As Lost as I Get (2 page)

The guard grunted and his footsteps came closer. Zoe held her breath. She didn’t have to wait long. The guard touched
her neck and there was the meaty sound of a punch, followed by a strangled yelp. The guard’s hand went away. The two men scuffled on the floor next to her and the urge to open her eyes was overwhelming. Lee was right though: as long as they thought she was already dead, they’d ignore her.

At the sound of a gun cocking, she gave in and cracked her eyes just enough to make sure it was Lee with the gun. He kept over the fallen guard, gun in hand. The other guard appeared in the doorway and Zoe snapped her eyes shut again.

There were two flat bangs, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. Who shot first? After a third shot, the urge to call out Lee’s name was almost a physical pain. She took the chance of opening her eyes again—neither of the two bodies on the floor was Lee’s, but he wasn’t in the room. Panic grabbed her fully by the throat. He’d left her. He wasn’t who he said he was, he saw his chance and ran, and now she was here in the room with two dead kidnappers. Her heart slammed against her ribcage like it too was trying to escape. The vision of him jumping into whatever vehicle was outside and driving away was so clear she thought she heard the ignition roar.

“Zoe! All clear!” Lee appeared in the doorway, gun still in hand. He tucked it into the back of his jeans and knelt by the first guard, feeling for a pulse. “Toss me your ropes,” he said. “He’s still alive.”

She scrabbled at the ropes around her ankles, but it took her three tries to get them loose with her shaking hands. She tossed them to Lee and tried to stand under her own power for the first time in three days. Climbing to her feet with the help of the wall, her muscles were shaky and weak, and the pins and needles started in her feet immediately. Limping to the doorway, she gave the bodies on the floor a wide berth.

“What now?” she asked.

“Now we get out of here and find a clearing so we can catch our ride.” He pulled an ancient cell phone from his pocket. “Luckily, one of our boys charged his phone. There’s a car out front. Neither of them is carrying keys, but I’m not taking the time to search the house. Come on.” He took her by the hand and pulled her toward the door.

“So we walk out of here?” Zoe shook free, but followed him. Her head was throbbing worse than ever.

“Oh ye of little faith.”

The car was a tiny Nissan that had seen better days. A long time ago. He pulled open the driver side door with a complaining screech of metal and folded himself into the bucket seat. She hadn’t realized before just how tall he was. Through the passenger side window she could see him busily stripping wires under the dashboard with his penknife. She was about to climb in when she heard the rumble of a vehicle. “Shit. Someone’s coming.”

His head popped up as he listened. “Get in.” With a spark of wires, the ignition caught and stuttered to life. “Hang on.” He threw it into reverse and spun the car around in the small space in front of the house—which now she could see was really not much more than a hut in the middle of the jungle. He didn’t turn on the headlights, and Zoe had a moment to hope like hell his night vision was better than hers. Headlights flickered through the trees ahead. The road was too narrow; there was no way they could pass whoever it was. She stole a glance at him and could just see the set of his jaw: determined. The seat belt was as battered as the rest of the car, but she pulled it on and fastened it anyway, then held on to the door handle.

Lee gunned the sewing-machine engine, and they rounded a turn to see a pair of headlights coming right at them. “Lee.” Her pulse pounded heavy and thick in her skull.

“We’ll get past.” He flipped the headlights on and laid on the horn, a rusty screeching honk. The van swerved at the last second, honking its own horn. The tires of the small compact car spun and found purchase on the soft dirt of the road. Zoe could have reached through the window and slapped her palm on the van without stretching, but they got past, horn blaring.

Zoe said, “That was the van—”

“Yeah.” He looked in the rearview mirror. “Same one. They’ll come after us.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he pulled out the cell phone and handed it to her. “Call this number,” he said and gave her a U.S. number.

“It’s ringing.”

“Hand it to me.”

She handed it over just as she heard a crisp female voice say, “Mazatlan Imports, how can I help you?”

“Good to hear your voice, Lieutenant. This is Prodigal Son, looking for a ride out of here for me and a friend.” She turned to look out their rear window while listening to his side of the conversation. “Yeah,” he said. “I think we’re about thirty miles southwest of Oaxaca . . . Oh, you do. Good. Got a clearing for me?” He listened intently and nodded even though he was on the phone. “I can get there in about ten minutes. Listen, we’re going to have company here pretty quick. Can we put a rush on this?” He grinned. “I’ll do what I can. Thanks.” He clicked the phone closed and handed it to her. “We’re on our way to meet our ride. There’s a clearing not far from here.”

“How far behind us do you think they are?”

“Depends how far they had to go before they could turn around. If we can get to a turnoff before they get in sight of us, we’ll be home free. Should be— Damn it.” He saw it the same time she did, then, a pair of headlights a little ways behind them.

“What now?”

His answer was to step on the gas, making the little car fishtail in the dirt. Zoe stared behind them, watching the headlights creep gradually closer. “They’re catching up.”

“Of course they’re catching up, they’ve got an eight-cylinder engine and I have a lawnmower.
Shit
.” He slapped his hand on the steering wheel. “Hang on.” He pushed the car harder, the engine starting to whine like a mosquito. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered. “I don’t suppose you know how to shoot.”

“A gun? No,” she said. Her fingers curled into the ripped plastic upholstery of the seat back. They were going to catch up to them, and when they did, they were going to kill her. Probably Lee as well. Her breath came in shallow sips and she tried to force deeper breaths.

“We’re going to get through this.” He curled his fingers around her free hand. “Listen to me. You still trust me, right?” She met his eyes as he looked between her and the dark road in front of them.

“. . . I trust you.” Her chest loosened and she was finally able to take a deep breath.

“All right. I want you to get down onto the floorboard. You’ll have to take your seat belt off.” He smiled and let go of her hand. “Just in case. They’re not close enough to get a shot at us yet, but better safe than sorry.” She slid out of her seat and crouched on the filthy floor of the car. “Good girl. The turnoff for the main road is up ahead. We’ll beat them there, and once we’re on pavement we’ll be able to get farther ahead.”

Zoe rested her head on the car seat and closed her eyes. Her world narrowed to the buzz of the engine and the stink of fear and motor oil. All she could do was hang on and breathe. With a thump, the sounds changed, the wheels rolling on pavement instead of dirt.

“We should be there in five more minutes. We’re going to make it, Zoe, I promise.”

She wanted to believe him, but the tension in his voice was unmissable. She opened her eyes and looked up to see him watching the rearview mirror, face set in grim determination.

“How close are they?”

His shoulders slumped a little. “Close. We might have a fight on our hands when we get to the clearing.”

The first shot blew out the rear window with a crash and a shower of safety-glass fragments. Zoe flinched and yelped, covering her head with her arms. “Hang on,” Lee said, and spun the steering wheel. The road changed to dirt again, and the jarring bumps rattled her teeth. “We’re almost there. When I say so, get out of the car and stay low behind one of the tires, okay?” She didn’t answer at first. “Zoe! Be ready to get out and crouch behind the car. Are you with me?”

“Y-Yeah.”

After a few twists and turns, Lee slammed on the brakes with a screech and the car spun to a stop. “Now! Behind the tire.”

Zoe scrambled for the door handle and crawled out of the car. She knelt behind the rear tire, fighting the urge to look and see what was happening. Lee followed her out of the passenger side and slammed the door shut. The gun was in his hand, and with a single quick motion, he popped the clip and checked the ammunition. “Our ride should be here any minute.” He squeezed her shoulder and moved to crouch at the front of the car, peering over the hood. She heard the van screech to a halt and a door open. Lee fired a shot then moved back behind cover. From the cursing, he must have hit someone.

“Shit. There’s more of them than I have bullets.” He growled in frustration. “What the hell, did they stop and get reinforcements in the middle of the night?”

Everything seemed very far away. She was dimly aware of Lee firing the gun, of shots hitting the car, bullets flying overhead. Men were shouting in Spanish and English, and there was a roaring noise overhead. It got bright as daylight and gusts of wind buffeted her body, nearly knocking her from her crouch. It took far too long to register the helicopter above her, then landing in the clearing. More gunfire, more screaming. Everything sounded far away, as if her head were underwater. Something so distant couldn’t possibly hurt her.

Then Lee was shouting her name, pulling her to her feet. When she couldn’t run, he picked her up.

It wasn’t until he’d buckled her into the helicopter seat and they’d taken off that she fully realized what was happening.
For the second time since her kidnapping, Zoe started to cry, this time in great, racking sobs. She let Lee pull her out of her seat and cradle her like a child while he murmured to her. “You’re safe now. It’s over. We’re going home.”

It was over.

Chapter One

Two years later

Inírida, Colombia, near the Venezuelan border

Zoe Rodriguez heard shouting in Spanish through her office door. “My grandson. You must help my grandson!”

Emergencies weren’t unheard of in their tiny clinic, but most people went to Inírida’s small hospital for urgent problems. She could hear Jacira’s calming voice—the local woman had been an administrator for the Médecins International clinic since its inception, and would be there long after Zoe moved on to another assignment.

She hurried to the waiting room to see a familiar face. The staff had taken to calling the wizened old woman La Abuelita because of her many “grandchildren.” They came in all ages and colors; most of them were probably street children or other foundlings that she had rounded up and taken in.

The boy she was carrying now lolled against her shoulder, bleeding from his temple, his dark brown skin ashen.

“Jacira, exam three.” Zoe pulled on a pair of latex gloves and stepped forward to give the boy a quick exam while Jacira prepped the exam room. The boy’s breathing was even.

He woke up as Zoe started her full exam. She helped him sit up. He seemed steady, no shaking or wobbliness. The exam made it more obvious the boy had been struck in the temple by something, a rock perhaps. “Hey, there,” she said in Spanish. “I’m Zoe. Can you tell me your name?”

“Hugo,” he said, all big eyes.

“Can you tell me what happened, Hugo?”

He cut his eyes to La Abuelita. “I don’t know.”

If he really didn’t remember, that was a bad sign. “Did you know that doctors all make a special promise, Hugo?” She looked him in the eye, with as much reassurance as she could manage. “If you tell me something, I can’t tell anyone—”

Another commotion kicked up outside. La Abuelita stood in front of the boy as if to protect him.

She wasn’t wrong to do so. The exam room door flew open to reveal a tall, ebony-skinned man in a military uniform. Behind him, Jacira had eyes like thunder at the breach of protocol. If the man had any sense, he’d be more worried about what was behind him than what was in front of him.

“There you are,” he said to La Abuelita—or the child, Zoe couldn’t be sure which.

Zoe pushed forward between them. “I’m sorry, you’re going to have to wait outside. I’m in the middle of treating a patient—”

“You’re in the middle of treating a criminal,” the man said, his voice deep and resonating in the small room.

“He’s lying!” La Abuelita cried.

“Either way,” Zoe said, a sense of calm descending, “he’s my patient, and you’re going to have to wait until I’m through with him.” She gave him her best “I am a doctor and you do not mess with me” smile and herded him back toward the door. “I promise you, I won’t let them run out the back door when I’m finished.”

The man resisted briefly, then gave in.

“Jacira,” Zoe said, “please show this gentleman to our waiting room?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Zoe shut the door behind them. “Now, what was that about? Tell me quickly.”

“He lies, Doctor. He’s a terrible man,” La Abuelita said.

Zoe ignored her in favor of Hugo once again, who had gone pale. “Hugo, like I was saying, you can tell me anything at all, and I can’t tell anybody else, not even the man outside. If you remember, it’s very important that you tell me, so I can make sure you haven’t been hurt badly.”

He looked down at his feet where they were kicking at one leg of the exam table. “A man in the market threw a rock at me.”

“That wasn’t very nice of him. Why would he do that?”

“He thought I stole some arepas.” The kid wasn’t much more than skin and bones; she couldn’t fault him much if he was stealing food.

“That still wasn’t very nice of him.” She checked his vitals, did a neurological exam. He stayed clear and responsive the entire time, and barely flinched while she bandaged the cut on his temple. “All right. You wait here. Your abuelita will be back in just a minute.” She took the other woman into the corridor.

“He should be fine,” Zoe said. “There’s no sign of brain injury. We should be able to send him home with you, but you’ll need to keep a close eye on him.”

“Oh thank God,” La Abuelita said. “It’s my fault he stole. He heard me tell one of the older boys this morning that I was worried about our garden. It’s not growing well. Now the soldier will want to take him away.”

“Let me worry about that,” Zoe said. “You go back and wait with Hugo. If he seems to get dizzy or sick to his stomach, you get one of us right away.”

As much as she hoped otherwise, the uniformed man was still waiting for her, looking hopelessly out of place in the waiting room, an overdressed rooster among a bunch of guinea hens. She approached him with a warm smile and her hand outstretched. “I’m sorry, we weren’t properly introduced,” she said, as if he hadn’t barged into her exam room shouting. “I’m Doctor Zoe Rodriguez. I’m in charge of the clinic here.”

“Santiago Vargas,” he said, executing a short bow over her hand. His manners were courtly, but the look in his eyes was anything but as he looked her over.
Good.
She wasn’t too proud to take that interest and use it on behalf of the clinic if she needed to.

“Let’s talk in my office,” she said, and led the way.

Once she’d invited him to sit, he said, “I apologize for my behavior earlier. Street crime is a problem here.”

Zoe sat down behind her desk and kept smiling. He was remarkably handsome. She knew his type. “I didn’t know the Ejército Nacional de Colombia dealt with street crimes, Colonel.” “Colonel” was a guess, as was his specific branch of service. If she was right, he’d be flattered, and if she was wrong, he’d enjoy correcting her.

“Doctor Rodriguez, I’m impressed that an American knows our uniforms.” Flattery it was then. “We do what we can. I happened to be there when the boy took off running.”

“I’m so glad,” Zoe said. “I think a terrible crime was committed.”

Colonel Vargas sat up straighter. “He confessed?”

“Someone assaulted an eight-year-old child by throwing a rock at his head. He could have been severely injured, or even killed, Colonel.”

The smile he gave her was politely condescending—it was one she’d seen before. He was about to tell her how as a foreigner she couldn’t understand what happened. “You will forgive me, Doctor, but you cannot trust what these street children say. They are trained from the cradle to tell whatever lies benefit them best.”

“I have been in the field with Médecins International for over four years,” Zoe said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Even though she wasn’t overseas for two of those years, she was still doing some clinic work in Miami. “I have had experience with all kinds of children. And I know someone threw a rock at his head because of his injuries. They’re very distinct. He’s lucky to be alive.” She leaned across her desk and powered up her smile. “You seem like a good man, Colonel Vargas. I’m sure we can count on you to deal with the sort of man who would threaten a child.”

“The child is a criminal, and I’m afraid I must insist you give him to me—”

“The child has a head injury, and he won’t be leaving my clinic until I decide he’s stable.” She softened her words with another smile, as guileless as she knew how to make it. “We have very strict protocols for head injuries. Especially where children are concerned.”

Vargas opened and closed his hands, and his mouth tightened around his smile. “Of course. You must make certain of his well-being.”

Zoe stood up and extended her hand across the desk. “I’m so glad you understand. You’ve saved me the paperwork of having to go to our people in Bogotá to explain why the Colombian government was failing to cooperate with our mandate to treat her citizens.”
Back off, or I
will
make this an international incident
.

He shook her hand, although there was no smile in his eyes anymore. “Doctor Rodriguez.” He dipped his head.

“Colonel.”

She showed him out, and when she turned back, Jacira met her with an anxious expression. “Well?”

“I don’t think I made a friend,” Zoe said, “but I think he’ll leave La Abuelita and her kids alone. For now.”

***

CIA Station Chief’s Office, Bogotá, Colombia

Lee Wheeler looked at the folder in front of him, memorizing the details. Will Freeman, account manager for International Frontier Industries—the folder contained all the information and ID he’d need to take on a new life in Bogotá.

Colombia was punishment for his sins in his old life.

“So I’m a friend of the Ambassador’s, then?” he asked.

“An old friend,” Wishnevsky said with a grin. “His Excellency knows who you are, of course.” Old enough to be his mother, Janet Wishnevsky looked a good fifteen years younger than she was, and what she didn’t know about espionage in Latin America wasn’t worth knowing. “There will be several minor Colombian bureaucrats at the fund-raiser. Keep an eye open for a potential recruit.”

Despite everything, it was good to be back in the field, even if it was a punishment detail in a relative backwater CIA operation.

Fine. It was fine. Lee had had his share of dangerous and exciting ops. After so many years in the field, he’d found that his taste for adrenaline had died a little. “What are we offering?”

“The usual,” she said. “You know the routine.” She stood, signaling the end of their briefing. “Six PM tomorrow, sharp.” Wishnevsky leaned across her desk, a gleam in her sharp eyes. “I hope you have a decent tux.”

“I can make do,” he said. She knew who he was, who his family was. Tuxedos weren’t a problem.

As if she read his mind, she asked, “How’s your brother?”

“Better,” he said. “The trial’s over, and Lucas is back on tour.” Lucas Wheeler, bad boy rock star. Lee still sometimes wondered how they were related, much less twins.

“That was a hell of a thing you did for him.”

A hell of a thing that cost him a cushy D.C. analyst position. “It was all his fiancée, Gwen,” he said. “She did all the work of keeping him safe. I just pulled some strings.” Too many strings, and strings he shouldn’t have pulled. He’d do it again. With Lucas refusing to take the threat of a stalker seriously, all Lee could do was make sure Gwen had a weapon and anything else she needed. That, and a few extra-curricular background checks on Lucas’s staff. Those were what had landed him in hot water. “Still, they’re both safe, and things have settled. It was time for me to get back in the field.”

“I’m glad to have you.” She let him pretend the choice had been his. “Bill McKenzie’s loss is my gain.”

“Believe me, he doesn’t think so.”

“McKenzie’s been sitting on his ass too long to recognize a good thing when he sees one.” She came around her desk, squeezing past a decade’s worth of books and files piled throughout the tiny office. “You’re going to do good things out here, Lee. We’re not as hidebound out here on the edges of things.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Wishnevsky grunted. “Cut that shit out. It makes me feel old. Come on. I’ll let you buy me a drink and I’ll fill you in
on the scuttlebutt around here.”

“Yes, ma’a—” Lee stopped himself in time and grinned. The scuttlebutt he wouldn’t hear was what he really wanted to know: why one of the CIA’s sharpest minds had been stuck as a station chief in Bogotá for over a decade. “You can tell me about the Russkis and the old days when you had to use passenger pigeons to carry messages.”

She laughed and swatted his shoulder. “Asshole. The last passenger pigeon died in 1910 or something. Don’t think I can’t still wipe the floor with you in hand-to-hand.” Her phone rang. “I’ll grab that, then we’ll go.”

Lee went out into the hall to give her some privacy. He took another look at his legend, the identity he meant to take on. The stakes were lower in Bogotá than his past assignments; he’d be doing more office work, analysis, some recruiting and running agents. He was out of the political air of D.C., where everything that came across his desk had a life-or-death weight to it. Out here, he could forget that he’d tried to live a normal life. Most important, he could forget Oaxaca and Zoe Rodriguez.

Part of him had hoped to get to know her better after saving her—which probably broke more protocols than anything he’d done for Lucas and Gwen. After the mission in Oaxaca, he couldn’t get her out of his mind: her fierceness despite her fear, the way she hadn’t buckled until the very end. And, if he were honest, how beautiful she was. He’d visited her in the hospital afterward, and they’d exchanged a few emails, but it was clear to him that Zoe saw him as nothing but a reminder of her worst nightmare. If she never wanted to see him again, he couldn’t blame her. It was time to move on.

“I hope you can return that tux.” Wishnevsky stood in her office doorway, her expression grim.

“What is it?”

“Explosion across town,” she said. “Word’s not official, but my source says it’s a bomb.”

“Who?” He wasn’t sure at first if he was asking who was hit or who the bomb belonged to.

“No one’s stepped forward yet. Too early. It took out a chunk of an office building full of American non-government organizations.” She turned back to her office, and Lee didn’t need to be told to follow.

“Al-Qaeda’s not an active presence here, are they?” he asked, while she dialed her phone.

“I doubt it. Colombia’s got enough of its own homegrown terrorists without needing to import more.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Get down to the operations center.”

His mission in Colombia suddenly promised to be nothing like he’d expected. What was supposed to be a standard recruitment and surveillance job just got a lot more interesting.