Whispered Lies

  Fair enough. He wasn't taking his eyes off her either. He sat on the top edge of the driver's seat and shifted the outboard motor into forward, cruising back to the dock. Cold air seeped through his wet clothes. He glanced at her huddled form shivering against the chill and thought about the blanket in the trunk of his car. She should be okay until then.

  When they reached the wooden planks, he cut the outboard motor, tied up the boat, and jumped out, offering her a hand.

  That she refused.

  She grabbed her backpack and computer bag, then climbed out, careful not to get too close to him.

  "Let's go." He waited for her to move forward.

  "What will you do with me?" She had a lush French voice, laced with a sophistication that carried a soft British accent. But those exotic blue eyes and high cheekbones were decidedly French.

  "Haven't decided that yet."

  "You murdered a-"

  "He's not dead," he said before she could accuse him of murdering Baby Face. "Takes a lot more to kill him than a bullet in the shoulder." Carlos pointed the way he wanted her to go and she finally started moving.

  She trembled with each step.

  Carlos had to clamp down on the urge to comfort her. She'd been leaving with Baby Face Jones, a known electronics felon who made his living by online pirating and financial scams.

  Had Baby Face come to kidnap her or was she cutting a deal with him?

  She'd appeared to be leaving voluntarily.

  Baby Face was a genius when it came to electronics, but Carlos doubted even Baby Face could have found the informant without aid from someone with deep pockets. Someone who could give him access to megacomputers equal to The Monster, BAD's computer supersystem Joe swore was unmatched anywhere else in the intelligence field. Just one of many questions Baby Face was going to answer once Carlos and Lee took him into headquarters.

  Was this woman really the infamous Mirage?

  Had the entire intelligence world been overlooking something obvious Baby Face had stumbled on?

  Hard to accept that possibility, which meant he'd had help.

  When Carlos rounded the house, Lee was nowhere to be found. What the hell was he doing?

  Carlos directed the woman to keep moving a step ahead of him toward where Baby Face lay on the ground. There was no sign of Lee or anything stuffed on Baby Face's shoulder to stop the blood flow.

  She reached Baby Face first and backed up, whispering, "Mon Dieu."

  Carlos stepped up ahead of her. Baby Face bled profusely from a sliced throat.

  Something had gone very bad.

  She inched away, making noises that normally preceded gut puking.

  He didn't have time for her to be sick. In fact, Carlos would bet they were lucky to even be alive and that Lee had not fared as well. Whoever grabbed Lee might not have realized Carlos had been around the backside of the house chasing this woman into the lake.

  The thought of Lee dead sucked, but if Carlos stopped to think about the waste of a young life, two more would be snuffed out next.

  He grabbed the front of his captive's wet jacket, spinning her terror-rimmed eyes to his, then spoke low. "Listen up. We've got to go. Whoever killed him might come back."

  Shock blanched her face even whiter before her eyes sharpened to two angry slits. "You mean your buddy didn't do this?"

  "No, he's probably dead, too."

  That stunned her. "Who would kill both of them?"

  "We can talk or try to get out of here alive." When that registered on her face, he asked, "You got keys to that Jeep?"

  "I'm not helping you." She whispered the words, underlining you at the end with a slur.

  "Oh, yes, you are unless you want to end up with your throat slit...or worse."

  That struck a nerve. She shook like a wet dog and took another step back. White showed all around the iris of her eyes, the perfect picture of a terrified woman.

  If tears followed, hysterics wouldn't be far behind.

  Merde! He had no time for that or to calm her down. Carlos grabbed the lapels of her coat, pulling her so close he could see tears hanging on her silky eyelashes. "You can either hand over the keys or I'll strip-search you right here." He hated to use that threat, but it did the trick.

  She didn't cry.

  The mean look she gave him would force a rabid dog to back down. She shoved her hand into the pocket of her coat and produced a small ring with two keys. One was for an automotive ignition and the other looked like a house key.

  Carlos took the keys, then latched onto her arm and towed her across the yard to where a ten-year-old dingy-white Jeep Wrangler was parked. With a freakin' soft-top, but at least it had the little half doors on each side. If he didn't have her to deal with, his chances on foot would be better, but getting this informant to headquarters in one piece was his sole priority at the moment.

  She was BAD's only connection to the Fratelli.

  And he had to find out just how much she knew about the Anguis.

  He hurried her into the Jeep and watched to make sure she stayed in while he circled to the driver's side. When he slid behind the wheel, he told her, "Scoot down to the floorboard."

  "Why?"

  "You'll be less of a target. I don't have time to answer questions and keep you alive, so do what I tell you when I tell you."

  "Why?"

  He cranked the engine. "You got a problem with your hearing?"

  "No, I hear just fine." She sat perched on the seat, pure defiance in contrast to the fear pulsing from her in waves.

  "Then you must be dense," he muttered, steering out to the driveway and watching everything at once.

  "No, I'm not dense."

  "Then what exactly are you having a problem understanding?"

  "Why don't you just kill me right now?"

  He tossed quick glances at her as he eased the Jeep past the body on the lawn and started down the driveway with the headlights off. He had enough twilight to see the driveway.

  "What makes you think I want to kill you?" he asked, his gaze sweeping everywhere for a threat.

  "You're Anguis, right?"

  FOUR

  CARLOS CLUTCHED THE steering wheel. This was exactly why he had to get the first crack at this informant, find out what she knew about the Anguis. How had she recognized him when no one else in the past sixteen years had?

  He'd never even met this woman before today. He slowed the Jeep, still needing to get her tucked down beneath the dash. "Why would you say that?"

  She scoffed, but the raspy sound came out on a slip of terror. "I've been waiting on Durand to send someone."

  Carlos released the breath he'd been holding, expecting to hear how she knew him. She only thought he'd been sent by Durand to kidnap her.

  "You think just because I'm Hispanic that I'm part of Durand's group?"

  She swung around, squinting at him as she churned on his answer. "You're not?"

  "No. Now, will you scoot down before someone blows your head to pieces?" He gave the Jeep gas and eased forward.

  Gabrielle tried to comprehend what he was saying. Not Anguis? Then who was this guy? His last words finally registered-the comment about getting her head blown off.

  She scrunched her body down into as small a ball as she could make, but she'd never been small so the ball was more a misshapen blob.

  The man driving had all the attributes she'd ever mentally assigned an Anguis soldier, from the olive skin to thick black hair and lashes to a body built for power.

  Danger radiated from him in shock waves.

  He cut his gaze at her for a brief moment. Keen eyes assessed her with concern that didn't fit the image she'd conjured of an Anguis soldier.

  She would have expected mean, beady eyes.

  Brisk air buffeted collar-length black hair around his neck, the soft locks a sharp contrast to the hard jawline and tense mouth. Attractive, in a deadly sort of way. What would he do with her?

  A shiver ran along her spine.
>
  If Durand hadn't sent this rogue interloper, then whom was this guy working with? Not law enforcement or he wouldn't have shot Agent Morton.

  She glanced up when the Jeep took a curve around the broken poplar tree that had snapped in a recent storm. That meant they were close to the street...where someone might be waiting for them?

  Such as the person who had cut the DEA agent's throat?

  "What about a bullet hitting you?" Gabrielle asked her captor. If this guy was shot while driving and wrecked the Jeep, she might end up a human pretzel.

  "I'll be fine. No more talking," he ordered, but in a less menacing tone.

  He wheeled the Jeep in an abrupt left turn off the driveway before reaching the mailbox. She stretched her neck to see why.

  The Jeep idled next to a dark-colored sport utility parked in the woods. He leaned over, stared at something inside the vehicle and cursed, then backed up to the driveway...and cursed again. He accelerated hard, lurching the Jeep forward, and spinning a wheel when he swung onto the street.

  A loud ping echoed before the windshield cracked and spiderwebbed.

  She lifted up.

  "Stay the hell down!" He downshifted and rammed the accelerator again, fishtailing the Jeep one way, then the next.

  Another shot ripped through the soft top and zinged off the dash.

  Gabrielle ducked her head and clung to the seat. She pressed a hand on the wall next to the floorboard to wedge herself in as tightly as she could. Air roared through the open windows.

  "Where are we going?" she asked. Her fingernails dug into the seat cushion.

  He ignored her.

  After two more turns, he floored the gas then skidded to a stop. Stinking rubber filled the cab. He quickly shifted the Jeep into reverse and backed up as fast as they'd been going forward.

  Tires on another vehicle close by screeched against the pavement.

  Speeding in Peachtree City was not a wise idea since this small community had its own police department that patrolled the highways. Tangling with law enforcement would make her an easy target for Durand, but getting arrested had a certain appeal when people were shooting at her.

  Hard to decide the lesser of two deadly options, but she doubted this guy was going to give her a choice.

  Another shot pinged off the inside of the windshield. This one drew a snarl of curses from her driver in Spanish. Blood trickled down the side of his cheek.

  Help him or not?

  She didn't even know who he was or whom he worked for. He'd shot a DEA agent, so what did that say about him?

  Bad guy, to put it in simple terms.

  Still, he was working real hard to keep her alive and out of someone's hands. Maybe Anguis soldiers.

  Gabrielle reached under the seat for a rag she kept there to clean the windshield when needed and handed it up to him. "Here."

  He glanced, did a double take, then snatched the rag and wiped blood that had run into his eyes. He tossed the cloth down against the base of the shifter and yanked the wheel hard to the left.

  She barely caught herself. What seemed like forever had probably taken all of ten minutes when he finally slowed down and said, "Think we lost them."

  "Can I get up?"

  "No."

  Antagonizing this guy was not a bright idea, but she had to find some sort of mutual ground for any hope of catching him with his guard down so she could escape. Couldn't let him know how terrified she was.

  She licked her lips and tried again. "Where are you going?"

  "Not where I'd originally planned."

  How about a straight answer? Gabrielle unclenched her fisted hands and took a couple breaths. Now was the time for patience, not ripping at him, but she was edgy from exhaustion and vibrating from the quick release of an adrenaline rush.

  She kept silent while he made two sharp turns, then parked. He left the engine running and switched the headlights off. "You can get up for a minute."

  About time. She arched her back and tried to get traction with her knees.

  "Here." He reached over, cupped her under the arms, and lifted her out of the hole. That he did it so easily told her just how strong this guy was, because she was no lightweight.

  As soon as she had some balance, he released her and flipped open his phone, text-messaging someone. He scowled.

  "What's wrong?" Her pulse jackhammered in her ears.

  "No signal."

  She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, and looked around. The first street sign she recognized meant they were located in the south end of the city, just off Peachtree Parkway. "This is one of two areas I always lose calls. Think we're in a pocket between cell towers."

  Sirens whined in the distance.

  Her stomach growled.

  His look of surprise would have been funny in different circumstances. "Hungry?"

  "No." She'd had one meal in two days, but the thought of eating right now nauseated her. She propped an elbow on the door frame and supported her aching head on her hand.

  "Who are you working with?" He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, tapping a finger and eyes distant as though he worked on a thought.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Don't jerk me around," he warned.

  Getting yelled at snapped the last link to her patience.

  Damn the consequences. She lifted her head and turned to him. "Well, I don't know anything about you other than you killed a DEA agent, so I'm not in the frame of mind to be jerked around either."

  "I didn't kill him," he muttered, then paused and hit her with a look of disbelief. "You thought the guy I shot was DEA?"

  Her stomach did a roll at the incredulity in his voice. "He had ID. He is...was Special Agent Curt Morton."

  "Shit."

  She really didn't like the sound of that. "I don't understand."

  "Curt Morton has been missing for two weeks, which means if Baby Face had his ID then Curt is most likely dead."

  She rubbed her head, trying to piece it all together. "Who is Baby Face?"

  "The man you were leaving with was Baby Face Jones."

  "Who is he...what does he do?" She had a sick feeling she wasn't going to like the answer.

  "He's a...mercenary who does errands."

  "Like kidnapping?"

  "So you weren't leaving with him voluntarily?"

  She shook her head. "No. I thought he was DEA and he threatened me if I didn't go with him. So is he a kidnapper?" Sacre bleu, sacre bleu...she'd been walking into a trap.

  "Kidnapping is side work. His real expertise is electronic crimes, plus he tortures intelligence agents for marketable information when he can nail one."

  Dots floated in her vision. "Who are you?" she asked in a strained voice. "Are you with the DEA?"

  "Carlos. I'm not DEA. Who are you?"

  "Gabrielle...Parker."

  "Right." That snicker of skepticism was in his voice again. "We have to move. I need a tower."

  "Was that sport utility in my driveway yours?" she wondered aloud. Everyone seemed to show up at her rental house on foot.

  "No." He scanned around them while he put the Jeep into gear and flipped the headlights on. "Scoot back down."

  "Who sent Baby Face?"

  "I don't know and don't care until I find out where my partner is."

  "Do you and your partner work for-"

  "-no one you'd know."

  That wasn't encouraging. "What do you want with me?"

  He ignored her again. "Get back down."

  Going to the police would create all sorts of problems for her, but she was starting to reconsider that if her next best option was dying or being tortured.

  That didn't even take into consideration what this Carlos had planned for her. Where did he stand with law enforcement?

  "We could knock on a door and ask the residents to call the police," she suggested. Not a bad idea since it would give her a chance to escape this guy.

  "No police." Carl
os turned a grim face to her. "If we get out of here alive and find a freakin' tower, I can contact my people."

  No police. My people. That sure as the devil didn't sound like someone aligned with law enforcement.

  She pushed her body back into a wad between the seat and the floorboard, wet, cold, and scared. Mostly scared.

  He kept his speed moderate, driving as if he were a model citizen for several miles. She wrenched her wrist around to see the time, clenching her teeth to stop the chattering.

  She took advantage of his silence to plot where to find public transportation and which way to head for a new hiding place once she broke free of him. Accessing funds would take time, but she kept money stashed in several remote locations.

  Planning for survival beat thinking about how close she'd come to being caught by Baby Face or wondering what Carlos had in mind for her.

  Carlos punched numbers in his phone whenever his shifting hand was free. Something must have gone through since he started talking.

  "Lee check in?" he asked without even saying hello. Pause. Curse. "Send cleanup to the location. I've got the source, but I'm in a traffic jam. I need-" He pulled the phone from his head, stared at the tiny cell phone, and lifted it as if to slam the device against the steering wheel.

  But he didn't, closing the phone with a finger.

  Lost call again?

  Gabrielle couldn't see streetlights any longer from her position. Just pitch dark. "We're not in a traffic jam. We're in the country."

  "Yep."

  "I'm getting up if no one is chasing us."

  He reached over and used one hand this time to lift her out of the hole. His grip was strong, but he handled her...gently. She would have pulled away when she plopped on the seat, but he released her immediately, his large hands returning to the task of driving.

  Gentle hands...capable of killing.

  Carlos hadn't harmed her. Yet. Was he any safer than Baby Face? She shivered, glad not to have gone with that monster.

  That had been too close.

  She stretched her back muscles and rubbed her cold arms. Her clothes had reached that damp, icky state.

  "Now what?" Gabrielle swiveled her head, squinting to make out landmarks. They were on Highway 54 just south of Highway 16. Wide-open pastures and rolling countryside spotted with stately homes.

  "Soon as I get another tower, I'll get us out of here," Carlos told her. He sounded irritated, and tired.

  She shouldn't care. Maybe he was tired because he'd kidnapped a couple more women tonight already. But he was standing between her and death so she'd help as much as she could until he proved to be a threat.