She drew back at the shift in him. In fact, he looked tired and seriously annoyed. Not a good combination for a dangerous man. And Carlos was deadly.
"No." He sounded disgusted. "I just don't want wet clothes on my leather seats."
His charm turned to icy indifference faster than his wink.
He continued to hold the blanket and now cocked an eyebrow ripe with challenge.
Rather than give an inch or antagonize him, she stepped sideways, lowering the laptop to her feet so she could shove the sleeves of her T-shirt up on each arm. The damp clothes were starting to chafe.
He moved behind her and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders quickly.
The thick material warmed her as fast as a summer day. Her limp muscles would melt into a puddle if she didn't get in the car soon. She admitted defeat without a word.
Carlos kept his hands on her shoulders and leaned close to her ear. "I've had a long day. The last few hours haven't improved it by any means, so let's call a truce for a while."
His deep voice was gentle, soothing the raw edges of her nerves. And there he went comforting her again, his fingers lightly massaging her shoulders. She couldn't rally a snotty comment when the person who had stepped between her and death now offered a truce and sounded as exhausted as she felt.
Plenty of time tomorrow to battle him.
"Deal." She waited for him to release her. Sooner would be better than later or she might be tempted to lean back against his wide chest.
His hands dropped away and she had to ignore the disappointment. She lifted her computer bag and followed him to the passenger side, where she sank into the heavenly seat and dropped her head back.
He circled the car with the smooth stride of a man in control. He slid in behind the wheel, filling the interior to capacity with his presence.
The engine roared to life.
Gabrielle focused on staying awake while he maneuvered through the parking lot, then out onto the highway. At Highway 74 he turned north, likely heading to Interstate 85. Heat purred around her legs and soft music shushed through the cockpit.
No sleeping. Watch the route. Her mind knew what she had to do, but her body was not a willing party. She fought to stay alert, observing their route until he reached Interstate 85 and gunned into the northbound traffic flow. Unless he changed course, Atlanta was twenty miles ahead.
The smooth ride and quiet did her in.
Anxiety drained from her body in one fast sweep. She drifted off. Disjointed images flickered in her overloaded mind. Computer entries whirled around coded messages. Linette's signature-Jane of Art-appeared on a bulletin board, finally after years of Gabrielle hoping to hear from her again. She lunged to answer the post, but when she typed on the keys, a bloody body hanging against a wall appeared on her monitor.
The man's head lifted. She froze when she recognized the battered face.
Carlos.
She beat against the computer, yelling, "No!" Her screams echoed in the dark room.
Someone caught her hands. He called to her in a low, urgent voice. "Gabrielle, you're safe. Wake up."
She blinked her eyes, heart pulsing.
Carlos had her against his chest, telling her softly, "It's all right. You're safe."
She took a shuddering breath, realizing he had pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road and come around to her side. Her heart raced out of control.
He rubbed a hand up and down her back.
Such a foreign feeling...to be comforted. She'd forgotten what it felt like to be hugged. A real hug, not just a polite hello kind. But he was the enemy. She had to remember that or she'd never get out of this.
Gabrielle breathed deeply. She reached for a strength that had kept her alive over the past ten years and out of the deadly grip of Durand Anguis.
"I'm okay." She pulled away, foggy from the hard sleep and hungry. "Where are we?" She couldn't help the surly tone and didn't particularly care if she sounded unappreciative. The nightmare was his fault, plus she was both sick to her stomach and needed to eat.
He released her and returned to the driver's seat. Before putting the still-running car into gear, he reached across her for the seat belt. When he paused, his cheek was next to hers, so close it was like an intimate gesture.
Instead of being frightened, as she should have been, in that one moment she felt secure and protected. She was clearly losing her mind.
His eyes widened with some intuitive understanding, then narrowed before he moved back across to the driver's seat, latching her belt in the same motion. For a man so intimidating in size and solid muscle, his every move was smooth and fluid.
He cleared his throat. "Want something to drink?" He put the car into gear and moved smoothly back into traffic.
"Maybe a water." Gabrielle searched for a landmark as the car quickly reached cruising speed. They were on Interstate 75 and had just passed under the north 120 Loop overpass, which meant they were in the Marietta area, northwest of downtown Atlanta. She'd slept at least forty-five minutes, but didn't feel very refreshed. Sort of like on those rare days she grabbed a nap in the afternoon after spending half the night online.
Carlos took the Interstate 575 split and turned off at the Barrett Parkway exit. Fast-food and retail stores choked the one-mile stretch so close to a popular Atlanta mall.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"Oui." She sat up, searching the many options on each side of the road. "But you have to park so I can visit the loo."
He pulled into a McDonald's and parked, then came around and helped her from the car. She hurried ahead to the ladies' room. When she came out, he was camped outside the door with a bag of food. Her mouth watered at the smell. She did love fries. They ate in silence with her watching Carlos, and his gaze tracking everything that moved.
Back on the road, he pushed the car up to cruising speed again. "Now that you've had a nap and food, let's talk."
"About what? Thought you wanted to wait until I met your people."
He shrugged. "You could fill in a few blanks tonight."
"Like what?" Less was better than more.
"You're the electronic informant Mirage." He didn't ask, just tossed that out, and added, "Where are you getting your intel?"
"Who are you and who do you work for?" she asked rather than admit anything, but she couched her questions more politely to encourage an exchange of information.
"If you're worried about Durand Anguis, I'm not in his pocket."
A nonanswer. She tapped her fingers on the door handle. "I sort of figured that out in the last few hours. That doesn't tell me who you are working with...or what you want with me."
"And, I'm not the one who has to answer questions."
She got that, but she still needed to know whose team he played on. "Are you CIA or FBI?"
"No."
"Are you wanted by either of those?"
"No, but I do work for an agency that protects American security."
She sighed and dropped her head back. "That's something, I suppose. But I might be more willing to talk if I knew what agency you were with."
"Let's just say, no one you'd know." His eyes crinkled with mirth, but the rest of his features remained as stoic as ever.
"Do the CIA and FBI know about you?"
"No."
So was he really with some form of law enforcement?
When Interstate 575 ended, Carlos took Highway 5 north.
Warm air curled around her shoulders, distracting her. Between the meal and the heat, her eyelids felt heavy again, but she had to stay vigilant. Any hope of getting away from Carlos depended on knowing where she was and which way to run.
She rubbed her eyes, letting them close for just a second, just long enough to rest them.
"Why were you in Peachtree City?"
His question snapped her awake. She stretched her face and eyes, trying to come alert. Bad sign that she'd fallen asleep so easily again. "What?"
"Peachtree City. Why
were you living there?"
"I liked the area," she muttered, then cleared her voice. "It was quiet with pretty parks and great food. They have miles and miles of paved paths so you can travel all over the city in a golf cart or on a bike. Good food, too. I'm going to miss eating at Pascal's Bistro. That was my favorite-"
"That's not what I meant," he interrupted in a wry tone that poked at her patience.
Gabrielle crossed her arms. "It was just a place to live where I felt safe. No special reason that had anything to do with espionage, if that's what you're insinuating. I didn't know anyone except my landlord, who I rarely saw." She sat upright. "Good Lord. Harry might stop by this weekend. What about Baby Face's body?"
"There are no bodies or cars on his property right now that don't belong to him or you. What did you tell Baby Face?"
"Nothing."
"What exactly did he tell you?"
"That the DEA wanted to talk to me about..." She forced her mind back over what everyone had said, trying to make sure she only shared what Carlos already knew. "Durand Anguis, but I don't know why."
"So Baby Face tracked you electronically-"
"Lucky hit." She scoffed then frowned. She'd just admitted too much.
"You didn't just let something slip," he assured her.
She refused to reply since he picked up on every little thing she said and any reaction.
"Really," he continued. "We know you're the Mirage. Baby Face was an electronic mastermind with resources all over the world. He tracked you and so did my people. There's no telling who else was close to locating you." Carlos rode in silence for a bit then added, "You're lucky I found you when I did."
Gabrielle couldn't argue that point. How had those two groups found her?
Answering that last post about Mandy needing her help gave someone a break who was watching for a second post, which Gabrielle had provided them with. That's when Baby Face and the group this Carlos was aligned with figured out about the bounce from Peachtree City to Romania to Russia before the message was fed to several UK and American IPs.
She'd bet the emergency message she'd received about Mandy had been sent by either Baby Face or Carlos's group.
Stupid mistake, but she would stick her neck out again to save a child.
Carlos had shown up in time to keep her out of Turga's hands, but her appreciation was going to disintegrate if she found out his people were behind the post about Mandy last night.
That his group had lured her into a trap and exposed her to people like Durand.
Until she figured out what Carlos wanted and whom he worked for, she couldn't let his protective nature continue to cloud her survival judgment.
"So, where are you getting your information?" he asked again.
She shrugged. "The Internet, where else?"
His scoff of derision rode on a laugh. "I don't think so. Not all of it. You've passed information to the CIA, MI5 or MI6, Interpol, FBI, and a slew of other groups that couldn't have been found randomly on the Internet. Pick a new answer."
She would not tell him about her associates in South America who had fed her information for the past four years. Contacting Ferdinand and his son for help with Mandy's kidnapping had been risky after all the trouble she'd gone through to set up a secure process for the Diaz men to feed information to her.
A one-way electronic street. Taking the initiative to contact them first opened a channel someone could track.
Please, God, tell her she hadn't put Ferdinand and his son in danger by breaking protocol, but Mandy wouldn't have been found without that information.
Had the young woman even been found? Had anyone, including Carlos and his group, even cared about what happened to Mandy? Was the young girl really safe after all this? As far as Gabrielle could see, everyone was more interested in Mirage's contacts than anything else.
But asking Carlos about Mandy right now would only confirm what he was fishing for.
She would not give up her South American contacts no matter what his people threatened. Please, God, give her the strength to match that conviction if it came down to torture.
Her mind wandered with disjointed thoughts.
Sleep crooned to her like a lover. Her eyelids drooped.
Carlos ground his teeth against the throb in his temple. He didn't particularly care what they discussed right now since Gabrielle would be answering every question at BAD headquarters tomorrow. He needed to keep her talking until they were close to the secure residence BAD had in Hiawassee, then she could drift back off to sleep while he drove to the cabin.
Otherwise, he'd have to make a wide circle of the area until she faded again. Or blindfold her and tie her hands, which he really didn't want to do.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Exhaustion underlined her striking eyes that were such an odd shade of blue-violet at times.
A skilled observer would be hard-pressed to choose her exact age. She wore no makeup and could be anywhere from early to late twenties. Loose hairs from the brunette mane she'd twisted up onto her head with a clamp now fell in restless wisps along her neck. Her oval face wouldn't turn every head in a room, but she'd force a few discerning male gazes to linger while they considered the possibilities.
This was the informant who had broken through international intelligence communication?
Wedge that firmly enough into his psyche and he'd have an easier time interrogating her tomorrow.
Her bottom, deep-pink lip puckered softly as if in thought. She leaned an elbow against the base of the window and propped her head, struggling to stay awake, probably trying as hard to figure out where she was going as Carlos worked to keep his cabin location secret.
The blanket slipped off her shoulder to pool around her waist. Her baggy gray pants and oversize T-shirt sure as hell didn't camouflage the curvaceous body.
Especially the damp T-shirt that clung to her breasts.
Carlos felt a stir inside his jeans and scowled at the purely male reaction. Not the time for his body to remind him he was way overdue for some R and R.
He bumped the heat a little higher even though the warmth fed his body's need for sleep as well, but he could stay awake another half hour.
Her eyelashes fluttered against the cream-white cheek.
The minute her breathing fell into a constant rhythm, Carlos turned off the main road. The night closed in around the Beemer headlights as he slowly wound his way up a lonely ridge road.
Gabrielle's soft and steady breathing filled the silent car. He reached over and lifted the blanket back around her shoulders. The urge to keep her safe thrummed as strong as it had when bullets were flying earlier.
An urge that was in direct conflict with the job he'd have to do at headquarters.
But for tonight, she'd be safe from everyone.
When he approached the secluded drive to the cabin, he hit a button in the headrest panel that opened an electric gate. He entered slowly, watching to assure the gate closed behind him.
At the house, he let the car idle in the circular drive while he lifted a remote from the console between the seats and pressed a series of three buttons. Had one signal come back in a default of any kind, he'd have continued around the circular drive and left immediately.
All clear.
Once he had the car inside the triple-door garage, Carlos locked the doors and left Gabrielle while he opened the house. He made a physical check of each room, then returned to her side and opened her door slowly to catch her. Unclipping her belt, he lifted her into his arms, grunting at the stab of pain in his forearm and side. The jagged bullet gash and glass cut would need stitches tonight.
He carried her to the master bedroom, where he'd already drawn the covers back on his first pass through. She didn't stir while he removed sneakers and her sweatpants, which had finally dried. When he lifted the edge of her top, he found the tail of a silky undergarment, so he took the T-shirt off, too.
She curled up in a ball of smooth ski
n, candy-red lace underwear, and a matching silk camisole.
How could someone who looked like a librarian wear sin underwear? He debated over how to secure her for the night.
She could rest unbound while he was awake, but he needed sleep and would crash hard once his head hit the pillow after so many hours on his feet.
The safest thing would be to cuff her hands and arms to each corner of the bed, especially if armed guards showed up tonight to take her into custody.
The vision of her cuffed spread eagle in that red lace rushed through his brain then charged south to his loins.
And that kiss still lingered on his lips, in his thoughts.
He really had to straighten out his thinking about her, starting with not thinking about her mouth...or her underwear.
Carlos pulled the covers over all that temptation.
The information she'd shared electronically may have led them to Mandy, but he'd never met an informant who was simply a Good Samaritan with no hidden ulterior motives. They always wanted something and couldn't be trusted since their allegiance shifted with the best deal being offered.
So think enemy.
He glanced back down at her sweet profile and regretted having to stake her to the bed, but he couldn't leave her free or she'd run at the first chance she got.
There was another option. But she wouldn't like it.
Hell, he wouldn't either.
His head hurt too much to make one more decision, so Carlos dug a quarter out of his pocket and flipped it.
SEVEN
DURAND KNELT ON a wool blanket to keep from ruining his black dress pants. He lifted the L96A1 sniper rifle, settling it against his shoulder, then centered the crosshairs on the head of his six-foot target standing two hundred feet away. The wind slipped through trees on each side of him that created a canopy of relief from the afternoon heat weathermen had warned would reach the high nineties in nearby Caracas today.
Like fall in Venezuela was not always hot?
Ankle-deep grass stretched between him and the target so small against the lush tree line and the imposing mountains farther back. So vulnerable. When his breathing slowed to shallow breaths, Durand gently pulled the trigger.
The explosion rolled across the empty field and echoed against the ten-foot-high stucco wall at Durand's back. Sulfur odors stung the air. His target's head burst, pieces of clay flying in all directions.
Cheers went up behind him.