Secret Agent Seduction

by Maureen Smith

  Chapter 15

  A search of the mercenary’s utility van revealed a large cache of weapons hidden beneath various tools and supplies that belonged to a legitimate electrician. The arsenal included rifles, handguns, submachine guns, live grenades, land mines and several rounds of ammunition.

  “All this to assassinate one man,” Armand muttered grimly as he surveyed the stockpile. “I don’t know whether to be alarmed or flattered.”

  Lia gave him a bemused look as she grabbed two rifles and as many rounds of ammo as she could. “Be alarmed. That’ll serve you better in this situation.”

  In addition to the weapons, they also found a spare jumpsuit, which Armand quickly put on over his clothing, with the bulletproof vest Lia had given him. The jumpsuit’s sleeves and pant legs were a little too short, but no one would notice while he was seated behind the wheel. They had decided to make their getaway in the van instead of Lia’s Secret Service vehicle, which could be tracked. They also agreed that Armand, disguised as the electrician, would drive the van since Lia would be recognized by the marine guard patrols as they left the property. Although she didn’t suspect the military’s involvement in the plot against Armand, she wasn’t taking any chances.

  She’d searched the interior of the van, hoping to find some clue into the mole’s identity, but all she turned up was the phony work order attached to a clipboard. Although she knew that finding his cell phone would have been too good to be true, the mercenary had also been smart enough not to leave behind any notes with names, phone numbers or addresses scrawled on them.

  They left the rural property without incident and headed onto a deserted stretch of highway that would eventually lead them to the interstate. When they were a safe distance from the retreat, Lia climbed from the back of the van to sit up front with Armand. It was noon. Warm, bright sunlight slanted through the windshield, baking the interior of the vehicle.

  The steep, narrow road wound through the mountains in a seemingly endless series of hairpin turns that could prove deadly in a high-speed chase. Secret Service agents assigned to protection details received extensive training in defensive driving, therefore Lia was prepared to react if she and Armand suddenly found themselves being pursued by assassins. But first she had to get behind the wheel.

  “First chance you get,” she told Armand, “pull over on the shoulder so that I can drive.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll drive.”

  She gave him an exasperated look. “Aren’t you the same man who told me twenty minutes ago that I’m the boss?”

  His mouth quirked. “You are.”

  “Then why are you arguing with me about driving?”

  “Because you’re a better marksman than me.” When she gaped at him, he gave her an amused sidelong glance. “Don’t look so shocked. I’m not too proud to admit that a woman can shoot slightly better than me.”

  Lia let out a choked laugh. “Gee, what a concession! Slightly better?”

  He chuckled. “That night in the jungle, when the men in the jeep were pursuing us, my shot took out the front passenger. Yours took out the driver.”

  “So?”

  Armand gave her a pointed look. “I was aiming for the driver.”

  “Oh.” Lia grinned ruefully, keeping a watchful eye on the side-view mirror. “Well, you certainly had no problem with your aim today when you put a bullet in that man’s heart.”

  “Damn straight,” he growled. Lia got the impression he was more incensed with the mercenary for hitting her than for coming to the cabin to kill him.

  “The point is,” said Armand, “if we find ourselves being chased again, your shooting skills will be more useful to us if you’re not the one driving.”

  Lia supposed she couldn’t argue with his rationale. For once.

  “How did you know he was lying back there?” Armand asked suddenly. “The mercenary. Did he say or do something that made you suspicious?”

  “You could say that,” Lia hedged.

  “What was it?” Armand prodded. “What made you suspicious?”

  “He had a scar below his left ear,” she said, thinking fast. “He said an old girlfriend cut him while giving him a shave. He was lying.”

  “How did you know?”

  “The scar looked like it had been made from the blade of a hunting knife, not a razor blade. I’m guessing he didn’t expect me to know the difference. In his line of work, he probably gets into altercations all the time. That scar was a souvenir from someone else he once tangled with.”

  “Well, he won’t be tangling with anyone anymore,” Armand said darkly.

  “No, he won’t.” Lia exhaled a long, weary breath. “I really wish I could have questioned him, though. We need to know who and what we’re up against.”

  Armand frowned. “We already know who and what we’re up against. Alexandre Biassou. A coldhearted, murdering bastard.”

  “Yes, but who is he working with here in the States? Who is his accomplice? That’s what I was hoping to find out from the merc.”

  Armand’s frown deepened. “Did you really think he would give up that kind of information? Those mercenaries are trained to withstand hours of interrogation. I’ve seen men like that endure the worst forms of torture without breaking a sweat. They know that whatever you put them through will pale in comparison to what their employer will do to them if they crack under pressure and talk. Biassou’s punishments are notoriously gruesome.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Lia said grimly.

  Armand looked at her. “We did that man a favor by ending his miserable life, Lia. When Biassou learns of his failure, there will be hell to pay.”

  Suppressing a mild shudder, Lia closed her eyes for a moment. She could feel the onset of a migraine behind her eyelids, sharp pinpricks of pain that intensified with each blink. She didn’t know whether the headache was a result of stress or the vicious left hook she’d taken from the mercenary. Probably a combination of both.

  Watching as she lifted her hand and gingerly touched her swollen cheek, Armand said gruffly, “You should have put some ice on that. I brought a couple of steaks that were in the freezer. As soon as they thaw, I want you to put one on your face.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Lia grumbled, embarrassed by all the fuss he was making over her. “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face, or worse, and it won’t be the last. Stop treating me like a girl.”

  Armand scowled, not in the least bit amused. “You’re going to have one hell of a shiner in the morning.”

  “I think that’s the least of my concerns right now,” she muttered.

  Armand looked as if he wanted to say more, then reconsidered. He lapsed into stony silence, a muscle working in his jaw.

  “Hey,” Lia said softly. When he glanced over at her, she gave him a small, conciliatory smile. “I don’t mean to sound like an ingrate. Thanks for bringing the steaks. I’ll put one on my cheek as soon as we get where we’re going.”

  He nodded shortly. “Remind me again. Where are we going?”

  “A place where we’ll be safe. A place no one but my parents would think to look for me.”

  “How do you know the Secret Service won’t find us? They must be searching for us by now.”

  Lia shook her head. “They have no way of tracking me. I left everything back at the cabin—the car, my cell phone, my radio. Everything traceable. And they have no reason to be searching for us just yet. Janikowski is the team leader and my liaison when I’m out in the field. Unless she hears from me that there’s an emergency, she has no reason to sound the alarm. As for the mole, my gut instinct tells me that he—or she—is going to lie low for at least twenty-four hours before trying to contact me.”

  “Even though he knows what happened at the cabin?”

  Lia nodded. “He would draw too much suspicion to himself if he suddenly rushed over there to investigate a shooting that hasn’t even been reported. He would have to explain how he knew there was trou
ble, which means he would have to own up to planting the listening devices, which he’s not going to do. No, he’s going to lay low for a day and hope to God that the hired guns take care of us. Which is another reason he won’t launch a search for us. He knows the mercs can’t get to us as easily if we’re in protective custody. He wants us to be out here, on our own. Vulnerable.”

  Armand studied her taut profile. “Since you dumped your cell phone, how will you know if he tries to make contact?”

  “I’m going to buy a prepaid phone and check my voice mail messages. And then in the morning I’m going to call Janikowski to let her know our location was compromised. If I still can’t reach her, I’ll call the assistant director.”

  Armand frowned. “Either one of them could be the mole.”

  “I know,” Lia murmured, turning her head to look out the side-view mirror. “I’m counting on it.”

  She saw a dark, nondescript sedan speeding toward them at the same time that Armand said, “Looks like we’ve got company.”

  As the dark sedan closed in on them, Armand could make out two men behind the tinted windows. The muzzle of an assault rifle was already emerging from the passenger window.

  Armand stepped on the gas, and the van lurched forward just as gunfire erupted.

  The first shot shattered the rear windshield, spraying glass everywhere. The second shot took out the driver’s-side mirror.

  Lia cocked her M16 and quickly belly-crawled into the backseat.

  “Be careful!” Armand urged.

  With one eye on the road, he watched through the rearview mirror as she huddled at the back door, pointed her rifle through the open window and fired on the mercenaries. The sedan swerved sharply as the passenger returned fire, bullets thudding into the van’s metal doors.

  “Be careful!” Armand shouted again.

  “Keep your eyes on the road!” Lia yelled back.

  Armand eased off the gas just enough to keep the van from going into a tailspin as he took a deadly curve. Behind them the sedan kept pace, relentless in pursuit.

  More shots rang out. Armand lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror just in time to see Lia pick off the passenger, who’d leaned out the window to return fire. Atta girl!

  “Damn it!” she screamed.

  Armand whipped his head around, afraid she’d been shot. “What?” he demanded.

  “It’s an armored car! Bulletproof windows and padded tires that won’t go flat!”

  Even before Armand received that disturbing tidbit of information, he knew they were at a disadvantage. The armored vehicle was smaller and faster than their van. He wouldn’t be able to outrun or outmaneuver it on the narrow, twisting road. He would have to outmuscle it instead.

  The lone pursuer suddenly veered around the van and sped up alongside them. As he and Armand locked gazes, the mercenary pointed his Glock out the passenger window.

  Armand shouted to Lia, “Brace yourself!”

  He wrenched the steering wheel left, ramming the side of the van into the sedan. The deafening crunch of metal filled the air. The other car skidded across the deserted two-lane road.

  Taking advantage of the temporary reprieve, Armand floored the accelerator. The van sprang toward eighty. Not good enough.

  From the back window, Lia fired at the sedan as it recovered its tracks and began racing toward them again. The driver returned fire. Pop, pop, pop!

  Lia ducked for cover as bullets sprayed the van.

  In no time at all the mercenary caught up to them, roaring up beside Armand.

  Gritting his teeth, Armand hit the brakes and went into a controlled skid. As the other car shot past them, he quickly righted the wheel and gunned the accelerator.

  He barreled toward the sedan, which had stopped in the middle of the road, straddling both lanes at a cocky angle. As Armand bore down on him, the driver suddenly swung into a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. But he’d misjudged the time it would take the van to cover the distance. Armand hit him at full speed, using the van as a battering ram.

  This time the sedan went into a wild spin, fishtailing off the road before coming to a sudden stop right at the edge of a steep slope.

  After a few seconds the driver’s door opened, but before the disoriented man could bail out of the doomed car, the front end pitched sharply forward. The sedan hung over the edge for a moment, then nosedived down the precipitous, rocky slope.

  Armand was still gripping the steering wheel, trying to catch his breath, when Lia hopped back into the passenger seat.

  She leaned over and gave him a quick, hard kiss on his mouth. “Nice driving. Now let’s get the hell outta here!”

  Chapter 16

  That night, Lia and Armand ate dinner by a large campfire in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t quite what Armand had in mind when he’d promised her a “romantic candlelight dinner,” but after the harrowing day they’d had, he figured she’d give him a pass.

  “How was your steak?” he asked with a lazy smile, watching as she licked her fingers, tossed her clean bone into the fire, then set aside her paper plate.

  “Delicious,” she pronounced with a deep sigh of satisfaction. “Best steak I’ve ever had. My compliments to the chef.”

  Armand chuckled dryly. “As I mentioned before, I’ve had a lot of practice roasting meat over campfires. Nothing to it.”

  She grinned at him. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. The meat was tender and seasoned just right. If left to me, those steaks would have been nothing more than a charred mess.”

  Armand nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “Hey!” Lia said indignantly, slapping him playfully on the shoulder.

  Together they laughed, and it felt good. Really good. They’d had very little to laugh about over the past several hours.

  After the close call on the highway, they’d ditched the bullet-riddled van in exchange for an old but serviceable sedan they bought at a used-car lot for two hundred dollars. By the time Lia had finished shamelessly flirting with the salesman, he’d been ready to hand over the keys for every vehicle on the lot. Armand empathized with the poor guy.

  Back on the road, he and Lia had traveled for another two hours before reaching their new hideout, the site of an old underground bunker that had been used by Union soldiers during the Civil War. Located on a large tract of privately owned land in rural Virginia, the bunker did not belong to any historical society, Lia explained, but rather to an old friend of her father’s. The owner, a retired widower who actually lived on the West Coast, had no intention of selling the land, which had been in his family for generations. Whenever he came to Virginia, he always invited Lia and her parents to join him for camping and fishing on the property. Because Lia had always been fascinated with the underground bunker, he’d laughingly given her a key to it should she ever need a “place to hide.”

  Little did he know that years later, finding herself on the run, she would seek refuge in the same bunker she’d once explored and played in.

  Armand, who wasn’t too keen on spending the night in a dank, dusty underground hole haunted by the ghosts of dead soldiers, would much rather sleep under the stars, as he’d often done back home. But if Lia insisted that they take shelter in the bunker, he’d keep his promise to cooperate. As long as they were together, it didn’t really matter where he slept.

  The summer night was thick and sultry, and a steady chorus of nocturnal creatures’ humming filled the air. Ribbons of moonlight streamed through the canopy of pine and fir trees surrounding their campsite.

  Before arriving at their new destination, they’d stopped at a discount store and stocked up on food and camping supplies to get them through the next three days, if necessary. Lia had bought a prepaid phone and called to check up on Armand’s family. He hadn’t taken an easy breath until she had hung up and reported that his mother and siblings were doing just fine. When he had asked her why she was pouting, she had informed him that his mother was about to pr
epare chictai for Agent Rollins and the others. Even Armand had been jealous.

  When Lia had checked her voice mail, there were no new messages. Just as she’d predicted.

  Although she hadn’t come out and said it, Armand knew how traumatized she was by the recent turn of events. She had devoted her life to the Secret Service. She’d sacrificed friendships, a love life, stability—hell, her own safety—in order to be the best agent she could be. To discover that someone within the agency had betrayed her trust, violated her privacy and was now trying to kill her had to be the most devastating thing she’d ever experienced in her life. Armand wanted to comfort her, hold her. Reassure her that everything would be all right.

  Even if he didn’t necessarily believe it.

  “Do you want another beer?” Lia asked, interrupting his grim musings as she reached into the large cooler beside her.

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. One is enough.”

  Absently he watched as Lia opened a bottle of water and took a healthy swig. She was sublimely beautiful, even with the darkening purple bruise on her right cheek. She had braided her hair into a neat, thick plait that hung between her shoulder blades. At some point she had changed into tan cargo pants and a white tank top that drew his gaze to her sleekly toned arms and the enticing fullness of her firm, round breasts. He remembered sucking her dark nipples, stroking and caressing her breasts as he drove inside her exquisite heat. He remembered the feel of her long, slippery legs locked around his waist, the scrape of her nails against his back, the wild thrusting of her hips.

  If the threat of dying had not diminished his hunger for this woman, he knew nothing ever would.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he blurted, reining in his imagination before he tackled her to the ground and mounted her with all the finesse of a caveman.

  Lia glanced at him, and he wondered if he’d only imagined the wary look that crossed her face before she smiled inquisitively. “What is it?”

  “You told me a few days ago that when you visited Muwaiti, you met an old Creole woman who reminded you of your grandmother. Does that mean you have Creole blood in your family?”