The realization she’d taken someone’s life made her feel awful. Then she pushed the guilt aside. The fact a man had died was terrible, but it had been his own fault. He’d attacked her . It was only by a twist of fate she’d survived to regret any of it.
She tried to stand, but pain streaked white-hot through her body. The skin around her wound felt both fragile and blisteringly hot. The man who’d saved her moved quickly to help, sliding his hands under her back and knees and lifting her against him. She barely had the strength to thank him.
Even her untrained eye could spot the military bearing of the other two men, but the tourist possessed a different aura. She frowned. Not military. Not a rule follower—if torching the rental car and stealing the plane were anything to go by. He was quick, sharp, confident. Was he a criminal? Her head fell against his chest. Even if he was an axe murderer, right now, she didn’t have the strength to do anything except take comfort in the care he offered. His warm scent enveloped her. His heartbeat drummed against her cheek. She snuggled deeper.
He slid into the back of an SUV, holding her tight. Probably not an axe murderer. One of the men got into the driver’s seat and they pulled quickly away. The second man stayed behind. There was nothing she could do right now except recover and regain her strength. She slipped in and out of consciousness. The idea of a dreamless sleep was so tempting; she welcomed it, even wrapped in a stranger’s arms.
* * *
N OAH SKIRTED THE city itself and drove out into the country. Founded by the Spanish in the Sixteenth Century, the port city of Cartagena was a tourist Mecca in South America, with the fortress of Saint Domingo being its most impressive landmark. They skipped the sightseeing tour. The Brit seemed to sense his exhaustion and didn’t bother making idle chitchat. Maybe he realized most of what Killion had to say was best spoken out of earshot of petite brunettes, even those who were seemingly unconscious.
Killion welcomed the darkness that pressed around him like an old friend. Daylight revealed too much—exposing all the cracks and flaws of his profession, making it hard to deny the cruel reality of what he did. Rendition tore families apart. Even when the detainee was a radicalized terrorist intent on harming others, the families were often clueless as to their relative’s actions. In the age of the Internet the problem was no longer confined to those who attended mosques run by extremist clerics. Nowadays potential recruits could be groomed and manipulated online, thousands of miles away from the Middle East and a designated war zone. Funds could be transferred anonymously at an event using Q-squares, making it impossible to track. Kick-start campaigns and pop-up charities in the wake of natural disasters meant illegally funneling money was now easier than ever.
The key had to be controlling the World Wide Web, but governments were reluctant to do that. Nations had to balance personal freedom with the needs of national security, and none of them were particularly good at it.
Audrey snuggled against him like a warm puppy but he couldn’t afford to fall for the act of innocence. Truth was if he hadn’t seen Hector Sanchez’s body with his own eyes he probably wouldn’t have believed she was the assassin, and he was probably the most jaded and cynical intelligence officer working for the Agency. Her hand gripped his shirt reflexively. He pressed his lips to her forehead, not to kiss her but to assess her temperature. She was hot, and not just in a good way.
She had a fever and the wound was infected.
Damn.
Maybe he should have taken her to the hospital and called in the political attack-dogs to kick up enough fuss to whisk her back to the States where he could question her in a federal facility. But it was just as possible the powers-that-be would deny all knowledge and hang them both out to dry.
It
She tried to stand, but pain streaked white-hot through her body. The skin around her wound felt both fragile and blisteringly hot. The man who’d saved her moved quickly to help, sliding his hands under her back and knees and lifting her against him. She barely had the strength to thank him.
Even her untrained eye could spot the military bearing of the other two men, but the tourist possessed a different aura. She frowned. Not military. Not a rule follower—if torching the rental car and stealing the plane were anything to go by. He was quick, sharp, confident. Was he a criminal? Her head fell against his chest. Even if he was an axe murderer, right now, she didn’t have the strength to do anything except take comfort in the care he offered. His warm scent enveloped her. His heartbeat drummed against her cheek. She snuggled deeper.
He slid into the back of an SUV, holding her tight. Probably not an axe murderer. One of the men got into the driver’s seat and they pulled quickly away. The second man stayed behind. There was nothing she could do right now except recover and regain her strength. She slipped in and out of consciousness. The idea of a dreamless sleep was so tempting; she welcomed it, even wrapped in a stranger’s arms.
* * *
N OAH SKIRTED THE city itself and drove out into the country. Founded by the Spanish in the Sixteenth Century, the port city of Cartagena was a tourist Mecca in South America, with the fortress of Saint Domingo being its most impressive landmark. They skipped the sightseeing tour. The Brit seemed to sense his exhaustion and didn’t bother making idle chitchat. Maybe he realized most of what Killion had to say was best spoken out of earshot of petite brunettes, even those who were seemingly unconscious.
Killion welcomed the darkness that pressed around him like an old friend. Daylight revealed too much—exposing all the cracks and flaws of his profession, making it hard to deny the cruel reality of what he did. Rendition tore families apart. Even when the detainee was a radicalized terrorist intent on harming others, the families were often clueless as to their relative’s actions. In the age of the Internet the problem was no longer confined to those who attended mosques run by extremist clerics. Nowadays potential recruits could be groomed and manipulated online, thousands of miles away from the Middle East and a designated war zone. Funds could be transferred anonymously at an event using Q-squares, making it impossible to track. Kick-start campaigns and pop-up charities in the wake of natural disasters meant illegally funneling money was now easier than ever.
The key had to be controlling the World Wide Web, but governments were reluctant to do that. Nations had to balance personal freedom with the needs of national security, and none of them were particularly good at it.
Audrey snuggled against him like a warm puppy but he couldn’t afford to fall for the act of innocence. Truth was if he hadn’t seen Hector Sanchez’s body with his own eyes he probably wouldn’t have believed she was the assassin, and he was probably the most jaded and cynical intelligence officer working for the Agency. Her hand gripped his shirt reflexively. He pressed his lips to her forehead, not to kiss her but to assess her temperature. She was hot, and not just in a good way.
She had a fever and the wound was infected.
Damn.
Maybe he should have taken her to the hospital and called in the political attack-dogs to kick up enough fuss to whisk her back to the States where he could question her in a federal facility. But it was just as possible the powers-that-be would deny all knowledge and hang them both out to dry.
It
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