Fatal Honor: Shadow Force International (9 page)

The bar was cool against Charlotte’s cheek. She could feel blood running down her back, along her ribs. The horrible memories tugged at her brain, trying to take her back to the torture chamber.

Get up. Don’t let the demons take you back there.

Doing a modified pushup on the bar, she pushed the memories away. “Nico gets top dollar for the modern tech equipment. Deals in everything from iPhones to surveillance cameras, but his clients don’t want old stuff. Any equipment he can’t get enough money for, he uses on his own people.”

Miles gently touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She waved his apology off. “Had to be done. Now destroy that thing.”

“This model only sends out a pulse once every fifteen to thirty minutes, and it’s easily disrupted by cell towers and magnets. That’s why no one uses these anymore. Not even to chip dogs. This safe house’s security blocks everything from EMF waves to digital scans. Tech this old could never hold up against it.”

Wooziness made her arms tremble. “But that explains how his goons have been one step behind me all this time.” She pushed herself up the rest of the way and closed the robe over her chilly skin. A dull ache now pervaded her upper back. “The pulse is sporadic and getting interrupted frequently.”

“If you were sleeping in cars with On-Star or any type of internal computer, really, it probably messed with the tracker. Hell, a microwave could throw it off.”

“He never expected I would actually escape. He probably just shoved it in there for grins and giggles.”

“Stay put.” Miles wiped off the tiny device and stuck it in his pocket. Then washed his hands. “Let me clean and close that cut.”

“Slap a bandage on it. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re bleeding and I know for a fact you’re in pain. Drop the robe and let me clean you up. It’ll only take a minute.”

Without her permission, he nudged her knees sideways so her back was facing him again. Then he gently loosened the robe from her grasp and lowered it to get to the incision once more.

His fingers were more gentle this time, washing off the blood and coating the wound with a cool cream. She shivered under his touch, not from the cream, but from a new onslaught of memories assaulting her. Memories of his fingers trailing down her spine, his lips following.

“You need a few stitches, darlin’.”

The words snapped her out of her revelry. “We don’t have time for that.”

“Yes, we do. I put a numbing cream on the area. It’ll take thirty seconds to kick in and another minute for me to stitch you up.”

She felt the cream already going to work. Lowering her chin to her chest, she breathed through her nose and let her mind wander to the past again. “Stitch carefully. I don’t need another scar.”

It was meant to be a joke. Miles didn’t seem to think it was funny. “I never should have left you.”

“You didn’t. I left
you
.”

“I could have found you. Kept you out of Bourean’s clutches.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The past was in the past. Charlotte didn’t see a reason to rehash what might have been. “You had no idea who I was or what mission I was working. You couldn’t have stopped what happened.”

He stilled. “Charlotte…”

She waited. He didn’t continue. “What?”

She heard a terse sigh.

“Look, it’s all right. You can help me now, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

Miles went to work sealing up the incision, the numbing cream doing its job. Charlotte only wished that cream could numb the hum under her skin everywhere Miles touched.

“The men following you will have lost the signal from the transmitter—if they were receiving anything—the moment we hit the gate outside,” he said.

“We still need to move. And warn the others in the neighborhood. They’ll go door to door killing people and burning places to find me.”

“I called in reinforcements while I was burning your clothes. They’ll handle neighborhood security, and I’ll send the tracker off on a new course to distract Bourean’s men.”

The tracking device now lay on the counter. “Are you sure that’s the only one?”

He patted the wand on the bar next to her. “This baby could find a tracking device six feet underground. You’re clear.”

She slid off the breakfast bar as he headed for the double doors that led out to the boardwalk and the ocean.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m putting the device in a little plastic buoy that will take it out to sea. That will give us time to get you ready to travel.”

His phone went off and he checked the screen. “It’s Shinedown. He’ll be coming through the side door.”

“Shinedown?”

“He’s going to fix you up with a new passport.”

“Codenames, huh? I knew Emit Petit ran a tight ship.”

“It’s a safety precaution. Most of us who work for him prefer our true identities stay as private as possible.” He headed for the door once more. “There are wigs, glasses, colored contacts, and other accessories upstairs in the bathroom to change your appearance. Help yourself.”

Change her appearance. How many times had she done that already in her lifetime? Would she ever get to be herself again?

Did she even know who that was anymore?

Tightening the sash on the robe, she headed for the stairs.

C
HARLOTTE
S
TOPPED
U
NDER
the lovely blown-glass chandelier at the top of the curved staircase. Was she really going through with this? Letting Miles come with her?

Age-old fear crawled under her skin. It never seemed to leave her these days. She remembered when she was a young operative, excited at the prospect of the next mission, the next covert op, the next interaction with a criminal, a traitor, another spy turned double agent. The lure of the dark side had always intrigued her more than the bright, shiny heroic side of life. Yet, she had too many morals, too many scruples, to be anything but loyal, honorable, and out to see justice done.

After five years in the field, those morals and scruples had been tested beyond her limits. She’d been forced to make choices—choices that looked like the opposite of what she stood for. Now,
she
was the criminal, the traitor, the double agent.

At least that’s what her employer believed.

Fear sucked, but she couldn’t let it cripple her. Couldn’t let her fear stop her from doing what needed to be done.

Her mission hadn’t changed.
Stop Nico. Prove my innocence
.
Rescue Madeena.

Straight forward, easy.

Except, of course, for Miles. He complicated everything.

Giving him the necklace had seemed like the perfect solution at the time. If only she hadn’t. If only she’d gone back to her hiding place, grabbed the video she had and escaped without going back to Nico’s compound.

But without the proof of who the real traitor inside MI6 was, she faced a trial and certain imprisonment since the evidence pointed to her. She’d believed if she went back to Nico, she could figure it out. Someone working with him had betrayed her, but who?

In hindsight, she wondered if being convicted of high treason and life imprisonment by Her Majesty’s Prison Service would have been preferable to the torture and brutality of Nicolae Bourean.

Didn’t matter now. Regrets about what might have been different if she’d left Romania with Miles were pointless. She didn’t have time for fantasies about how her life might have been better.

Time was running out. She had to consider her options.

She could disable Miles—it wouldn’t be easy, but she could do it—and take the necklace by force, leaving him behind so he wouldn’t be in danger. She’d have a rough time getting a new passport and securing transportation, but she’d done it before. With the tracker gone, she’d have an easier time staying ahead of Bourean’s goons.

Or she could change her appearance, get the fake passport from Shinedown, and let Miles go with her. A much easier solution, but more dangerous for the only man she’d ever truly loved.

Was it love? Or another fantasy? Six weeks wasn’t really enough time to know someone before deciding that, was it?

A memory from their last night in the cabin flashed through her mind. Miles was back to normal, except for a slight limp. He’d been working out, hundreds of push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks. He’d stuffed an old jute bag full of straw, weighted the bottom with stones, and used it as a punching bag. In the small cabin, there was little room to get out of each other’s ways, so Charlotte had sat in the rocking chair near the fire, watching him go through his workout while pretending to read her favorite Harry Potter book. Her eyes wouldn’t stay on the page, and kept traveling to look at his naked back and chest, glistening with sweat as he attacked the bag with a series of kicks and punches.

“How’s the book?” he’d asked her, never breaking his rhythm.

She’d been so focused on the movement of his taut abs and muscled thighs as he bounced on the balls of his feet, she startled. “What?”

“The book.” He half glanced at her with a grin. “What’s it about?”

“Oh, it’s an old copy of Russian erotica stories,” she lied.

His rhythm slowed by a fraction. “Seriously?”

He couldn’t see the cover and she’d removed the dust jacket months ago. She was probably safe lying. “Yes, would you like me to read one out loud to you?”

The footwork stopped. His fists lowered. He was already breathing heavy, his beautiful gray eyes picking up the dancing flames in the fireplace.

Those eyes skimmed over her face, down her neck and lower. Everywhere his gaze touched her through the sheer nightgown—her cleavage, her breasts, her thighs—felt a tingle of anticipation. “I have a better idea,” he’d said.

He was healed. The winter snows were melting.
Time to say goodbye
. Her heart had clenched at the thought. But it was the right thing to do. “And what is that?”

He moved forward, drawing her out of the chair and bringing her close. Deft fingers untied the bow at her cleavage, slipped one strap off of her shoulder. “How about I clean up and you act one of them out for me?”

He smelled of sweat and male.
Hungry
male.

She let the other strap fall off her shoulder, the loose gown sliding down over the swell of her breasts. Miles ran his fingers over the hem, helping it down, down, down, slowly, ravaging her with his eyes. Charlotte shimmied and the gown fell to the floor, baring everything to him. “How about we act out one of them in the tub together?”

He’d swept her up in his arms, crushing his lips to hers. At the time, she’d known she would never feel the same way about any man. He was all wrong for her—her job required secrets and deception and he would never tolerate that. He consumed her, inside and out, and still wanted more. Wanted to explore every inch of her mind as well as her body. During their time at the cabin, he’d asked her thoughts on everything from Chinese politics to whether nuts belonged in chocolate chip cookies.

She longed to give in to him now as much as she had then.

But she couldn’t.

A noise downstairs signified the arrival of Shinedown. Brushing aside the memories, Charlotte went into the bathroom and inventoried her choices for a new look.

The closet inside the master bath held a collection of hair dyes. Red? She’d loved being a redhead in her early twenties. Her brown eyes and pale skin looked good with that color.

Red hair stood out, garnered a lot of attention. Not what she wanted on this mission.

Sadly, she moved that box of hair color aside.

The names of the colors gave her pause. Toasted Walnut, Sun-Kissed Brown, Chocolate Copper. All pretty shades, but most were too dark or would clash with her skin and make her look like she belonged in a zombie movie.

She couldn’t help it, even undercover, her hair color needed to be something she could live with.

Next
.

Warm Butterscotch. Hmm.

It would darken her blond hair without completely washing her out, and from the guide on the back, it would give her a very subtle hint of red with the yellow tones.

Warm Butterscotch it is
.

She worked the color into her hair, wrapped it in plastic and found the colored contact selection.

Brown eyes were the most common, so she decided to go with blue.

Downstairs, she heard voices. Miles and Shinedown talking in low murmurs. She ventured into the giant, walk-in master closet. A chest of drawers was labeled with her size and inside she found brand new foundation garments. She slipped them on under the robe and surveyed the selection of clothes.

She went with jeans a half size too big, a long-sleeved purple T-shirt and a sweatshirt with the Southern California University emblem on it. She eyed a pair of boots she liked, but chose a pair of blue and white trainers instead. Better for running.

At the last minute, she went back for the boots. They would be heading into rough terrain and possibly bad weather. It was the beginning of winter season in Romania. She needed to be prepared.