Poison Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  Jack paused when they reached the overlook, but instead of looking out toward the sea, he gazed at the mangrove swamp that abutted the garden. “I read your paper in Scientific American, detailing your use of Lidar to calculate the loss of mangroves in Indonesia due to rising sea levels. If anyone bothered to look at the research you’ve published, they’d know you’re the real deal and were the brains at the institute.”

  If Jack hadn’t woken her libido before, he did now. Was there anything better than having a hot man call her brainy?

  She smiled. “Thank you. I’m proud of that project. It was one of the last ones I completed before MacLeod-Hill imploded.” Her research had been funded by a National Institutes of Health grant and yielded solid data on the hazards of climate change. She’d miss being able to work on studies like that.

  She glanced toward the nearby mangroves. The hotel developers probably wanted to take out that habitat, but mangrove swamps were vital to the ecosystem, and they were rapidly disappearing, which she’d proven in the multiyear study. That this mangrove remained, partially blocking the ocean view of the new hotel, could be, in part, thanks to her work.

  “Is CAM an expansion of the technology you used for the mangrove study?”

  She had to be careful how she answered. While it was public knowledge that NHHC had finally gotten the long-awaited funding to map the battlefield, only a select few knew exactly what CAM was capable of. The technology was, in all likelihood, better at gathering intelligence than the CIA and MI6 combined. But that also meant that in the wrong hands, her baby could be dangerous.

  “Yes, for the most part. With a few enhancements.”

  Mapping the Battle of Peleliu was the perfect test for CAM: terrain known to hide tunnels—on land and underwater—with plenty of historic wreckage to pinpoint, and the ability to ground-truth the data to calibrate accuracy.

  He gazed down at her, his eyes lit with interest. On another man—like Frost—the sexy stare would look rehearsed, but on Jack, it came across as natural smolder. “Is this your first visit to Palau?” he asked.

  It was crazy how the simple question combined with stare made her flush with excitement.

  Hello, libido. I didn’t even know I missed you.

  He reminded her of the actor who played Captain Kirk in the new Star Trek movies, with his blue, blue eyes. “Yes,” she managed. “How long have you been here?”

  “A few months.”

  “What brought you to Palau?”

  He turned and faced the sea, his jaw tight, but then a corner of his mouth turned upward. “Do I need a reason to move to paradise?”

  She frowned at his evasive answer. Evasion reminded her of Patrick and all the signs she’d missed in their four-year marriage. “Most people do.”

  “I suppose that’s true. Either running away from something or running to it.”

  “And you?”

  “Neither.” His gaze slid to the side, just meeting hers as they faced the water. “My reason is private.”

  She had to respect that. The one thing she’d lacked in her life since last August was privacy.

  “Are you enjoying paradise?” he asked.

  “Very much,” she answered, then paused. “Well, I was, before that article about CAM was published. Now everyone except Ulai looks at me differently, and often they’re outright rude.”

  “They think you were complicit in your ex-husband’s treason.”

  She tried to read his gaze. Did she see salacious curiosity in his eyes? Was he just like the others, only smoother?

  She took a step backward. She was done fielding probing and frequently offensive questions from total strangers. No thickness of biceps or blueness of eyes could make up for the pain of insulting interrogation. “I should get back inside.”

  Before she could turn, he caught her arm. “Wait. I didn’t mean I believe it—” His gaze caught on something over her shoulder. In a smooth but quick motion, he slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close against him.

  She pushed at his shoulders. Awakened libido or not, this was abrupt and as unwelcome as questions about her ex. “At least buy me a drink first.”

  His arm locked, a vise twisting closed, bringing her against the hard plane of his chest. Alarm shot through her, and she braced her hands against his pecs. She took a deep breath to scream.

  His mouth covered hers, muffling the sound. She moved to bite him, but he pulled back just enough to say, “There are three men who’ve just jumped the garden wall. They’re armed with adzes and machetes.” He moved his lips to her neck as he continued speaking. “This is the best way to get both of us deeper into the shadows without letting them know I’ve seen them.” He ran his lips over her jaw. “Play along.”

  She didn’t know what to think. He’d seemed sane enough just seconds ago. Another thought slammed into her.

  What if he works for Patrick’s terrorist buddies?

  “Bullshit.” She shoved at his chest again.

  “Look,” he said against her mouth, the sound a muted whisper. He turned their bodies ever so slightly. “Use your peripheral vision.”

  She did…and saw the men, just as he’d described. They were dressed in traditional Palauan garb, but their faces were covered with latex masks that were decidedly not Palauan: Captain America, Ironman, and the Hulk.

  The Avengers had arrived, and they were armed with razor-sharp adze blades hafted to sticks and long, vicious-looking machetes. Their choice of weapon made sense—guns were illegal in Palau—but the way they carried the tools did not. They weren’t intent on carving wood or hacking vines. No, they looked intent on carving up the VIPs inside the hotel’s grand ballroom.

  Jack planted his lips on hers again as he twisted around so he faced the men. She did her part to make the kiss look real but had no doubt the shiver that ran through her was more fear of the Bizarro-World Avengers rather than triggered by the fake kiss from an utter stranger. No matter how hot the man was, he couldn’t compete with unbridled fear.

  He ended the fake kiss as he positioned her at the edge of the manicured grounds next to the mangroves. They stood just feet from the brackish water. Ten yards separated them from the open ballroom doors, but they were as far as they could get from the hotel without entering the swamp.

  Her belly roiled at the idea of the men attacking the guests inside the ballroom. “I don’t have my cell phone,” she said. “I can’t call the police.”

  He frowned. “Mine’s in my car.”

  A shout sounded, followed by the crash of breaking glass.

  She considered the people in the ballroom, the political officials and dignitaries, and didn’t remember seeing any obvious security detail for the president. “Surely the president has a security team in plainclothes?”

  He shook his head. “This is Palau.” His worried gaze fixed on the ballroom. “I have to go back.”

  “You aren’t armed.”

  “I was in the military. I can fight.” His jaw was firm. “Wait here.”

  She nodded. It wasn’t like she had a better plan. She hadn’t served in the military and wasn’t trained to fight. And, contrary to the song, it wasn’t possible to blind someone with science. Well, unless you had a laser. Which, technically, she did, but they were attached to CAM.

  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll come back for you once it’s safe.” The gesture was sweet and surprising, but it made an odd sort of sense. They were strangers who’d crossed an intimate line even if it had been fake, and he was setting off to take on three armed men.

  He moved through the shadows with the ease and grace of a panther, then crossed the open garden as though moving in for the kill.

  She wove through the trees, the ground soft under her feet as she went deeper into the mangroves. She found an angle from which she could see into the ballroom, but remain hidden behind a sturdy tree trunk. She could just see one of the masked men holding the arms of the president of Palau while Hulk waved a machete in
front of his face. She could hear voices—shouts, really—but couldn’t make out the language they spoke or their words. She had no idea what the masked men demanded from the president.

  A woman’s shriek rose above the buzz and clicks of insects in the mangrove swamp. Both Hulk and Captain America turned in the direction of the sound.

  Jack came into view. In a flash of movement, he pinned Ironman to the floor and snapped his forearm.

  Hulk lunged for Jack.

  Why isn’t anyone helping him?

  But then, a man did. Shiro Kimura took a blow to the face from Captain America but got his own punch in in the process. Jack disarmed Hulk with a spinning kick. He shoved Hulk into Cap, helping Kimura evade the swing of an adze.

  Jack wasn’t kidding when he said he could fight. He was like Jason Bourne, with rapid, hard jabs that showed no mercy.

  Swift, smooth, and violent. It was a brutal, vicious ballet.

  She dug her fingers into the tree trunk, struck by both the horror and beauty of it. Who was Jack Keaton?

  Part of her was repulsed, while another part…wasn’t.

  There was so much power and strength there.

  The rustle of leaves followed by a muffled curse was the first hint she wasn’t alone in the grove. She turned to see Spiderman wielding a machete, coming straight for her.

  Chapter Two

  He had Captain America pinned prone to the floor with his knee in the man’s back. Shiro was tying up the unconscious Hulk, while Ironman writhed in pain as the Palauan president and the governor of Arai bound him with their silk ties.

  “Who are you?” he asked as he peeled the rubber mask from the man’s face.

  The man cursed in Arabic.

  Dread shot down his spine. Motherfucker. This wasn’t a group of locals with a beef over the Compact of Free Association between Palau and the US. This was bigger.

  Why here, why now?

  He catalogued the list of party guests. The biggest names in Palauan politics, but hardly players on the world scene.

  Shit. The article about Ivy MacLeod and CAM had been published three days ago. Just enough time to send a small terrorist cell, but not enough to get weapons into the country. For that, they’d need a boat.

  He’d bet one loaded with weapons was en route from Indonesia or the Philippines now.

  Did these men want CAM for the same reason he did, or did they have a different agenda?

  Police flooded the ballroom, and he stood and hauled the fake superhero to his feet, then shoved the man in the direction of a young officer.

  He needed to get Ivy and set himself up as guard for her equipment. Odds were, CAM was no good without Ivy to operate it—the system probably had biometric security in addition to being too complex for a layman. His line of thought caused him to blanch.

  Ivy.

  A smart team of terrorists would send one group to disrupt the party while another hunted the woman. Terrorists who operated in foreign lands might be scum, but they were rarely stupid.

  And he’d left Ivy alone in the garden.

  “You scream, I cut you,” Spiderman said.

  She swallowed the sound as if it were bile. Jack knew she was out here. He’d come, even without her scream for help.

  She hoped.

  The man shoved her forward, toward the swamp. Her feet sank in the muck and her heels caught on the viny root system that defined the mangrove tree. She fell forward, landing on her knees, her palms sinking deep into the murky silt.

  “Clumsy whore!”

  The flat of the machete blade struck her back, and she couldn’t hold back a yelp of pain.

  He yanked at her hair, exposing her throat to the blade. “I said no screaming.”

  She sucked in a breath and held back the sob that wanted to accompany the tears that escaped. She dug deep for anger to squelch the fear. “You hit me, asshole. It’s not my fault I screamed.”

  He released her hair and lowered the machete. “You fell on purpose.”

  What accent did the man have? Was that Arabic she heard in the vowels? Or Farsi?

  Definitely Middle Eastern, whatever it was.

  She sat back in the muck and worked the clasp of her heels. “I fell because I’m wearing three-inch heels in a fucking mangrove swamp.”

  “Watch your language, infidel whore.”

  She was no fool. She knew exactly why this man was here. Patrick. “Fuck you. Your version of Islam is bullshit. You insult the Prophet by your actions and are an enemy of Islam. You will burn in Jahannam for your sins.”

  He slapped her, but she just smiled, taking the blow with pride. “Hurting me won’t help Patrick. They don’t need my testimony to convict him.”

  “He can rot in prison. You are the one we want now. Your husband promised us technology. We paid him well. He didn’t deliver. So you will make good on his debt.”

  And now everything made sense. The Avengers were here for CAM. Patrick must have told them about her ongoing project. He’d sold her baby before it was even born. And they’d come for it in Palau, because there was no way they could steal it from the Washington Navy Yard in DC, where she now worked.

  “Only I know how to operate CAM,” she said. “You need me alive.”

  “That is why I am taking you. Now get up and walk.” He smacked her shoulder with the flat of the blade.

  He would hurt her, even terrorize her, but at least he knew he couldn’t kill her.

  She slipped the slime-covered stiletto from her foot and shifted to the other one. Fear had her in a tight grip, but she couldn’t let it win. She had so many plans, a life ahead of her now that CAM was nearly complete.

  “Hurry up.”

  She tossed a glare at the man over her shoulder. He’d been shorter than her when she wore the heels, but now when she stood, they’d be about the same height.

  Her dreams for the future flashed through her mind—her career, her plans for motherhood. Patrick wouldn’t steal those from her too.

  She planned her motion carefully as she stood, one heel in each hand, spiked end out. He pushed at her back again, and she exaggerated her stumble, twisting to grab a tree for support but really using it for leverage as she pushed off and slashed at his face with both heels, aiming for his eyes.

  His mask was cloth—like Spiderman’s—not rubber like the other Avengers had worn. The fabric split and ran like cheap nylon.

  He dropped the machete to protect his face and let out a scream and a curse that was definitely Arabic.

  He tackled her and slammed her into the trunk, but not before she’d gouged one eye. Blood spread outward, darkening the already red material.

  When science fails to blind, use a stiletto.

  His hand closed on her throat, and he pressed her neck into the tree as he cut off her air. She aimed for his face with the heels again, but he knocked them away with his free hand.

  She tried to gouge his wounded eye, but he held his head back, out of reach. She kneed him in the groin. He flinched but didn’t release his iron grip from her windpipe.

  All at once, he lurched backward and was slammed into a tree.

  She took a deep, gasping breath, but hope faded as she recognized Thor. Not a savior. Another of Patrick’s associates.

  “We need her alive, asshole.”

  This accent was…Russian?

  “Ivy!”

  The shout—Jack’s voice—came from the garden. A glance in that direction showed she’d been dragged quite a distance and was deep in the swamp. She waded deeper into the swamp, where the vines were so thick they concealed her. Anything to escape these men who wanted her and CAM.

  The men cursed—one in Arabic, the other in Russian—and followed her into the swamp.

  Jack shouted her name again, closer this time, and she waded deeper into the brackish water, angling in his direction. She wanted to shout back, but her attackers were closer and would find her first if she did.

  “Shit. Let her go,” the Russian said. The m
en slipped into the dark recesses of the mangroves.

  “Ivy!” Jack said again, and she waded through the muck toward his voice, not answering until she had him in sight, in case Thor and Spiderman remained nearby.

  She brushed aside a vine. “Jack! Spiderman and Thor—”

  His arms circled her, pulling her to his chest. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.”

  She pushed him away, rejecting the embrace. “We have to get CAM and get out of here. Now.”

  She broke into a run. For all she knew, Thor and Spiderman had already taken it.

  She ran to a side door at the edge of the garden, bypassing the chaos in the ballroom. Inside, she took the stairs two at a time, glad she’d left the stilettos in the swamp. She was out of breath by the time she reached her room on the fourth floor, but grateful to see the door was intact. She fished her room key from her bra and unlocked the door.

  Jack, who’d followed without question, nudged her aside before she opened the door. In the blink of an eye, a gun filled his hand. Where did he get that?

  She waited to ask the question until he’d entered and scanned the room.

  She made a beeline for the closet where she stored CAM. “If you had a gun this whole time, why didn’t you use it in the ballroom?”

  “I don’t believe in bringing guns to a knife fight. I’d’ve used it if I had to, but with so many people in the room, it would’ve been dangerous. Plus, given that they’re illegal here, my Sig would’ve been confiscated.”

  She couldn’t fault him for that.

  He nodded toward the closet. “Is everything there?”

  She counted the aluminum shipping containers. Six total. She picked the first one up. Heavy. The lock was intact.

  She pressed her thumb to the lock pad, then punched in her four-digit PIN. The lock released. The computer and assorted hardware were present and accounted for. She locked it and opened the next one. Each box was keyed to a different finger and had a different PIN.

  She’d practiced this for hours at the office and could unlock the containers blindfolded without a hitch. This was important because three mistakes in entering the code would lock the case and disable the equipment inside. After that, it could only be opened without damaging the equipment back in Washington, DC.