by Trish Loye
The bearded man pulled a gun from under his shirt. She lifted hers first, took a split second to aim, and pulled the trigger. The echoing crack of the shot made everyone look around—Ian actually covered his ears—but she had already slid her gun back under her shirt. The bearded man’s forward momentum sent him sprawling down the steps. She looked around, wide-eyed, blending in with all the other tourists. A woman screamed and pointed at the body.
That was their cue to leave. Quinn pulled on Ian’s arm again.
He came without resistance, gaping back at the man. “You killed him.”
“Yes.” They needed to get to the south end of the plaza, but the crush of people seemed to have increased. Or maybe it was the man behind her who refused to run, whether out of shock or dread. Either way, he was slowing them down. “Come on, Ian.”
His face was pale, and he panted as he stumbled along behind her, his gaze never staying too long in one place. He alternated between muttering a litany of curse words and saying “oh God” over and over.
Marc appeared ahead of them on the corner of the street. He looked capable and strong, and part of her relaxed at the sight. She may not know everything about him, but some inner part of her trusted him to be her partner, to have her back.
He spotted her and started toward them, while scanning the area behind them, looking for pursuit.
“What took you so long?” he asked with a slight smile.
That smile flipped something in her stomach, and she couldn’t help the answering grin. “I stopped for a souvenir.”
He fake rolled his eyes. “Women and their shopping.”
“Seriously?” They headed to the side street. “You went there?”
Ian looked close to passing out. “Are you two flirting? You just killed people. That isn’t funny.”
Marc turned a cold gaze on him, the warrior back in his expression and demeanor. “We saved your ass. Stop complaining.”
Ian shook his head. “You didn’t save me. You condemned me!” He swung an arm back to the plaza. “Pérez is expecting Quinn and me. And you just fucked that up.”
“Expecting?” Understanding dawned on her.
Marc seemed to grow in stature, and his expression turned to icy stone. He stepped closer to Ian, menace emanating from him. Ian swallowed and stepped back.
“How long have you been working for Pérez?” Marc growled.
“It’s not like that.” Ian backed away again.
Marc stepped within striking range. “Is he paying you?”
“It wasn’t for anything serious. And my family needed the money,” he said. “My mom is sick.”
Quinn closed her eyes against the pain of the betrayal. Ian was her friend. They’d worked side by side for months.
“What did you do for him?” Marc seemed calm, but his eyes glinted dangerously.
Ian took another step back and glanced behind him.
“Don’t try to run,” Marc warned.
“I watched Quinn,” he blurted out. “Nothing special. Pérez just had a thing for her. He wanted to know if she had a boyfriend or anything.”
Marc glanced at her, and Quinn frowned. “He wanted to know if I had a boyfriend? But anyone could have told him I didn’t date. I only went on one date the whole time I’ve been here.” It had been a friendly man—the medical supplier who came once a week from Bogotá to deliver goods. They’d gone out to a local restaurant for dinner. She hadn’t even kissed him.
And she hadn’t seen him since. She hadn’t even thought of the man since, and had actually been a little bit grateful when the new guy had told her Miguel had transferred. “Did something happen to Miguel? Did Pérez hurt him?”
Marc gave her a sharp glance, but she ignored him and focused on Ian, who shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. I think Pérez just talked to him.”
Transferred. Right after their date. She hung her head, guilt breaking over her.
“What else did you tell Pérez about her?” Marc asked.
“Nothing major.” Ian had his hands up. “Just who she called and if she got any mail.”
Her phone was password protected, so he wouldn’t be able to access her contact list. “Did you listen to my conversations?”
His guilty expression told her everything. He’d told Pérez anything he could about her.
Marc glanced behind them, back to the square. “Let’s move.”
Two men ran toward them, still a good distance away, but they had guns out.
“Car?” she asked. “Or taxi?”
Marc moved a few steps to a small black sedan and stood by the driver’s window. “Car.” He rammed the butt of his gun against the window, breaking it. A few more knocks took the rest of the glass out. He opened the door and swept the glass out, protecting his hand with his shirt.
The men were almost at their street.
“Why don’t I stay here?” Ian said.
“Seriously?” Quinn asked. “Do you seriously think Pérez will let you go? You can’t be that stupid.”
A gunshot echoed down the street. She ducked into the passenger side of the car. Marc twisted wires together from the compartment under the steering wheel. He tapped one against the other. A spark and then the roar of the engine.
Marc set the car in gear.
“Now or never, Ian,” Quinn said.
Another gunshot and curses followed Ian as he dove into the back seat.
“We’ll drive him to the embassy,” she said.
“I’d rather leave him behind,” Marc said, but the car leapt forward.
Marc parked the car one block from the British Embassy. Two British soldiers with assault rifles stood on either side of the locked gate, with more in the guardhouse, plus at least three on the roof of the building.
“You’ll be safe here until you leave the country,” he told Quinn, knowing she wouldn’t go in. Not if she’d been classified as a rogue operator. But he wanted to see how she’d react. “I’ll walk you to the gate.”
Quinn shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere.” She turned in her seat and looked back at Ian. “Get out. I hope I never see you again.”
“Quinn, I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t think I was doing any harm.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Go.”
Ian left without another word, scurrying to the gatehouse. The spineless man spoke with one of the guards before he was escorted inside. “You sure you don’t want to walk away right now? I could finish whatever it is that you feel you need to do in Cartagena.”
Come on, Quinn. Level with me.
He didn’t expect her to reveal who she really was, but he wanted her to trust him with the real reason why she needed to go to Cartagena. Or maybe she wouldn’t because she really was a rogue agent? And what did that mean? Had she made a deal with someone or killed someone she shouldn’t have? Maybe he could help her clear her name?
Whoa. Where had that thought come from? No one had said she was innocent; in fact, just the opposite if she’d been accused of going rogue.
He couldn’t let himself be manipulated by her. Chances were good that the real Quinn—or whatever her name was—hadn’t shown herself yet. Marc just had to stick close to her to find out what she was up to.
Quinn stayed silent and watched Ian, her face stony, before she faced him. “I need to finish this.”
Marc waited a moment before he tried again. “Look, I know you’re hiding things from me, and right now I don’t care. I just want you safe. If you don’t want to go to the embassy, then where can I take you?”
Her lips pressed together. “I need to go to Cartagena.”
“What’s the real reason?” he pushed. Tell me.
She took a deep breath, and for a moment it seemed as if she’d tell him. “I told you why.”
“And will you be running from me once we get there?”
She had no reaction beyond a slight tightening around her eyes. He’d guessed her plan right. He clenched his jaw so tight it a
ched. “What the fuck, Quinn? All I’ve done is help you.”
She glared right back at him. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
He had to stay with her. He’d been ordered to, but he found he also wanted to. He wanted to help her against all logic. I’m an idiot. But he gentled his voice. “I’m good at what I do. I can help. Let me.”
“I’m not some fragile flower.”
Time to change tactics. He sighed heavily. “Fine. If you don’t want my help, then I’ll leave.”
Her soft intake of breath alerted him. She hadn’t expected him to agree with her so easily. Not that he was actually going to go anywhere.
“Tomorrow,” he lied. “I’ll leave tomorrow. But for the drive and tonight, you’re stuck with me.” He wouldn’t be leaving, but now he had time to convince her to trust him and to let him tag along with whatever she was up to.
She paused before nodding. “Deal.”
Good enough. He’d figure this out. He put the car in gear. “To Cartagena.”
Her lips twisted into a parody of a smile. “Cartagena.”
14
Where are you?
The text from Damien had come in as they’d been dumping their previous car on the outskirts of Bogotá. Quinn stood on a residential street filled with apartment buildings and broke the back driver’s-side window of an older model sedan. She flipped the lock on the driver’s door and slid inside before answering.
On route to Cartagena.
It took only seconds for him to reply.
Meet tonight.
He sent a time and place for that evening. She pressed her lips together at the order before shoving her phone away. She’d think about it later. Right now, they needed to switch cars to keep the police off their tails. Marc hobbled toward the car as she twisted wires together under the steering column. He frowned and increased his pace when the engine caught and roared.
She should leave him. Damien would tell her to. Press down on the gas, Quinn.
She hesitated.
Marc scrambled into the passenger seat. “You weren’t thinking of leaving me behind, Red, were you?” He buckled up.
“It’s not like you couldn’t handle yourself,” she muttered.
“I just want to help you.”
Marc had only ever helped her. But how could she continue to trust him when she didn’t know who he really was? She was positive he’d lied about his identity—not that the lie mattered so much to her; it was more that she didn’t know who he worked for. He could be working for a hostile agency, one that wanted whatever Anna had hidden on the flash drive.
Could she trust him enough to bring him as backup to retrieve the information Anna Bishop had hidden? She had a responsibility to Anna to see that the information the woman had died for ended up in Fletcher’s hands. Not that Quinn even knew who Fletcher was or how to find him.
But that wasn’t insurmountable. Quinn could accomplish this mission on her own. The main problem, the one she didn’t want to acknowledge, was that against all logic and training, she wanted to trust Marc. She barely held in the sigh that wanted to escape.
“One problem at a time, Red,” he said in a soothing voice. “Let’s focus on getting to Cartagena. We’ll figure things out when we get there.”
She nodded, putting off the decision to trust Marc. Easy enough. She pulled into traffic and her shoulders loosened. “Hope you went to the bathroom. It’s a long drive.”
The first hour was spent in companionable silence. But the hours passed slowly with only short stops in small towns for gas and food. The farther they got from Bogotá, the more relaxed she became. They didn’t speak often and when they did, it was of non-consequential things, like favorite books, movies, and pets. It turned out they both liked reading thrillers, though she didn’t mention her addiction to romance novels. Action movies made them laugh. And Marc told a story of his mother setting him up on a blind date with a cat-lady.
“But cats aren’t bad,” Quinn said. “We had one growing up.”
“They’re not the same as dogs and you know it,” Marc said. “Cats don’t love their owners. They love the food the owners give them.”
She laughed and they moved onto music, another safe topic. Safe and yet…they learned about each other. She couldn’t make herself lie about the little things. And she had a feeling Marc felt the same way.
During the last hour, as they got closer to Cartagena, the silence came back, but this time it stretched tight between them, where breaking it might cause it to snap back on them in a dangerous way. The scenery on either side of the highway—green, lush, and vibrant—couldn’t hold her attention. She drove on auto-pilot and let her mind dwell on the task ahead and the man beside her.
“You’re going to get a headache, you know,” Marc said finally.
She blinked. “What?”
“Thinking so hard. It’ll give you a headache,” he said with a slight smile.
She let her sigh out finally. “Unavoidable.”
“I’m here,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to handle this alone. I can help.”
“I don’t need—”
“I get it,” Marc said. “You’re not a freaking flower. You don’t need my help.” He paused. “But tell me honestly, do you want it?”
She didn’t say anything. Afraid of what her honest answer would be.
“Okay. Then how about you tell me what you’re really doing in Cartagena?” Marc asked.
He wasn’t stupid. And he’d be useful as backup. She could use him. Just like he was probably using her. She shook away her doubts, took a deep breath and made a leap of faith. “I have to retrieve a flash drive.”
His smile disappeared. “Why? What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
He growled. “Quinn, this won’t—”
“Hold on.” She stopped him. “I meant I really don’t know what’s on it. I just know…she died for it.”
He was silent for a moment. Was she trusting him too much? “Who died?” he asked quietly.
In for a penny and all that. “Anna Bishop. At least that’s what she told me her real name was.”
“Anna Bishop asked you to get this drive,” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
“When?”
Quinn bit her lip and told the lie she’d been contemplating. One that was almost the truth. It would allow her to keep her cover. “The day before you showed up at my clinic. Pérez had called me to care for Anna. He’d beaten her badly.” Her throat tightened. “I wish I could have done something for her.”
“So you treated her?” he asked. “And she happened to tell you about a flash drive?”
“The guards had given us a bit of privacy when I tried to treat her injuries.” Her fingers gripped the steering wheel too hard as she remembered what Anna had gone through. “She told me about the flash drive and who to send it to.”
“But not what was on it.”
Quinn shook her head. “It was important, though. I think it’s why Pérez tortured her.”
“And is probably why he’s still after you.” Marc leaned back and stared at the road ahead for a moment. “You definitely need my help.”
Holy arrogance. “Actually, I don’t. And honestly, I don’t even know if I can trust you.”
“You trust me at your side, to help you fight,” he said.
She shifted in her seat. But did she trust him at her back?
Yes.
Okay, so she did trust him. To a point. It would be useful to have backup when she retrieved the flash drive. Then inspiration struck. “We could be partners,” she said.
He glanced at her. “Partners?”
She smiled and nodded. “We don’t need to know everything about each other to help each other. I can help you with your leg and you can be my backup while I get the flash drive.”
Marc sat in silence for a moment. “Does a partner get equal say?”
Hmmmm. “Okay. You can definitely have your say.”
“Then deal. We’re partners until we find the flash drive.”
Until they find the flash drive. And then he’d turn on her? She hoped not. She didn’t want to have to kill him. She kept her thoughts hidden. “FYI, partner doesn’t mean I’ll actually listen to what you’re going to say.”
When Marc laughed, it warmed something in her. She couldn’t help but smile back.
He seemed relaxed and open. A good time to dig for info. “So I’ve told you what I’m doing. Are you going to tell me who you really work for?”
He gave a sharp nod. “I work for a covert military group.”
She waited. “Is that it?”
He shrugged. “What more do you want?”
“What country? What group?”
A small smile crossed his face. “I can’t tell you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You like driving me crazy.”
He laughed. “I work for an ally of the UK. Does that make you feel better?”
“Not really.”
“We’re partners now,” he said. “I’ve got your back on this.”
“Partners,” she said, sealing her fate. “I’ve got your back too.”
“Good,” he said. “Do you have the location for the flash drive?”
She told him the address. “I looked it up. It’s an apartment building in a downtown residential district.”
“Okay then,” he said. “I’ll check online for hotels nearby. We need a plan to get the drive.”
“Just because we’re partners doesn’t mean you get to boss me around.”
“I’m sure it was in the paperwork you signed.”
She gave him a side look. “You’re not funny.”
“Oh, I’m funny. You just need a better sense of humor.”
It felt good to have moved from two people on the run together because they had to be, to where they were now. Not friends exactly, but more than they’d been this morning.
“I’m trying to get us a hotel room with a view of the street,” Marc said.
“Well, if we’re putting in all requests, then I’d also like a balcony and room service.”
He snorted. “How about just one without bedbugs?”
“Clean sheets would also be nice.”