Extreme Measures

5

Eve froze with her hand against Zane’s shoulder and peered toward the door. Her heart rate jumped, and beneath her palm, Zane went still as stone.

“I said come out,” the male voice repeated. “I know you’re in there.”

Eve glanced quickly around the small camper. There was no other exit. The windows were too small to climb through, and in the middle of all these cars, they’d never escape without being seen.

“Fuck me,” Zane mouthed.

Perspiration dotted Eve’s forehead, and her adrenaline surged. She was not going down like this, minutes to freedom. She squeezed Zane’s shoulder.

“Payton,” the man said, “if I have to come in there after you, I won’t be smiling.”

Payton? Eve’s gaze darted to Zane. His confused expression mirrored her own. Muffled giggling echoed from the front of the truck, followed by heavy footsteps moving around the vehicle, then the cab door opening.

“I told you to stay with me,” the man said. “Don’t run off again, or I’ll put you down for a nap in the back of the camper.”

More giggling echoed from the front of the vehicle, followed by a small voice exclaiming, “I win at hide-and-seek!”

“I hate hide-and-seek,” the man mumbled. Then louder, “Move over, Freckles. The ferry’s about to load.”

The kid clapped wildly, then the car door slammed shut, and the truck roared to life.

Eve released the breath she’d been holding. When Zane moved over on the bench, Eve eased onto the seat next to him. Heat immediately enveloped her, followed by the sweet, masculine scent of his skin, and too late she realized she should have sat across from him, not beside him. But when he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, she glanced his way and was glad she’d sat where she had. He was pale, and blood from the wound in his shoulder was starting to seep through the T-shirt she’d snagged downtown. He looked like he could pass out at any moment.

Worry tightened her chest. A worry he didn’t deserve, but which consumed her. She glanced over her shoulder toward the bed above the canopy of the truck.

The vehicle rocked, and what little light had seeped through around the edge of the curtains grew dark. They were moving into the belly of the ferry. They both sat still, unmoving and silent as the vehicle stopped and the ignition died.

A door opened.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” the kid said in an excited voice.

“Hold my hand,” the man yelled. Then quieter, “Your mother so owes me for this.”

The door slammed shut, and footsteps echoed away.

Eve didn’t move until the sounds around her quieted and she felt the ferry engine come to life. Only then did she breathe again and push to her feet.

“Come on, Archer,” she said quietly, gently tugging on his good arm.

“Just want to sit here.”

“I know. But I think you’ll like this better.”

It took a lot of coaxing to get him to his feet, and when she did, he swayed. “Whoa,” Eve muttered, placing a hand against his chest, another around his back to hold him upright. Heat seeped from him into her, penetrating her skin, warming places she didn’t want to remember had gone cold. “Don’t fall.”

“I’m not gonna fall,” he groused. “Just . . . tired.”

She helped him up the three small steps, and when his head hit the ceiling, she bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, rubbing the spot. “This is the worst fucking day ever.”

“Tell me about it.” Eve knelt up on the mattress above the cab. “Watch your head. The ceiling’s low.”

“Now you tell me.”

Yeah, he was a breath of fresh air, this man. She should totally ditch his ass, but she couldn’t. At least not until she got him out of Seattle.

He grunted and grumbled as he got situated on the mattress, and when he was finally lying on his back, he breathed out a long sigh. “I’m just . . . gonna close my eyes for a minute.”

Eve looked down at him and had a memory flash. Of him sound asleep on his cot in Beirut. Of her slinking into his room in the middle of the night when Carter had been on watch and thought both of them were catching a few winks. Of stripping him of his pants and taking him into her mouth. And the satisfied groan that had echoed from his chest when he’d finally awakened.

Her chest grew tighter, and she turned quickly away, hating the lump forming in her throat. “I’m getting something to close your wound. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t go far, Evie,” he slurred. “We’re not . . . done.”

No, they weren’t done. Eve blinked back the sting behind her eyes and drew a deep breath. They’d never truly be done, at least not for her.

A quick scan of the camper gave her nothing useful. In a cabinet, she found a metal coat hanger and a screwdriver and figured that would have to do. The car deck was empty of people when she stepped out of the RV and softly closed the door at her back. Just rows and rows of empty vehicles. Breathing easier, she maneuvered through the lanes until she came to the ambulance.

Her heart rate ticked up, but relief filled her chest. The ambulance was old, which meant it likely didn’t have an alarm system. She moved around the passenger side and peered inside the window. Then jerked back.

One lone EMT sat in the driver’s seat, reading a book.

Shit. Shit . . .

Eve’s mind spun, and she bit her lip, contemplating. The coat hanger trick was never going to work now.

Quietly, she peeked through the window again. The EMT was so engrossed in her book, she didn’t look up. Eve’s gaze slid over the interior of the vehicle and locked on the fob hanging from the key ring. A remote locking system she could work with.

She moved back to the camper and gently eased the door open.

Archer pushed up on his elbows and peered in her direction. “That was fast.”

Dammit, he was just as handsome as ever—more so now, all rumpled from their run across the waterfront and scruffy from days without shaving. She faltered coming up the two steps into the camper, and more questions raced through her mind, but these had nothing to do with what she needed to do next. They had only to do with him—where he’d been this last year, what he’d been doing, and with whom.

She knew his background, not because he’d told her long ago in Beirut, but because she’d investigated him thoroughly before being stationed there. His father had never really been in his life. His mother had come from old Southern money. He’d been raised primarily by his mother and maternal grandparents in Savannah, though his mother had instilled a strong work ethic in him and taught him what it meant to be successful without the help of her parents’ wealth. He had no siblings, had excelled in school, and in the summers, instead of hanging out on his grandparents’ estate with his friends, he’d manned the register in his mother’s small bookstore. He’d gone to college on an academic scholarship, and after graduating from Duke University at the top of his class, he’d joined the CIA.

Their backgrounds weren’t the same, but their single-minded focus on success was. He was a lot like her, she realized now. A loner who’d been more fixated on his career than on marriage. And maybe that’s why she’d been drawn to him from the start. Because with him she’d felt a compatibility—a closeness she hadn’t felt with anyone since Sam. With him she’d been able to push aside memories of the past and everything she’d lost the day Sam had died and just focus on the moment. And with him she’d started to feel again.

But that feeling had only gotten her into trouble, hadn’t it? Just like it was threatening to do here, by making her wonder who he’d turned to after he’d been injured in Guatemala and who warmed his bed at night now.

Off-limits . . .

She gave her head a swift shake. Even if he didn’t hate her guts, he would forever be off-limits, and she needed to remember that fact before she did or said something to make this entire situation worse.

She closed the door slowly at her back. “We have a slight hiccup. I’m going to need your help to get past it.”

His hazel eyes narrowed in speculation. “What kind of hiccup?”

“A pretty blonde, from what I can see. About five foot eight and one hundred and thirty pounds. Should be no problem for you, Superman.”

Zane stood in the shadows at the rear passenger side of the ambulance and swiped the sweat from his forehead. He’d let Juliet—correction, Eve—talk him into this only because he wanted the narcotics on that vehicle. Not because he was letting her run the show.

Superman . . . He sorta liked that she’d called him that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been anyone’s hero.

He ground his teeth against the pain in his shoulder and the stupid thoughts running through his head. No way was he giving her any kind of control over where they went or how they got there, and he definitely wasn’t letting her get under his skin. She wanted to be all cute and sassy? Well, tough. She was still his prisoner whether she thought so or not.

Reaching for his cell phone from his pocket, he pulled it out and then frowned at the blank screen. No sense turning it on right now. The insides were probably waterlogged. He’d need to pick up a new one soon.

A tapping echoed from the far side of the ambulance. Zane shoved the phone back in his pocket and went still.

“May I help you?” The EMT’s question to Eve drifted through the open door.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Eve said in her sweetest voice. “The lock on the trunk of our Honda keeps sticking, and my boyfriend hurt his hand trying to get it open. I was wondering if maybe you could come help me. He’s bleeding.”

Fabric rustled, followed by boots hitting the car deck. Seconds later, the back end of the ambulance swung open, triggered by remote. “Show me where,” the EMT answered.

Well out of view of the driver side door, Zane darted into the back of the vehicle.

A muffled grunt echoed from outside, and the locked storage cabinet in the ambulance popped open, indicating Eve had hit the fob.

“Be fast,” Eve hollered from beyond the ambulance wall. “You’ve got about nine seconds before she wakes up.”

Perspiration slid down Zane’s spine. Pain radiated from both his injured arm and leg. The sleeper hold worked wonders at immobilizing and knocking a person out, but the effects lasted mere moments. He thanked his shitty luck for remote locking mechanisms.

He pulled the tub in the compartment open and pawed around until he found the vials. Then nearly cheered when he discovered it was Dilaudid and not morphine. After grabbing four vials, he swiveled and opened a drawer. Grasping whatever bandages he could wrap his hand around, he shoved the drawer closed with his hip, closed the narcotics compartment, and darted out of the back of the ambulance.

He paused in the shadows on the passenger side of the ambulance, hidden behind the back door, and breathed deep. The pain in his shoulder and leg throbbed, but he pushed it from his mind and waited.

“Miss?” Eve said. “Miss? Are you okay?”

“Wh-what happened?” the EMT responded in a dazed voice.

“I don’t know. You were about to help me with my friend, but you passed out as soon as you got out of the ambulance.”

Zane fought from smiling. The sleeper hold shut down blood flow to the brain, which left a person with memory gaps, and as he remembered, Eve was good at administering it. He’d been on the receiving end of it a few times when they’d been killing time, sparring in Beirut. This poor girl would never know what hit her.

When he heard shuffling, he darted around a parked car so he’d be out of the view of the ambulance’s mirrors.

“Here,” Eve said. “Why don’t you sit down? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m . . . I’m fine,” the EMT replied. “Wow. That was weird. I don’t remember anything except getting out of the vehicle.”

“You could have low blood pressure. You might want to get that checked.”

Zane found it mildly ironic that Eve was giving the EMT medical advice, but then, Eve had always been confident in everything she did. The woman could fake it with the best of them. His lips turned to a frown when he thought about how she’d used those incredible acting skills to play him from the start. And that only reminded him of just why they were here in the first place.

He waited while Eve helped the EMT around the back of the ambulance so she could sit. From his position, he couldn’t see much of the EMT except her boots perched on the bumper. But he could see Eve, standing next to the open back doors, looking concerned and . . . stunning in that ridiculous outfit and wild blonde hair.

Blondes had never really been his type, but at the moment he wouldn’t mind taking that one for a test drive.

Dammit. He ground his teeth when he realized where his fucked-up thoughts were going. She still got to him, after all this time. Even after everything she’d done. But he wasn’t a moron. People had died because of her. He’d almost died because of her. And he wasn’t about to forget that.

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

She hadn’t been telling the truth. She couldn’t have been. A person like Eve didn’t know how to love. And he wasn’t falling for her fiction even if she was helping him right now.

“Do you want me to get someone?” Eve asked the EMT. “Do you have a partner deckside?”

“No.” The EMT lifted a hand toward her head. “No, I’m fine. I—wait. Didn’t you say your friend was hurt?”

“He is, but you’re in no shape to help him right now. Though if you have some bandages or gauze so I could cover his wound until we dock, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure. Yeah. I can do that for you. Um, bandages are in here.”

Eve disappeared into the back of the ambulance with the EMT, and Zane used that as his chance to get away. Staying low, he maneuvered back around cars until he came to the RV. Quietly, he opened the door and slid inside. Dropping the materials on the small table, he pulled the needle guard from the shot, tugged down his pants, and injected the solution into his hip.

Relief would come slowly, but faster than with his pills. And maybe it made him a wuss, but he didn’t care. Between the pain in his arm from that gunshot wound and the perpetual burn in his leg from all the scar tissue, he needed some relief right now.

He dropped onto the bench, leaned his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes while the drug began to work. Minutes later, Eve tapped on the door and pulled it open. The scent of peaches reached him, and he drew it in, remembering the hundreds of other times he’d taken that scent in with his eyes closed. Just before she’d touched him, or kissed him, or straddled his lap and ridden him to oblivion.

“Looks like my plan worked.” Paper rustled as she dropped supplies on the table. “The EMT gave me extra bandages. Now take off your shirt so I can get at that wound. We don’t have a lot of time.”

He grunted as he tugged his shirt up and off. Eve’s soft fingers landed against his skin, helping him, sending tiny shivers of awareness all through his body. He leaned his head back against the wall again and closed his eyes while she knelt next to his seat and cleaned the wound, afraid that if he looked, he might not be able to look away. And if he saw her on her knees in front of him . . . forget it.

“This isn’t as bad as I thought.” She packed the wound with gauze, then began wrapping his arm in bandages. “You were lucky.”

Zane huffed. “Luck and I are not good friends. You’re proof of that.”

Eve’s hand stilled against his arm, and when he opened his eyes, curious as to why she’d stopped, he faltered because he couldn’t read the emotion lurking in her amber gaze.

Guilt? Remorse? Regret? He couldn’t be sure which. But something was there. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to see.

“I know you don’t believe me, Archer,” she said in a quiet voice, “but I wasn’t lying to you earlier.”

Quietly, she went back to wrapping his arm, and as Zane stared at her, he took in the stubborn set of her jaw, the lock of white-blonde hair that fell across her creamy cheek, the way her long eyelashes curled outward from her deep amber eyes. He’d been with a lot of women in his life, but she was the only one who’d stuck with him, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t just because of her beauty—though she had that hands down over all the others he’d dated. No, she was forever engrained in his mind because of her brains and wit, and because during one of his most miserable assignments, she’d been his shining ray of light. Until she’d been his darkness.

“No, I don’t believe you.” He tore his gaze away from her mesmerizing face and looked back at the bandages on the table, only mildly concerned they were blurring against the fake wood. More than anything, he hated that feeling in his chest, those pinpricks of doubt that were growing sharper. She was a traitor, and he needed to remember that fact. Not get lost in her all over again like she obviously wanted him to do. “And this isn’t the time to get into it. The ferry’s about to dock, and we need to get out of this RV before Boy Wonder and his dad come back.”

Sighing, she finished wrapping his arm, then pushed to her feet. “You’ve changed, you know that?”

His gaze shot to her. “I’ve changed? That’s rich, sweetheart. I’m still the same guy I was in Beirut. I just wised up to your game.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him. “Not everything’s black-and-white, Zane. Sometimes there are shades of gray. But you’re too bullheaded to see them.”

“The only gray I see is you trying to color the situation so I’ll drop my guard around you.” He pushed to his feet, needing his height advantage so he could intimidate her. Which was a lame idea because Evelyn Wolfe was never intimidated by anyone.

He swayed on his bad leg and caught himself with a hand on the back of the bench seat before he went down.

“Zane—”

He pulled away from her reach, knowing if she touched him he might forget what was at stake here. The RV swirled in front of him. Son of a bitch. Either that dose of Dilaudid was too strong, or he was seriously weak from the loss of blood.

Gripping the back of the bench seat, he said, “Once we get off this boat, I’m calling Carter, and you’re turning yourself in.”

Her face drained of all color, and she dropped her arms. “The hell I am.”

“The hell you aren’t.”

“Archer—Zane,” she said more softly, “I wasn’t responsible for that bombing in Seattle.”

He pushed past her and peered through the curtain toward the car deck beyond. “My gut says otherwise.”

“Your gut is as bullheaded as your brain.”

“It might be, but it’s not falling for your shit anymore.” He pushed the door open. “Come on. People are starting to come back down. We need to go topside.”

She didn’t move, and as he stepped outside the RV, he realized if she wanted to kick his ass and run, she could do it now, no problem. He was weak, in pain, and not operating on all cylinders, and she was clearly none of the above.

He glanced over his shoulder. She stood in the doorway of the RV, staring at him, that white-blonde hair like a halo around her head, and those emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge reflecting deeply in her rich amber eyes again. But there was also something else lurking in her gaze now. Something that tightened his chest like a drum and made him wish he’d never looked back.

Something that seemed a lot like fear.

“Archer,” she said quietly, “if you were smart, you’d let this go. You’d let me go. You left the CIA for a reason. You don’t want to be involved in this.”

He steeled himself against the sudden burst of tenderness he felt in his chest and reminded himself that retribution was all that mattered. “You made me a part of this the day you sabotaged my mission in Guatemala. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re not going anywhere but where I say.”