The Guardian's Mission. Shirlee McCoy
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anger and something else, something softer, but just as fierce. Concern?
Martha blinked. No. That couldn’t be right.
“I said, are you ready?” There was an edge to his voice, a warning, and Marti nodded because at the moment, she didn’t have a choice. Eventually though, she would. And when she did, she’d take it.
Her gaze jumped away from his fierce intensity, landing on the thin man standing a few feet away.
He was still as stone, his empty eyes locked on Martha. Dead eyes. She wasn’t sure how she knew that. Maybe some primal instinct kicking in, warning her. Whatever the case, she was sure the guy would kill her in a heartbeat if she gave him a reason. As if he sensed her thoughts, he smiled, his thin lips twisting up into something that should have been friendly but wasn’t.
She looked away, meeting the other man’s eyes, her heart beating so fast she thought it would leap from her chest. “Where are we going?”
“For a walk. Just relax and enjoy the scenery.” He tightened his grip on her hand until it was just short of painful. He clearly didn’t plan to let her go, but Martha didn’t get the same sense of danger from him that she got from his friend.
She resisted the urge to pull away from his hold and make a run for it. After all, the key to winning a battle didn’t lie in acting quickly. It lay in weighing the enemy’s strengths, finding his weaknesses and exploiting them. Her father had told her that a hundred times, and she’d rolled her eyes just as many. Now what had seemed like useless information had value. She’d have to thank her father when she saw him again.
If she saw him again.
She shied away from the grim thought and focused her attention on the shorter of the two men. He had a cigarette pack sticking out of his pocket and was panting for breath as he hurried them toward a dirt road. Obviously out of shape, probably smoker’s lungs. Martha figured she could beat him in a footrace.
The man holding her hand was another story. Tall, well muscled, long-legged, he was not even breathing deeply let alone panting. From where Martha was standing, he didn’t seem to have any weaknesses. That could be a problem.
She stumbled over a root, rain slashing against her face and stinging her eyes as her captor’s grip loosened a fraction, his hand sliding against hers.
Forget about looking for his weakness. Run!
She didn’t consider the odds of success. As soon as she regained her footing, she yanked hard, her wet skin slipping from his grip, and ran toward the trees.
TWO
“Hey! What’s going on? Why’s she running?” Gordon Johnson’s question was one Tristan Sinclair could have answered easily—the woman was running because she’d walked into a cabin she’d thought was empty and into a man she didn’t know. She was terrified and trying to escape.
He could have answered, but he didn’t.
Instead, he raced after the woman, determined to regain control of a mission that, until five minutes ago, had seemed ordinary.
Meet Johnson at an abandoned cabin near the base of the mountain. Follow him to an undisclosed location. Bring down one of the biggest illegal weapons rings in the country.
Piece of cake. Or as close to one as any mission like this could be.
So how had things gone so wrong so fast?
Tristan scowled as he closed in on the fleeing woman.
She was fast, dodging around trees and doing her best to evade capture. Still, he managed to catch her easily, snagging the back of her pack and praying she wouldn’t start screaming. Johnson had a reputation for acting first and thinking later, and there was no doubt the gunrunner would be carrying a weapon. One bullet, that’s all it would take to spill innocent life out onto the rain-soaked earth. Tristan could only prevent that from happening if the woman cooperated. Judging from the expression in her eyes, that wasn’t going to happen.
She swung a fist in his direction, and he grabbed it, tugging her so close he could feel her body trembling with fear. He wanted to tell her it was okay, that he was one of the good guys and that he’d make sure she got out of this alive, but Johnson was jogging toward them, and Tristan had no choice but to play the part he’d been perfecting for months.
He gave her a little shake, hoping to convey the urgency of the situation. “What’s the deal with trying to run off on me, Sunshine? I thought you were over our little spat.”
“Let me go—” She jerked against his hold, and he tightened his grip, afraid he might leave a bruise, but figuring a bruise was better than a bullet.
“I guess you’re still mad. Which is too bad, because difficult women aren’t my thing. For you, though, I might make an exception.”
“You’re insane. I don’t kn—”
He pressed his lips to hers, cutting off her words in the only way he could think of that wouldn’t make Johnson suspicious. Warmth, softness, the sweet scent of chocolate. He inhaled, drinking in the scent, the sound of rain fading, his heart leaping.
Pain shot up his leg as she slammed her foot down on his instep.
Again.
He maintained his grip, but jerked back, staring down into her eyes, surprised by his own reaction to the kiss and to the woman. Johnson was hovering near his back, just waiting to pull his weapon. There was no time for wondering about the woman who was staring up at him. No time for anything but action.
He leaned forward, holding her tight when she would have wrestled out of his grasp, and whispered in her ear, “If you don’t want the day to get a whole lot worse, calm down and play along. Otherwise, we’ll both be six feet under come daybreak. Understand?”
She didn’t, of course. She’d wandered into her worst nightmare and all she’d be thinking about was escape.
Tristan, on the other hand, was thinking about turning potential failure into success. As long as Johnson didn’t suspect the truth, the woman would be fine, the mission could continue and nearly a year working undercover and playing a role he had no liking for wouldn’t go to waste.
“Do you understand?” He hissed the question into her ear, hoping she’d sense just how important the right answer was.
Maybe she did. Or maybe she was too scared to argue. She nodded, her eyes wide with fear, sandy curls plastered to her cheeks, the baseball cap she wore sodden and dripping. She looked young, vulnerable, scared.
“Good.” He kept his voice low so that it barely carried above the rain. “Here’s how we’re playing it. I’m Sky. You’re my girlfriend. Got it?”
She nodded again, her gaze darting toward Johnson who was moving closer, apparently trying to hear their conversation.
“Whatever you say, Sky.” Her voice shook, but she looked right into his eyes.
“Good,” he said, speaking louder for Johnson’s benefit. “Like I told you before, we’ve got this gig this afternoon. The rest of the night is ours.” He squeezed her hand, hoping she’d take it as it was meant—a gesture of reassurance.
“You didn’t tell me the gig would involve hiking in the rain. I came here to have fun. I’m not having fun. I’m going home.” She huffed the words, managing to sound irritated and angry rather than scared. As if she really had been out on a lark with him and was annoyed that things weren’t going the way she’d expected.
Not only did she seem to be gaining control of her emotions, she also seemed to be trying to take control of the situation. She’d offered a plausible explanation for walking away. Maybe Johnson would believe it and let her leave. “Go, but don’t think I’ll be calling tonight. I’ve got better things to do with my time than chase after a fickle woman.” Tristan pulled keys from his pocket and tossed them her way, trying to play the part