Covert Evidence (11 page)

She shoved the door open and disappeared.
Shit!
Whoever had broken into her room was just as likely to be waiting in the stairwell, but chasing her down with his gun out would only freak her out more. He holstered his weapon at the small of his back. The action could be the biggest mistake he’d made all day, and given his fuckup by the train, that was saying something.

He launched himself into the stairwell. She’d reached the landing below and was rounding the corner. He leapt down and caught her waist, pulling her down. He rolled to take the brunt of the fall.

His back hit the wall. His arm held her trapped, pressed against him. With his free hand, he covered her mouth, cutting off a piercing, echoing scream. “Quiet! I’m not the enemy—”

She bit him. It hurt like a bitch, but he didn’t release her.

“Dammit, Cressida. I’m trying to help you.”

Eyes wild with fear, she pressed her teeth deeper into his flesh.

He sucked in a sharp breath, praying she wasn’t desperate enough to break skin. “I might need that hand to beat the crap out of the next asshole with a knife who attacks you.”

Her jaw eased but didn’t release him.

“Please, Cress. Whoever was in your room could still be there. You’re vulnerable.”

Her teeth unclenched.

“Don’t scream. Please.” He lifted his hand from her mouth.

Her eyes were hard, cold, and unflinching.

He’d kissed her to play her, to see how far she was willing to go, but like a damn rookie, he’d gotten caught in the heat. In the end, the kiss was real, and it had taken a world of effort to stay in character.

This is a job. She is a job. Forget the other crap and do your fucking job
.

“Why did you run?” he asked.

“I don’t know why I was mugged or why my room was broken into. Yet I know you were on the plane. You have a room in my hotel. You appeared by the train right after I was mugged. And you have a gun—yet I never saw you claim a bag at the airport. Which means either they let you take it on the plane, or you got it here. Who
are
you?”

“I told you. I’m a security consultant. The gun is part of my job.”

“Bullshit. I’m not an idiot. I can do math, and you don’t add up.”

He smiled, but with a grim bent. This would be easier if she were a fool. “Dumb luck got me a seat next to you on the plane. I’m a single man, and you’re a beautiful woman. I spend more of my time in the Middle East than I do on US soil, and you were like a taste of home. So I’m guilty of being homesick and probably superficial.” He stroked her cheek as the fear in her eyes slowly receded. “I was on the pier by the train platform for my job, for which I carry a gun, which I checked through a security service and picked up before heading to the taxi line. You must not have seen it.” A lie, but she likely didn’t know Turkish gun-check procedures, and he wasn’t about to tell her he’d stored more than one gun and a few other necessary items in Van last month when he scouted the area for this mission.

“I have high-end clients who need protection,” he continued, “so I have permission to carry concealed throughout the Muslim world. Local governments want my clients’ business.”

“If it’s not somehow connected to you, then why was I robbed?”

His hold on her loosened—but interestingly, she didn’t take the opportunity to break away. They must present quite a picture, lying on the hard floor of the landing between hotel floors. He rose and pulled her to her feet beside him. “Let’s go to your room and see what we find.”

He could still see hesitation in her eyes. He’d lost her tenuous trust, but she
wanted
to believe him, which was half the battle.

How to play her? Another kiss?

No. Too soon. Too heavy-handed.

He took a deep breath. He had only one option, but it required putting his trust in her. If he was wrong, if she was a part of Hejan’s cell, then he was signing his death warrant. He reached behind his back, slowly, and pulled his Sig. Holding the top of the gun with the barrel pointed down, he pressed the grip into her hands.

She looked at him questioningly. Guarded.

“Have you ever handled a gun?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Good. Keep it. We’re going to go up to my room. I’ll grab another gun, then we’ll search your room.” He hoped to hell that if Zack waited in his room, he was listening and would vacate immediately.

She studied the gun in her hands. “No safety?”

“No. The safety is the long pull for the first shot.”

She met his gaze. “Thank you. And I’m sorry I kicked you. And bit you.”

He shrugged. “You’ve good instincts for self-preservation. It appears you might need them.” That was an understatement.

As they headed up the stairs to his room, he pulled out his cell and speed-dialed Sabal, but the hound didn’t answer. Shit. He needed to know what Sabal had learned from the guy with the knife. She’d want to report the break in to the police and would no doubt question why Sabal hadn’t delivered her assailant to local authorities as promised.

His hotel room was blessedly empty and undisturbed. He retrieved his backup weapon, and together they returned to her third-floor room. At her broken door, he pulled his gun and nodded to her, indicating she should mimic his movements. They flanked the door, but he entered first, well aware she was at his back with a loaded gun.

If she wanted to take him out, this was her moment.

She didn’t shoot him.

He released his pent-up breath and quickly searched her room, equally relieved when some unknown intruder didn’t shoot him either. Not shot twice in the same minute. Maybe his luck was changing.

Her room had been thoroughly tossed. Papers were spread everywhere, and her bed had been stripped.

He dropped onto the bare mattress. “You can’t stay here,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

“I’d love to leave, but I have nowhere to go. I don’t have money or ID. At least this hotel already ran my credit card. With the lock broken, they should give me another room.”

He waved his hand to indicate the mess. “Someone obviously wants something from you. Did they get it?”

Her face showed nothing but fear and bewilderment. “I don’t know. I’m nobody. I don’t have anything anyone could possibly want.”

He believed her, which surprised him. “Don’t forget the man with the knife. It wasn’t a simple mugging. This was all planned.”

“You’re scaring me. Worse than I already am. I have no idea what’s going on or why.”

“You
should
be scared. Listen, my company has a safe house in the area. I’m taking you there.”

She stiffened. “Shouldn’t I go to the police?”

“We’ll stop at the police station on the way.” He wasn’t sure if his words were a lie. He might be able to take her to the police, but he needed to talk to Zack first. Or Sabal. He needed to know what the hell was going on. Then he’d know what to do with Cressida.

“If I go to a safe house with you, won’t it look like I disappeared?”

Dammit. He’d hoped she wouldn’t catch that implication right away. “For your safety. Yes.”

She studied the gun in her hand, as if weighing it. He had a feeling the heft of the gun equaled the amount of trust she had in him. “I need to go to the police and call my friend Trina. People need to know where I am. I’d be a fool to take off with a stranger and disappear.”

He stepped toward her. John needed to turn on the charm, but she was so skittish, he could easily overplay his role. He lifted her chin with his forefinger, bringing her gaze to his. “I work in security, Cressida. This is what I
do
. Something strange is going on, and you are at the center of it. I’ll figure out why, but to do that, I need you to let me protect you.”

Her gaze darted around her trashed hotel room. She sucked in a sharp breath and, he suspected, stifled a sob. “I’m here to work. I need to gather data for my grant proposal. For my dissertation. I’ve worked my whole life for this trip. I spent every penny I have just to get here. There must be some sort of mistake. Whoever is behind this must have me confused with someone else. I’ll go to the police. Clarify that I’m nobody. Maybe this”—she waved her arm to encompass her trashed hotel room—“will stop, once whoever did it realizes they’ve targeted the wrong person, and then I can do the work I came here to do.”

Her voice held a new edge of desperation. She wasn’t ready to accept that her plans to search for ancient tunnels had been derailed. There would be no expedition south, no Lidar survey. Given that this was the focus of her studies, he imagined this meant there would be no PhD.

He could tell her Hejan was dead so she’d know this wasn’t some random mistake. But she was too busy grappling with denial. The truth could break her—and deepen her well-founded suspicions of him.

His only option was to abduct her. It would be for her own safety, but she’d never believe that.

J
ohn had explained they were taking an SDR—Surveillance Detection Route, he clarified—to the police station, which was why they twisted around on the narrow streets of Van for at least forty-five minutes. Cressida fought nausea as they took sharp, quick turns. This had to be the strangest, most awful twenty-four hours of her life.

She was riding in a car—
when did he rent a car?
—with a man who appeared to know the city as if it were his hometown, who had at least one too many coincidences as far as she was concerned, and who carried a gun. She was a fool for getting in the vehicle, but she hadn’t felt like she had a choice. The concierge didn’t speak her language and, according to John, wasn’t eager to give her another hotel room after she’d broken her first one. He said he wouldn’t give her a new room until after the police report had been filed, so she’d packed her bag and gotten in the car with John.

He’d saved her at the train station. And he let her keep the gun.

That means he’s one of the good guys, right?

A nighttime view of the streets of Van would normally excite her, but today she’d been attacked on every level that mattered: financially, academically, and physically.

The map Hejan had translated for her had been taken. Without it, heading east toward Iran was useless. She had no landmarks to match up terrain, and no historical data to cross-reference. She rolled her shoulders, a feeble attempt to shake off the tension that had gathered there. That area had been a long shot anyway.

Her best lead was still south, near Cizre, close to the Syrian border.
That
map had been in English from the start, and she’d stared at it until the image was imprinted upon her brain. She’d left the map in Tallahassee on purpose. Bringing it to Turkey would have been risky—she didn’t trust her fellow grad students, who all wanted in on her potential discovery.

Had the thief been after her prized map? If so, score one point for paranoia.

She couldn’t believe one of her fellow grad students was behind this, but who else would have a motive? The historic tunnel—if it existed—was destined to make headlines. Maybe it wouldn’t make her household-name famous, but she’d be known in archaeological circles, certainly.

But she still clung to the theory that this was all some horrific mistake. It had to be.

The roads were busier in the heart of the downtown area, even at this time of night. Cars drove erratically, not overly concerned with traffic laws. In spite of the fact that John was a skilled driver, she was tense from the unexpected movements of the other vehicles.

“Shouldn’t we be there by now? I mean, Van isn’t
that
big.”

“I think we’re being followed.”

She jolted upright. “What?”

“Relax. Don’t draw attention.”

“Relax. Right.” She tugged on her seat belt to make sure it was secure. “Which car?”

“Third one behind us. Blue Opel Astra sedan.”

She started to turn, and he dropped a hand on her knee. “Don’t look—you present a target.” He flipped down the visor on her side and opened the mirror flap. “Use the mirror.”

She adjusted the visor until she could see the car. The Astra just looked like any other car. She couldn’t see inside the dark vehicle. “How long have they been following?”

“Since the hotel. He was farther back for a while. He moved up after I took a few quick turns. He doesn’t want to lose us.”

“How are we going to lose him?”

“Simple.”

Without warning, John twisted the wheel and wove through oncoming vehicles. Cressida held her breath against a scream. She was going to die. In a violent car accident. And if she survived, she was going to kill John.

“Hold on,” he said, his voice calm and even as he threaded the needle between an oncoming bus and a man on a scooter.

Back in the proper lane, he took a sharp right, down a tight alley, and they wove between carts and garbage, finally coming out the other side. He zipped into a gap in the speeding traffic, and they were off, heading in the opposite direction from where they’d started.

“Did you see what happened to the car following us?”

She pressed a fist to her racing heart. “I assume they died in a fiery collision with the bus.”