by Trish Loye
She pulled out a cell and tossed it on his lap, before making another turn.
“No thanks,” he said. “I can’t make an operational call on your cell. I can wait.” He couldn’t risk her phone falling into the wrong hands, and his call being backtracked to EDGE. He’d wait until they hit Bogotá to contact his team.
“Suit yourself,” she said.
“Why don’t you let me drive? I know the way to Bogotá. You can sleep a few hours.”
Her fingers flexed ever so slightly on the steering wheel. “Maybe later. These back roads are tricky.”
“Don’t you trust me, Red?”
“No,” she said. “Is Marc even your real name?”
“You’re very suspicious. Yes, Marc is my real name. But I won’t tell you my last name.” He couldn’t resist taunting her, watching her eyes spark. And spark they did when she glanced at him before she looked determinedly back at the road.
“Whatever,” she muttered.
He grinned. “Does it really matter what you call me?”
“No. Butthole seems like a good option, though.”
He barked a laugh. “I prefer Marc.”
She shrugged as if she hadn’t decided whether to use it or not, though her lips twitched.
She was a beautiful enigma. And he loved puzzles. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.
She spared him a glance before she turned onto a rutted track. Was this even a road? “Doing what?” she asked. “Running for my life? Do I really need to explain that?”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Anyone would help.”
“No, anyone would just call for help. Tell the police what was going on and let them deal with it.”
She braked slightly as they bounced over holes and ruts. “The police are in Pérez’s pocket.”
“You know how dangerous Pérez and his men are. Why did you help me? Why did you come with me to help the woman?”
“I’m a medic. It’s my job.”
He barked a laugh. “I just can’t believe you’d put yourself at risk without any other motive.”
She turned to him with incredulous eyes. “You’re a soldier, aren’t you?”
He nodded.
“You put yourself at risk for your country and people. Why is it so hard to believe that I might do that as well?”
He believed it. From what he’d seen so far, she was competent and skilled. But still, he didn’t have all the pieces. His head told him not to trust her, even though his gut did.
She slowed the vehicle further as they bumped their way up a hill. Branches from trees on either side of the track brushed his arm through the open window. “Please tell me you know where you’re going.”
“I know where I’m going,” she said in an even tone.
He waited, but she said nothing more. Maybe he’d asked for that. “Care to explain?”
Her jaw worked, as if holding back her sarcasm. He almost wanted to say Bring it. But that would be childish.
If satisfying.
For some reason, he liked arguing with her, the spark of temper in her eyes and the way she stood up to him, not swayed by who or what he was. He almost snorted. She definitely didn’t do anything to please him.
“Pérez will have blocked off the main exits to the highway by now,” she said in an even tone, her face placid. She’d controlled her temper, though it only made him determined to make her lose it again later. A fun way to pass the time.
“This back road,” she continued, “will get us to an exit he shouldn’t have thought of.” The jeep leveled off, and the track ended onto a paved road. “So yes, I know where I’m going.”
A rusty sedan drove by. She waited a beat and then turned in the opposite direction, quickly bringing the jeep up to speed.
“Another mile and we’ll be on the highway. Then two hours and we’ll be in Bogotá. You can go your way, and I’ll head to the British Embassy.”
“I’ll make sure you get there.”
“There’s no need,” she said smoothly.
So she wasn’t going to the embassy. What are you up to, Red?
“Shit.” She slowed the jeep. She didn’t need to explain. Ahead of them waited a roadblock. Two trucks and about ten men standing around with rifles. There was no way these guys would let them through. One man pointed at the jeep.
“Get us out of here,” he said.
She braked and spun the wheel hard. The tires squealed, but they ended facing away from the roadblock. She jammed her foot on the gas, accelerating them away.
She could drive. She not only knew self-defense, but also how to handle a gun and drive like a fiend? Who was she? “A little showy for my tastes,” he said, just to needle her, to see whether she revealed anything more about herself.
“You’d rather I do a three-point turn?”
They hurtled down the road. He glanced back. “One truck is following.”
“Damn,” she said. “I’d hoped to drag both trucks away.”
He couldn’t stop his grin. “I like your style, Red.” And she was so much more than a medic. Quinn was a mystery he was going to solve.
Before he sent her on her way.
“I can lose them on the back roads,” she said, “but we’ll be in the same boat. And I don’t think we’ll be able to pull this off twice. We need to get onto the highway.”
The turn onto the track was coming up. “Take the track and pull over,” he ordered.
He waited for her to question him, but she just spun onto the track. Maybe she would start listening to him. He could almost hear her response to that in his head. “Fat chance, Butthole.”
He smothered a laugh and dragged his gaze from Quinn to glance out the rear window. Their pursuit hadn’t made it this far yet.
She drove about a hundred meters, far enough from the road to block the jeep from view, and then pulled off into the jungle as far as she could. It wasn’t the best camouflage, but it was what they had to work with.
She turned off the engine. “Now what?”
“Now we hike.”
9
“Hike?” Quinn echoed. “That’s your plan?”
Marc ignored her and got out of the truck, grabbing one pack of supplies and shouldering it. She caught the other pack he tossed at her and then watched him limp along the track back to the road they’d just left. He seemed competent but maybe he’d hit his head harder than she’d thought.
“You can barely walk,” she pointed out, catching up to him. “FYI, I am not carrying you all the way to Bogotá.”
He sighed like an exasperated parent. It made her want to smack him.
“We’re only walking to the actual highway. Then we’ll hitchhike.”
“This is idiotic. I could find another road.”
He shook his head. “They know your jeep. We need a new one.”
“No one is going to pick us up. You’re carrying a gun and you look like a serial killer.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I think my feelings are hurt.”
She shrugged. “You’re dirty, unshaven, and have more weapons on you than you can hide. Not exactly an ad for trustworthiness.” She would not say anything about how the dark scruff on his jaw only seemed to highlight his cheekbones and penetrating eyes.
He calmly smiled at her, as if she were a bloody idiot. “True. But they’ll stop for a beautiful woman on her own. Even if she’s dirty and carrying more weapons than she can hide.”
She looked down at her mud-splattered clothing. Okay, maybe she deserved that.
Wait. She frowned at him. He thought she was beautiful? She shoved that question aside. It was irrelevant. “So you want some poor sucker to stop for me. And then you’ll come out of hiding and hold them hostage while we drive to Bogotá?”
“Brilliant, right?”
She rolled her eyes. As a plan, it had its merits, but she wasn’t going to say that. “More like unoriginal.”
He put a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt, Red. Tr
uly hurt.”
She snorted and hid her grin.
They waited until their pursuit roared past and then dashed across the road. The hike to the highway would be just over a kilometer through unbroken jungle. She took the lead and tried to stay in a straight line as they wove through the thick undergrowth. She kept the pace reasonable on the slick, mossy ground and wove them between tightly packed trees, but she couldn’t go too slow. Once Pérez’s men found the car, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out which direction they’d gone.
Marc stumbled and gripped a tree to keep himself upright. The plan wasn’t bad. But it definitely wasn’t brilliant when someone had just been shot in the leg.
“You need a break,” she said firmly, halting in front of him.
He scowled but didn’t stop moving. “We don’t have time.” He didn’t claim he was fine, and that said something.
Marc moved from tree to tree, using them for support, his limp becoming more pronounced. He’d refused anything stronger than ibuprofen. She eyed his dark cargo pants, looking for blood, wondering whether he’d torn his stitches yet. It was only a matter of time at this rate.
She holstered her Glock and moved close to his injured side, grabbing his arm. His eyes widened, but he allowed her to put his arm across her shoulders.
“I’m stronger than I look and better than a cane,” she said. “Lean on me.”
“Is that an order?”
She turned her head to him and sucked in a quiet breath. He was entirely too close. Dark stubble outlined the hard lines of his jaw and cheekbones, giving him a dangerous look. But it was the slight quirk to his lips and the gleam in his intense blue eyes that had her insides tightening and her fingers curling around the arm she held. The strong, well-muscled arm wrapped around her.
Dammit. Stop it, Quinn.
She dragged her gaze from his face. Just because she was close to a man for the first time in months didn’t mean she had to lose her focus. “It’s not far. Maybe a klick.” She pulled him into a walk.
He tried for a few steps not to put his weight on her, swaying with the effort. So she yanked him closer, using the arm over her shoulders, and put her shoulder right under his, forcing him to lean on her or go off balance.
With each step after that, he let her have a bit more of his weight, until she carried enough to help. Her back and shoulder protested after the abuse of carrying him the night before, but she ignored them. They started to move more smoothly, but he grimaced every time they stumbled, though he never uttered a sound. She wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer still, trying to ease his burden a bit. Whether it was the doctor in her, the soldier, or something else, she didn’t like seeing him suffer.
She huffed a breath. Enough. He was just a soldier, and she wasn’t even sure he was on her side. She couldn’t trust him, let alone think of him in any way except as a stranger who needed help.
He reached out and pushed a large frond out of the way so it wouldn’t smack her in the face when they hobbled by it.
He had helped her get Anna out of Pérez’s compound. She wouldn’t have been able to get the unconscious woman over the wall without his help.
Not that it had done Anna any good.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” His low, quiet voice startled her out of her thoughts. Not a good sign, since they traveled through enemy territory.
“Wondering what Pérez is up to next,” she lied.
“Hunting us down,” he said.
“You mean hunting me down,” she said truthfully, steering them around a tree. “The bodies of his men will be found at my clinic. The one man we left alive only saw me.”
“Then Pérez doesn’t know you’ve got expert backup.” He shot her a poor parody of his seductive smile from this morning. Pain tightened the skin around his eyes.
If he was going to ignore his pain, then she would too. For now. She arched a brow. “Expert?”
“Well, I was going to say amazing, but I thought I’d be a bit humble.”
“Funny, humble isn’t the word that comes to mind.”
Marc leaned against a tree by the side of the highway. His leg throbbed with its own pulse, and his head ached, so he dug through the pack and popped another couple of ibuprofen, while Quinn tried to hail a truck.
Her hand dropped when the truck zoomed by without even slowing. “This might not have been the best plan.”
Marc sighed. “It will work. You just have to stop glaring at the drivers. You look like you want to murder them.”
She flung her hands up. “Give me a break. It’s been a long day.”
“Suck it up, Buttercup.”
She glared and took a step toward him just as another truck passed. She gave the truck the finger.
He snorted. “We need a ride today, Red. Just smile and act sexy. You know what to do.” He crossed his arms to watch the show.
She continued to glare at him. “Fine.” She turned away from him and unbraided her hair, running her hands through it.
This could get interesting.
“Try for sweet and defenseless,” he called out and couldn’t stop his grin when she gave him the finger next. Those were two words that he would never use to describe her.
Another car passed them by while she adjusted something he couldn’t see. A family inside, the two kids in back watching them through the window. “Anytime, Red.”
She lifted her t-shirt just enough so it bared her torso and tied it at the back, before rolling up the sleeves. “Are you sure you don’t want my phone?” she asked. “Your people could come get you.”
This was the second time she’d asked.
Suspicion made him reevaluate her, reminding him that he wasn’t out here to get to know Quinn McKenzie, if that was even her name, but to get back to his team. And leave her behind.
But somewhere safe, like the embassy. No way was he leaving her before he knew she’d be okay. Somehow seeing her safe had become more important than the mission.
She turned around and his thoughts scattered. Stunning. Even dirty and sweaty, she was stunning. The pale skin of her torso begged for his touch. And after he touched her skin, he’d get rid of the tight tied-off shirt that showcased her breasts, before sinking his fingers into that golden-red mass of curls.
He barely suppressed a groan at the seductive smile on her face. He was in pain, tired, and hungry. Mosquitos bit him and sweat drenched him. He should have been miserable, but he couldn’t stop the lust that surged through him at the sight of her.
Fuck, he was in trouble.
Quinn became another character. She slipped into the role of damsel-in-need-of-a-ride. Perhaps her car had broken down.
She loosened her shoulders, slouching one hip out and tilting her head to the side as if it were too heavy to lift. She made her features hopeful and just a bit dazed, as if she’d walked a ways in the heat.
The sound of an engine rolled toward her. A white pickup with rust eating at its edges sped down the road. She waved her hand high in the air, so her t-shirt lifted even higher and gave her I-want-to-have-sex smile.
A stifled groan came from Marc’s direction, but she didn’t have time to look. The truck slowed. A solo driver from what she could see. It pulled off the road beside her.
Perfect.
She made her way to the passenger door. Out of the corner of her eye, Marc left the shadows of the trees.
“Hola. I need a lift to Bogotá,” she said, speaking in Spanish.
The man behind the wheel wore a sleeveless t-shirt. His ropey muscles stood out on his thin arms. He smiled broadly, showing yellow-stained teeth. His left hand held a cigarette. The acrid smell of smoke couldn’t quite hide the scent of piss. Had his dog taken a leak in there? Quinn forced herself not to grimace.
“Certainly, señorita,” he said. “Hop in. I could use the company.”
Marc chose that moment to throw his pack into the back of the pickup and then start climbing into the bed.
The man’s eyes widened. “Wait,” he said. “Who’s that? I didn’t agree to take two of you.”
“But I can’t leave my coworker behind,” she said, improvising.
“Coworker?” His eyebrows rose.
She smiled, letting this thin, smelly man think he had a chance with her. “Yes, we’re English teachers from the capital. Our car broke down on a sight-seeing trip.” She waved a hand vaguely behind her at the jungle. “Thank God you came along.”
The man smiled back at her. His gaze traveled to her chest and lingered. Sweat had made her shirt cling to her. She pretended not to notice his leering eyes.
He sighed. “Get in.”
“Let me grab my bag.” She closed the door before he could say anything and then swung her pack and herself into the back of the pickup with Marc. No way in hell was she sitting in that hot cesspit when she could be in the open air.
The driver watched them through the dirty back window. She waved even as his lips twisted with disappointment before he shrugged, turned the radio on and pulled onto the road with his music blaring.
She pulled a ball cap out of her pack and put it on, pulling her hair through the back hole to keep it off her neck. Then she guzzled some water. Damn, it was hot out here. Even after six months, her Scottish blood still wasn’t used to the heat of the lowlands. But Bogotá was in the highlands and would be much nicer.
She offered the bottle to Marc, who dragged his hot gaze from her bare torso up to her face. She swallowed hard under the intensity of it. He took the water and turned away to watch the landscape go by. Tension flowed out of her when he didn’t look at her again. She undid her shirt and covered herself. Only because she didn’t want a sunburn, she told herself, not for any other reason.
“This road goes straight to Bogotá,” she said. “If he turns, slows, or you see anything, wake me up.” She stretched out on the dirty floor of the pickup bed, ignoring the vibrations of the engine that made her teeth grit as the exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours caught up with her.