Tempted by His Target (19 page)

Deputy Marshal Brandon Knox

International Fugitive Task Force Division

United States Marshals Service

Smothering her cry of outrage, she turned to stare at the stranger on the bed. He’d tricked her. Everything he’d said was a lie. He was a
cop,
not a tourist.

How could she have been such a fool?

For several long, drawn-out seconds, she considered grabbing the gun out of his bag and pointing it at him, demanding answers. Maybe he had a pair of handcuffs. It would serve him right if she locked him to the bed and left him here, naked and vulnerable.

The urge to make him pay was intense. She struggled with it, tears of shock and anger filling her eyes.

In the end, she resisted temptation. He’d slept very little for the past few days and might not wake for hours on his own. It was better to sneak away now, leaving him in the dark. Grimacing, she replaced the badge in his pack.

She crept across the room and slipped through the door, pausing outside to see if he would follow. When he didn’t appear, she took off at a brisk pace, hurrying down the street. She asked the first person she saw for directions to the bus station. Luckily, it was less than a mile away. As soon as she arrived she bought an express ticket to Guatemala City. The last bus was scheduled to depart as she made the purchase. She ran to catch it.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Her chest ached with emptiness. Earlier today, in Brandon’s arms, she’d felt so complete. His touch had affected her on so many levels. Their eyes had met, over and over again, while he was inside her. Every kiss was a revelation, every caress an unspoken promise to love her forever. She didn’t think she’d imagined the emotional connection. He hadn’t just showed her how he felt, he’d
told
her. Some of it was dirty talk and sweet nothings, but everything he’d said sounded sincere.

Was it all a lie?

She couldn’t bear to evaluate every personal detail he’d shared with her. Maybe he’d invented his entire life story to meet her needs, adopting traits he knew she would find attractive. Her cheeks burned at the thought. She felt crushed, used, desperate. Like one of her father’s groupies, man-hungry and easy to manipulate.

Blinking the tears from her eyes, she focused on her next step. She refused to be derailed by this…setback. She’d fled to Mexico to protect herself, physically and emotionally. That period of her life was over.

She’d been hurt again—so what? She was tired of playing the victim, ready to leave the past behind her.

It was after midnight when she arrived in Guatemala City. She had just enough money for bus fare to the embassy in the morning. Entering the transit center, she found a hard plastic chair to curl up in and closed her eyes.

Alone, once again.

Brandon woke up in the dark.

He lifted his head and looked around the shadowy hotel room, aware that Isabel was no longer beside him. The bathroom door stood open, revealing an empty interior.

She was gone.

Lurching to his feet, he kicked away the tangled sheets and turned on the lights, blinking at the sudden brightness. Her messenger bag was missing, along with the clothes he’d bought. His backpack was on the floor, unzipped. The washcloth he’d taken as a memento had been thrown out like an old rag.

Damn.

Heart hammering against his ribs, he checked the backpack’s contents. His badge and documents were still hidden, but she might have seen them. A blank sheet of paper, torn from her small notebook, rested on the table. He crushed it in his fist, making a strangled sound of frustration.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, wanting to punch a hole in the wall. Of all the mistakes he’d made in his life, this ranked number one. He’d been so close to completing his mission and escorting Isabel back to the U.S. safely. But he’d thrown it away for a couple of hot hours in bed.

He was a disgrace.

Furious with himself, he got dressed quickly, cursing his ill-fitting trousers and overactive libido. He stuffed their dirty clothes in an empty trash bag and shoved it in his backpack, protecting the evidence. Then he tossed the key on the bed and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

On the way to the bus station, it occurred to him that she might have planned this. The lonely sheet of paper suggested that she’d intended to write a goodbye note but changed her mind. She’d obviously searched through his belongings, and taken pains not to wake him. He was a light sleeper, even when exhausted.

If she’d meant to ditch him all along, then the story she told about needing his touch was just an ego-stroke. She’d screwed him into a coma on purpose. Had she faked her responses, stoking him further with breathy little moans and hoarse cries? He flushed, remembering some of the sappy things he’d said to her in the heat of the moment. All true.

Raking a hand through his hair, he approached the terminal, scanning the departure times for her most likely escape route. She couldn’t go back to Mexico, and sticking around here was ill-advised. She’d probably gone to Guatemala City. It boasted an international airport, passenger trains and big crowds to hide among.

He’d track her down again.

The last bus to the capital had left earlier in the evening. Brandon stepped toward the ticket window, using his workmanlike Spanish to inquire about Isabel. Sure enough, the man behind the counter remembered a beautiful señorita in a green dress. Her striking looks were a blessing and a curse, weren’t they?

The transit center offered rental car services. He paid for a midsize sedan. Armed with a road map and a large cup of coffee, he was ready to drive all night.

It was just before dawn when the city came into view, all rolling hills and ramshackle dwellings. Houses of every size and shape, many made of discarded construction materials, filled the landscape. The bus station and airport were situated on the outer edge of town. Although Isabel’s bus had arrived hours ago, he went there first. She might be waiting for another departure.

He parked in a pay lot and bought a zippered sweatshirt from an outdoor vendor. Slouching a little, he put the hood up and entered the transit center. There were rows of stationary chairs as far as the eye could see, interspersed with tiny snack shops and international fast-food joints.

Scanning the crowd, he caught a glimpse of green. Isabel was curled up in a chair in a back row, her head resting on her tucked hands. She’d tied her hair back but a few tendrils had escaped, giving her a mussed appearance.

He studied her from a distance, memorizing every detail. For a fleeing fugitive, she wasn’t well hidden. Her shoulders were slumped and her mouth downturned. Though her eyes were closed, he knew she was awake. She had tears on her face.

Brandon swore silently, his anger dissipating. He had a warrant for her arrest but he hesitated to use it. Maybe her abandonment was another misguided attempt to protect him. He wanted to believe that their encounter had meant something to her.

Obviously, he was an idiot—but he was still in love with her.

He sank into one of the chairs near the exit, his thoughts in turmoil. For her own safety, he couldn’t let her go free. He had to complete the mission. Although he’d love to pass this final task on to an armed guard, and leave her with mostly positive memories of Brandon North, he couldn’t shirk his duty.

Now that he knew Isabel, he understood how much she valued her freedom and independence. She’d felt trapped in Mexico, alone and isolated. She might be pissed at him for deceiving her, but she’d
hate
him for detaining her.

He shouldn’t have touched her.

If he’d been able to control himself, his betrayal wouldn’t be as painful. He should have been strong enough to resist. But when she’d dropped her towel, the blood had rushed from his head to his groin, and stayed there until he’d exhausted them both.

Smothering a groan, he clenched his hands into fists. Instead of approaching her, he remained seated, putting off the inevitable, sick with regret.

Isabel took the bus to the embassy at first light.

She was hungry and tired, her muscles aching from both pleasant activities and unpleasant ones. All night long she’d been plagued by hot-flash memories of Brandon’s touch and cold-sweat worries about her future. Although her anxiety level had skyrocketed, her resolve hadn’t wavered. She had to take the first step toward the rest of her life.

As she rode with a crowd of travelers to the downtown area, she glanced around warily, wondering if she was being followed. She didn’t see anyone suspicious and didn’t much care. There was no reason for stealth today.

She supposed she could have stayed at the hotel with Brandon. U.S. Marshals caught fugitives and brought them home. But she wanted to surrender on her own terms. Face this fate head-on, unflinching. And she certainly didn’t mind depriving him of success. The outcome would be the same but she’d meet it with dignity.

Straightening her shoulders, she exited the bus and walked toward the small building. The embassy offices were inauspicious, rather than grand. As soon as she came through the entrance she was greeted by a guard and directed through a metal detector. Clearing security, she approached the front desk.

A pretty, dark-haired receptionist greeted her. “May I help you?”

“Yes,” Isabel said, clearing her throat. “I’m an American citizen and I need to speak to the ambassador.”

The receptionist offered a bland smile. “Ambassador Richards isn’t in today, miss. He doesn’t take walk-in appointments, either. If you’ll tell me what this is regarding, I can direct you to the proper office.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s about a fugitive from the States.”

The woman’s brows rose. “By what name?”

“Isabel Sanborn.”

She scribbled it on a sticky note. “Have you any identification?”

After a short hesitation, Isabel gave her the fake ID for Isabel Sanchez. The receptionist looked at it, and then back at her. Narrowing her eyes, she made a copy of the card and returned it to Isabel. “Have a seat and someone will be right with you.”

Nodding, she walked toward the lacquered wood chairs, but remained standing. She was too nervous to sit still, and she’d been seated all night. Trying not to pace, she crossed her arms over her chest and focused on breathing. Although the building was air-conditioned, her cheeks felt hot and her palms were slick with perspiration.

“Miss Sanchez?”

She turned to face an older gentleman in a navy suit. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a Danish in the other.

“I’m Officer Lutz,” he said, lifting the pastry. “Right this way.”

She came forward on shaky legs, preceding him into a small office. This time she took the seat she was offered.

He gave her a canny look. “I checked the database for Isabel Sanborn and saw her photo. I must say, the two of you bear a startling resemblance.”

“The ID is fake,” she admitted.

Lutz sat behind his desk and regarded her with relish, biting into the Danish. Without meaning to, she watched his movements hungrily. Her stomach was so empty it hurt. “Coffee?” he asked, taking a sip.

“No, thank you. I want to get this over with.”

“By all means.”

“I came here to turn myself in. I don’t have any money and I need assistance in returning to the U.S. as soon as possible.”

“How long have you been in Guatemala?”

“Two days.”

“Where were you before that?”

She moistened her lips. “I’d rather not say.”

Officer Lutz polished off the pastry and picked up a sheet of paper, scanning its contents. “I’ve been notified that you are a person of interest in two separate assaults in Mexico. A stabbing and a shooting.”

She rubbed her forehead, starting to panic. This was an unsettling complication. Maybe she should have stayed with Brandon.

He folded his hands on the surface of his desk, his gaze wandering over her slim form. “I have a hard time believing you accomplished these feats by yourself,” he said, squinting. “Pretty little thing like you.”

Isabel tried not to be insulted by his baiting chauvinism. She could hardly insist on her own guilt. “I’ll talk about that as soon as I’m in American custody,” she said, praying she wouldn’t be extradited to Mexico.

“You’re in an American embassy. Quite safe.”

“I won’t feel safe until I’m back in the U.S.” Maybe not even then.

He made a harrumphing noise and shuffled the papers on his desk, as if preparing to leave the room.

“Please don’t contact the Mexican government,” she said, gripping the arms of her chair. Every nerve in her body was on high alert.

“Relax, Ms. Sanborn,” he said, smiling wide enough to show his silver-capped molars. “My allegiance is to the U.S. only and I’m not influenced by outside entities. I also have the authority to make arrests, so I’d advise you to remain seated.”

She loosened her grip on the chair, but she didn’t relax. She couldn’t trust this man. Memories of the recent assault bombarded her, making her feel powerless. The walls of the office closed in on her like a tomb.

Lutz’s desk phone rang, startling her with its loud trill.

“Excuse me,” he said, picking up the receiver. His eyes never left hers as he spoke in monosyllabic replies. After he ended the call, he rose from his chair, straightening his necktie. “I’ll be right back. Are you sure you don’t want coffee?”

She shook her head, mute.

The instant he was out of the door, she leaped to her feet. Heart racing, she grabbed a letter opener from the surface of his desk. A moment later Officer Lutz reappeared in the doorway, Brandon at his side. She stared at them with feral eyes, holding the impromptu weapon in a death grip.

Brandon’s expression softened with sympathy and she realized how crazy she looked. Shoulders slumping, she set the letter opener down and returned to her seat. So much for maintaining her dignity.

Officer Lutz exchanged a puzzled glance with Brandon. “This is Deputy Marshal Knox. He says the two of you are already acquainted.”