swallowed hard. Until this moment—seeing her partner waiting for her, wearing his familiar expression of utter irritation—she hadn’t been aware of the fear of being alone that held her in its grip. It fell away.
He rose and crossed the foyer, his footsteps muffled by the nondescript beige carpet that blanketed the floors.
“You okay?” he asked, irritation replaced with concern. “Are you hurt?”
Relief washed over her, but she found herself voiceless, unable to tell Quinn how happy she was that he had he was on her side and had her back despite all that had transpired between them.
She shook her head.
He grew closer. She closed her eyes, breathing him in. He smelled like coffee and worry.
Same old, same old. And how she’d missed it.
“So what’s the problem?” he asked.
Oblivious moron. Before her better sense could intrude, she rose on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
Chapter Six
A familiar heat flowed through Eva, and she sank into the sensation. Her fingers plucked at his shirt of their own accord, crazed digits that begged for the luxury of skin-on-skin so they could continue their search of Quinn’s hard frame.
His mouth explored hers while his hands gripped her waist.
In the back of her mind, she knew she should stop. That to go “there” with Quinn was a bad idea. But it had been over a year since he’d touched her, and now that she’d had a taste, it was all she could think about. There was no shame or hesitation.
There was only Quinn and the way he brought her body to life.
She flung her head back, exposing her throat. He indulged her, his lips tracing a path to the hollow of her neck and along her collarbone until he found her ear.
She raked her nails across his back, and he shuddered at her touch.
“More,” she begged. “Now.”
Instead, he paused, taking a moment to rest his forehead against hers. “What are you doing?” he whispered. “This isn’t necessary.”
He thought she was playing him? That her desire was a con to get him to help her?
Dazed, they stared at each other. What had she been thinking?
She’d considered herself an idiot the day he took her love and ground it beneath his heel. A part of her had known it couldn’t last, but she’d ignored her gut and found herself alone, left to lick her wounds and act like nothing had happened.
She didn’t think it was possible to feel worse.
Once again, Quinn had proved her wrong.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Don’t be an ass,” she said. Placing her palms on his chest, she shoved him away, not caring that the wooden arm of the chair whacked him in the gut as she did so. “I was relieved to see you and got caught up in the heat of the moment. It won’t happen again, so don’t let it go to your head.”
His expression hardened. “Of course.”
Her body still throbbing from his touch, she stomped past him, leaving him to close the front door she’d left open. Stalking through the living room with its showroom furniture décor, she stopped in the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator. Empty. Of course.
“How did you find me?”
“It’s my job to know your missions. Even the ones you did before you were assigned to South America.”
Always the overachiever, she thought, wondering what else he knew.
“I brought takeout,” he said from behind her.
“How about a handcuff key?”
“That, too.”
He fished a key from his pocket and tossed it to her. She missed, and it slid on the floor under the table. Great.
“You always did catch like a girl.”
Now he chose to be funny? She flipped him off and dropped to her knees. Retrieving the key, she unlocked the cuffs and let the uncomfortable bracelet of metal and its attached piece of wood fall away. Rubbing her wrist, her attention zeroed in on a bag on the counter, the brown paper sides stained with grease. Inside, she found burgers, fries, and a few beers.
She pulled out a beer. It was warm. Twisting off the top, she tipped the amber liquid into her mouth. The hit of alcohol was what she needed. “Perfect,” she said, setting the bottle on the counter. “Thanks.”
“De nada.”
It’s nothing.
Her breath caught.
A simple Spanish phrase that everyone knew, but for them, it was much more.
Somewhere in their dating history—she couldn’t even remember when or how it began—he’d said to her, “De nada mi amor, gracias, las que te adornan.”
A Spanish phrase that played with the meaning of gracias, it meant both “You’re welcome” and complimented a woman by saying that her beauty and grace were enough to make someone want to serve her.
It hadn’t taken long for him to shorten it to de nada.
He hadn’t said it to her since before they’d broken up, and now he said it with a familiarity that threatened to disarm her.
She grabbed the beer again and took another deep swig, draining the bottle. Couldn’t he act normal? Like she was nothing but another agent? In trouble.
She set the beer back down, scowling at him.
His eyes were wide. “So, it’s like that?”
“It’s been a helluva morning.” She took the bag over to the small, wooden table outside the kitchen. Grabbing the last two beers, she laid the included napkins on the table and dumped the food onto them.
Greasy and only as warm as the beer, the food smelled like heaven. Quinn set a bottle of ketchup on the table, and she doused her burger. Heaven in beef form. Her taste buds wanted to savor the flavor, but her stomach demanded she swallow as fast as possible.
“Oh, my God, this is better than sex,” she said, not caring that she spoke with her mouth full. She shoveled in fries as fast as she could swallow.
He took the seat across from her and leaned back, arms crossed across his chest. “It’s always a shock to see how much you can eat.”
“Years of being on the streets,” she said, popping a fry into her mouth. “When you’re starving, you learn to eat as much and as fast as possible.”
Slowly, he reached for a burger, and she stiffened.
He pulled his hand back. “You’re not going to bite, are you?”
“No,” she said with a snort. “Have some.”
He took a burger, leaving her with the majority of the food. “You can slow down,” he said. “You weren’t followed. We’re safe. For now.”
He made a fair point. She made a conscious effort to not cram food into her mouth. “Okay.”
“So, you want to tell me why you ran?” he asked.
“Another lesson learned in the streets of Bogotá,” she said. “Don’t get caught, and if you do, get out.”
He set the half-eaten burger on a napkin and leaned on the table, finger tented in front of him. “I call bullshit.”
She hated when he was right. When he’d been her mentor and teacher, he’d done it frequently, for
cing her to face herself and her foes with full-on truth. But her answer wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t what Quinn wanted her to confess.
“Fair enough.” She licked her fingers and couldn’t help but notice that Quinn’s gaze flickered downward, his attention glued to the movement. She grabbed a napkin to wipe away the grease. “I have to find Felix, and I can’t do that if I’m not here.”
He nodded. “You promised Pauline, didn’t you?”
She froze, surprised that he still knew her so well. “What if I did? I lost Felix. I have to make it right.”
“You have to make it right?”
She nodded.
“This isn’t about you,” he said, his voice calm and relaxed. His trainer voice.
“You’re right. It’s about a man and his daughter. I owe them.”
“You can’t help them if you’re on the run.”
She’d find a way. “I have connections,” she countered. “I can stay hidden. In fact, it might even help in finding Felix if his kidnappers think I’m on the run.”
“And they’d be right,” he said. “You’re an amazing undercover agent, Eva. The best.”
She warmed at the unexpected praise, hating herself for wanting it so much.
He continued, “But you’re not a tracker. HRS has people who are a helluva lot better equipped to find Felix and his daughter.”
Again, he wasn’t wrong. But her gut told her that what she was doing was right. That she’d made a promise, and that meant something. It had to. “It might not mean much to you, but I promised Felix that I would find him. That I’d reunite him with his daughter. And I can’t let that go.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m not saying that HRS should stop searching. You’re right. They have entire teams, but no one has my motivation. No one.”
“Why do you have to make everything difficult?”
She wiped her hand over her mouth, and the memory of the kiss at the door and his rebuff still burned her. Let him bitch and moan. “Like I planned to have Pauline kidnapped or to be labeled an accomplice.”
“You escaped custody. The police want you. They don’t want your alter-egos. They don’t care about Paloma, the FARC soldier. Or Tammi Lynn, the waitress that took down the KKK in some Podunk Georgia town and rescued a businessman. They want you. Eva Maria Torres.”
Risking It All for Her Boss: A Heroes for Hire novel (Entangled Ignite) Page 8