Covert Evidence (14 page)

He wanted to enjoy the slide of her inner thighs against his hips as he thrust into her, to make her cry out his name as he brought her to orgasm.

The rush of heat was fast and furious. Logic disappeared in the wake of overwhelming want. From the way she kissed, the way she attacked the buttons on his shirt, she’d been hit by the same raw need. His arms tightened around her, then he stood, lifting her. This would be better if they moved to the bedroom.

But he hadn’t even taken a step when she pushed at his chest and said, “John, is that smoke?”

He shook his head, uncertain if she’d made a joke about the heat between them and feeling strangely irked she’d called him John. A second later, he smelled it.

Shit.
He set her on her feet and pulled his gun.
Of all the dumbass things to do
. He’d gotten fucking distracted, and now their “safe” house was on fire.

Chapter Thirteen

T
his was
not
happening. It couldn’t be real. Cressida was trapped in a nightmare. It wasn’t possible that Todd had appeared in Antalya; Hejan had been murdered; she’d been robbed (twice); possibly abducted (in spite of being foolish enough to want to jump in the sack with the man, she still wasn’t sure); and now black smoke poured from under the front door of the ramshackle hideaway.

Her gaze darted around. The side door to the carport was their best exit. She took a step toward the door, but John caught the back pocket of her jeans, stopping her.

“Not yet,” he said and nudged her backward. He scooped up the small rug she’d been standing on and dropped it against the base of the door, partially stemming the waves of smoke. Next he shoved the couch backward and slammed the heel of his boot into the floor, which gave way under the quick pressure of the blow. He knelt over the hole and tossed splinters of wood aside, then plucked a backpack from the hidden recess.

With the bag slung over his shoulder, he turned and caught her shocked gaze. “Firm believer in the Boy Scout motto,” he said, then strode past her toward the side door. She followed, plucking her gun from the kitchen counter on the way.

He paused by the exit. “We go together.” He nodded toward the gun in her hand. “Can you shoot if you have to?”

She nodded, tightening her grip on the weapon.

“I’ll unlock the car with the remote the moment we open the door. The driver’s door is closer. Dive in and crawl across to the passenger seat. I’ll follow and provide cover fire if need be.”

He did
not
just use the words “cover fire” in a sentence. She just stared at him, her mind caught on that one phrase and unable to move forward.

He stroked her cheek. “You’ll do fine, Cress. I believe in you.” Then he kissed her, a quick hard kiss that broke her mental paralysis.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “On three?” she asked, because wasn’t that what people said in these situations?

A smile lit his eyes. “On three.” He then whispered the count in her ear.

He shoved the door open, and she sprang forward. In seconds, she was inside the car and crawling across the gearshift, John right behind her. Thankfully there’d been no need for cover fire.

The engine started instantly. She hadn’t even twisted into her seat before they lurched backward down the short driveway, then, with a sharp turn, launched forward down the bumpy, pitted road.

She grappled for the seat belt as her head bounced against the roof. Finally settled in the seat with a fastened belt, she found her voice. “Is anyone following us?”

“No. But if the purpose was to smoke us out, they know we only have two choices once we hit the main road.”

“Which are?”

“Return to Van, or head west. There’s a NATO base in Batman.”

She glanced out the window. The night was pure inky black. No streetlights. No city lights. No car lights ahead or behind. Complete darkness, all around. “Which way are we going?”

“To Batman. You’ll be safe on the base.”

T
his time, Cressida didn’t protest and say she needed to gather research for her grant proposal. Being smoked out of the safe house appeared to have woken her to the seriousness of the situation. Or maybe it was learning Hejan had been murdered in her hotel room. Ian didn’t particularly care which had gotten through to her, he was just glad she was cooperating.

“How far is it to Batman?” she finally asked.

“About three hundred kilometers.”

“Can you translate that to hours?”

“Four and a half, maybe five. This time of night, we should get through the checkpoint quickly.”

“How will we get through? I don’t have my passport.”

“Hopefully I can talk our way through. If not, bribery.”

She slid down in her seat and murmured, “I can’t believe I’ve sunk to bribery.”

“You won’t do the bribing, I will. And only if it seems necessary.”

Ian drove in silence as he considered the situation. He’d set up the house near Kurubaş just a few weeks before, when Hejan had told him the microchip was destined for the Van region. Given the number of dwellings abandoned due to the earthquake, it had been an easy task to find a place that would suit his needs. At the time, he’d given himself twenty-to-one odds he’d need it, and fifty-to-one he’d need the apartment he’d outfitted in Siirt.

Because the Kurubaş house wasn’t an official asset, he’d told only one person the location, but thankfully, he’d told no one about the Siirt hideaway.

He just prayed they’d get to Siirt safely so he could stop running and call Stan. Because it appeared CIA rookie Zack Barrow—the only person who knew the location of the house on the outskirts of Kurubaş—was working for the wrong side.

Chapter Fourteen

A
s Zack knew he would, Ian was taking the girl to Batman. Zack had read Ian’s playbook and knew every move he’d make between Van and Batman. Admittedly, Zack had been surprised when Ian informed him of the remote safe house, but all the better to run him down in a place where he’d feel secure. Too bad Ian had plucked the wire from Cressida’s back pocket after smoke poured into his little hidey-hole. Zack found the listening device in the charred Turkish rug Ian had dumped in front of the door.

Finding it meant Ian suspected Zack, but then, Zack had never taken Ian for a dumb case officer, just a complacent one. Although the hideaway near Kurubaş didn’t argue for complacence. Ian was supposedly a decent poker player, but Zack knew every one of his tells.

The fact that Ian suspected Zack didn’t change the game. It just upped the stakes.

“Why aren’t we chasing them?” Todd Ganem asked from the passenger seat of the old British Land Rover. “You’re letting Cressida get away.”

Zack sighed. He was tired of dealing with Ganem’s inflated ego and foolish questions. The archaeologist’s loyalty remained unclear, but he’d been useful in drawing Cressida out of the hotel with a text message. That Hejan had given Todd’s cell phone number to Cressida and told her it belonged to her supposed guide had come as a surprise. Hejan had believed to his dying breath that Ganem was his ally. A fact Zack would do well to remember.

“You can’t chase in a Rover. But don’t worry, they’re going right where we want them. And by the time they get there, Ian Boyd will be the most wanted man in Turkey.” Zack put the Rover in gear and pulled onto the road. They’d follow at a distance. There’d be plenty of time to catch up when they reached the checkpoint. “It’s time for the Company’s favorite bastard to get burned.”

N
ot surprisingly, the checkpoint was quiet at two in the morning. The sleepy military guard requested their IDs with rote attention. Ian launched into his story of being mugged on their honeymoon in a mix of broken Turkish and English.

The Turkish soldier nodded for him to pull over to the side of the road. Without papers, a perfunctory examination of the vehicle was required.

He’d told Cressida they were pretending to be newlyweds visiting his ancestral villages. She stood by him next to the car, gripping his hand and leaning her head on his shoulder like a tired, besotted bride who’d just suffered an ordeal. That she could convey it all without speaking a word of Turkish impressed him. But then, she
had
been through an ordeal.

He brushed his lips across hers and suffered a pang that his life could never allow for a honeymoon with a woman like Cressida. He’d never considered himself a ’til-death-do-us-part type of guy, so it was a rare moment when he entertained such regrets. He’d decided years ago to share his twisted path with no one. He certainly wouldn’t punish a woman he cared about with a life of espionage.

The soldier asked him to open the trunk. He shined his flashlight on Ian’s suitcase—the one he’d carried on the flight and which contained only the innocuous contents needed for a business trip—Cressida’s suitcase and the backpack he’d grabbed in Kurubaş were tucked in the footwell of the backseat, and not likely to be examined in this token search. As a precaution, both guns were hidden under the driver’s seat. John Baker was licensed to carry in Turkey, but their plea of no papers meant he couldn’t prove it.

The soldier said he’d need to inspect the bag before they could be on their way. Ian hesitated, then decided not to attempt a bribe. The soldier seemed honest and showed no sign of intending to halt their journey. Ian plucked the suitcase from the trunk and handed it to the soldier.

The man nodded and carried the bag toward an inspection table.

Ian draped his arm around Cressida again and pressed another kiss to her temple. “We’re almost done, love.” That he whispered the endearment so only she could hear it blurred the lines between fiction and reality, but to her, he was John. Reality was far from twenty-twenty.

Several feet away, the guard unzipped the bag and began rifling through the contents. The man lifted a burner phone from the bag. “Your phone is ringing,” he said in Turkish.

Then Ian heard the ring. Old-fashioned—like a rotary dial phone from the seventies. But even creepier than hearing a phone that should be silent ring was knowing the phone should have been shut off completely.