“So I’ve been told. And you’re a hot man. But you’re also a dim one when it comes to picking women. So I’ll stick with handling my own relationships, thank you very much.”
Great. He leaned back, elbows hooked on the back of the swing. “Appreciate the news flash about my skills in the love life department. But I gotta tell ya, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist—or professional profiler—to figure that out.”
“Then quit hitting on me to self-destruct what you’re feeling for Rachel Flores.” She pulled a last drag off the cigarette before stubbing it out in her ashtray.
“Now I remember why I never date anyone with a psychology degree.”
Again, he fell into easy laughter with her—and stopped short as a car started two doors down. He tensed in sync with Sylvia. His hand went to his Desert Eagle strapped to his waist as her hand covered her 9 mm.
Setting aside the ashtray, she stood abruptly. “Walk with me.”
“What?”
Her eyes pinned him. “Please, walk with me. Just to the end of the driveway.”
He eased to his feet, looking from Rachel’s window to Sylvia, then back again.
“Keep smiling and simply listen,” she said quietly, her head dipped as she walked toward the end of the driveway, her high heels clicking along the concrete. “I have thirty-eight seconds to talk before the replacement guard pulls in two doors down and wonders why I’ve taken you out of range of the microphones.”
What the hell? “I’m listening.”
She stopped at the curb and hooked her hands on his shoulders as if the two of them were hanging out romantically in the moonlight. As if she believed they might actually be watched. “Get Rachel Flores and get the hell out of here. Trust no one,” she hissed. “Not even the people working with me. If you can get to Brandon Harris, bonus points for you. Hide him. Use all the evasion training you’ve ever picked up along the way in this crazy-ass life we lead and disappear. And for God’s sake don’t tell anyone, not even me, where you are.”
Careful to maintain her cover of acting like a couple, he palmed her waist, finding her muscles as tensed as his own. “How long am I supposed to drop out of sight and how do I know to trust you?”
“Stay out of the way until the international summit is complete. I’ll take care of filing leave papers on your behalf. Your team will bring in a replacement leader for your little dog and pony show. No one will suspect a thing. And as for trusting me, you already know. Because if I wanted you dead”—she waggled her pinky against his jugular—“well, you’d already be cold.”
And he believed her, absolutely. He’d looked in her eyes, using his own training to search for lies and tells. She was telling the truth about his need to leave this house, to hide Rachel and find Brandon Harris. She’d been honest about her intention to set up a cover for him when he left.
As for the rest of it… Was it the right thing to stay gone until the summit? That, he didn’t know, and he sure as hell wasn’t leaving his team hanging out here alone, twisting in the wind.
He slid his hands up her sides and into her hair, playing right along with her scenario of a couple stealing time alone. “Just one more thing.”
“You have ten seconds.” She nodded curtly. “So talk fast.”
“Sylvia, I’m sorry.” Because he had two fingers poised and ready for a good old-fashioned nerve pinch to the neck to knock her out cold for at least ten or fifteen minutes. He hoped. With luck, she would play it out longer before calling it in, since she wanted them off base ASAP.
Sylvia collapsed unconscious into his arms without the least hint of trouble.
Scooping her up, he stayed right on track with the whole romantic-couple gig. But moving fast, which also worked if a guy was really intent on getting the woman inside and he needed to do that before the replacement guard showed.
If she was completely legit, it was best she didn’t know the details of how he would clear out with Rachel. And if Sylvia was following her own agenda? Then he intended to make sure she knew as little as possible about how he left this place.
Honest or not? He would figure that part out later.
Either way, right now, he had to wake up Rachel and disappear.
Chapter 8
The earthquake rumbled again, rattling Rachel’s bed.
She pushed through the layers of fog, desperate to wake up and make her way to safety before the roof caved in on top of her. She needed to get underneath the furniture or to a doorway.
Except none of that made sense, because she wasn’t in the Bahamas anymore. She was in Florida now, rebuilding her life and her nerves.
But she could swear Liam was with her, the scent of him, the intense energy he brought into a room. Something that hadn’t changed in six months apart, something that haunted her dreams.>The ringing in her ears grew louder by the second, so loud it almost drowned out Disco’s light snores from across the room, where he sprawled asleep in front of the door. She stared out the half-open miniblinds at the shifting shadows outside. A squat palm tree shook like a pom-pom in the wind. A welcome flag flapped from a porch rail.
And a reed-thin figure sat in the A-frame swing in the front yard. The guard, pretending to be hanging around outside for a smoke. A tiny red light moved from side to side with each puff. Not a bad cover, so those passing by wouldn’t notice anything out of the way. Did the neighborhood realize exactly what this house was used for? Of course the same question could be asked of any safe house in any community—military or civilian.