Extreme Measures

6

Eve looked over the display of fish antibiotics toward Archer on the other side of the small pet store where he was tinkering with his waterlogged cell phone.

The ferry had docked on Bainbridge Island, and they’d stepped off without anyone looking twice at them. She’d been a little nervous about the deck cameras, but the Mariners cap and oversized sweatshirt she’d snagged from the back of the RV hid her from view. And the fact that Zane’s phone was dead put a little of her anxiety to rest, knowing he couldn’t call anyone this minute. But right now she was focused on making sure that wound in his shoulder didn’t get any worse. The light jacket he’d found in the RV’s closet covered the bandages on his upper arm, but she was worried about infection setting in, even if he wasn’t.

She looked back at the choices in front of her and wished—again—that she wasn’t so damn gullible. Yeah, she could have gotten away from Archer at any time, but the way he kept swaying on his feet wouldn’t let her. It was because of her he’d been shot. Because of her he was now weak and pale. She was still pissed at him for the way he’d treated her in that warehouse, but before she ditched him for good, she needed to make sure he didn’t pass out or—God forbid—die because of her.

The key was getting him someplace he could get off his feet. He still had his wallet, and she hoped he had enough cash for a motel room, because she didn’t want to risk using a credit card, even if it was his.

Grabbing a bottle of erythromycin tablets, she rounded the end aisle and headed in his direction. A bell above the door jangled, and a rumpled woman in her midfifties with salt-and-pepper hair rushed in and headed for the front counter.

“Mabel,” the sixty-something man behind the counter said, looking away from the wall-mounted TV where coverage of the explosion in downtown Seattle was replaying. “Are you okay? You weren’t in the city today, were you?”

Mabel waved a finely manicured hand. “Nothing like that. Just frustrated. This mess in Seattle is already eating into my business. I just had a cancellation on the Walker Road home. They’re shutting the ferry system down tonight, and the renters have decided it’s too much of a hassle to drive all the way down to Tacoma then up and around for their vacation.” She sighed. “I hate these damn terrorists. First Boston and now us.”

“Sorry to hear that,” the clerk said. “Tourism here’s gonna take a big hit because of this.”

Mabel frowned. “Any update on the victims?”

“No.” The clerk crossed his sun-freckled arms and looked back at the screen. “Fifteen so far sent to the hospital. But they’re not listing fatalities yet. Supposed to have a press conference at nine.”

“Such a bad day.” Mabel sighed again. “I need a couple bags of Pro Plan for Millicent. That dog is going to put me in the poorhouse, I swear.”

Eve’s stomach clenched, and she tuned out the conversation, not wanting to hear too many details about the bombing. If she did, she’d get lost in them and forget what she needed to do next. And right now all she could focus on was getting Zane settled, then disappearing and calling her department chief at Langley to let him know what she’d seen this afternoon.

She paused at the end of the aisle and had a memory flash. Of sitting in that outdoor café in the city, of her contact looking familiar and smug and victorious. Of a cell phone he’d passed to her, the image on the screen . . .

The image on the screen of what?

Her brow furrowed, and she tried to remember what he’d shown her, but she couldn’t. The only other thing she remembered was the explosion that had knocked her off her feet and sent her sailing. Then waking up to Zane’s familiar voice.

“You look about as pale as I feel,” Zane muttered.

His words snapped her out of her trance, and she shook off the strange feeling trying to suck her under. “Just tired. Some asshole drugged me earlier.” When he glanced her way with a raised brow, she straightened her spine and sighed. “Look, I’ve got a bead on a place we can rest.”

“I don’t need rest.” He grasped a bag of zip ties from the shelf.

She eyed the bag in his hand, then plucked it out of his grip and set it back on the shelf. “Don’t even think about it, Archer. And if you don’t want to rest, fine. I will. You can continue to be a jackass. It’s a vacation rental that’s not being used.”

“How did you come by this info?”

She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. “That woman’s a rental agent. She’s bitching about the status of her business, thanks to what happened in Seattle.” When he glanced toward the counter and didn’t say anything, Eve added, “Look, whatever you plan to do with me can wait until we both have a chance to regroup. Carter will still be there in the morning, and odds are he’s so busy with fallout from the bombing right now, you won’t be able to get through to him anyway.”

He stared at her, and in his dark eyes, she couldn’t read his thoughts. Did he believe her? Did he think she was lying? Or did he not really plan to turn her over to Carter like he’d said?

Unease filtered through her stomach. The dark Archer, the one who wanted revenge, who’d tied her to that chair and slowly cut away her clothing, was still in there. She could see it in the flash of distrust in his eyes. But the one she remembered, the one who’d freed her when they’d been found, who’d been worried about her safety on that roof, who’d made love to her so slowly and thoroughly in Beirut, was also in there. And he was the one she needed to draw out if she planned to get away from him with no drama.

“Where?” he asked in a low voice.

Victory pulsed in her veins. “I’m not sure. But it can’t be far. I know the street name. We just need to find a pay phone and look at a map.”

He glanced at the bottle in her hand. “You’re not planning to poison me, are you?”

“Only if my luck’s improved.” He frowned, and she felt her spirits lifting. “Relax, Sawyer. Fish diseases are treated with human antibiotics. The only thing they lack is a prescription.”

“Running an aquarium these last few years between leaking national security secrets?”

“No, I read it in a book.” She checked her temper. He obviously hadn’t reconsidered his first opinion of her, though why she thought he might left her feeling like an idiot. “A hot and steamy Joan Swan novel. You should try one. You might learn a thing or two about women by reading romance novels.”

She turned for the counter, and he snorted at her back like he didn’t agree. “Romance was never my problem. Trust? Yeah. Thanks to you.”

He was right. Romance had definitely never been his problem. When Zane Archer turned on the loving, he could make a woman go weak at the knees. Thank God she wasn’t in any danger of having that happen.

“Don’t get any smart ideas about running,” he mumbled at her back.

Eve tamped down the urge to show him just what kind of smart ideas she really had. God, he was a jackass. She shouldn’t be helping him. What the hell was she doing? Then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed his limp.

He masked it well, but she could tell his leg was bugging him. Her mind flicked back to the empty syringe she’d found on the table in the back of the RV. He was supposed to be looking for antibiotics in the back of that ambulance, not narcotics, but when she’d first seen the syringe, she’d assumed he’d snagged it for his shoulder. Now she rethought that assessment and wondered if it was really his leg that was causing the most pain. A stab of guilt rushed through her when she thought of him injured in that raid in Guatemala.

She forced back the “if only” closing in. Her whole life was a combination of “if only” this and “if only” that. If only she’d convinced Sam not to get on that plane . . . If only her life hadn’t been flipped upside down because of that night . . . If only she hadn’t been assigned to that house in Beirut . . . If only she hadn’t met Zane . . .

She shook off the thoughts as she waited next to Zane and he paid for their items. She’d learned long ago that playing the “if only” game did no good. All it would do was leave her wishing for a past she couldn’t change, and she needed to keep her wits about her if she planned to get away before she put Zane’s life in more danger.

Darkness had settled in by the time they stepped out of the pet shop. Spotting a pay phone, Eve pushed down her excitement so it wouldn’t show. For the first time in hours, she had hope that things were finally going her way.

She grasped Zane’s sleeve, tugging him after her. Once they got to Walker Road, she’d be home free.

At least she hoped she would be.

NO SERVICE.

Zane frowned at his cell phone, then powered it off. He’d been surprised when it had popped on, but little good it did him without a signal.

He shoved the phone in his pocket and glanced toward Eve, busy at work on the back-door lock of the rental house. Finding the place hadn’t been easy, but since it was the only dark house on the street, they’d decided this had to be it. And honestly, even if it wasn’t, he didn’t care. He wanted off his feet for a few hours. After he’d rested, then he’d figure out what to do next.

He watched Eve work the lock and frowned. “Where the hell did you get a screwdriver?”

“From the RV. I found it when you were sleeping. Snagged it just in case.”

“Just in case you needed a weapon to jam through my carotid artery?”

She smiled in the dim light. “Something like that. I think I almost have it.”

A click echoed through the quiet air, and then the door popped open with a groan.

“Got it,” Eve said in a victorious voice.

Moonlight reflected off the peaceful water of Puget Sound, and off in the distance, the lights of Seattle lit up the sky, but all Zane could see was Eve. The set of her determined chin, the lock of hair falling over her cheek, the way her whole face lit up when she smiled. And the longer he stared at her, the stronger the buzzing in his head grew, telling him he needed to park it for a few hours before he did something really insane. Like tie her to another chair so she’d stop fucking with his mind. Or kiss her until she fucked with something else.

Turning his back on the view, he followed Eve into the one-level home. The kitchen was dark, but he could just make out a long island, a small breakfast nook, and to his left, a great room filled with plush furnishings.

Relief filtered through his veins. Three hours of shut-eye. That’s all he needed. Just enough time to regroup.

Eve moved to the refrigerator and pulled it open. Light spilled over her, highlighting her long, shapely bare legs, the soft line of her jaw, and her tousled hair, framing her face like a halo. She frowned. “Nothing. We should have grabbed food in town. I can head back and find something for us to ea—”

Zane closed the refrigerator door with a snap. “No food. I just need sleep.” He grasped her arm at the wrist and pulled her along behind him. “Come on.”

She didn’t jerk back on his grip, and he was thankful for that, because he wasn’t sure he had enough energy to fight her right now if she tried anything.

“I need to look at your shoulder again before you lie down,” she said at his back.

He didn’t answer, just found the closest bedroom and pulled her inside. Closing the door with his boot, he tugged off his jacket and tossed it on a chair to his right, then did the same with his T-shirt and pulled her toward the bed.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” she mumbled. He set the bag of supplies they’d picked up on the bed beside him while she shrugged out of her sweatshirt, dropped it on the ground, and then began gently peeling away his bandages.

Zane closed his eyes. “I’m a man, darlin’. We’re always impatient.”

“I remember. This actually looks pretty good. I’m just going to change the dressing.”

He didn’t want to think about what she remembered. He had enough memories pinging around in his brain for both of them—and most were the X-rated variety. He sat still while she removed the soaked bandages, added antibiotic ointment, and covered the wound again. But his stomach clenched every time her soft fingers grazed his skin, and with every breath he drew, a whiff of that sweet peach scent bombarded him, amping his awareness and sending blood straight to his groin.

“There,” she said, placing the last piece of tape over the wound. “Now you just need to take these before you pass out, and you should be good.” She handed him two pills from the bottle they’d picked up at the pet store and stepped away.

He snagged her by the wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get you a glass of water.”

“No water.” He popped the pills in his mouth and dry swallowed them.

There was just enough light coming through the window to see her exasperated expression. “Wow. What a stud you are.”

He ignored the sarcasm and patted the mattress beside him. “Get comfortable, sweetheart.”

She sighed. “Look, Archer. I—”

He jerked her toward him. A yelp slipped from her lips just before she fell into his body. Heat immediately enveloped him, but he quickly flipped her to her back, then climbed over her.

“Archer—”

Her warning was laced with just a touch of fear. Just enough to tell him he’d surprised her. And considering nothing seemed to surprise this woman, he was using that to his advantage.

He grasped both of her arms at the wrists and pinned them above her head. Pain ricocheted from his shoulder down his arm and back up again, but he ignored it. Just like he tried to ignore her trim hips locked between his knees and the way the light from the window spilled over her breasts and bare abdomen in that revealing top. “Here’s how this is going to work, sweetheart. I’m going to close my eyes for a few hours, and you’re going to stay right here beside me where I know you can’t get into any trouble. Then, when I wake up, I’ll call Carter, and we can both be rid of each other for good.”

She pursed her lips and lifted her chin, a clear challenge glinting in her eyes. “I’d like to be rid of you right now.”

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me.” He lowered his weight onto her, let go of one arm, and cinched the zip tie hidden in his hand around her wrist.

“Archer . . . What the hell?”

Zane looped the second zip tie through hers, tightened it around his own wrist, and then rolled off her onto his back.

“Oh my God.” She sat upright. “You did not just do that. Where the fuck did you get more zip ties?”

He yanked on her arm until his lowered back to the bed. “I stole them. You’re not the only one who can filch goods unnoticed, beautiful.” He relaxed back into the pillows and closed his eyes. “Now lie down.”

“You are so gonna pay for this.”

He didn’t need to see the smoke pumping from her ears to know it was there. He could hear it in her voice and feel it in the heat radiating from her skin. A wry smile curled his lips. “I figure I’m already doing time in purgatory, thanks to you. A few more years won’t kill me.”

“And to think,” Eve snapped as she flopped back onto the bed, “I was actually worried about you.”

Zane’s humor faded. “We both know you weren’t worried. You were just biding your time until you could run. I’m not a stupid Southern hick, sweetheart. Now shut up so I can get some sleep.”

“Don’t mind me,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and dragging his hand with her. “I’ll just be sitting here plotting all the ways I can murder you in your sleep.”

He chuckled. Now that was the feisty brunette he remembered. “Just do it quietly. I’m beat.”

She let out a long, frustrated sigh, but the sound didn’t irritate Zane like it should; instead, it relaxed him. And man, either he was seriously losing it, or all those drugs had finally fried his gray matter. Because lying next to his archenemy, feeling her heat, and smelling her soft, arousing scent, he suddenly wasn’t focused on revenge. Losing himself in all her softness sounded a hell of a lot better. And more fun. And, holy hell, way more fucking erotic.

He just wasn’t sure what to do about it.

The sound of metal scraping metal roused Olivia Wolfe from a restless sleep.

Pushing up on aching muscles, she looked toward the sound. Bright light blinded her, and she lifted a hand to shield her eyes.

“Wh-who’s there?” she asked in a voice rough from screams that had gone unanswered.

A silhouette moved in front of the light, but she couldn’t make out more than fuzzy shapes, light and darkness. Fresh air seeped into the blackness around her, and she drew it in, afraid it might be her last breath.

“Shh,” a voice said softly. A familiar voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Terror consumed Olivia, and she scooted back until her spine hit the cold metal wall.

“It’s just food,” the voice—the male voice—said in the same easy tone. “You need to eat.”

A scraping sound echoed, and nerves humming, Olivia looked down at the metal plate he scooted across the floor.

Her gaze darted up to where he was kneeling, feet from her, but she couldn’t make out more than shadows. “Eat,” he said softly.

The scent finally hit her. Not filth and metal and mildew like she’d been living with these last few hours—or had it been days already? She had no concept of time—the smell was of something sweet and rich and cheesy.

Her stomach rumbled. She grasped the plate and pulled it toward her. She hadn’t eaten since dinner with Karl. And she’d been so repulsed by the amount of grease the awful Mexican restaurant had cooked everything in that she’d barely eaten then. Not that Karl’s company had been a whole lot better, but what did she expect, going out with a chemistry teacher?

Carefully, she scooped two fingers into the food and lifted it to her nose. She sniffed, and when the smell didn’t repulse her, she brought it to her lips. Then groaned at the taste. Pasta. Some kind of cheesy, tomatoey dish. She swallowed a mouthful and went back for more. She didn’t even care that it wasn’t something she’d normally eat. It was hot and fresh, and right now it tasted like heaven.

She downed the entire plate like a starving animal before her brain kicked over from nourishment to wondering where Karl was and what he was doing. Surely he had to have told someone what had happened when he’d dropped her off at her house. Surely the authorities had to be looking for her right this very minute.

Her captor chuckled, and the sound was like ice, drenching her heart and soul and mind. She swallowed the last bite and looked up. The plate rattled against her broken fingernails.

“Be sure to drink.” He set a plastic jug of water on the floor, then pushed himself to his feet. “We don’t want you getting dehydrated. It’s almost over. Just hold on a little longer.”

He backed out the way he’d come, and then the metal hinges groaned and the door slammed shut with a crack that shook the entire room.

Silence and utter blackness swirled around Olivia like a vortex. Her stomach rolled, and the food she’d just eaten felt like a mound of lead in her gut. Pushing the plate away, she tugged her legs up, wrapped her arms around her head, and leaned against the corner of the cold room while she fought the rush of tears suddenly choking off her air supply. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know who was doing this to her or why. And she had no idea how long she’d be here or if she’d ever break free. All she knew was that she was alone.

Alone and tired and cold and afraid. And there was no one to hear her scream.