Claimed by the Secret Agent (10 page)

His weapon bucked repeatedly, and he stopped just before emptying it of the last three shots. He had to have hit something out there.

Without pause, he sprang upward and slid sideways out the driver’s door, landing on the ground. A body lay sprawled, arms outflung. He scooped up the dead man’s weapon as he scrambled up and threw himself over the trunk of his vehicle to the opposite side. A figure was running, headed for the nearby trees.

“Marie?” he called.

“Get him!” she shouted from somewhere behind him. Grant raised his Glock and fired the last three.

The runner fell.

He glanced back at the car and saw Marie climbing out of it. “You hurt?” he asked, and saw her raise her head and say something. She looked okay. “Marie?”

She ran over to him. “I’m fine. Were you hit?”

“No. My ears are still ringing but otherwise I’m okay.”

“Thank God.”

“Reload and stay here,” he ordered, motioning for good measure in case her hearing was affected, too. Grant got a flashlight out of the car and hurried over to where the second man had fallen to see whether he had survived. He hadn’t.

“This is the one I saw through the window talking with Onders,” Marie said.

With a feeling of dejection, Grant picked up the body, slung it over his shoulder and returned to where Marie waited with the other body. He flopped the kidnapper onto the ground at her feet.

“Onders,” she observed with a fatalistic frown.

“Dead,” he said, without adding what they both knew.

Cynthia Rivers wouldn’t stand much of a chance now. The men who knew where she was wouldn’t be telling anyone.

G
rant knelt and searched pockets. No identification on Onders. He motioned to the SUV that had hit them from the rear, and Marie went to search it while Grant checked out the other body and the car in front of them.

He was looking in the trunk when he heard her shout. “Passports!” She waved them out the window.

Grant gave her a thumbs-up and approached her with the sleeve of paperwork he’d found in the first vehicle. They inspected it in the dome light. Title and registration papers, unfamiliar names. No surprise there. No particular energy emanating from them, either, he noted.

“Same for this one. Fake names,” she said, “and their passports match.”

She got out and headed for the first car. “We should
go up the road and see what’s there just in case they actually were going there to get rid of Rivers.”

Grant didn’t hold much hope for that, but he agreed. They got in the kidnappers’ car and drove to the dead end, where a burned-out farmhouse lay in ruin. Its chimney stood like a squat lonely guard over what had once been someone’s home.

“Maybe they set fire to it with her in the house,” Marie commented.

“No. Look at the weeds. The fire was several weeks ago, at least. She’s not here.”

They turned around and drove back to the scene of the shooting. “We have to call the police,” Grant said.

“Wait,” Marie said. “There’s Shapur. We need to pick him up before he gets away. He set this up, Grant, a clear case of attempted murder. Chances are excellent that he knows all about the kidnappings. He might even be the one who arranged them.”

“Let’s go. Back that SUV out of the way and let’s see if ours will still run.”

It wouldn’t. Grant transferred his equipment from the trunk, they climbed into the SUV, and the pair headed back to the clinic.

Marie had grown deathly quiet. Grant worried that she was dwelling on the shooting. “You didn’t kill him, Marie,” he told her. “I fired the fatal shots.”

She blew out a sigh. “It’s not that. It just bothers me that I was so ready to do it. I wanted him dead, both of them. Even knowing what was at stake, a young woman’s life, I shot to kill.” Her voice sounded a little teary, but she was holding it together.

“Training plus instinct,” he explained. “You had no clear shot to wound, and you knew it was them or us. It
was,
Marie. They were there for no other reason than to get rid of us, and you know that. Don’t second-guess your decision. It’ll slow you down the next time and could cost your or your partner’s life. You
must
trust your instincts.”

“We have to find her, Grant. That poor woman does not deserve to die alone and terrified.”

Grant didn’t point out that they couldn’t save everyone, that some died in spite of the fact that they did their best, prayed their hardest and shot their straightest.

He had learned that the hard way when leading his navy team on what often amounted to suicide missions. Every death that occurred due to his orders or actions, deserved or otherwise, felt like a gaping wound in his soul. Maybe he would have done better as an accountant, but then he wouldn’t have saved the ones he did save.

“We just do everything we can, Marie, and hope it’s enough.”

The clinic appeared dark when they returned. Marie wondered if Shapur had left, too. Perhaps he was in the back, in the kitchen area where lights wouldn’t be visible from the front.

Grant didn’t make any attempt to conceal their approach. They were, after all, driving the kidnappers’ SUV. The element of surprise would come when they were face-to-face with him.

The old structure looked eerie, a ghostly shade of blue in the light of the moon. Clouds still drifted over
head, periodically casting the place in moon shadow. “This place is really spooky,” she commented.

“Just now noticing that?” he asked.

“Well, we were a little busy before. Looks like something out of a fifties film noir, doesn’t it?”

Grant hummed an answer as he parked near the front. They drew their weapons and got out. “We need to secure Shapur, then scout the rest of the place,” he said. “Rivers might be concealed somewhere on the premises other than the main building.”

“I just hope they didn’t kill her before they left.”

Grant tilted his head to one side as if considering. “They wouldn’t if the ransom hasn’t been denied. And if Shapur is running the show, which is a fair bet, since he sent them after us, he would have the final say.”

“How do you want to handle it? Do we confront him immediately or let him keep pretending and see what he does? Maybe he’ll give her up if he thinks we don’t suspect him.”

Grant threw out his arm and stopped her on the walkway as they approached the front door. “Something’s not right,” he said in a low voice. She heard his deep in-take of breath and rapid exhale.

He had brought the flashlight with him for the search and flashed it on the door. Suddenly, he dropped it, grasped her arm and ran, dragging her with him. Marie stumbled.

He scooped her up and jumped over something. Then he pushed her down behind the low stone wall that surrounded the gravel drive and threw himself on top of her.

“Cover your head,” he warned as he did it.

The horrific explosion lit up the night, the concussion enormous. Debris rained all over them.

When it stopped, Marie struggled, but he held her there, his arm like a vise around her middle, his body covering the length of hers, his face buried in the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
Deadweight.

“Grant! Can you move? Let me up!” she cried, praying he
could
move, that he wasn’t injured or, worse, dead. He had saved her life, thrown himself between her and disaster without a thought for his own safety. What kind of man did that?

He groaned, rolled off her and lay on his back, one arm covering his eyes. “Lord, that was
way
too close!”

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” she asked frantically. She quickly propped herself up on her elbow as she lay on her side next to him and ran her hand over his face.

He caught her hand in his, pressed her palm to his lips for several seconds. “I almost lost you,” he growled, slid his arms around her and drew her on top of him.

The kiss grew fervent, more desperate than sexual. She felt his heart thundering beneath hers and reveled in the fact that they had both survived. She kissed him back, tasting the waning fear and relief they shared.

He broke the kiss and framed her face with his hands, looking into her eyes, searching. “I love you, Marie. I should have said it before. I knew it before but didn’t want to scare you off. What if we’d been blasted to kingdom come and I had never said those words?”

She couldn’t speak. Hope flared, choking off speech, even if she had known what to say. Flickers of a future with him ran through her brain like a film
on fast-forward. Loving, laughing, living without the constant loneliness she had always accepted as normal for her.

Then reason intruded and it dawned on her that this was simply an adrenalin-inspired declaration. Like the kiss, just a life-affirming thing, a glad-to-be-alive connection.

What could she say that wouldn’t sound dismissive or ungrateful? That she loved him, too? No. If she said that, the words wouldn’t be coming from the same place as his. She was afraid she would really mean it.

He brushed the hair off her brow with one finger, then pulled a small packet of wipes out of his pocket and began cleaning the dirt and dark greasepaint off her face.

Marie remained motionless as he tended to her, thinking how gentle he could be at times. And how she both resented and welcomed being treated like something too precious to risk. She couldn’t have it both ways. Could she?

“It’s okay whatever you’re thinking. You don’t have to say anything back. I just wanted you to know,” he said softly. “I had to tell you.”

That little mind-movie he had triggered scared her. She wanted all that way too much, and wanting anything so desperately always led to disappointment.

Marie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She pushed off him and sat up. “So what the hell
was
that? A bomb?”

“Gas explosion,” he replied as he sat up, too, and began scrubbing his own face with one of the skimpy wipes, missing several spots.

She took the wipe out of his hand and finished the
job for him. “So, you really
are
psychic. Sorry I ever doubted you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then ruffled it to dislodge the debris that had peppered him. “Well, not in this instance, I wasn’t. I smelled the gas as we approached. The doorbell would have set it off.”

“But we didn’t ring it, so something else set it off. What?”

“Shapur must have called it in. A ringing phone would set it off. Guess he saw us coming.”

“So where is he now?” She looked around, as if she could find him with all the places he could be hiding. No way.

“He could be anywhere.”

Marie looked at the ruined building. “What if Rivers was in there?”

“I searched all the rooms on both floors before I brought Shapur out. If she is here, she has to be in a basement or one of the outbuildings.”

“Let’s go look.” Marie was already on her feet and headed for the clinic, most of which was still standing with a gaping hole where the front portal had been, windows blown out and huge portions of the roof missing.

The explosion had triggered fire, and lazy flames were licking out the doorways in the exposed hallway. Marie quickened her steps. “Come on—we need to hurry in case she’s under all that.”

“Wait.” He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go around back to enter. If there’s a basement, the entrance to it will probably be in or near the kitchen.”

He was all business now, she noted. Hard-edged, no-
nonsense, agent-in-charge. Whispered avowals and heated kisses forgotten already.

Despite the way she had skirted the personal issue, she obviously wasn’t as nimble as he was when it came to switching mind gears.

She would never figure him out, never be able to guess what he’d do next or plan how she would react. Total surrender of control was not something she could handle, even if she did happen to fall in love with him. And that was all too likely to happen if she didn’t hurry up and break all ties, physical and emotional.

Maybe it was too late already.

The problem was with her and she knew it. No way could she ever fall for a weak-willed, easily led man; yet neither could she abide one who thought he could own her, body and soul.

Grant already treated her as if he needed to watch her every move and make all the decisions for her.

“Stay behind me and keep your eyes open,” he ordered, proving her point with alacrity.

“And if I don’t?” she snapped.

“Then I won’t have anyone watching my back. What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

Okay, now she was letting her emotions override her good sense and training. He simply upset all her priorities and threatened every goal she had ever set for herself.

This was not the time for a personal altercation between the two of them, however. They had work to do and had to do it together with utmost efficiency. A life was at stake.

“I’ll watch your back,” she agreed.

Grant knew he had pushed too far too soon. Marie was backing off as if he’d issued a threat instead of admitting he loved her. No wonder, since she must feel they barely knew each other. Well, he knew enough whether she did or not.

He had made a serious error by telling her this and couldn’t think of any way to fix it.

A loud groan snagged his attention, and he froze, glancing around the littered back garden. The force of the blast had blown out the back door and windows. Shutters lay scattered and splintered among the flowering plants and bushes. “Over there!” he said, pointing toward a stone bench several yards away.

Marie was already headed there. “It’s the doctor!” she announced, dropping to her knees beside the prone figure.

Grant joined her, shining the flashlight on the man to see the extent of his injuries. A long splinter of wood, a good two inches in diameter, protruded from his side and blood seeped out around it.

Grant fished out his cell phone and quickly called the emergency number for an ambulance.

“Where is Cynthia Rivers?” Marie demanded. She must realize the old man might not last until the medics arrived and she was taking care of business.

Grant could almost feel her effort to deny sympathy and comfort. They had to find that woman, and Shapur was their last chance to get the location.

“I—I don’t know,” Shapur insisted. A trickle of red escaped the corner of his mouth. Punctured lung, Grant thought, and maybe worse.

“Could she be here in one of the outbuildings?” Marie demanded. “Are you certain she’s not on the premises?”

Shapur gave a negative shake of his head, barely a recognizable movement. “No, not certain.” He grasped Marie’s wrist. “Saw their auto. I thought you were them.”

“You caused the explosion,” Grant stated.

Shapur nodded. “Knew they would come back. They must think the money…” His eyes closed, but he spoke again. “Is in the safe.” His gnarled fingers clawed at his side. “The number…an account. Take it to Bahktar.”

“A place or a name?” Grant asked.

“He will be in Paris. Give it to him. Please…save my child. In the name of…goodness.”

“What child? What do you mean?” Marie asked, her voice going soft with concern Grant knew she couldn’t help but have. The man was dying and he was worried about his child.

“Daughter.” Shapur sighed out the word. “I was forced out of Iran with my shah.”

“You were the shah’s physician?”

Again a shake of the head. “Consulting. I was at the palace when…”

“Okay, okay, got that,” Marie said quickly. “What about the child?”

“She is there still. Tehran. Mamud Bahktar will have her killed if…denied the ransoms I collected for him.”

“So, he set this up through you, using extortion?” Grant asked. “Is he with the current regime in Iran?”

“An agent for the…Republican Guard. Hates Americans, Brits, Israelis.”