by T C Archer
“No more nerve than you do, stealing money that isn’t yours.”
All amusement vanished. “Don’t like having your hard earned blood money stolen?”
Cole strode to the bed and sat on the edge nearest her. He dumped the contents of the bag onto the bedspread, then leveled his gaze on her. “You want to hear why I let you take the hundred thousand?”
Jesse blinked, then laughed again.
She quit laughing when Cole slid from the bed onto his knees and reached for the buttons on her Chinos.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jesse remained motionless as Cole carefully undid the hook on her pants, then the button and the zipper. He drew back the waistband until the top of her powder blue boy-short panties were visible. Her body tightened at the prospect of inspecting the rest of those cigarette burns he’d mentioned. The girl always falls for the bad guy, that’s how she justified it when she found herself remembering the broad shoulders and lean forearm he’d revealed when he’d shown her the burns. He started to slide the pants from her hips.
She didn’t move, and he looked up at her. “Lift your hips so I can get the pants off.”
Jesse still didn’t move. Cole glanced at the bloodstains. His brow furrowed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he actually cared.
He pinned her with a hard stare. “You haven’t taken proper care of this.”
“I—”
“I’m not stupid, Jess. It wouldn’t bleed like this if tended properly.”
She sighed, and lifted her hips. Cole tugged the pants over her hips, taking care, she noticed, not to drag her panties down. That’s what she got for not wearing a thong. The boy shorts were little less than short shorts. Emma Peel would have planned better. So would she, next time.
“I checked into the Cayman account,” Cole said as he peeled the bloody pant leg from her leg, then tugged the garment free of her stocking feet. “It walks and talks like a payoff.”
Cole dropped the pants on the floor beside the chair. He gripped her ankle and began unwrapping the bloody gauze from her calf. The bandage snagged on clotted blood and yanked at the wound. Jesse winced.
Cole looked up at her. “You okay?”
Jesse grimaced. “That hurts more than when he cut me.” A little melodramatic, she realized, but the situation seemed to call for it.
Cole gave a serious nod, then went back to unwrapping the bandage. The bandage pulled free and he discarded it beside the pants. He shook his head as he caressed her knee around the wound.
“You’ve ripped out more stitches, and I can’t take you back to Rayburn. You shouldn’t have run.”
His mouth thinned and she wondered how much more disapproving the look would get once he knew he wouldn’t get his money back, no matter how good a performance he gave. Had he arrived five minutes earlier, he could have stopped the transfer. Now, he needed her in order to get his money back. Amazing how five minutes made them new best friends. Cole grabbed a bottle of peroxide and box of gauze from the bed, tore open the box, and pulled out a sterile square. He opened the peroxide and saturated the gauze.
“This’ll sting,” he said, and began cleaning blood from her skin in wide swaths, like a professional.
He was right. The cut stung bone deep as it foamed white in the wound.
“Someone went to a lot of trouble to frame you,” he said.
Someone? She was betting Cole would tell her Lanton was Superman in disguise and had accomplished the feat all on his own, the same way Cole had found her. The muscles in Cole’s shoulders flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt. Hello Superman—and hello to Superwoman’s kryptonite.
“I’ll take it from here,” she said, and pulled her leg free of his grip.
Cole cupped her heel and straightened her leg. “Don’t get feisty. Someone has to clean the wound, tape the skin back together—straight and tight—then wrap it.” He released her leg, ripped open another sterile gauze, soaked it in peroxide, and began the final cleanup.
Jesse decided the cool evaporation of peroxide and the warmth of Cole’s hand were a fair trade for the frustrated desire to beat him senseless. She relaxed and studied his face as he ripped medical tape with his teeth. He wasn’t perfectly handsome in profile. His chin jutted a bit too much and a bump on the bridge of his nose indicated it had been broken.
“Where did you learn medicine?” she asked.
“I started as a medic in the Army Rangers—Afghanistan, Iraq.”
“You said you were in the Navy.”
He gave her an apologetic glance, but said nothing.
“How did you get started in this business?”
“I come from a long line of ex-military. It’s obligatory. ROTC, officer training, active duty. I did my duty and was recruited into Green Team by Lanton.”
Jesse studied him. What if he was he telling the truth about Columbia and simply didn’t mind taking money for bringing her in? Would it be easier to deal with wanting him if he were just a man she had failed to save and not one she should want to kill instead of make love to all night? Would he resist if she pushed him onto the carpet and straddled his hips?
“How did you meet Lanton?" she asked.
Cole began wrapping the gauze around her leg. “He ran a covert operation to locate WMDs as the civilian intelligence officer. He made me his point man for a year. I had planned on going to veterinary school after the Army. When Lanton pulled me from the field and offered me training, more education, and an opportunity to make a difference defending the U.S., I said yes.”
Jesse flexed her leg to test the bandage. Like he said, good and tight. He would have made a good veterinarian. She remembered Lancelot, and blurted, “How did Rayburn take Lancelot’s death?”
A muscle pulsed in Cole’s jaw and her heart constricted.
“Pretty hard. Lance was only seven. I told Charlie he died a true hero.”
Jesse nodded and started to say the dog’s death wasn’t his fault, then stopped. Cole might be who he claimed to be. He could be an agent Lanton brought in who had nothing to do with Columbia, yet believed it was his duty to bring in a traitor. But the hundred thousand dollars he accepted from Lanton said he might have helped send Green Team to their deaths. So why did every square inch of her body scream to be touched by a man who might be a killer?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A tingle raced up Jesse’s thigh when Cole’s fingers flexed against her skin. He shifted her leg. She tensed, uncomfortably aware of the warm hands and gentle pressure against her skin.
“That hurts,” she said. “Just wrap it up.”
He looked up, hurt in his eyes. “It’s going to scar if you don’t get it restitched.”
“Won’t be the only scar I have.”
“Stop being stubborn. I’ll be done in a minute, then you can go back to hating me.” He ripped open another box of gauze, withdrew the roll, and continued wrapping her leg.
“So tell me now the diner wasn’t a setup,” she said.
“Like I said, Jess, they found you when I found you. We simply hadn’t shaken them. How much did you hear?”
Her heart sped up. This was damage control. “I heard you're getting a lot of money to hand me over to Lanton.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “A hundred thousand for my trouble.”
“You haven’t seen trouble yet.”
The smile lifted the other side of his mouth. “You’re a handful.”
“You’ll never get the money now.”
“I never said I wanted it.”
“You didn’t refuse it.”
He paused and looked at her. “No one owns me, any more than they own you. He wants me to get a confession out of you.”
“By any means necessary,” she said.
Cole nodded, then ripped a foot-long strip of tape. “That’s not OIA style. If he was working within the organization, he would have attempted to bring you in. There’s no doubt he’s working on his own. What have you got that has him so scare
d?”
Cole wrapped the tape around her leg, pressing and massaging the bandage snug. She tried to ignore the play of muscle against shirt-fabric across his shoulders. Her belly did a flip. Damn him. She pulled her leg from his hands. Cole placed the medical supplies on the desk before he spoke. Jesse grabbed her pants and slipped them on.
When she stood in front of him dressed again, she said, “Lanton’s been dirty a long time.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ask Tom about Madrid. Then check out Hong Kong—” the laptop emitted a high-pitched beep. “What the—” Jesse opened the laptop lid.
An error dialogue box covered the middle of the screen. At a glance, she saw the transfer of funds from the third account into the fourth had been interrupted. She closed out the dialogue box by selecting ‘Retry’. The progress bar appeared and the cursor became a spinning hourglass. The progress bar began filling left to right. At the halfway point, everything froze, including the hourglass. She pressed the escape key, but the computer didn’t respond.
Cole stepped up beside her. “What happened?”
“Don’t act innocent,” she snarled. “Acting as if you let me have the hundred grand. You couldn’t stand for those kids to benefit.”
“What kids?”
“Stay back,” Jesse warned as she typed furiously to tear down the connection and start from scratch. “You’d better hope I can get the connection back because, if I can’t, I’m taking the funds out of your ass.”
Cole leaned forward and Jesse whirled. He leaped. She fisted her hands and threw her leg for a sidekick. He ducked, but she grazed his nose.
“Jess, let me—”
She dropped to a crouch and fell back on her hands, kicking with both feet. She caught him in the gut and he staggered back.
“Jess,” he wheezed as she jerked herself back onto her feet.
Cole turned, shoulder facing her, and she realized he intended to charge. She pivoted in readiness for a slam to the back of his head as he moved past her, then belatedly felt his fingers close around her sore ankle, and found herself, ass first, on the floor. She bucked to break his hold, but he fell on her, belly to belly. Pain shot from her leg and shoulder wounds. He jammed her arms against her sides, then clamped down on them with his thighs, and rose onto his knees.
“Save this for someone who deserves it,” he wheezed.
He grabbed the box of discarded gauze and dumped it out onto the floor beside them. “You’re forcing me to do this so I don’t hurt you.” In one quick move, he flipped her onto her stomach and yanked her arms behind her. He clamped her wrists together with one of his massive hands while he wrapped the gauze around them in three quick turns like roping a calf.
“I’ll kill you!” She bucked.
Cole tossed the gauze aside without cutting it. “Hush,” he said, and reached for the computer, still keeping his thighs tight around her ribs.
Rage swept through her. She struggled to free her arms, but Cole tightened his hold until she wheezed for breath.
He muttered something unintelligible and she twisted her head in time to see him finger the touchpad, his eyes intent on the screen. Jesse channeled all her strength into an upward heave. He didn’t budge. She had no leverage, and the effort only sharpened the pain.
Cole bore down the place between her shoulders with the heel of his hand. “I admire your tenacity, but stop it, Jesse.”
“Damn you,” she rasped, precious air escaping from her lungs with every word.
He hit control or alt-something on the keyboard and pecked at the keys with one finger. Jesse gasped, but lost more air than she gained. Cole eased the pressure on her chest, eyes still on the screen.
Jesse surged against him again. “You fu—”
Cole pushed down on her back. Air burst from her lungs in one humph. Lack of oxygen caused white flares on the edge of her vision.
Cole leaped off her, then jerked her to her knees. Jesse sucked in a deep breath, pooling her energy to yank free.
“Look,” he ordered, and turned her to face the computer screen.
The progress bar moved across the screen.
She halted and stared at the transfer. He’d either redirected the funds or connected to a proxy server that was faking the operation. A second later, the transfer concluded, and another started from the fourth account to a fifth one in Indonesia. He couldn’t fake that one unless he knew she had an account there and it was the fifth hop on the transfer.
Cole released her and stepped back. “Whoever has the ability to intercept the transmission has the ability to trace it. We need to get out—now.”
Jesse looked back at the computer. They knew her location. She had planned on sneaking a visit to Amanda. Her heart constricted. Harris had reported all was well. He had encouraged her to stay away—far away. He was right.
“Get this thing off of me,” she snapped.
Cole grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. He had the gauze off in two seconds. Jesse whirled, rubbing her wrists despite the fact they weren’t really chaffed. Her shoulder throbbed. She needed time to think. Lanton’s goons were probably nearby, in the next room, maybe.
“We do things my way,” she said.
Cole shook his head. “You’re in no position to be calling the shots.”
“I won’t chance another ambush. Think twice, Cole. I can get the job done without you.”
His expression hardened, and she couldn’t tell if he was hurt or angry. “Where are we going?”
“Columbia.”
“Lanton expects me back at Langley tomorrow,” he said. “If I don’t show, he’ll get suspicious.”
Jesse brushed past him, grabbed her sneakers from the bedside, and sat down. She slipped on the first shoe and laced it. “I’ll give you a contact number. It’s an internet message center where I can retrieve voice mail.” She slipped on the second shoe, tied the lace, and stood. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Too many things can go wrong.”
She crossed to the laptop, yanked the cord free, then picked up the computer and stuffed the cell phone into her pocket. “That’s how it has to be,” She hurried to the door. Jesse started to turn the knob, but felt Cole beside her even as he shoved the door closed. She stared up at him. “I don’t want to hurt you Cole.”
“This is a bad idea.”
Headlights cut through the fabric of the curtains covering the window overlooking the rear of the motel. Cole released the door and strode to the window. He pulled the curtain back without care.
“Cole,” Jesse hissed, but didn’t wait for a response and slipped out the door.
“Jess,” she heard him say as she clicked the door shut.
She hesitated. Leaving like she had at the diner still hurt. Despite the fact she knew this was the right thing to do, it felt even worse. A car door slammed and she hurried forward, turning right on the well-lit walkway alongside the motel to the end of the building. She peered around the corner into the parking lot, saw no one, then turned left and bolted toward the office and main road. At the road, Jesse glanced over her shoulder. No one followed. Alone, she started to cross the deserted street, then stopped. Cole had called her on Tom’s cell phone. She couldn’t drag The Professor down with her. She withdrew the cell phone and tossed it in a nearby storm drain.
CHAPTER NINEETEEN
Jesse snapped a photo of a giant fern growing at the edge of a manmade pond in Bogota’s Botanical Garden’s Criptogamio section. Like a typical tourist, she refocused the compact digital camera for a close-up of a fiddlehead when footsteps slowed behind her. She turned and saw Juanita Pinto approach.
Juanita’s perfect Mediterranean features were accented with wavy, jet black hair and eyes so dark brown they looked black from a distance. In three-inch heels, she stood an inch taller than Jesse’s five eight, and her neat caramel-colored Versachi pantsuit, white camisole, and matching wide-brimmed hat made Jesse feel like the tourist she was pretending to be. Juanit
a had been a runner up in the Miss Universe pageant. Fortunately, she didn’t mind using her God-given talents to further the Spanish government’s cause. Jesse pocketed the camera as Juanita stopped in front of her.
“Jesse Evans.” With a manicured index finger, Juanita slid her sunglasses lower on her nose and peered over the rim. “How long has it been?” Her impeccable English held only a faint Spanish accent.
Jesse forced a bright smile. Now wasn’t the time to remind Juanita Jesse had a photographic memory and wasn’t likely to forget their last encounter during the Madrid operation, when Juanita had comprised Spain’s agent contingent and observer—and spied on The Professor. Juanita had never mentioned the disc being missing from her purse, but Jesse figured she knew it was Jesse who had taken it.
“Three years, I think.” Jesse embraced her, exchanged kisses on both cheeks, then pulled back. “How’s work at the Consulate these days?”
Juanita dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “Too much to do and not enough resources to do it. You know, the same old story: diplomatic courier and all around expert on all things secret.”
Yeah, Jesse thought. The Spanish had a miniscule but effective Secret Service thanks to people like Juanita. “I’m glad you could spare time for an old friend,” she said.
The corners of Juanita’s mouth curved upward. “I hear you’ve been…shall we say…busy lately?”
A vulgar flash of hot pink appeared amongst the dark green ferns to Jesse’s right and she glanced at the only other people around. She winced inwardly at sight of the gaudy Hawaiian style shirt worn by one of the men in the group of four tourists. She had seen the same tourists the two dozen times she had checked for anyone following her, and couldn’t help wondering if they were Feds. Only Feds would be stupid enough to dress so garishly in an attempt to blend in.
Jesse linked arms with Juanita. “Let’s walk.” She headed toward the greenhouse that dominated the center of the gardens. “I need help.”
Juanita erupted in the imitation Mata Hari laugh she used to lighten the mood in female company. “You need a miracle, girl. You know there’s an Interpol watch for you?”