Secret Agent Seduction (19 page)

Swearing hoarsely, he tucked his gun into the waistband of his trousers, then cupped her face between his hands, his frantic gaze sweeping across her disheveled hair and bruised cheek. “Are you all right?” he demanded.

She nodded quickly, shaking off his hands as she turned and hurried over to the motionless body on the floor. Blood was oozing from the deep wounds in the man's shoulder and chest, and one leg was jerking spasmodically.

Lia holstered her weapon, then quickly knelt beside the body and pressed her finger to the carotid artery. She could barely detect a pulse.

“Damn it!” Acutely aware of Armand watching her, she bent close to the man's slack mouth, keeping her finger on his fading pulse.

“Who sent you?” she demanded urgently. “Who are you working for?”

Failed…Quick…silver…Don't…wanna die…

“Who are you working for?” Lia repeated, knowing she was running out of time. “How did you find us?”

Quick…silver…Don't…Quick…silver…

“What does that mean?” Lia shouted as blood bubbled from his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Armand asked. “He's not saying anything—he's dying.”

“Yes, I can see that!”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the mercenary's eyes rolled upward, his leg stopped moving and his head lolled limply to the side.

He was gone.

Lia pounded his chest in outraged frustration. “Damn it!”

Armand stepped forward, seizing her arm and pulling her roughly to her feet. “That's enough, Lia. He's dead.”

“I know!” she exploded, whirling on him. “Why did you shoot him?”

Armand looked incredulous. “What the hell do you mean? He was going to kill you!”

“I needed him alive so that I could interrogate him! That's why I only shot him in the
shoulder.
You weren't supposed to kill him!”

Armand stared at her, then hauled her into his arms and held fast. “I almost lost you, damn it,” he whispered fiercely into her hair. “I don't care about anything else. I almost lost you!”

Lia closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to absorb his strength, his comforting warmth, as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from her body. He was right. She'd nearly been killed. But that was the nature of her job, and she'd survived much worse. The sooner Armand got that through his thick head, the better off they'd both be.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she pulled out of his arms. When he reached out and gently touched her bruised cheek, she winced. He swore, his eyes simmering with leashed violence.

“I'm fine,” Lia reassured him. Mustering a wan smile, she added, “Besides, there's nothing more you can do to him. You've already killed him.”

Armand glanced down at the dead man, looking as if he wanted to unload a few more rounds into him. “I shouldn't have left you alone with him,” he growled.

“Yes, you should have. He came here to kill you, and he might have succeeded if you had been too busy trying to rescue me. Which, by the way, is becoming a rather bad habit of yours.” Lia started down the corridor, pulling her cell phone out of her back pocket and dialing Janikowski's cell number. Her call went straight to voice mail.

“Nancy, this is Lia. I know you're out of pocket for a few days, but I really need—” She stopped abruptly, struck by a sudden, awful suspicion that made her go cold all over. “I need to talk to you,” she continued in carefully measured tones. “Please call me as soon as you can.”

When she turned around, Armand was standing there, watching her with an unreadable expression. “You didn't tell her.” It wasn't a question.

Lia shook her head. She crossed quickly to the living-room window and peered outside. Finding the road leading to the cabin empty, she signaled to Armand to step out onto the porch with her. She didn't speak until she'd checked the outdoor light fixtures, pine floorboards, a pair of Adirondack chairs, and the undersides of the wooden balustrade that ran the length of the wraparound porch.

Satisfied that there were no listening devices—at least out here—she turned to Armand and uttered the words she never thought she would hear in her lifetime. “I think there's a mole in the Secret Service.”

Armand said nothing, his jaw tightening as he stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

Lia wished she didn't have to. “There are only a handful of people who know about your arrival in the United States to testify at the hearing. At least one of those individuals is working with Alexandre Biassou. That man inside the cabin was sent here to kill you. He couldn't have known where you are, or gained access to this property, without the assistance of whoever hired him.”

“So the question is,” Armand said grimly, “who hired him?”

“I don't know,” Lia muttered, her mind racing a mile a minute as she paced the length of the porch. “I wish to God I knew. I haven't been able to reach my supervisor. I was told she'd be out of the office this week.”

“How convenient.”

Lia didn't respond. The same thought had already occurred to her. “We have to get out of here,” she said suddenly, stopping in front of Armand. “Whoever sent that man here probably planted listening devices inside the cabin. Which means he, or she, heard everything that just happened.”

Including what happened between us yesterday,
she thought with a sick feeling of shame and betrayal. The idea of one of her colleagues—someone she trusted—eavesdropping on her and Armand making love made her feel more violated than anything she could or would ever experience in her life.

But Lia had more pressing matters to worry about. Like getting Armand out of there safely and finding out who the damn traitor was.

“We have to get out of here,” she repeated, more urgently this time. “We don't have time to sweep the cabin for bugs. I
know
we'd find them, so there's no point in even looking. When we go back inside, I want you to pack your things and be ready to leave in five minutes. Do you understand?”

“What about my family?” Armand demanded. “If Biassou found me, he may have found my family, as well!”

“Listen to me,” Lia said, cupping his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her intent gaze. “I know you're worried about your mother and siblings. Truth be told, I am, too. But my first and foremost priority is to get you out of here alive. As soon as we reach a safe location, I will call Agent Rollins to make sure your family is okay, and I will warn him and the other agents to be even more vigilant than before.”

Armand clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. “That's not good enough,” he ground out. “I want to know for sure that they will be safe. I want them with me!”

“That's not possible. Not yet. Look, we have to get ourselves to safety before we can be of any use to your family. There are six agents assigned to their protection detail. Believe me when I tell you that your mother and siblings are better off staying where they are than going on the run with us. Now please,” she said imploringly, gazing into his tormented eyes, “if ever there was a time I needed your cooperation, that would be now. Please trust my judgment, Armand.
Please.
”

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead against hers. She could feel the tension radiating from his body, sensed his internal struggle. She held her breath, hoping he would make the right decision, praying he wouldn't make this situation more dangerous than it already was.

After a lengthy silence he raised his head and looked at her, his eyes glittering with steely resolve. He had reached a momentous decision.

“You're the boss,” he said roughly. “Now let's go.”

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 trouble, 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!”