Enticed by the Operative (Doctors in Danger, Book 1) (2 page)

“You won’t.” The words sounded strangled, and she cleared her throat. “As I said, my answer is final.”

He smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “As you say.” He walked to the door and stopped, turning back. “I admire your spirit. It will serve you well.”

She held her breath until the door closed behind him, then she rocked forward until her palms landed flat against the solid weight of her desk.
It’s okay
, she told herself, repeating the words over and over again until she no longer felt like her heart was trying to beat out of her chest.
He’s gone.

But for how long?

* * *

The rest of her day passed in a blur. Olivia tried to focus on her job, but the memory of Carlos Martinez was front and center in her mind, an unwelcome and disturbing distraction. Fortunately, she had no scheduled surgeries so her impaired attention was no danger to her patients.

She had to report him to the authorities. It was her only option. The thought of him targeting someone else, someone who might not be able to refuse his offer, weighed on her. Could she really live with herself, knowing he was free to continue hurting people?

But who should she call? Would the police help her? Or did she need to try the FBI? And how could she convince them she was telling the truth? After all, she hadn’t recorded their conversation. It was her word against his.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered to herself as she navigated the evening traffic. “I have to tell someone. What they do with the information is on them.” At least she’d be able to sleep at night, knowing she’d done all she could.

She’d tucked his business card and his medical file in her bag before leaving the office. When she got home, she pulled them both out and started up her computer, determined to find the number to the local police. She’d start there, and if the police didn’t take her seriously, she’d move on to the FBI or some other organization.

The doorbell rang just as she pulled up the web page for the Alexandria, Virginia, police department. Good—her dinner was here. She’d ordered takeout before leaving the office so she wouldn’t have to cobble together a sad meal of crackers and stale cheese. Grabbing her wallet, she headed for the door and glanced through the peephole. A young man stood on her stoop, holding a bag that contained her food.

Olivia opened her door with a smile and extended a hand to take the bag, holding out a few bills in payment. “Thanks,” she said, the word dying in her throat as a shadowy figure moved up the walk and into the glow cast by her porch light. She took a reflexive step back, but the delivery boy pulled on the bag, halting her progress.

Carlos Martinez stopped just behind the young man, a wry smile on his lips. “Dr. Sandoval, so good to see you again. We took the liberty of paying for your food so it wouldn’t grow cold. May we come in?”

She glanced around wildly, hoping to see lights on in the house next door. Her neighbor, Logan Murray, was a large, fit man, and if she could somehow scream loudly enough to get his attention, perhaps he could help her... But his windows were dark. She was on her own.

“No.” Her heart in her throat, Olivia dropped the bag and stepped inside. She grabbed the edge of the door and tried to slam it shut, but the young man stuck his foot in the jamb and forced his way into her house, Carlos close on his heels.

Olivia stumbled backward, trying to keep her gaze on the intruders while she got as far away as possible. A weapon, she needed a weapon—something,
anything
, she could use to defend herself. Her hands ran across the back of her sofa, the end table, the wall. Her fingers swept along the candles standing on the hall table, and she grabbed her mother’s silver candlestick, brandishing it like a bat. Why, oh why, had she left her cell phone next to the computer?

“Dr. Sandoval,” Carlos said, his tone disapproving. “Please. We are not here for violence. Can we not sit and have a civilized chat?”

Her throat too tight for words, Olivia shook her head.

He let out a deep sigh. “Well, then.” He made a sharp gesture with his hand, and the younger man reached behind his back and retrieved a gun that he pointed at Olivia with a confidence that made her stomach drop.
Oh, God.

Carlos settled into her recliner and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch, facing him. Olivia half walked, half stumbled over, her legs gone numb with fear and her attention focused on the lethal-looking gun pointed at her head. She sank onto the sofa, gripping the candlestick so hard she thought it might snap in her hands.

“I thought we might revisit our conversation from this afternoon.”

Olivia cut her gaze to Carlos, then back to the man with the gun. “I have nothing to say to you while I’m being held at gunpoint.” Her voice wavered a bit, but she was proud of herself for getting the words out. Her fear of getting shot weighed heavy on her chest, making it so hard to breathe she felt like she was drowning. If he would just put the gun away, she might be able to actually think!

Carlos tilted his head, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He was enjoying her fear, damn him! Olivia straightened her spine and clamped her mouth shut, determined not to give him any more satisfaction. After a moment, he nodded at the younger man. She refused to turn her head to look at him, but she caught movement from the corner of her eye and breathed a silent sigh of relief as he returned his gun to its hiding place.

“Now, then,” Carlos said. “As I was saying. Have you had time to reconsider my earlier offer?”

“My answer hasn’t changed,” Olivia replied. The other man moved, and she fought the urge to flinch. But he simply walked around the couch and took the rocking chair in the corner of the room, his gaze watchful. At least he wasn’t threatening her again.

Carlos merely nodded. “I thought you might say that. So I brought along some additional material for you to examine.” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope, holding it out for her. She refused to take it from him, so he dropped it on the table between them and leaned back. “I think you will want to see what’s inside,” he said, with a nod at the envelope.

Keeping her eyes on the men in front of her, Olivia leaned forward and brushed the table with her fingertips, catching the edge of the paper. She reluctantly set the candlestick on the seat next to her, but really, what good was it against a gun?

The envelope wasn’t sealed, and she lifted the flap to find a stack of photographs. The bottom dropped out of her stomach when she saw Avery’s face, and she quickly flipped through several of the pictures. Avery at work. Avery at the gym. At the grocery store. At home. The last one had been taken through her bedroom window as her friend packed a suitcase on the bed.

I’m leaving tomorrow for a small town in Kansas...

Olivia moved to the next picture, her fingers so stiff she almost dropped the stack. Tears sprang to her eyes as she saw her other best friend, Mallory. She’d thought Mallory of all people would be safe
,
since she worked on a cruise ship and was always gone. But apparently Carlos had eyes and ears everywhere.

When she reached the end of the stack, she glanced up to find him watching her. “So you see,” he said, as if they’d been talking all along, “you may feel that because your parents are dead, you are safe. But I hope you realize that is not the case.”

Olivia swallowed hard. “You can’t be serious.” Would they really go after her best friends? That was the kind of thing that happened in movies, but not real life. Right?

“Dr. Sandoval, I assure you I am deadly serious. If you do not agree to cooperate, we will target your friends. If that doesn’t work, we will move on to their families, as well. Would you really risk the safety of innocents for the sake of your precious pride?”

Her heart sank as she realized the full gravity of his threat. She couldn’t bear to think of a world without Avery and Mallory in it. They’d been best friends since medical school, and Olivia thought of them as family. The only family she had left, in fact.

Helplessness crashed over her, bringing with it a wave of weakness that made her head feel too heavy for her neck. She stared down at her lap, lacking the strength to even meet Carlos’s eyes. What choice did she have now? If she refused, she had no doubt Carlos would follow through with his threats. He was never going to go away. He was never going to leave her alone. She’d been so arrogant earlier, assuming he’d just accept her refusal and slink away. But now she realized she was nothing more than a pawn to him, and he was going to play this game with or without her consent.

Anger flared to life deep inside her chest, sending tendrils of heat through her limbs. Sweat gathered at the back of her neck, and she reached up to lift her hair, exposing her skin to the cool air of the room. She eyed the candlestick next to her—could she club Carlos with it? The idea was distasteful and went against the vows she’d taken to do no harm, but in this case, she might be willing to make an exception.

Her eyes shifted to the young man in the chair. He was watching her with dark eyes, his gaze alert. No. If she made any kind of move toward Carlos, he’d shoot her before she could harm his boss. She was well and truly stuck.

“Fine.” She spat the word at him, her acceptance leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. “I’ll do it. But I want your guarantee that you won’t harm them.”

Carlos lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “If you fulfill your responsibilities, I will forget all about them.”

It was as close to a promise as she was likely to get, and while she didn’t trust him, she had to believe he was telling the truth. Why target her friends unless absolutely necessary? It would draw too much attention, and Carlos seemed like the type who didn’t make a move unless it was going to benefit him.

He stood and smoothed a hand over his jacket. The young man rose as well and moved to stand beside his boss. Carlos smiled down at her. “I am so glad we were able to come to an agreement,” he said solicitously. “You are an intelligent woman, and I knew you would see reason.”

Olivia stood but didn’t reply. She had nothing to say to him and didn’t trust herself to speak. The last thing she needed was to antagonize him just as he was leaving. He might lash out at one of the innocent people in her life just to teach her a lesson in manners.

Her silence didn’t seem to bother him. He gestured to the young man, and together they moved to her door. Olivia stayed where she was, turning to watch them go.

He glanced back at her before walking out the door, his eyes going cold when he saw her expression. He looked at his partner and nodded once. Before Olivia realized what was happening, the younger man closed the distance between them and slapped her hard across the face.

Her head snapped back and tears flooded her eyes. She staggered, grabbing onto the back of the couch for support to keep from falling down.

“What was that for?” she said, pressing her hand against her throbbing cheek.

“Consider it a warning,” he replied. “You work for us now. We won’t tolerate insubordination.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she protested.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You have a very expressive face, Dr. Sandoval. You must learn to control it. The next time, I will not be so kind.”

CHAPTER 2

L
ogan Murray pulled into his driveway with a sigh, glad to finally be home. It had been a beast of a day, and he was looking forward to a cold beer and a little mindless TV to help him unwind. Most days, he enjoyed his job as a DEA officer. Taking out drug dealers and breaking up smuggling rings was incredibly satisfying, but not every day was an adventure. And after spending the last week buried in paperwork he was ready for something—
anything
—to break the monotonous routine.

He climbed out of the car and headed for his mailbox, glancing at the house next door as he walked. The windows gave off a warm glow, indicating Olivia Sandoval was home.
One of these days
, he thought wryly. She was an attractive woman, and he’d been meaning to connect with her for a while. But the timing was never right. He was off on assignment, or she was out of town. Or they were both too busy to run into each other. Still, part of him held on to the fantasy that they’d magically connect and just click, the way his friend and his soon-to-be-fiancée had while in line at the grocery store. If it could happen to Greg, it could happen to him. Right?

He peeked into his mailbox and tugged out the pile of papers shoved inside. Bill. Junk mail. Card from Mom. He really should call her—it had been too long since they’d talked. And what was this? More stuff for Olivia.

A groan escaped his throat. He needed to call the post office to complain—he’d lost count of the number of times the mail carrier had delivered Olivia’s mail to his box. He had a pile of her stuff on his kitchen counter, just waiting to be delivered. Casting another glance at her house, he decided it was time to hand over her correspondence.

Ducking into his house, he dropped his bag on the kitchen table and scooped up Olivia’s mail. Maybe he could talk her into having dinner with him while he was over there—it was a long shot on such short notice, but worth a try.

He rang her doorbell, then wiped damp palms on his pants. Why was he nervous? He faced down drug dealers and violent criminals every day in his job, so why did the thought of talking to a beautiful woman make his heart pound in his ears?

Probably because it’s been a while
, he thought wryly. Five years, to be exact. Ever since he’d arrived home to find his fiancée, Emma, in bed with his best friend, Chris.

Make that his
former
best friend.

The old, familiar anger began to well up in his chest and he pushed it down, dismissing the pair of them from his thoughts. He’d dated a few women casually since Emma’s betrayal, but his heart hadn’t been in it. Still, maybe it was time to try again, to let down his guard and give love another chance. He knew Olivia was a doctor. Maybe he’d tell her his story and ask if she wanted to help heal his broken heart.

Real smooth
, he thought, mentally rolling his eyes. Shaking his head at his foolishness, he waited for a moment. Had she heard the bell? Maybe she was busy—in the back of the house, or in the garage.
Or the bathtub
, he thought, the image popping into his head before he could stop himself. He strangled the fantasy before it could take flight, unwilling to think about her tawny skin, wet and glowing in candlelight, her heart-shaped face framed by damp ringlets of dark curls...

Looking for a distraction, he pressed the bell again. He’d give her a few more minutes, then come back another time. They were bound to run into each other eventually.

He had just about given up when he heard a soft sound coming from inside her house. Music? No, that wasn’t right. He stepped closer to the door, angling his head to hear better. It was the sound of a woman, that much was clear. But something seemed off. Even though the noise was faint and muffled, he could tell from the tone that it wasn’t laughter or arousal he heard. It was distress. Something was wrong.

“Olivia?” He raised his voice, hoping she could hear through the thick wood of the front door. “Olivia, it’s Logan. Are you okay?”

The noise stopped, so he spoke again. “I just came by to drop off some of your mail. I can leave it on the porch if you like.” He hated to go, knowing she was upset, but Olivia struck him as a private person and she probably wouldn’t want anyone to see her crying. Besides, what could he really do to help?

After a few seconds of silence, he knelt to place the mail on her welcome mat. Just as he set it down, the lock scraped and she opened the door.

If she was surprised to see him kneeling on her porch, she didn’t show it. She stared down at him, her eyes dull and red-rimmed, the tip of her nose pink. Logan gathered up the mail again and slowly rose to his feet, sensing that any sudden movements would spook her into retreat. “Hey, there,” he said softly. “Are you all right?”

Olivia merely shrugged one shoulder in an elegant gesture that managed to both answer his question and convey a sense of hopeless surrender.

“I have some of your mail.” He extended the bundle, but she merely stared at it for a few seconds, as if trying to recognize what he held and why he was trying to give it to her. Then she reached out to take it, her movements jerky and painful-looking.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice as subdued and lifeless as her eyes.

“No problem.” He cast about for something to say, but before he could come up with something comforting or helpful, Olivia shrank back into the house, her expression one of horror.

Logan whirled around to see a car driving past, its headlights sweeping up the yard as it turned. The illumination showed nothing amiss—no lurking stalkers hiding in the bushes, no threatening dogs slavering up her driveway, hungry for a bite of her flesh. Just a normal lawn on a normal street. Why then did she look like she’d seen a ghost?

He turned back to see her leaning against the wall, hanging on to the doorknob for support. Her knuckles showed white under the skin, betraying the strength of her grip. It was clear she was on the verge of falling, so Logan reached out to steady her. As soon as his hand made contact with her shoulder, Olivia jerked away, her dark brown eyes going wide and unfocused.

“No!” She took a step back, stumbled over a rug and went down hard on the tiled floor of her entryway.

Wincing, Logan moved forward and crouched down next to her. His arms ached to pull her up and support her, but given her violent reaction to his touch, he didn’t want to risk hurting her. “Olivia,” he said softly. “Please let me help you.”

She was curled in a ball, her arms wrapped tight about her middle. Had she hurt herself? Or was she simply trying to protect herself from him? His heart twisted at the thought that she was afraid of him—never in a million years would he want to give her that impression. Her actions reminded him of children who were left behind in the aftermath of some drug busts, those innocents who were so traumatized they turned inward to block out the world. “I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder and help you sit up,” he continued, keeping his tone even. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to get you off the floor.”

She didn’t speak, but he caught her quick nod. Good. She wasn’t going to panic. Moving slowly and deliberately, he did as he’d said, moving her into a sitting position. He let her adjust for a moment, watching her face for any signs of newly realized pain.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

She shook her head. “Just my pride,” she muttered, pushing her dark brown curls away from her face.

He offered her his hand, and she pulled against him as she rose to her feet. They stood together, their bodies only inches apart. He knew he should move back, give her some personal space. But she still seemed fragile, like a young sapling at the mercy of the wind. She looked like she could go down again at a moment’s notice, and given the fact she had yet to release his hand, she probably felt that way, too.

“I’m sorry,” she said, keeping her eyes on the floor. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt.” That much was true, but her reaction troubled him. Her response to his touch had been over-the-top, a fight-or-flight instinct most people only displayed in response to a mortal threat. The fact that her first impulse had been to run made him think she had been hurt in the past, maybe even abused. Was that the problem? Had she had a run-in with a bad former boyfriend tonight?

The thought made his muscles tense, and he glanced around, his training kicking in as he looked for any evidence of a physical encounter. Men who hurt women were lower than scum, and Logan would have no trouble stepping between Olivia and that kind of danger.

His eyes trailed across the entryway table that sat flush against the wall. There were some small tokens arranged on the table’s surface, but they looked out of place, as if they’d been knocked askew. Three narrow parallel lines made tracks in the thin layer of dust on the table, and he realized with a shock they were the impressions made by a hand skimming across the surface. Had Olivia run her hand along the table, searching for a weapon?

At the end of the table, a small square impression was left in the dust. Something had sat here, but what? A dark shape on the floor caught his eye, and he focused on it to discover it was a long, thin candle. It had rolled under the table, but he saw a waxy spot on the tile where it had first made impact. So the square impression must have been a candlestick. But where was it now?

Olivia cleared her throat, interrupting his musings. “Ah, thanks for bringing the mail over.” She picked up the scattered papers and stacked them on the hall table, then turned to face him. She had regained her composure and was quickly rebuilding her defenses. That was good, but it meant he was losing his chance to find out what kind of trouble she was in.

“Is that Chinese food I smell?” He took a step farther into her house, following his nose. “Man, I haven’t eaten all day. Do you mind if I crash your dinner?” It was a lame excuse, but it was the best he could do on short notice.

Olivia stiffened, but when she met his gaze he put on his best “who, me?” expression, hoping it would earn him a spot at her table. His stomach chose that moment to growl audibly, further advancing his case. He smiled sheepishly and was rewarded by a small smile from Olivia.

“Sure,” she said. “It’ll be nice to have some company.”

She led him through the living room and into the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of the candlestick lying on the sofa cushions. Interesting. Had Olivia sat there earlier, facing off against a threat? He inhaled deeply as he walked through the room and caught the faint hint of men’s cologne lingering in the air. So someone had been here, someone Olivia had felt the need to defend herself against, using only a candlestick for protection.

Logan waited until Olivia had retrieved plates and silverware and placed them on her kitchen table.

“Olivia, are you in trouble?”

She went pale and dropped the silverware in a noisy clatter against the plates. “No.”

“That’s not what it looks like to me.”

Her dark eyes flicked up to his face before she returned her attention to dishing up the food. “And I suppose you’re some kind of detective.” She pushed a plate in his direction and sat, and he did the same, taking the chair across from her.

“Something like that,” he replied easily.

“What do you do again? You’re in security, right?”

“I’m an agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration.”

Her hands clenched and she pushed back from the table, the chair legs screeching on the tile floor. “I have to go,” she said abruptly.

Logan stood, as well. “Olivia, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She shook her head. “No, I really need to get out of here.”

He took a step to the side, effectively blocking her exit. She reared back to keep from running into him, and he held out his hands, trying to appear nonthreatening. “Here’s the deal,” he said, striving for a comforting tone. “It’s clear to me that something has happened tonight, something that has you upset. And while I’m not trying to dig into your private life, I would like to know why you’re so distressed by the fact that I work for the DEA.”

She stared up at him for a moment, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. It was an incredibly sensuous gesture, but Logan knew she didn’t mean anything by it. “I really can’t talk about it.”

He merely watched her, knowing there wasn’t anything he could say to make her trust him. She had to decide that on her own—no amount of pretty words would convince her.

Finally she dropped into her chair, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “You can’t help me. No one can.”

“That sounds pretty final to me. In my experience, few things are.”

She shuddered at his words, as if they’d brought up a bad memory. “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” She sounded utterly destroyed and he could tell her resolve to stay silent was crumbling.

Not a chance
, he thought. But he needed her to talk, so he tilted his head to the side, hoping she would interpret the gesture as agreement. “You can talk to me,” he said softly.

She shook her head, pressing her lips together in a pale line. Then she laughed, a harsh, grating sound that was totally void of humor. “What the hell?” she said, the edge in her voice sharper than a sliver of glass. “Just promise me this—keep my friends safe. Will you do that for me?”

Logan frowned, the finality in her tone troubling. “I’ll do my best. Why do you sound like you’ll be missing them?”

Olivia met his gaze then, and the hopelessness in her brown eyes nearly broke his heart.

“Because in a few weeks, I’ll be dead.”

* * *

Logan’s green eyes widened at her outburst, but he recovered quickly. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” he started, his tone making it clear he thought she was being a drama queen. His obvious doubt annoyed her, but she tried not to hold it against him. She did sound like one of those characters on the telenovelas her Nana had loved to watch. Under different circumstances, she might have found the whole thing amusing.

“Do you want me to talk to you or not?”