Extreme Measures

4

He’d underestimated her. While that thought pissed Zane off, the reality of what was bearing down on them overrode his need to retaliate.

He rolled to his side and pushed up on his hands. Ground his teeth against the pain throbbing in his leg. Eve’s hands yanking on his arm surprised him more than if she’d hauled off and kicked him in the head just for the fun of it.

“Dammit, hurry your ass up, Archer. They’re going to be in here any second.”

They. Whoever the hell was after her. Which, considering her associations, were likely al-Qaeda terrorists. Holy hell, he’d dropped himself into a fucking nightmare.

Way to go, dumbass.

He stumbled to his feet and brushed off her hand still pulling on his arm, hating the fact her touch ignited heat all along his skin, even now when he knew what she was and they were about to be overrun.

Shit.

Eve twisted the skirt to the side so the slit he’d cut hit at her thigh and rushed to the window. She muscled it open with arms that flexed to show she still worked out. A lot. Her shirt hung open at the front, but she didn’t seem to care. “There’s a fire escape. Did you check the surrounding area?”

The drugs had obviously worn off. She was thinking clearly. Why the hell wasn’t he?

He reached to the small of his back for his SIG and hobbled toward the open window. Before she got both legs onto the fire escape, he grasped her arm at the biceps, dragging her attention his way. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Eve. We’re not done.”

“No, we’re not, are we?” Her eyes sharpened, but she didn’t try to wrench her arm from his grip. “Just try to keep up, Archer. If you fall behind, I’m not coming after you.”

She scrambled out on the fire escape, feet bare, shirt flapping open, that damn slit in her skirt showing a distracting amount of thigh. Zane followed and pulled the window down behind him, hoping to give them a few minutes’ head start at least, and called himself ten kinds of stupid. What kind of dumbass thought he could intimidate someone like Eve into talking? Now he was stuck looking at her toned legs and those amazing breasts all but spilling from her bra, and he was still nowhere closer to knowing who she really worked for.

The door crashed open into the loft at his back, the sound pushing him into overdrive. One glance down and he realized the goons had men on the ground, heading their way fast. He shoved Eve toward the roof. “Haul ass, dammit!”

Zane grabbed the railing, pulled himself onto the roof of the warehouse after Eve, and squinted into the Seattle early evening sun. Eve stood still, looking around for an escape. He rushed by her, snagged her arm, and yelled, “Move!”

They skidded to a stop at the far end of the roof. Across the thirty-foot distance, the other building mid-construction stood like a steel skeleton against the setting sun. If they could get to it, they could escape. The problem was, it was too far away. A tower crane, bolted to the ground, sat between them and the construction site, the crisscrossed bands of metal that made up its tower a good five or six feet out. They could jump for it, but then what? Odds were good the thugs on the ground were already heading to this side of the building.

He glanced up at the arm of the crane, pointing away from the construction site, sticking halfway out over the water of Puget Sound.

Voices grew louder on the fire escape behind them. They had seconds to decide. Zane looked north, to the ConEx containers piled high beyond the construction site at the Port of Seattle, then to the huge shipping cranes and the miles of water. They were out of options. He pushed Eve toward the edge of the roof, hoping they could reach the ground before the other men barreled their direction. “How are your Superman skills?”

Eve’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my God, you’re kidding, right? You’re going to get us both killed.”

“I don’t see any other alternatives, do you?”

“Holy crap.” She wiped her hands on her skirt and then pushed that mass of blonde hair that didn’t match her coloring back from her face. “This is the dumbest idea you’ve come up with so far.”

He eyed the thick metal bars of the crane’s tower, set at a diagonal. If they jumped and couldn’t grab hold or if the metal sliced their hands and they slipped, they’d fall to their deaths.

Shit, she was right. This was a really dumb idea.

“Wait—”

Pounding footsteps and roaring voices exploded behind them. He turned to look. A curse rushed out of Eve’s mouth. He turned back and reached out for her, but before he could stop her, she moved back several steps and then took a running leap off the roof, arms and legs flailing as she jumped toward the crane’s tower.

His heart lurched into his throat. “Eve!”

For a second, all sound evaporated. He watched her legs kick out midair, her arms outstretch and fingers flex as she neared the tower. Then her scream echoed in his ears, followed by the grunt of her body hitting metal.

Oh shit . . .

He might want her stopped. He might want her to pay for what she’d done to that scientist and to him, but he didn’t want her dead. Scared, yeah. Promising she’d clean up her act, absolutely. Making amends for betraying her country, you bet. But not dead. Never dead.

Every muscle in Zane’s body contracted. He inched toward the edge of the roof, willing her fingers to wrap around the angled metal. “Come on, baby.”

A yelp slipped from her mouth. Her bare feet grappled for footing. Her hands tightened around a metal bar, and the muscles in her arms flexed as she pulled herself up.

Thank you, God.

“Holy shit!” Eve yelled. “I fucking hate you, Archer!” Her knuckles turned white as she held on for dear life. “Behind you!”

Instinct had him lifting his gun. He turned just as a man cleared the fire escape, a handgun clenched tightly in his grip. Zane braced the butt of his SIG against his palm and fired. Gunshots echoed in the air. The bullet hit the man in the chest before he could get off a round. Two more rushed the roof, but Zane dropped them just as quickly, just as efficiently, with two perfectly placed bullets.

He waited a breath to see if anyone else came charging up. When the coast seemed clear, he holstered the gun at his spine and then whipped back to Eve. “Watch out!”

Her eyes grew wide. He didn’t wait for her smart-ass response, just hurled himself out onto the tower after her.

“Archer!”

Eve’s scream mixed with voices from somewhere below. Zane’s body slammed into the crisscrossed metal, his stomach and face taking the brunt of the impact. The tower rocked. His hand slipped, and his adrenaline shot even higher. He felt himself falling, tried to hold on. Pain ripped across his right palm. Just when he thought he was done for, he managed to hook his boot on the intersection between two bars and wrap his fingers around a strip of metal. Pulse racing, he pulled himself up until he reached Eve, then just worked to suck back air.

Holy hell. He’d gotten lucky.

“You son of a bitch, Archer. What the fuck was that?” She let go with one arm, then slammed her fist into his left biceps.

A burst of pain rushed across his skin, and he winced. Why the hell was she pissed? He was the one who had nearly fallen, not her.

She shook her hand. “You could have been killed, you idiot.”

The fact she didn’t seem relieved by that thought hit Zane right in the sternum. And clamped on tight.

“We have to get off this tower,” she said.

He gave his head a swift shake. Told himself not to read too much into her comments. The woman had been trained in the art of lying. Extensively. One glance around, though, confirmed she was right. Now was their best chance to get off this damn thing.

“Go,” he said, already reaching down with his foot for another foothold. “And hurry before your boyfriends show up.”

She huffed and started the climb down, but before either of them made it a good foot, shouts from the ground echoed up, mixing with the unmistakable ping, ping, ping of gunfire ricocheting off the tower’s metal.

“Up!” Zane screamed, already shifting direction and pulling himself toward the sky. “Goddammit, go around to the other side!”

Eve muttered a curse he could barely make out, but she listened, climbing around the tower to the far side and hauling herself up toward the arm of the crane without looking to see if he followed. Sweat poured down his forehead and dripped along his spine. The metal dug into his hands. His muscles screamed from the effort, and pain spiraled all through his bad leg. When they reached the slewing unit—the gear and motor just beneath the crane’s arm—Zane grasped Eve’s hand and pulled her next to him.

The goons below had stopped firing and were now pointing in their direction and hollering in a language Zane couldn’t make out. He glanced down just as three men took off from the group and ran around the far side of the building, likely toward the fire escape on the other side. One man headed for the operator’s cab at the bottom of the tower.

“We’re about to have company,” he said to Eve. “Come on. All the way up out onto the arm.”

Eve let him help her up onto the arm, then waited as he pulled himself up next to her. Once on top, she leaned forward to suck back air and gripped the railing to her right. “Smooth move, smart guy. We’re sitting ducks up here.”

Yeah, no shit. The arm didn’t even come close to the construction site, as if the operator had swung it away from the building at quitting time so no one could mess with the thing. Options rushed through Zane’s mind, but the only plausible one solidified when he heard voices on the roof of the warehouse behind him. He grabbed Eve’s hand and pulled her with him. “Come on! Toward the water!”

“What the fuck? Archer!”

Automatic gunfire ignited in the air. Eve gripped his hand and ran. A whirring sound echoed, followed by a jolt as the arm of the crane began to swivel.

Holy God, they’d turned the damn crane on. Zane grasped the railing with his bloody hand and pulled harder on Eve’s arm with the other. “Fucking run!”

She was right. This was easily the dumbest thing he’d done to date. When was he going to start using his fucking brain like Ryder had told him to do?

Eve pulled back on his hand as they neared the end of the jib, her face awash with horror. The entire arm slowly rotated away from the water. They had seconds before they’d be out over dry land instead of the Sound. Zane gripped Eve’s wrist tightly. “Jump!”

“Goddammit, Archer. I really hate you!”

Her last word echoed up as they pushed off, the sparkling water of Puget Sound hovering below. The jib bounced under their feet. As cool air rushed over Zane’s skin and bullets pinged off metal at their backs, he said one quick prayer that the water was deep enough off these docks so they didn’t kill themselves when they hit.

But before he heard the splash, a burn like the heat of a thousand suns lit up his left arm. Then he was sucked down in a black, wet, ice-cold abyss. Where he heard nothing at all.

Eve came up gasping.

The frigid water cut like a knife, and she was sure her heart had taken up permanent residence in her throat. The scents of fish and algae filled her nostrils, nearly making her gag. She treaded water and breathed deep as she turned a slow circle to catch her bearings. As she tried to clear the cobwebs from her head still lingering from the drugs Archer had given her.

Holy shit, she’d made it. No way she should have survived that drop. Voices echoing from above reminded her she needed to get out of sight. She swam toward the dock, grasped the slimy wood of a post, and looked back for Archer.

The low light of dusk made it hard to see off the water. She should leave his ass. After what he’d done to her, she didn’t owe him a damn thing except a swift kick in the balls. And yet, something held her back. Where the hell was he? He should be up by now. Why wasn’t he breaking the surface, yelling at her to move her ass?

Panic closed in. She looked up at the crane’s arm, stopped now, no longer rotating away from the water. The men who’d chased them up onto the roof hadn’t ventured out on the steel themselves, and they obviously hadn’t seen her yet. They were pointing down at the water, waving their guns, yelling things she couldn’t quite make out. She looked back to the water again and flinched when something brushed her leg.

Come on, Archer . . .

He broke the surface a good ten yards out and gasped, a pained expression across his face.

“Dammit, Archer.” Relief rushed through her chest even though he didn’t deserve it. He looked like he was having trouble, so she swam out to him, grasped his arm, and helped pull him back toward the safety of the dock. “I thought you were fish food. That was the dumbest fucking idea you’ve ever come up with.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

He hooked one arm around the pillar of the dock and paused to catch his breath. And that’s when she saw the blood running down his biceps. That panic formed all over again. “You’re hit?”

He glanced at his arm and then wrestled his way out of his shirt. More shaken than she wanted to admit, Eve helped free him from the wet garment, then tied the T-shirt around his arm to slow the blood loss. But her stomach rolled as red seeped into the cotton.

She swallowed hard and glanced up. The thugs had left the roof and were likely on their way down to the docks. Her brain switched to action mode. “We have to get out of this water.”

He nodded, his tanned chest rising and falling as he sucked back air and pointed toward what looked like a ladder. “There.”

She swam that direction and told herself she was a fool for being relieved he followed. He’d tied her up, drugged her, and then nearly gotten her killed with his Superman stunt. But instead of being pissed, all she could think about was the fact he’d saved her life. He could have left her tied to that chair in the warehouse when those men came in, but he hadn’t. Instead of offering her up to save his own ass, he’d put himself between her and danger. And he’d taken a bullet as a result.

Water sluiced off her body as she climbed onto the dock and ducked into the shadows of another warehouse, wishing for her gun. Don’t be stupid, Eve. Archer hadn’t saved her because he cared about her. He’d done it because he still wanted answers. Answers she couldn’t give him. Not if she wanted him to live.

They inched around the building, making their way toward the road that led to the Seattle waterfront. If they could get to the tourist area, they could blend in and find safety in numbers. These guys wouldn’t gun them down in broad daylight. At least she hoped they wouldn’t.

An engine roared somewhere behind them.

Archer grabbed her arm and jerked her back against his body into the shadows of the building. She gasped. Then his wet chest pressed against hers, and there was nothing but her dripping bra separating their skin.

His whispered “shh” mixed with the warmth of his breath drifting over her chilled flesh to heat her in ways she didn’t expect. She looked up into those familiar hazel eyes and couldn’t help but remember the hundreds of times she’d looked into his eyes when they’d been in Beirut together. Heat arced between their bodies. A heat she couldn’t help wonder if he felt as strongly as she did.

The vehicle sped through the parking lot, the sound of tires crunching over loose gravel echoing in the air. Long seconds passed before he wiped a hand down his face and nodded north. “We need to get into the city. They’re going to be looking for us. And then you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

Explaining. Right. Not if she could help it.

She looked past the shipping yard toward the Seattle waterfront beyond, just now coming alive with light, and tried to think clearly. But her head was too full of memories and missed opportunities and lies that had finally caught up with her. “If we can make it onto a ferry without being noticed, they won’t know where to follow.”

“The key word in that phrase is if. You’re not exactly dressed for Seattle foot traffic.”

She glanced down at her open shirt, soaked bra, and torn skirt. She’d dressed the part for her meeting earlier today, hoping to coax out as much information from her contact as she could. While sleeping with an informant was out of the question, she’d never been against using her God-given assets to get what she needed. Today, however, the push-up bra and formfitting skirt hadn’t done a thing to help her cause. In fact, now they deterred them.

And damn, there was something from that meeting she was forgetting. Something important she needed to remember . . .

Her gaze strayed to Zane, bare-chested and gorgeous, even with that blood-soaked T-shirt wrapped around his arm. Neither of them was dressed for Seattle foot traffic, but she wasn’t going to let that hinder her. And she was determined to get them on that ferry, no matter what it took.

She gripped the tails of her ruined shirt and tied them at her midriff. It left her belly way too bare for her liking, but at least her breasts were now covered. “Lack of appropriate attire has never stopped me from getting the job done.”

Heat flared in his eyes. A wicked, knowing heat that told her he was remembering the night in Beirut when they’d been locked in that van together, running surveillance on a safe house where they suspected an arms dealer linked to the Taliban was holed up. And without warning, a tingle ran down her spine and shot between her thighs. She’d been draped in cloth that night—as was customary for women in the culture—and they’d been so bored, sitting there hour after hour after miserable hour with no movement, that he’d challenged her to a dare: to see who could break the other’s concentration first.

She’d won, of course. She hadn’t even needed to remove the first scarf. He hadn’t seen her coming. But he’d definitely felt her, especially when she’d leaned over his lap and slid the zipper of his jeans down.

Stupid move. Stupid risk to take in a country that didn’t value women. They’d been lucky they hadn’t been seen. Or that nothing had gone down at that safe house while they’d been distracted.

If she were honest, she’d admit that night was part of the reason she’d walked away from Archer without an explanation. It hadn’t just been about her career. It was about the fact that when she was with him, she forgot what she was supposed to do and gave in to what she wanted to do. And for a woman in her position, in some of the places around the globe she traveled, that wasn’t just idiotic, it was deadly.

Her cheeks heated at the memory, and a pain she didn’t want to acknowledge took up space in her chest.

“Just keep up, Archer.” She headed for the parking lot as dusk turned to darkness, careful to keep her expression neutral and pick her way over rocks and leftover construction materials so nothing tore up her bare feet. “And try not to bleed everywhere. That, more than my shirt, is bound to get us noticed first.”

“Beautiful,” Archer said at her back, his voice low and warm and so damn gruff she felt it all the way in her core, “it’s not your ripped skirt or my bleeding arm that’ll make us stand out. It’s those world-class breasts of yours. Damn things should have a warning label on them. We won’t get far with you dressed like that.”

An idiotic warmth unfurled in her stomach. That he’d looked. That he’d noticed her breasts at all. A warmth she wasn’t going to give in to this time. They’d become unlikely allies for the time being, but that didn’t mean they were on the same side. Zane Archer had very clear right and wrong boundaries. He’d never understand or condone the things she’d done, but she justified them by knowing she was making a difference. A difference she couldn’t see today but someone else would feel tomorrow.

Or so she hoped.

The smartest move for her right now was to play along, not be confrontational, and then ditch his ass the first chance she got.

Which, for her, was harder said than done. Because regardless of what he’d done, this was Zane Archer. The only man she’d never truly gotten over.

“These breasts might just save your life. Watch and learn, Archer.”

Zane’s arm was on fire, and his leg hurt like a son of a bitch. Somewhere between the top of that warehouse and the bottom of Puget Sound, he’d lost his pain pills, and he was cursing his shitty luck because in another hour he was going to be seriously hating life. More than he already was.

He followed Eve away from the port and toward the pier, the two of them careful to stay in the shadows and dart into crowds whenever they could. They got looks—especially Eve in that Daisy Duke top and obscenely ripped skirt—but Seattle was an eclectic city known for bringing out all kinds. Though every car that sped by on the busy street sent Zane’s already-soaring adrenaline into the ozone. No way those goons had given up looking for them.

Who the hell was she working for? She’d disappeared from the CIA a year and a half ago, after he’d caught her playing double agent in Beirut and told her to get lost. Since she’d screwed his mission in Guatemala, he’d been trying to find her, waiting for the moment to strike, but the woman knew how to disappear. She’d only just recently popped up on his radar.

Shit, he should have turned her in back in Beirut. He knew that now—knew it then—but something had held him back. Something inside him that had wanted to believe she wasn’t the traitor she appeared to be. Guatemala had changed his thinking for good, though. And now . . . Holy hell, people had likely died today in Seattle—on American soil—all because of her. All because he hadn’t been able to do what needed to be done.

This time was different. This time he wasn’t letting her get away. This time she’d answer for everything she’d done.

She drew up short on the sidewalk in front of him, shoved a hand against his chest, and pushed him into the wall of a building. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Before he could grab her, she disappeared into a tourist shop. His head was foggy, the pain messing with his reflexes. Just as he was about to go after her, she reappeared and handed him a navy-blue T-shirt that read I RODE THE SLUT (SOUTH LAKE UNION TROLLEY).

“Here. Put this on.”

He was still trying to process the fact she hadn’t taken off when she helped him drag the shirt on so it covered his wound. “Where the hell did you find money in that getup to pay for these?”

She dropped flip-flops on the ground, slid her feet into them, and then tugged him back into the crowd. “I didn’t. Move fast.”

Great. Now he could add theft to her list of crimes.

He followed as she quickened her pace, gritting his teeth with every step that sent pain spiraling up his bad leg. Rounding the corner, he spotted Pier 52 and the ferries that linked Seattle with Bremerton and Bainbridge Island.

She was right. A ferry out of here would get them far enough from the city where those goons couldn’t find them, but getting on one wasn’t going to be as easy as it sounded. Security guards roamed the area, peering into cars, stopping pedestrians. Of course security would be on heightened status after that bombing downtown. He scanned the area, then realized that could work to their advantage.

He reached back for his wallet, but Eve’s hand on his arm stopped him. “No, don’t. Drenched dollar bills are going to get us stopped, and if those guys figured out who you are, I guarantee they’re now tracking your credit cards.”

“We have to get tickets.”

“No, we don’t. Because we’re going through there.”

She nodded toward the passenger reentry gate on the Bainbridge side of the lot. Two security guards manned the entrance. One was talking to passengers as they passed in and out of the gate, and the other was searching a woman’s bag. Beyond the gate, cars were lined up, those of passengers who’d already bought tickets and were waiting to board the ferry that hadn’t yet arrived.

“How the hell do you plan to get through there?”

“With a lot of BS and my world-class boobs.”

When he shot her a look, she added, “The kiosks don’t work, and they don’t give out tickets anymore. Security has definitely waned the past few years. Passengers park in line and then wander out because the wait can be up to forty-five minutes. Normally, there isn’t even anyone in the booth, but today they’re obviously being more cautious.”

She’d clearly been in Seattle awhile. That thought didn’t settle his nerves. “So how—”

The warmth of her palm against his chest rather than the way she tugged on his shirt cut off his words. “Just play along.”

They waited in line until it was their turn, then stepped up next to the guard with the thin moustache manning the gate. Thankfully, their clothing had dried enough so they didn’t look like they’d just crawled out of the Sound. Eve turned a charming smile the Moustache’s way and waited as he focused on her breasts, squeezing her biceps at her sides, Zane noticed, to push them out even more.

No way the guard would fall for that.

Moustache stared a moment too long and, realizing his mistake, looked up at Eve’s face with a scowl. “Stamp?”

“Oh, we didn’t get one.” Eve’s brow furrowed, and she looked toward Zane, then back at the guard. “Were we supposed to?”

“Only stamped passengers allowed back through the gate.”

“In all the chaos, someone must have forgotten to stamp our hands.” She nodded toward the parked automobiles without looking. “That’s our baby-blue Volkswagen.”

She rattled off the Oregon license plate number, then stepped close and gripped Zane’s bad arm, right above the makeshift bandage, rubbing that delectable breast against his skin in the process. Pain shot through his arm, followed by a heat that felt way too damn good.

“We drove up from Eugene yesterday. We’re on our honeymoon. Davey here already got us in a little fender bender and dented the back wheel well when we parked over at Lake Washington to go jet-skiing, and it’s going to cost a fortune to fix. We’d hate to get stuck here in Seattle when we have a beach rental waiting for us. We just went to get a drink while we waited for the ferry. Can’t you make an exception just this once?”

Moustache frowned, and when Eve let go of Zane and pushed her breasts out again, his gaze dropped to her cleavage once more.

Dumbass. A major bombing only miles away and this guy had boobs on the brain instead of his fucking job.

Eventually, Moustache looked from her to the other guard, then nodded for him to go check the vehicle.

The ancient VW bug was parked six cars in, hard to see among the other vehicles. The second guard jogged over to look, then came back and nodded at Moustache. “Looks like they hit a pole. License matches.”

Moustache eyed her again, from her flip-flops to her bare midriff and tied shirt, hovering a little too long on her breasts once more. After several seconds’ hesitation, he reached for a stamp from the window counter behind him. “Hold out your hands. And the next time you come through, make sure you get stamped before you leave, or you won’t be allowed back in.”

Eve smiled a sickly sweet grin. “Thank you so much. You totally just made our day. Right, Davey?”

Zane worked for a smile but knew it came out more as a scowl. If she didn’t let go of his arm, he was going to scream. And if that guy leered at her breasts once more, he was gonna pop the bastard in the nose.

Eve tugged Zane through the gate and finally let go of his arm. “See? Told ya.”

He wiped the sweat from his brow and followed her out onto the dock. “Your talents are staggering.”

She leaned back against the hood of the VW while they waited for the ferry. “Photographic memory comes in handy now and then. As you know.”

He did know. It was part of the whole spook gig. “What now? The real hippie owners are bound to show up at any time.”

“True, but we’re not staying here. We’re heading there.” She nodded toward a camper RV perched on the back of a beat-up truck in line four vehicles up. “And eventually, we’re going for that.” She pointed toward an ambulance parked two rows over. “I gotta get that arm of yours bandaged before infection sets in.”

Zane’s gaze drifted to the out-of-service ambulance, which looked like heaven to him. There had to be narcotics of some kind in there.

He glanced past the ambulance. Guards with bomb-sniffing dogs moved between vehicles. They waited until security moved past the ambulance, then wove through cars until they reached the back of the RV. Lights from above shone down over the pier in the early evening light. Far off in the distance, the approaching ferry grew bigger on the horizon. Luckily, the driver wasn’t in the cab yet, but they had only minutes before he or she returned.

Eve slinked around the back of the camper, reached up for the door handle, and whispered, “Yes!” Zane checked to make sure no one was watching, then climbed into the back after her and closed the door.

The camper was musty and dark. A bathroom closet gave way to a kitchen sink on the left. A too-tight table and bench seats sat to the right. Ahead and up three steps, a bed loomed above the canopy of the truck, and thick denim curtains covered the small windows.

Fatigue settled in as Zane eyed the messy comforter and mattress he knew couldn’t be comfortable but right now looked like an inviting cloud. He’d been awake going on twenty-four hours, fueled by revenge and adrenaline, and as light-headed as he felt, he knew the blood loss from the wound in his arm was catching up with him. He swayed on his feet.

Eve’s hand landed against his chest. “Whoa, big guy. Careful there. Archer? Are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t okay. Her hand felt way too damn good, even through the thin T-shirt. And he knew he was seriously losing it if he was reacting to her. He’d gotten over Evelyn Wolfe the day she’d turned her back on America. Had gotten way over her the day she’d set his team up in Guatemala. He was only with her now because he wanted answers. And then wanted to see her pay.

I work for the CIA. Counterterrorism.

Her words crept back into his brain, and with them, doubt. She’d been under the influence of amobarbital then. There was plenty of literature to say truth serums didn’t work, but amobarbital had a tendency to make people ramble even when they wanted to stop, which was why it was still used. That didn’t mean she’d been telling him the truth, though. She’d been trained in the same tactics he had. And she’d convincingly lied to him for months while they were in Beirut. She’d even gone so far as to screw him to keep him from finding out the truth. She knew how to beat the system. And yet . . .

As he stared down at her in the dim light coming through the thin curtains, he couldn’t stop hearing her voice in his head. The only words she’d said in that warehouse that had brought him to a stop.

I loved you, you son of a bitch! Why would I try to get you killed?

“Archer?” She looked up at him with those big amber eyes. Eyes that had drawn him in from the first. “What is it?”

He forced himself to look away. Tried to break the spell she was using to suck him under all over again. Failed because he still felt her hands on his chest and wanted—dammit—those hands everywhere. Even after everything she’d done.

“I . . . I need to sit down,” he managed. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

She shifted so he could move past her to the bench, her body brushing his in the process, igniting heat all along his skin. He ground his teeth so he didn’t reach for her and focused on the pain lighting up his biceps and thigh. She bumped into the bathroom door and swore under her breath. The camper rocked.

“As soon as we get on the ferry and the coast is clear,” she said, rubbing her elbow, “I’ll get supplies from that ambulance.”

He didn’t care how she was going to do that; he just wanted some relief. And to get his head back in the game so he’d stop reacting to her. Stop thinking of her. Stop second-guessing himself like he was doing now.

“Archer? Did you hear me?”

He didn’t look at her, but when footsteps echoed outside the camper, his head came up, and he froze.

“All right,” a voice said. A male voice. Just beyond the camper door. “I know you’re in there. Open up.”