Deadly Seduction

by Cate Noble

  Max pointed the muzzle at the man’s groin. “If you know anything about me, you know I start there—then move to the knee caps.” The man’s face lost color. “Who do you work for?” Max pressed.

  The man didn’t remain quiet long. “Abe Caldwell.”

  The name meant nothing to Max. “What does he want with me?”

  “I don’t know. I just follow orders.”

  Max raised the gun sights.

  “I swear! I was sent here to help that other doctor, Winchette, find the first guy who escaped. Then you took off, too.”

  “Did you find the other guy?” Max reached for the blue beacon he’d put over the door frame. “I know about these.”

  “I haven’t been able to pick up a signal on him. The implants don’t always work right. I had you in southern Arizona but lost you in a rainstorm. Then you popped up a day later in Sedona.”

  “Hand over the tracking device,” Max said.

  “It’s in my pocket.”

  “I suggest you pull it out really slow. Then slide it over here.”

  The man complied, shoving the unit toward Max. The tracker resembled a Palm Pilot.

  “How does it work?” Max asked.

  “Hit the button. It’s in hibernate mode. The beacon either shows up on the map or it doesn’t. You basically zoom the map in and out.”

  “Now get up. And don’t try anything stupid,” Max said.

  He directed the man back to the parking lot. It was still deserted, so Max kept the gun in view.

  “Go to the Taurus.”

  The man looked puzzled when Max tossed him the Taurus keys. “Open the trunk.”

  Sweating profusely, the man tried to negotiate. “Hey, man, I’m cooperating fully.”

  “Yes, and for that you get to live. Empty your pockets—everything on the ground. Then climb in.”

  It was a tight fit, and not easy to maneuver given his broken wrist. Max slammed the lid shut after dropping the beacon down a narrow crack near the tire well.

  He gathered up the man’s wallet. Allen Peterman, the license read. He snatched the car keys but kicked the cell phone under the Taurus.

  “Max!”

  Erin came limping into view. She looked at the trunk. “Is he—?”

  “Alive? Yes. Come on. I’ll get our stuff out of the backseat. We’re taking his car.”

  “You can’t leave him like that,” Erin insisted.

  “I’ll call Dante later and tell him where to find this guy. Right now I just want to get away from here.”

  Max did a quick search of the SUV and found another gun in the glove box. He turned on the tracking device and watched as the GPS-style map overlay showed the highway and a blinking red dot—the Taurus.

  “Hold this while I drive.” He started up the SUV and pulled out. “Make sure the dot doesn’t start moving. In case I have more than one beacon implanted in me.”

  “Did he tell you anything about Taz?”

  “He claimed he couldn’t pick up a signal.” Max turned back on the highway and sped off.

  “Did you find out who the man works for? Why he’s after you?”

  Max frowned. “He claimed to work for someone named Abe Caldwell, who was supposedly working with Dr. Winchette. Sound familiar to you?”

  “Abe Caldwell is one of the owners of Caldwell Pharmaceuticals, a Swiss drug conglomerate. Dr. Winchette worked with the Caldwell company in the past on drug trials, but he worked with every major drug manufacturer out there. To show favoritism—”

  “Would be unethical?” Max finished. “Like conducting human experiments is unethical?”

  Erin seemed at a loss for words. “I want to deny it, Max. Not so much because I know Dr. Winchette but because…he and my father worked together years ago. My father mentioned regretting some projects. I guess I’m afraid that if Winchette is guilty, my father was, too, even though my gut tells me he was not.”

  “Don’t conjecture any further until we know more.” He rubbed his head. Ever since Erin had removed the tracker, his headache had grown worse. “Any movement on the device?”

  “No. The dot has remained steady.”

  “Keep watching it. Maybe by us moving around, we’ll pick up a signal on Taz.”

  “Would it work from the air?”

  “Good question. We could cover an area faster in a chopper or small plane.” Max checked the setting sun. It would be dark in less than an hour. And he didn’t want to be on the road at night, wondering if every set of headlights that approached was out to get them.

  “For now let’s put some distance between us and where we left the Taurus. Then we’ll find a place to rest and regroup.”

  Chapter 26

  Bangkok, Thailand

  September 24

  There was only one person Rocco would trust with his own life: himself.

  And Travis Franks knew that. It was one of the ways they talked in code. If Travis had ordered Rocco straight out to go to Thailand and find Rufin, it would have destroyed Travis’s fallback: plausible deniability.

  Plus it gave Rocco more leeway for bending rules.

  And right now a lot of people in and out of the Agency were watching Travis. Hell, if Rocco worked for the other side and were searching for Rufin, he’d look around to see who else was looking and follow them.

  So while Travis stayed visible in the States, Rocco pulled another of his never-before-used aliases out of his hat, and disappeared after leaving a false trail toward the state park where Taz had been spotted two days ago.

  John Doe had stolen a man’s hiking and camping equipment before disappearing in a national park. This meant they wouldn’t see him until he was ready to be seen—if ever. Especially if Doe was who they thought.

  Travis believed he had a lead on John Doe’s real identity. Three years ago, an Australian Special Air Service Regiment agent, Logan Treyhorn, was blown off course during a secret night jump into a terrorist stronghold near the Burmese border.

  A ransom demand had been received with Logan’s ID, but the failure to provide proof of life coupled with the lack of follow-up on the ransom demand was interpreted to mean Logan had died—if he’d even been captured alive to begin with.

  Travis had two other possibilities, but the fact that John Doe had spoken with what the MRI technician described as an Aussie accent kept Logan at the top of the list. That and the nickname—Taz. Tasmanian Devil perhaps?

  Because of the undercover nature of Logan’s work, photos of the man were pretty much nonexistent.

  Travis had opted to keep his suspicions on Logan close to his vest. If the Aussies got wind their man was possibly still alive…ouch. Rocco had seen those SASR boys in action.

  Right now, Rocco refocused on his search for Dr. Rufin. Travis’s lead had turned out to be legit. They had been monitoring all of Zadovsky’s last known e-mail contacts, including those of his lab personnel. Rufin had sent an e-mail to Zadovsky’s former secretary, Bohdana Wulandan.

  Unfortunately, someone else reached Bohdana before Rocco. He found her dead body in an apartment that had been wiped clean. He suspected someone had used her to lure Rufin in.

  So far, Travis had had no luck tracing Bohdana’s other e-mails, but it was clear she wasn’t working alone. Someone had helped her escape Jakarta after Zadovsky’s death. The Thai government perhaps? God, he hoped not.

  Rocco straightened as a car pulled up to the curb just ahead of where he walked. Recognizing the driver, he climbed in the sleek BMW.

  “My meter’s running,” Diego Marques quipped as he pulled away and began zipping through traffic.

  Rocco passed an envelope of cash to the man.

  Diego hefted it in his hand, then slid it in his jacket, never once taking his eyes off the rearview mirror.

  Rocco watched the side mirrors as Diego turned at the next intersection then sped up an alley. He turned again and stopped.

  “I think we’re clean,” Diego said before wheeling down another alley and racing b
ack into traffic.

  “Did you turn up anything on Bohdana?” Rocco asked.

  “Nope. Whoever she worked for taught her how to cover her trail. She was lying low, paid everything in cash, even though she wasn’t working anywhere.”

  “You think the Thai government had her on payroll?”

  Diego shook his head. “They’re still searching for Rufin. In fact, that search just got hotter. A group of Burmese extremists have put out feelers for Rufin, too. The extremists want him because they know the big players will pay a ransom to get him back.” Diego downshifted and turned into the crowded red light district. “Minh Tran has even been seeking Rufin. I just heard that Tran’s concentrating his manpower on searching for one of Jengho’s camps.”

  “Jengho Vato?” The news surprised Rocco. The two drug lords were enemies, but rather than destroy one another with their private war, they’d supposedly worked out a boundary agreement.

  “Was Jengho poaching on Minh Tran’s turf again?” Rocco asked.

  “The request for info I got was very soft. Tran doesn’t want Jengho to know he’s looking, but word is Jengho has a special guest that he’s protecting.”

  “Rufin,” Rocco said. It made sense. If someone other than the Thais had captured Rufin, they’d need to stash him somewhere until arrangements could be made to get him out of the country.

  “Any idea where Jengho might have a guest house stashed?”

  Diego flashed a wolfish grin. “It’ll cost you.”

  “Why am I not surprised? Just name your price. I don’t have time to dicker.”

  Diego’s information was right on. It had also come at a lower price than Rocco had expected.

  “I can’t guarantee others won’t beat you to this location,” had been Diego’s reasoning. This meant that if Rocco did indeed score, he owed Diego a favor.

  Rocco had no time to get a team in place. With Diego’s help, he’d hired two professional mercenaries, Joe and Dick. Not their real names, of course, but who cared? Rocco had introduced himself as “Robbie.” As long as the men were skilled and trustworthy, which Diego had vouched, they could call themselves Ginger and Mary Ann.

  Jengho’s hiding spot turned out to be an ancient fishing vessel, no different from a thousand other ancient fishing vessels in Bangkok’s harbor. It was moored near an abandoned warehouse that had recently burned and now provided cover for Rocco and company. That it was night also helped mask their presence.

  He’d counted four men on the fishing boat. Two of them were acting as guards. One was the boat’s captain. Rocco believed all three worked for Jengho.

  The fourth man had just been dragged onto the deck and his head shoved over the rail, clearly sea-sick. Rocco got a glimpse of the sick man’s face while he vomited over the side.

  It was Rufin! His hair had been cut off, no doubt in an attempt to disguise his appearance.

  Rufin being sick seemed to piss off the captain, who complained of the smell in the cabin. He wanted to move the boat, as if that would help.

  The last thing Rocco wanted was for them to move. The odds were even, three against three, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  He passed the binoculars to Joe, then huddled close to discuss his plan.

  “Sounds easy,” Joe said.

  “That’s what worries me,” Rocco muttered. “Let’s do it.”

  Sneaking up to the boat was easy. The dark dock was littered with abandoned crates that provided hiding places. The only light was a dim lantern on the boat’s deck. Rufin had apparently started vomiting again as soon as they’d dragged him below. The smell must have been bad because now one of the guards joined Rufin at the rail. The second guard and captain still argued over the merits of moving.

  The sound of a boat engine roaring to life caught Rocco’s attention. A small speed boat swung right next to the fishing vessel. Muffled shots were fired. Precise, targeted shots, not a random spray.

  The guard who’d been puking fell overboard into the water. Rufin seemed frozen in place.

  The speed boat zoomed away into the dark and cut its engine. Waiting.

  The other guard and the boat captain had dived for cover on the deck. Rufin bolted for the cabin. The wounded guard splashed in the water below, calling out for help. After a few seconds, the captain darted forward and grabbed for a rope to toss over the rail.

  Rocco knew what would happen next. The speed boat zoomed back in, opening fire. The bright muzzle bursts made them easy to track.

  “Take out the shooter,” Rocco hissed to Joe.

  The element of surprise worked in their favor. One shot took out the shooter, who fell forward into the murky water. Rocco heard the speed boat’s engine gun full throttle as it swung back into the darkness. But this time it kept going.

  “Come on!” Rocco shouted as he ran forward and jumped onto the boat. The captain was dead and the remaining guard was now hiding below in the cabin with Rufin.

  “Throw out your weapons and come out with your hands up. Or we’ll kill you!” Rocco shouted.

  Two guns clattered across the deck. “D-d-don’t sh-sh-shoot,” Rufin said as he stumbled up the steps.

  As soon as the guard came up, Dick hit him across the back of the head and shoved him backward.

  Rocco grabbed Rufin’s arm. “Stay down. Come on!”

  “You!” Rufin recognized Rocco. “D-d-don’t shoot me!”

  “Then I suggest you move your scrawny ass off this boat before someone else does!”

  He could hear the speed boat approaching again. Joe surged forward and literally picked Rufin up and carried him off the boat.

  “Get him to the car,” Rocco said.

  Gunfire shattered the wood railing as the speed boat moved in. Rocco returned fire then jumped down onto the dock. Tires screeched as Dick pulled up now, throwing the car doors open and taking off before they closed. Rocco piled in the back with Rufin.

  “Keep your head down,” he ordered as Rufin slumped lower.

  No one followed, but still they raced away. Surely the men on the other boat would be calling for backup now.

  “Let’s get back downtown,” Rocco said. They had a second car ready, so they could ditch this one.

  Joe leaned over the passenger seat and held up a bloody hand. “You better check your man. This ain’t my blood.”

  Rocco looked at Rufin, noticed he hadn’t moved.

  Shit! “Give me some light.”

  Tugging Rufin’s shoulder, Rocco pulled him upright in the seat. Rufin’s head lolled lifelessly to one side—the front of his shirt completely soaked with blood.

  Chapter 27

  Gallup, New Mexico

  September 24

  The urge to flee Arizona kept Max driving another three hours into the night.

  As they rode in silence, each seemingly lost in their own private musings, Max caught glimmers of Erin’s thoughts.

  Strangely, the process of contemplating her thoughts helped to pry loose more of his. Much the same way as their casual conversation had done earlier.

  Unfortunately, Erin’s silent curiosity about Dante’s cryptic remark didn’t bring Max any closer to answers. Cat told me what you did in London. I owe you.

  London rang no bells. In fact, Max had noticed that whenever he tried to recall specific assignments he’d been on with Dante, he hit a familiar brick wall. As if certain memories had been all closed off with the same material. He had the feeling that if he could just loosen one key brick, the entire wall would tumble.

  The knowledge that a tracking device had been implanted in his arm still infuriated him. But not nearly as much as suspecting that other things had been implanted as well. Intangibles that couldn’t be cut out with a knife. He felt he had been invaded, violated, in ways he couldn’t completely fathom yet.

  Whether he’d been brainwashed, or mind-fucked, was no longer the question. Why and how to undo it was.

  And while the CIA was no doubt very interested in knowing what classified i
nformation the mind-fuckers had accessed, Max knew the Agency couldn’t care less about the personal memories he’d lost.

  Catalina Dion’s name struck a deep chord in Max. Had they been lovers? He had a faint glimmer of a naked woman with short blond hair, weeping in his arms. The scene, while incomplete, was stamped with heavy negative emotion.

  Okay…naked meant lover. Weeping meant breakup. Right?

  Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

  The blistering spike in his headache quickly had Max focusing back on the dark road. It was nearly 10 p.m. and they’d just crossed the state border into New Mexico.

  He roused Erin, who’d drifted off to sleep. “I’m pulling into a motel,” he said. “I’ll get you settled in a room, then I’ll go find food.”

  After driving to a nearby restaurant for carryout, Max parked at another motel adjacent to theirs.

  As subterfuges went, it wasn’t much, but at this point everything helped. The flashing red dot that represented the stolen Taurus hadn’t moved, according to the tracking device. Likewise, a second red dot representing Taz hadn’t popped up either.

  Had Allen been discovered or had he managed to free himself? Max hadn’t wanted to take the time to bind or gag the man. Getting away before someone came up had been his only concern. Since Allen had spilled his guts to Max, it was doubtful he was going to run to his boss right away.

  Max had called Dante back, but got voice mail. And since Max was still keeping the cell phone battery disconnected, Dante would get Erin’s voice mail.

  By the time Max returned to their motel room, Erin had fallen asleep on top of one of the beds. She roused long enough to take a shower and put on clean clothes but fell back asleep before eating. He could understand why she was exhausted. Most people didn’t keep this kind of pace on a day-today basis.

  Max lifted her up and gently deposited her in the other bed, the one farthest from the door.

  He would have preferred to share a bed, but realizing that preference was born of something more than the desire to keep her safe had him tugging the covers up over her and turning away.