couldn’t be tied to their government. Like most operators in the clandestine service, Killion believed in the three wise monkeys approach to doing business with allies—see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
“Is she still alive?” He found himself holding his breath, hoping she’d survived his clumsy rescue.
“Pulse is thready and rapid.” Masters quickly checked her wound and still, the woman didn’t wake up. “Looks red and inflamed. She needs IV fluids and antibiotics.” He speared Killion with a look. “Assuming you don’t want to take her to hospital?”
“No hospital. I’ve got to get her out of Colombia without anyone knowing she’s alive.”
“Destination?”
“Good question.” He laughed. “I’m working on it.”
Masters climbed out of the aircraft and pulled out his cell, pressing a button before putting it back in his pocket.
Killion tossed his SIG in his duffel and climbed out of the machine, feet hitting the ground with a thud. They shook hands. Then Killion stretched out his arms and back until his vertebrae cracked and the tightness in his muscles eased. He needed food, water, and sleep, but first he needed to take care of his captive.
The word was an ugly one. It reminded him of some of the other things that had been done in the name of God and Country.
“I’m not going to get a call from someone wanting to hire me to help find her, am I?” Masters asked carefully.
“Only if you’ve started working for Raoul Gómez.”
The Brit’s eyes hardened. “That asshole? Did you hear he’s started wearing bulletproof pajamas to bed? I keep hoping for an invitation to test how well they protect against a double-tap to the head.” His teeth gleamed in a predatory smile.
Killion knew exactly what Masters would do if he got close to the cartel leader; it wouldn’t be pretty, but it would be fast and it would be terminal. It was the main reason he’d chosen to come to these guys instead of using his other contacts. The cartel leader had killed two SAS men more than a decade ago. The Regiment knew how to hold a grudge and would never sell them out to the guy. That old saying about revenge being a dish best served cold?—He was looking at a world-class practitioner of that particular adage.
“‘That asshole’ isn’t very happy with my passenger. And it’s possible I accidentally borrowed his plane without asking permission when I rescued her. It might have a tracker on it,” he warned.
“The hangar is cloaked from any unauthorized electronic signals.” The Brit’s brows pulled together as he eyed the small aircraft. “I can make the Cessna disappear—on paper anyway.” He grinned. “It might come in handy at some point in the future. You have alternate transportation arranged?”
Killion shook his head. “I have people working on it. My escape plan involved getting the woman out of his territory. It was a spur of the moment intervention.”
“You’re not using Company resources this trip?”
“This one’s below radar.” He’d contacted Frazer from the plane, but the guy was on medical leave. The FBI agent was pissed he wasn’t available to help, but he’d arranged for a former CIA operative and cyber-security specialist, Alex Parker, to work with him on this. Parker was good—but even better news was the fact Jed Brennan was back at Quantico, riding a desk, and running the FBI’s BAU-4 until Frazer returned to work. Killion trusted Brennan, and his buddy was working on finding him and Audrey a safe house. Hopefully one that didn’t involve a remote cabin in the Northwoods of Wisconsin with Brennan’s conspiracy-nut father watching his back. If it did, Killion was liable to get a bullet in his skull because the old man didn’t trust anyone, but Brennan’s father certainly didn’t trust the CIA, and in particular didn’t trust him.
Ideally, they’d find something on a beach somewhere. Killion preferred hot to cold. Sun to snow. Brunettes to
“Is she still alive?” He found himself holding his breath, hoping she’d survived his clumsy rescue.
“Pulse is thready and rapid.” Masters quickly checked her wound and still, the woman didn’t wake up. “Looks red and inflamed. She needs IV fluids and antibiotics.” He speared Killion with a look. “Assuming you don’t want to take her to hospital?”
“No hospital. I’ve got to get her out of Colombia without anyone knowing she’s alive.”
“Destination?”
“Good question.” He laughed. “I’m working on it.”
Masters climbed out of the aircraft and pulled out his cell, pressing a button before putting it back in his pocket.
Killion tossed his SIG in his duffel and climbed out of the machine, feet hitting the ground with a thud. They shook hands. Then Killion stretched out his arms and back until his vertebrae cracked and the tightness in his muscles eased. He needed food, water, and sleep, but first he needed to take care of his captive.
The word was an ugly one. It reminded him of some of the other things that had been done in the name of God and Country.
“I’m not going to get a call from someone wanting to hire me to help find her, am I?” Masters asked carefully.
“Only if you’ve started working for Raoul Gómez.”
The Brit’s eyes hardened. “That asshole? Did you hear he’s started wearing bulletproof pajamas to bed? I keep hoping for an invitation to test how well they protect against a double-tap to the head.” His teeth gleamed in a predatory smile.
Killion knew exactly what Masters would do if he got close to the cartel leader; it wouldn’t be pretty, but it would be fast and it would be terminal. It was the main reason he’d chosen to come to these guys instead of using his other contacts. The cartel leader had killed two SAS men more than a decade ago. The Regiment knew how to hold a grudge and would never sell them out to the guy. That old saying about revenge being a dish best served cold?—He was looking at a world-class practitioner of that particular adage.
“‘That asshole’ isn’t very happy with my passenger. And it’s possible I accidentally borrowed his plane without asking permission when I rescued her. It might have a tracker on it,” he warned.
“The hangar is cloaked from any unauthorized electronic signals.” The Brit’s brows pulled together as he eyed the small aircraft. “I can make the Cessna disappear—on paper anyway.” He grinned. “It might come in handy at some point in the future. You have alternate transportation arranged?”
Killion shook his head. “I have people working on it. My escape plan involved getting the woman out of his territory. It was a spur of the moment intervention.”
“You’re not using Company resources this trip?”
“This one’s below radar.” He’d contacted Frazer from the plane, but the guy was on medical leave. The FBI agent was pissed he wasn’t available to help, but he’d arranged for a former CIA operative and cyber-security specialist, Alex Parker, to work with him on this. Parker was good—but even better news was the fact Jed Brennan was back at Quantico, riding a desk, and running the FBI’s BAU-4 until Frazer returned to work. Killion trusted Brennan, and his buddy was working on finding him and Audrey a safe house. Hopefully one that didn’t involve a remote cabin in the Northwoods of Wisconsin with Brennan’s conspiracy-nut father watching his back. If it did, Killion was liable to get a bullet in his skull because the old man didn’t trust anyone, but Brennan’s father certainly didn’t trust the CIA, and in particular didn’t trust him.
Ideally, they’d find something on a beach somewhere. Killion preferred hot to cold. Sun to snow. Brunettes to
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