Extreme Measures

  Panic pushed in, mixed with the drug still wreaking havoc on her brain to make things seem surreal. “Sawyer—”

  Sawyer leaned back and rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay,” he said more calmly. “Let’s try something else.”

  Metal scraped the floor again. Eve held her breath as he stood and moved around behind her, where she couldn’t see him. “What were you doing in Beirut?”

  Beirut . . . The word mixed with fuzzy memories. Fuzzy, heated memories of the two of them locked tight together. In their apartment. In the shower. In that crappy car when she’d been sure no one could see them. “I . . . my job.”

  “Yeah, I know that, beautiful.” He leaned close to her ear, his warm breath rushing over bare skin to send tingles down her spine. This close she could smell him. Musk and mint and man. She’d always loved the smell of him. “But you weren’t working for the CIA then.”

  She had been, though. Synapses slowly started to fire, like links in a chain firming up when pulled tight. And oh man, he wasn’t going to believe her. But the truth . . . the truth was the only thing that seemed to be condensing in her mind. Where were the carefully orchestrated covers? Where were the lies she so often rattled off without a second thought? “I . . . I was working undercover.”

  “Spying.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “For whom?”

  “The CIA.”

  “Oh, Evie.” Snip. Whoosh. Clank. “I didn’t realize how eager you were to get naked.”

  Eve gasped as her blouse fell open all the way to her belly button. Frustration, fear, and panic all coalesced in the bottom of her stomach. “I’m telling you the truth!”

  Blinding pain lit off behind her eyes. Before he could ask her another question, she slammed her lids closed and groaned. “Oh God, my head.”

  “You took a nasty hit on the noggin, beautiful. Breathe through it.”

  She did. But not because he told her to. Because it was the only thing she could do.

  “That’s better,” he said when her face relaxed. “Now, back to what we were discussing. You said you were spying. Are you implying you were spying on the CIA for the CIA?”

  “Yes,” she managed, gritting her teeth through the pain that was, thankfully, now easing. “I mean . . . the Pentagon—”

  “I’m not buying it, honey.” He snipped another button from her shirt. Only one remained.

  A red haze lowered over Eve’s vision. He was trying to intimidate her. But this was Sawyer, not some terrorist. He wouldn’t really hurt her. Would he?

  She struggled against the chair. “This is bullshit.”

  “Ah, but you like bullshit. You spin it so well.”

  Pain shot up her arms. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why? You tell me, Eve.” He leaned close to her ear. So close she could feel his lips brush her skin when he whispered, “Think hard. About the phone call you made to me. Just after the raid. When I was lying on the floor of that Huey bleeding out. Remember what you said?”

  Eve’s whole body went cold. And that day—a year ago—flashed in her memory. Not fuzzy and watery as everything else, but crystal clear.

  “ ‘I never lose.’ Ring a bell, Evie?”

  Bile rose up in Eve’s stomach. This was not the same caring man she’d once thought of leaving the CIA for. Whatever gentleness used to be inside Sawyer—no, Zane Archer—was gone, thanks to what she’d done.

  “There are all kinds of ways to go about getting the answers I want,” Archer said softly in her ear. “If you cooperate and tell me what you know, I’ll try to make it . . . pleasurable. You remember how nice I can be, don’t you, Evie?”

  Unfortunately, she did. She remembered everything. Every secret touch, every stolen kiss, every nip and lick and suck and thrust. And she remembered how he’d made her feel. Not dead inside as she’d felt since Sam’s death, but alive.

  Only this, what he had planned for her here—something in her gut told her this was not going to end up being sweet or romantic or anything like she remembered. The man she’d once known was nowhere to be found in the one at her back. Fear—true fear—slithered into her chest. Unless she found a way to make him listen, this was going to be bad.

  Think, dammit. Archer knew all too well how important control was to her, and he was taking that from her now. Exposing not only her secrets but her body in the process, using that to intimidate her. This was a mind fuck, nothing more. He wouldn’t really hurt her.

  Or so she hoped.

  “I-I didn’t compromise your team in Guatemala, Archer. I-I wasn’t the one who turned you over. I found out the raid had been compromised after it was too late to get in touch with you.”

  “You always were good at the lies, Evie.” He snipped the last button on her blouse. It hit the floor and rolled away, leaving the two halves of her shirt to swing open and a chill to slide over her bare skin.

  His boots echoed on the floor as he came around to sit in front of her again. Eve’s adrenaline amped all over. “I’m not lying,” she said quickly. “When I called you after—when you were in the chopper”—she glanced at his leg and realized he’d limped around her chair. “I didn’t call to gloat. I called to make sure you were still alive.”

  “Lies, Eve,” he said calmly, way too calmly, “come so easy to you.” He opened the blades of the scissors, positioned them at the hem of her skirt, and sliced through the black fabric.

  “I’m not lying,” Eve said again. “I only acted like I was gloating because I didn’t know who might be listening. Archer, there are moles in the CIA. My unit hunts them down. That’s what I was doing in Beirut. What I’ve been doing since.”

  He opened the scissors and sliced again. Her skirt opened to just above her knee. But unlike before, when he’d yelled at her, there was too little emotion on his face. As if he’d already decided she wasn’t going to tell him what he wanted to hear and that nothing she had to say would change his mind. Goddammit, being caught by a terrorist was one thing. Being caught by someone who hated you and knew your weak spots was an altogether different horror.

  “Archer—”

  The cool blade of the scissors brushed her inner thigh, and she jumped. Panic pushed in and rippled through every inch of her body. And with it, in the background, something—a memory, a thought, a picture she couldn’t quite bring into focus—telling her there was an important element to all of this that she was forgetting. Something personal. Something from earlier. Something that would make what he was doing here seem like nothing.

  Why couldn’t she remember?

  “Archer, listen to me.” She swallowed again and tried to stay calm. Through a haze she fought the effects of the drug and focused on the here and now. “It killed me that I couldn’t tell you the truth in Beirut. It killed me that I couldn’t tell you on the phone that day I called. Someone inside the CIA set Aegis up to take the fall for that scientist’s death in Guatemala. Someone who wasn’t me. I swear it.”

  His eyes stayed locked on her skirt. He opened the scissors and sliced through the fabric again. “It’s really too bad you chose to work in espionage. You’d have made millions in Hollywood.”

  “Archer, dammit! I loved you, you son of a bitch! Why would I try to get you killed? I was trying to save you!”

  The scissors stilled. His head lifted. Stormy hazel eyes locked on hers. Eyes that didn’t seem so sure anymore.

  Her heart pounded hard. Her palms grew sweaty. “Archer—Zane—I-I’m not lying. I’m telling you the truth. Just listen to me. Listen to what I have to say—”

  A roar of metal slicing through metal echoed from the doorway. Sparks flew into the room, spraying across the floor.

  Eve swiveled in the direction of the noise so fast she knocked the chair off balance and hit the concrete. Pain radiated through her shoulder, echoing in her head.

  “Fucking fabulous. Your goons found us.” Archer was at her side in a flash.

  The whir of a saw continued to snarl thr
ough the room. Voices echoed on the other side of the door. Voices that sounded even more hostile than Archer’s.

  “Hold still.”

  Something cold pressed against her ankle, followed by pressure and release.

  Zip ties. Not handcuffs. He’d zip-tied her to the fucking chair.

  He cut the tie from her other leg, grabbed her arm, and hauled her to her feet. The room spun. The cement was cold against her bare toes but solid. Shoving her around, he reached for her arms, bound at her back. “If you’re lying to me again, Eve, I swear to God this will pale in comparison to what I’ll do to you.”

  The cuffs released from her wrists and clattered against the floor. The roar of the saw cut off, and a banging sounded from the direction of the door. As if whoever was out there was about to blow into the room.

  Fuck that.

  The need to escape grew to exponential levels. But the here and now overrode her flight response. As soon as she was free, Eve whipped around and plowed her fist into Archer’s jaw. “That’s for threatening me, you bastard.”

  He stumbled back a step. She hauled off and kicked him as hard as she could in the thigh of his good leg. His weight went out from under him, and he dropped to the floor with a grunt.

  Temper boiling, she leaned over and added, “And that’s for drugging me, you son of a bitch.”

  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 rig
ht 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.