Dead Man's Curve

by Paula Graves

  “Eleven-hundred hours?” Jesse asked.

  “As you wish,” Cabrera answered. “It would not be a good idea to double-cross me.”

  Jesse exchanged a look with Sinclair, his expression grim. “You’ll have Alicia with you?”

  “Of course.”

  Sinclair shook his head. Cabrera was lying. The question was, did Cabrera know they were lying, as well?

  “He may have a trap set if he believes we plan to trick him,” he warned Jesse after the other man had shut off the radio.

  “Entirely possible,” Jesse agreed. “It’s a risk we have to take. Everyone in the extraction team has been trained for high-risk situations.” He looked at Ava. “At least, I assume the FBI took the time to give you some training?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “In fact, my first SAC came from the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team, and he was convinced all FBI agents should go through similarly rigorous training. He got our unit into an HRT training course as part of a Homeland Security initiative,” Ava said. “It was hard, but I learned a lot about thinking and acting under pressure.” She looked first at Jesse, then at Sinclair. “I can do this. I’m prepared.”

  At the moment, all Sinclair wanted to do was wrap her in cotton and stash her somewhere far from here where she couldn’t get hurt. But she wouldn’t be Ava Trent if she weren’t willing to take risks to help people in trouble. Hell, the first time they’d met on the beach in Mariposa, she’d been helping a little girl find the parents she’d wandered away from. Sinclair had helped her track down the frantic parents and reunite them with their adventurous offspring.

  He had to let her do what she was trained to do. Trust her to know her limits.

  Trust her to come back to him.

  And then what, Solano? What if you get Alicia back and Ava comes back safely? You’re still a wanted fugitive. Remember?

  No happy endings.

  Chapter Thirteen

  An hour later, Ava slipped back into the tent she and Sinclair shared to find him sitting cross-legged in the center of the small space, his head down and his shoulders slumped. Looking up, he scooted over to make room for her. “How was the planning meeting?”

  “We think we have most of the bases covered,” she answered, reaching across the narrow space between them to take his hand. “How about you? Scared about playing bait?”

  “My idea, remember?” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “All that matters is getting Alicia back to her husband safe and sound. And getting you back to the FBI in one piece.”

  “That’s not all that matters.” Her fingers twined through his, her grip strong. “I want you safe, too.”

  A hardness in his eyes made her stomach ache. “Ava, you know this won’t end well for me, no matter what happens.”

  “Do you have some sort of martyr complex? Is that why you joined El Cambio in the first place? Because I don’t understand why you value your life so little. You did an amazingly brave thing, working for the CIA the way you did. You probably saved countless lives by keeping El Cambio in check all those years.” She tugged his hand, her chest tight with frustration as she saw how little her words seemed to affect his sullen mood. “Sin, look at me.”

  His dark eyes slowly rose to meet her gaze. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

  “Then tell me.”

  He looked away, shaking his head. “There are things I can’t tell you because they’re classified. And other things I don’t want to tell you because they’re sources of shame.”

  “Is that why you haven’t tried to clear your name? You think you deserve only bad things from here on out because you made a mistake when you were in your twenties? That’s crazy! This whole country was built on the notion of second chances. People can be very forgiving if you give them the chance, Sin. Give them the chance.”

  “You don’t know what I did.”

  “I’m pretty sure I know most of what you did,” she said quietly. “I made it my business to know.”

  His eyes met hers, dark with dismay. “Made it your business?”

  “Not many FBI agents have a vacation fling with a terrorist-in-the-making. It was an anomaly I couldn’t resist investigating.”

  He looked down. “You must have been so disgusted with me.”

  “I was,” she admitted. “And a little disappointed in myself, too. I’ve always prided myself on my good judgment about people, and there I went, falling hard for a radical with violent tendencies.”

  “If it makes you feel better, it was the violence that opened my eyes.”

  “You didn’t know they were violent when you joined? You had to know at least some of what they’d been doing in Sanselmo.”

  “Grijalva sold it as civil disobedience. Vigorous protest taken too far now and then by misguided, desperate campesinos.”

  “And despite everything in the news about El Cambio’s acts of terror, you bought that?”

  “My parents raised me to question everything, including what I hear on the news. The media is eminently manipulable. Meanwhile, Grijalva was a man of ideas and principles.”

  “Who was co-opted by men with homicidal intentions.”

  “Yes. He looked the other way a little too willingly. And he paid for his mistakes with his life.”

  She could tell from the tone of his voice that Grijalva’s death had affected him deeply. “You saw Cabrera kill him, you said.”

  “I couldn’t reach them in time.” His voice sounded as bleak as a prairie in winter. “I suppose I’m lucky—Cabrera would have shot me on sight if he’d seen me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Go home and face my mistakes, whatever the cost. So I walked three miles to the capital and turned myself in to the U.S. Consulate in Tesoro.”

  “Where you met Alexander Quinn.”

  He nodded.

  “That explains your conversion,” she said after a moment of tense silence. “But a lot happened in the eight months before you saw the light. You were involved in property destruction, according to the FBI records. Before you became a double agent.” She didn’t know why she was pressing him to admit his crimes; they both knew what he’d done, and none of it was really pertinent to their current problems.

  But it mattered, she realized, if there was going to be any chance of a relationship between them that lasted past rescuing his sister. Maybe she was crazy to even think of such a thing, but the truth was, she’d never forgotten Sinclair Solano. He’d been part of her life for years, even after his alleged death. She still had her research notes on his life with El Cambio. If she’d ever told her superiors about all the background work she’d done on the group, she might even have talked her way onto one of the FBI’s antiterrorism task forces.

  But she’d kept Sinclair Solano a secret. Hid his memory in her heart, where it had ached like a splinter for years.

  “What do you want from me, Ava?” Sinclair pinned her with a dark glare, as if he could see right through her. “Do you want me to tell you that what I did wasn’t really so bad? I can’t do that. I designed pamphlets full of pretty lies that led people away from hope into destructive envy. I aided and abetted destruction of property that ruined livelihoods, if not lives. I blew up nine men—and as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t really matter that they were terrorists. I killed them.” He passed his hand over his face, as if he could rub away the horror that twisted his expression. “And I made a deal with the devil in order to bring my former friends to their knees.”

  “I’m not sure Quinn would appreciate being called the devil.”

  “Quinn knows what he was. What he is.”

  “Is he why you’re here in Tennessee?” she asked. “You didn’t come here for your sister—you were already here. No way you could’ve gotten to that crime scene so fast if you weren’t already in the area, especially since you appear to be getting around on foot these days.”

  “Quinn asked me to do some things for him.”


  “For his private investigation agency?”

  “No, it was something he had going on the side before he quit the CIA.” Sinclair shrugged, as if he didn’t know quite how to describe what he’d been doing for Quinn. “I was keeping an eye on some bad people. Just reporting to Quinn if I saw something out of the norm.”

  “Are you still doing that? Is that why you’re here?”

  “The bad guys are dead now. Anyway, I ran into someone who recognized me a few months back. So I went to ground.”

  “But you stayed here in Tennessee.”

  “I like the mountains,” he said simply. “They remind me of Sanselmo.”

  The longing in his voice plucked at the sore place in her own heart. “You miss Sanselmo. In spite of everything.”

  “In spite of everything,” he agreed. “It’s a beautiful country. With beautiful, generous people. I regret the pain I caused those people with my stupidity, and I know I can never go back there again. But sometimes, I still dream of the mountains of Sanselmo and I wake up feeling as if I’ve lost a piece of me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry for me,” he said sharply. “I made my own bed.”

  She sucked in a deep breath and took the plunge. “What will you do after this?”

  His gaze rose to hers slowly, his expression wary. “After this?”

  “When we get Alicia back to her husband. What will you do then?”

  “I don’t know. Head somewhere else, I guess.”

  “Why not stick around?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t clear my name, Ava. The CIA isn’t going to vouch for me, and while I might be able to dodge any federal charges, with some help from Quinn and others, my name is ruined. I have nothing to offer anyone.”

  “Quinn could hire you at his agency.”

  “To do what? Even if I managed to sort out the mess of my life, my face and name would be imprinted in the minds of the public. What kind of detective do you think I’d make?”

  “There are other jobs besides undercover work. You could be an analyst, or—”

  He caught her arm, gave it a light shake. “Stop it, Ava. You can’t fix me. Don’t beat your head against a wall trying.”

  “So I’m just supposed to watch you walk out of my life again without trying to stop you?” She clamped her mouth shut, realizing too late that she’d revealed more about her thoughts and desires than she’d intended.

  “Yes.” He lowered his head, his shoulders heaving with a long sigh. “That’s exactly what you need to do.”

  “I don’t accept that.”

  His gaze snapped up, blazing with frustration. He caught her by her arms and gave her a gentle but frustrated shake. “Why can’t you let this go? Don’t you understand how toxic I am to anything I touch?”

  “Don’t be so damned melodramatic.” She jerked away from his grasp, trying to gain control over her own burst of anger. “Do you think you’re the first young radical who’s done a few things he regretted? Please. Just look at your parents.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but she saw the moment the realization hit him.

  “They were part of the Journeymen for Change,” she elaborated. “A group who set bombs across U.S. cities in protest against the government and for change. And yes, those bombs even killed a couple of people. Maybe your parents didn’t set those bombs themselves, but they supported the causes of the people who did and tried to protect them from prosecution.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You know a lot about my parents.”

  “I told you. I made you a subject of study.”

  “And my sister? What do you know about her?” There was a note of hunger behind his question, she realized, as if he was eager to hear what she had to say.

  “She was harder to pin down,” Ava admitted. “She didn’t live as public a life as your parents. I know she was an excellent student. I knew she’d gotten her masters recently, but I didn’t know she’d married into the famous Cooper clan.” One reason why she hadn’t immediately made the connection with Sinclair.

  “My parents must hate that she married an Alabama bass fisherman with close ties to law enforcement and the military.” A reluctant smile nudged the corners of his lips upward.

  “What do you think about it?” she asked curiously.

  “I think Gabe Cooper obviously loves her like crazy, and his family is willing to put a lot on the line to protect her. I might wish her life was a little less adventurous, but that was never Ali’s style.” His expression when he spoke of his sister was warm enough to heat the tiny tent. “If my parents can’t appreciate that, it’s their loss.”

  “I think you should give people a chance to see who you are now, not the misguided man you were eight years ago.” She risked touching him again, letting her hand slide slowly upward to rest lightly against his hardened jaw. “And maybe you need to give yourself the same chance. Take a good look at who you’ve become. Who you are now matters, you know. Nobody’s life should be judged on one foolish mistake.”

  “Foolish mistake,” he murmured, not moving away from her touch. His lips curved in a humorless smile. “I think that’s painting it a bit kindly.”

  “I’m not sure it is,” she disagreed, letting her hand fall away. There were a lot more things she’d like to say to him, but he already had a lot to think about, and very little time left before he had to go out there and put himself in the crosshairs of a vindictive killer’s sights.

  She’d just have to hope they’d both live long enough for her to tell him everything else she wanted to say.

  In the meantime, she needed to get ready for her own coming challenge. If she and the others in the extraction team didn’t do their job, the risks Sinclair was about to take would mean nothing at all.

  * * *

  “THANK YOU.”

  Sinclair looked up to find Gabe Cooper standing in front of him, looking even more battered than he had the day before, now that his bruises and scrapes had had time to reach full color. His left eye was swollen to a slit, and he apparently had some swelling in his mouth, because the words came out a little thick-tongued. But the clarity in his blue eyes was unmistakable.

  “Don’t thank me,” Sinclair said darkly. “Alicia wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me.”

  “I learned a long time ago that doing the right thing comes with risks,” Gabe said. “From what Quinn tells me, you did the right thing in a very bad situation. There are consequences. But I’ll tell you this—as much as I hate the fact that Alicia’s out there in trouble because of what you did, I know she’s going to be damned glad to know you’re alive. And that’s even before she’s had a chance to learn that she was wrong about you all this time.”

  “She wasn’t wrong. Not exactly.”

  “I think she’d disagree.” Gabe extended his hand. “I haven’t been a fan of yours. I guess time will tell if we’ll ever really feel like family. But the fact is, you didn’t have to put your neck on the chopping block for her this way. If you were the man you seem to think you are, you never would’ve offered. So, thank you. And good luck.”

  Sinclair shook his brother-in-law’s outstretched hand, feeling a strange sense of his life starting to spiral out of his control. He’d spent the past six months hiding from the world like wounded prey because a man named Adam Brand now knew he was alive. One extra person in on the secret had been enough to send his high-strung fight-or-flight instincts into a tailspin.

  Now a whole extended family would know the truth. His sister would know. There was no way he could ask her to keep the secret from his parents, once she knew—it would be unfair to ask her to do so.

  Like it or not, Sinclair Solano was alive and kicking once more, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to change it.

  “You worried?”

  He closed his eyes at the sound of Ava’s soft query coming from behind him. Turning slowly, he opened his eyes and met her concerned gaze. “A little,
I guess. Mostly for Alicia.”

  “I’m going to be the one to get her out of the camp,” she told him. “The others are in charge of taking out the camp guards.”

  He brushed his fingertips against her cheek. “She’ll be in good hands.”

  “I know you don’t think there’s any sort of future for you—”

  “Ava—”

  “Just hear me out.” She licked her lips and took a deep breath, looking like a nervous student who’d memorized a big speech and was going to get it said, come hell or high water. “I know you think you’re in a dead-end situation. I understand why you feel that way. I do. But you have options. There are people who can and will help you if you’ll let them.”

  “Have you ever considered,” he asked, “that maybe I don’t deserve anything but a dead-end situation?”

  She stepped closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Do you think I idealized your memory after you left? Do you think I watched the reports of El Cambio’s crimes come rolling across the news feeds and thought, ‘Oh, Sinclair’s different! He must have good intentions. If only I could tell the world the truth!’ Not even close. I hated you. I wanted you caught and punished. I was disgusted with myself for being sucked in by you in Mariposa. So believe me, I’ve more than considered it. I spent years cheering for your capture and punishment.”

  Her words rang with truth. And with a bleak undercurrent of old resentment that made his stomach twist into a painful knot.

  “But I have more information now,” she added in a gentler tone, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And I spent a few minutes talking to Alexander Quinn after we finished our final walk-through of the extraction plan. I know the courage it took for you to stay undercover with El Cambio.” She lifted her hand as he started to speak. “Just don’t. Don’t try to tell me I have it all wrong. Do you think the CIA was ignorant of what you did even before you turned yourself in? You were a propagandist. And a bloody fool. But you weren’t a terrorist.”