Dead Reckoning (36 page)

“Argh!” Hands over his face, he doubled.

She smashed the bulb against the counter. Then she shifted her weight to the left, leaned and drove her heel into the guard's chest. He grunted. But instead of falling back, he flipped her leg up and planted her on the ground.

Her breath whooshed out. Stars sprinkled through her vision.

He lunged toward her, but she rolled. Using the bulb as a knife, she thrust it toward him. He grabbed a hand towel on the counter, snapped it at her, catching her arm. He wrangled it into a semi-knot and spun her around—straight into his fist.

Whack!
Pain spiked down her cheek and neck, momentarily blinding her. She wobbled, and he punched her again. Everything went black.

“Miss Blake?”

Shiloh blinked. A blurry shadow bobbed over her.

“On your feet.” The man who’d knocked her unconscious sat on the leather sofa, his hand wrapped in a bulky towel. An ice pack? Was her head that hard?

She lifted her shoulders, noting the plastic cuffs strapped to her wrist. She peeled herself off the floor—and tensed as pain speared her head. She hissed.

“Careful. I might have given you a concussion.”

Shiloh moaned through the roar of aches as she struggled to stand. “Are those hands registered as a lethal weapon?”

“Actually, yes.” He hooked her arm and led her to the door. “Former SAS commander.”

Considering him, Shiloh chided herself for trying to fight the best of Britain. “Figures.”

His stone-like face faltered just enough to reveal a very small smile.

He accessed the security panel and in seconds, the elevator opened and he guided her in.

“Where do I have the pleasure of going this time?”

“The director.”

“Why?”

“Not for me to know or ask.” They rode up for several seconds, and the doors opened—behind her. She turned, stunned to find a long hall stretching to the right. Doors lined the corridor. Her mind whirled—where was she? MI-6? The thought decimated her courage. Escaping one of the most highly secured buildings in Britain?

Mahmud emerged from the far end of the hallway. His lanky build, so much like Khalid's, quickly carried him to her. He offered a Styrofoam cup. “We’ll go in here,” he said as he accessed a ten-by-twelve room and allowed her and the SAS commander entrance.

Shiloh accepted the cup of cocoa—
cold
cocoa. She grimaced.

“Sorry.” Mahmud's dark eyes sparkled. “Aiken didn’t want you try to take anyone else out.”

The laughter hiding behind his words did little to ease the tension in her shoulders or soothe her throbbing skull as the commander directed her to a chair at the head of a table.

Seated, Shiloh choked down a gulp of the cocoa. “Can I get some ibuprofen?”

Mahmud smiled and provided two green gel-tabs.

“You’re my new best friend.” After she downed the pills, she glanced around. “So am I still a murder suspect? I mean, I would’ve expected to be strapped to a board or something if I killed your spies.”

“I can arrange that,” the SAS commander said as he tossed the towel in a nearby bin.

A door slapped back. Two men in dark suits stalked toward them. “Miss Blake, I say! You took quite a beating trying to escape, now didn’t you?” Brody Aiken greeted her as he sat two places down from her. His smile dropped. “Thank you, Commander Hadden. That will be all.” He shifted to Shiloh. “Now, I believe it is time you provided us with answers.”

She watched the SAS commander leave as she answered, “I already gave you the only answer I have: I did not kill your operatives.”

Aiken rubbed the back of his head. “Ah, see, now that is where we have a problem.”

“Why?”

“Because we have your fingerprints at the scene of the crime.”

Shiloh's heart thudded against her confidence.

The second man leaned in and threaded his fingers. “What were you saying about not killing the operatives?”

“You’re not British,” Shiloh mumbled at not hearing an accent.

“Are you sure?” This time his accent hung as thick as his attitude. He scooted forward, his shoulders broad and threatening. “Don’t try to play games, Miss Blake. We train operatives. We know the techniques of evasion and coercion.” He lifted a remote and a screen came to life behind him. A fingerprint—several. “Evidence places you at the crime scene. Who do you work for?”

No way out. They had her prints and two bodies. She wasn’t going to walk out of here alive or without some very intricate plan. “I’m an American graduate student on an underwater archeological dig.”

“That's your cover. How did you kill them?”

“I didn’t kill anyone. W-who did I supposedly kill?”

He waved the remote and two candids plastered the wall. “Kathleen Fowler and Jason Ganzz.”

The photo of Kit was blurry, but her build and long, dark hair couldn’t be denied. The other man … he drove the car to the airport. Shiloh remembered his eyes as he watched her in the rearview mirror.

“You recognize their faces,” Brody said. “Your own eyes betray you, Miss Blake.”

Shiloh licked her lips. “Yes, I recognize them, but not because I killed them.”

“Then why do you recognize them?”

“I-I’m not sure I can tell you that.”

“They’re dead. You can’t hurt them any more than you already have.”

The accusation hit her with brutal precision. Reece … would talking endanger him? She drew up her chin. So what if it
did? He’d sent her off on this little adventure. “Kit put me on a plane on the orders of Reece Jaxon.”

The second man visibly flinched.

“What?” Her mind snagged on the only possible reason for that reaction. “Is he dead?”

“He might as well be dead for all the good he's doing us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Jaxon resigned his commission.” Lips stretched taut, he hesitated. “Claimed he compromised his moral compass. Would you happen to know what he meant by that?”

Guilt chugged through her veins. He quit? Because of her?

A man darted into the room and handed a paper to Aiken. “We found Red One.”

Aiken snatched the Intel. He scanned it, and then lunged to his feet. “Send in Scarlet.” He nodded to Mahmud. “Take her back to her room. We’ll talk soon, Miss Blake.”

Shiloh hesitated and then pushed away from the table. She walked toward Mahmud as he opened the door.

“What was that about?”

Mahmud ignored her question.

This would be her only shot to talk to him alone, to convince him to help her. “I spent four months in India before Reece Jaxon interfered.” She brushed her hair from her face, feigning as much indignation as she could. “What I wouldn’t give to get out of here and teach that man a few lessons.”

“Nobody escapes.”

They made the trip to her cell in silence. She had to find a way to convince him to help her. Say something brilliant and capture whatever drove him to compassion.

As they neared her room, she eyed him. “I think nobody has escaped because they didn’t have help.”

Mahmud held her gaze unflinchingly. “Could be.” He entered his access code and fingerprint.

The door slid back silently.

“Pakistan is a very beautiful country too. All things happen as Allah wills, yes?”

His eyebrow quirked.

She backstepped into her room watching him.

Just before the door slid shut, a smile teased the edges of his lips.

Northern India

F
ORTY-EIGHT HOURS OF TORTURE AND REGRET. REECE ROLLED OVER AND
punched his pillow, once again unable to sleep. Face buried in the fluffy down, he let out a gruff sigh and shifted to look out the darkened window. Trees acted as sentries, guarding the small cabin. Of course, the real sentries sat in a metal box with a half-dozen tendrils that snaked into various cameras and motion detectors throughout the house.

Haunted that he’d abandoned a mission of critical importance to the protection of the world and walked away from Shiloh, Reece flipped onto his back. “I did the right thing.” He pounded the mattress as his gaze traced the crisscross pattern of the beams.

He hadn’t had a moment's peace since he kissed her and literally ran away.

He’d tried praying. Tried reading his Bible. Solace eluded him. A great time for God to go silent. “Was I wrong, God?”

Bleep-bleep! Bleep!

At the sound of alarm, he snagged his weapon and launched himself into the darkened corner. His gaze darted to the security panel. Back door. He scooted along the wall, inching
his way to the door. Plush carpet gave way to teak floors. Cold. Unforgiving.

Like Shiloh.

He shook his head and blinked. Keep moving. He craned his neck and peered into the kitchen.

“Reece?”

His heart skipped a beat before evening out. “Julia?” He stalked down the hall to the alarm box and entered the disable code. In the kitchen, he hit the lights. “What’re you doing here?”

She set a pack on the chair and unwound a scarf from her neck. Her gaze settled on the gun. She raised her right brow. “I should ask you the same thing.”

“I own half this dump.” He grabbed the coffeepot, filled it with water, and then stuffed it on the burner.

“So do I.”

He flipped on the power. “I sent the code letting you know I was coming.”

“I know.”

Which meant she’d come intentionally. He made the mistake of looking at her.

Fire coursed through her golden eyes. When she spun away, he tugged two mugs out of the cabinet and returned to the island, where he peeled an apple.

Julia tossed papers across the counter.

Apple in his mouth, he scrambled to catch one that nearly flitted to the ground. And froze. He tried to swallow but had to remove the fruit. “Where did you get these?” Cold poured through him like an ice shower.

“Toby called me. He was worried.” She crossed her arms. “So am I.”

Shiloh. Pinned beneath the knees of tactical officers. Another—Shiloh hauled away like a slab of beef. Another—

her being led into an underground bunker. He lost his appetite and chucked the apple in the trash bin.

“Want to tell me how she ended up in British custody?”

He’d made a decision and would have to live with the consequences. “I put her there.” He swept the photos back to her and stomped down the hall. In his room, he grabbed a sweatshirt and jammed his hands through the sleeves.

“And how did that happen?”

“Easy. I put her on a plane.” The gurgling coffeepot drew him back to the kitchen.

“Don’t get smart with me, Reece.”

“Toby needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. This is none of your business.” He groaned. “Never mind. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.” He rinsed a mug under the faucet, then shifted and retrieved the pot. While the smell awakened his senses, he dreaded the pungent taste.

“They’re holding her for murder. She's been beaten and interrogated, Reece.” Her rich, soulful eyes seemed to mourn her own words.

He snapped his head toward her. “Murder?” Coffee singed his hand. He shoved the pot back into the maker. “What do you mean?” When she passed him another photo, every semblance of control rushed out of him.

Bruised and bloodied, Shiloh's image gaped back at him. Her vibrancy had disappeared with whatever they’d done. “Why would they do this?” he mumbled, staring at the picture.

“She tried to escape. An SAS officer stopped her. MI-6 found her prints at a house in Paris.”

Beautiful, sweet Shiloh—at the mercy of a soldier trained to kill. Shiloh, a woman who couldn’t be re-strained. “What house?”

“The same one on the outskirts of Paris where a woman and man were found hanged, a dozen bullet and stab wounds.”
Julia folded her arms. “I don’t think you need the CIA dossier to know who they are and get the meaning of the execution.”

“Kit.” Grief wrapped a vise around his heart. “Who … why?” He yanked out his cell and hit the autodial for Ryan Nielsen. The line went to voice mail. He tried Aiken. Same. They were avoiding him.

Reece flung the coffeepot across the room. It crashed into the wall and poured brown down the taupe paint.

Palms planted on the counter, he panted through the rush of fury as he stared at Shiloh's battered face. “I put Shiloh on that plane—sent her to Brody. Now Kit is dead because of me.” How could he have been so stupid to think Brody would grow a brain and handle this with intelligence? “Aiken should’ve mapped the timelines. Shiloh didn’t have time to kill Kit and get on that plane. He didn’t do his homework—and yet he does
this
to her!”

He pounded the counter. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that sorry—”

“Where's the little brother I’ve always been proud of?” She eased herself and her jangling bracelets onto a stool next to him. “Why did you leave her?”

“India was out of control—look at Kit; that's proof. Brody was supposed to keep Shiloh safe until the nuclear mess blew over.”

“Why did you abandon the mission and quit?”

“I didn’t abandon it. I transferred the files and information to another …” He let the words trail off as he realized the operative he’d handed over that authority to was now dead.

“What about Shiloh?”

“Things got too dangerous. I didn’t want her involved. And now … now she's alive, and in that, I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.” Fists balled, Reece tried to think past the acid pouring into his heart. “It's … unfortunate …”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence. “At least she's safe. At least, she’ll—”

“She’ll hate you!”

“And she's alive to do it!”

His temples throbbed. Clenching his hands, he moved to the massive picture window overlooking the bluff . Dawn peeked over the mountain, draping the forest in its early amber hues.

How did it get all messed up?
God, where are you?

Julia joined him. “Iran, Syria, North Korea, and South Korea, along with China, are all poised to sign this withdrawal pact. If that happens, then we will enter an era of nuclear terror that nightmares will pale in comparison to.”

“You sure know a lot about that.”

“I pay attention. My point is you bailed on a crucial mission.”

Could his plan dissolve any more than it already had? He looked to where the edges of light crept along the horizon.