The Hunted. Elle Kennedy
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“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not a hit man.”
“I know that.” Her voice wobbled. “But I also know that you want Cruz dead.”
He shot her a bored look. “Says who?”
“You’ve been asking questions about Cruz for the past eight months, inquiring about his whereabouts, attempting to bribe the rebels who follow him. You’ve made no secret that you want to rid Cruz from this earth.” She arched one eyebrow. “Do you deny that?”
Her matter-of-fact tone unnerved him a bit. Who the hell was this woman? And had she really tracked him down using nothing but a damn computer? She sure didn’t look like some hacker extraordinaire. With her long black hair, sapphire-blue eyes and smooth golden skin, she belonged on the silver screen rather than in front of a computer screen. And that body … Forget movie star—those long legs and the firm breasts practically pouring out of the bodice of her yellow dress were better suited for a lingerie model.
Who exactly are you, Eva Dolce?
“I don’t deny or confirm anything,” Tate replied with a shrug.
She seemed annoyed. “You want Cruz eliminated, Tate. So do I.”
All right. Now, that he might be able to believe. The anger and disgust that entered her big blue eyes each time Cruz’s name escaped her lush lips was unmistakable. But what was her connection to Cruz? Did she even have one?
Or perhaps she’d been sent here to lure Tate out of hiding. The people who were after him must be tired of slamming into the brick walls he kept placing in their paths, and he wouldn’t put it past them to send in someone like Eva, a sexpot agent to seduce their favorite target into slipping up.
But … if they truly had found him, why send anyone at all? And one woman, to boot. Why not order an entire platoon to storm this craphole bar and riddle the place—and Tate—with bullets?
He pursed his lips, suddenly second-guessing every damn thought that fluttered into his head. Maybe they were toying with him? No, that seemed unlikely. If the people hunting him knew where he was, they’d have been here by now.
Which meant this raven-haired beauty might actually be telling the truth.
“Why do you want him dead?” Tate asked sharply.
A cloud floated across her expression. He saw more anger swirling there, but it was now mingled with … fear?
“You’re scared,” he said before he could stop it. He wrinkled his brow. “What are you scared of, Eva?”
“Hector,” she whispered. Her chest heaved as she drew a deep breath. “That’s why I want him dead. Because as long as he’s alive, I’ll be scared for the rest of my life.” She exhaled in a rush. “He’s hunting me, Tate. For three years now. I can’t … God, I can’t keep running anymore.”
Her word choice—hunting—raised his hackles once more. Oh, he knew precisely what it felt like to be hunted. Was this a blatant attempt on her part to form some sort of camaraderie with him? To find common ground with the man she’d been ordered to … to what? Kill?
Battling his distrust, he pinned her down with a harsh glare. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
She nodded, her delicate throat working as she swallowed. “Like I said, I was raised in New York, but I was actually born in San Marquez.”
Tate swiftly masked his surprise. So she hailed from the same South American island nation as Cruz. Interesting.
“After I graduated from college, I decided to return to my birthplace and do some good.”
When Tate laughed, her eyes narrowed. “My parents reacted the same way,” she muttered. “They called me a bleeding heart. But they couldn’t stop me from going. I kept seeing all this terrible stuff on the news—people dying, starving, suffering, and the government doing nothing to help them—so I joined a relief organization and began volunteering at a hospital in the mountains.” She took another breath. “That’s where I met Hector. Idiot that I was, I actually believed in his cause for a time.”
Tate stifled a sigh. Yeah, no surprise there. According to his sources, a lot of folks had been—and were still being—duped by Hector Cruz and his ULF crazies. The United Liberty Fighters had been formed to fight the oppression of the strict San Marquez government, but over the years their freedom-fighting mentality had veered off into borderline terrorism. They were responsible for the bombing of government buildings, along with the deaths of countless politicians, and they’d even started robbing their own people—the people they claimed to be fighting for—in order to fund their activities.
“We were friends for a while,” Eva went on, shamefaced, “but then he became obsessed with me. At the time, I was involved with another relief worker. John. We … we had a child together. Rafe—he’s three. But Hector decided I belonged to him, and he—” she swallowed again “—he had John killed.”
Tate stared at her thoughtfully.
“I ran away. I didn’t want to have anything to do with that crazy son of a bitch, so I took Rafe and I ran. But Hector is always on my heels. When I found out he was thrown in prison two months ago, I thought it would finally be over, but then his men broke him out and …” She trailed off in frustration.
He could relate—that damn prison break had royally screwed things up for him, too. Two months ago, Cruz had been responsible for bombing the home of a well-known political figure in San Marquez. In a major feat for the military, Cruz had been caught and arrested, and he’d been awaiting trial when his fellow rebels orchestrated an escape and whisked their leader right out of jail.
Since then, Cruz had gone underground. Nobody had seen or heard from him in months, which made it annoyingly difficult for Tate to locate the bastard.
“For whatever messed-up reason, Hector believes that he owns me.” Eva’s voice jolted him from his thoughts. “Every time I think I’m safe, every time I settle down in one place, he finds me.”
She grew quiet, her tale coming to a close, and an alarm went off in Tate’s head. Something about that sob story didn’t sit right with him. Something about it sounded … false.
“I’m tired of running,” she blurted out when Tate didn’t respond. “I just want that maniac to leave me alone.”
As misgivings continued to course through his head, Tate met her gaze and saw that the fear had returned. Whatever lies she’d just told him, she definitely wasn’t lying about her feelings for Cruz. She loathed the man. She was terrified of him.
Because he’d killed her lover? Because he’d developed a sick obsession that had sent her fleeing with her kid?
Raking a hand through his hair, Tate finally chuckled. “That was a nice story, Eva. I’m sure parts of it might even be true. But here’s the thing—I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone, for that matter. So I think I’ll have to pass on your proposition.”
Desperation exploded in her eyes like a round of fireworks. “No! You can’t. I know you’re after him, too.” Her features hardened in an expression that resembled defiance. “But you can’t find him, can you? He’s flown off the radar since he escaped from prison, and seeing as you’re on the run, you can’t exactly go traipsing around the globe looking for him, now, can you?”
He opened his mouth but she cut him off. “I don’t know why you’re hiding, and frankly, I don’t care. I just want your help to get rid of Hector.”
“Did it occur to you that I would need to come out of hiding in order to do that?” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve got my own problems, sweetheart. Like you said, I don’t have the luxury of globe-trotting, and even if I did, I won’t come along on a wild-goose chase for a man I may or may not