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  He looked away a moment, the concept clearly too painful to bear. “Why would she have kept a secret like that from me? Wouldn’t she have wanted to use that information to her advantage? There were numerous opportunities when I was involved in high-level operations with the capacity for worldwide ramifications. We are talking about a woman deeply entrenched in the world of intelligence.”

  He had a valid point. Victoria considered that view for a moment. Then she understood the motive, and conviction flooded her on the heels of the epiphany.

  A rap on the door of her office drew their attention there. Ian waited in the open doorway. “We’re ready to depart.”

  “On our way,” Lucas assured him.

  Victoria surveyed her office one last time as she gathered her purse and scarf. She glanced out the window and said a quick prayer that they would all make it back here safely.

  Lucas helped her into her jacket and escorted her to the elevators. As they waited for one to arrive, Victoria needed to finish what she’d had to say before Ian’s arrival.

  “Lucas.” He turned to her. “I think you’re right about her using Keaton to her advantage. I think she has likely done that his entire life.” She searched her husband’s eyes. “But I think there’s something else she has considered more advantageous and that’s why you never knew. She had an ace up her sleeve if she ever needed one. The precise opportunity just hadn’t presented itself.”

  Lucas slowly nodded. “I’ve considered that possibility myself. Thomas is looking into what she’s been up to. But uncovering her secrets won’t be easy. She’s a master at concealment.”

  A soft chime announced the elevator’s arrival. Victoria took her husband’s hand and squeezed it. “I think we’re about to find out what she’s been up to.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  8:48 a.m.

  Slade had driven around for more than an hour before choosing this primitive village. Maggie couldn’t even pronounce the name, much less spell it. He’d rented an abandoned shack on the outskirts of the village from an old man who claimed to own it. There was no electricity or plumbing. A ragged bed leaned in one corner of the single room, while a scarred, wobbly table surrounded by two worn chairs huddled in the center. The cracks in the floorboards were wide enough for every manner of insect and rodent to feel welcome. Two windows were nothing more than square holes in the battered walls. Cobwebs lined most corners while dust coated every flat surface.

  After what she’d been through, luxury wasn’t high on her priority list. She could live with candles and bottled water.

  What she couldn’t live with was Slade’s insistence on getting himself killed. He still intended to go after the Dragon while leaving Maggie here, alone, in this remote village. Like last time, he’d gathered supplies from a local general store of sorts. She sensed the urgency in his every move.

  She desperately wanted to call for help. Did they even have telephone service here? Slade kept his cell phone in his vest pocket. Her chances of getting her hands on it were about negative ten.

  He refused to listen to reason! Couldn’t he see that they needed help?

  “Can I have a look at your arm now?” The bleeding had stopped, but he hadn’t taken the time to allow her to clean the wound or bandage it.

  He moved from the window and sat down in one of the chairs. “Sure.”

  Maggie had no idea what had happened between the time he left her at the flat and when he’d ambushed her kidnappers, but he seemed more remote than usual. She picked through the bags of supplies she’d gotten at the store. No need for the feminine-hygiene pads now since the bleeding had stopped. She’d had the fleeting idea since some guy patronizing her coffee shop who’d gotten a terrible nosebleed had used one of his girlfriend’s tampons to staunch the flow. The peroxide, ointment and bandages she could use. And the bandannas. Who knew how clean they were. She’d chosen a pale blue, the lightest color available, in hopes that the residual dye in the fabric would be minimal.

  “Do you want to take off your shirt?” The sleeves were long and there was the vest over the shirt. She bit her lower lip as she considered having the opportunity to get her hands on that cell phone tucked in one those vest pockets. Service might be nonexistent here, but she would sure like the chance to try.

  He stood, peeled off the black vest with all its pock ets and gear, then he tugged the skintight shirt over his head. He grimaced as the sleeve rolled off his injured arm. Maggie winced on his behalf. That had to hurt.

  As soon as he was seated again, she inspected the wound. An ugly tear, shallow enough not to have hit bone. She didn’t know about muscle damage. What they really needed was a doctor.

  “You might need stitches.” She frowned at the bloody, angry gash.

  “Clean it up and bandage it with whatever you have.” He glanced up at her. “Or I can do it.”

  She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. “I’ll do it. But if you get an infection, don’t blame me.”

  He said nothing. She wasn’t thick skulled. She realized that the injury was the least of his worries just now. A wave of weakness softened her knees. What in the world were they going to do?

  Be strong, Maggie. He’d protected her so far. But she feared his ability to protect himself was sorely compromised. And that poor woman and her grandson. Slade hadn’t said a word about them.

  “I’m sorry about your friends.” She cleaned away the blood from the injury, which took some doing. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t respond to her comment.

  “Lavena seemed fond of you.” Maggie had no idea what the dynamics of their relationship had been, but such heinous murders were a terrible thing just the same.

  “She was a contact.” He shifted in his chair as Maggie applied the ointment. “A resource. Nothing more.”

  Maggie considered his tone, the words he had used. “Whatever she was to you, she’s dead now.” It made her angry that he showed no sadness whatsoever. “Those terrible men shot her in her own house. They murdered her grandson in his bathtub. It was awful, just awful.” Her voice grew more high-pitched as she spoke. She hadn’t wanted to sound harsh, but she just couldn’t ignore the truth as he seemed able to do.

  “They knew the risks.”

  Maggie’s hands fell away from his arm, her mouth gaped in astonishment. Just when she thought nothing else could shock her. “Did you hear yourself?” What kind of person thought like that?

  The man to whom she had given her heart, apparently.

  Slade looked up at her. “Did you hear me?”

  What the Sam Hill did that mean? “I heard exactly what you said.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. How could he be so callous?

  She couldn’t do this. He grabbed her arm before she could turn away. He didn’t speak until she looked at him. “I told you, you wouldn’t like my world. This—” he pressed her with those dark gray eyes “—is my world. Kill or be killed. Walking away from the dead and just being glad it wasn’t you.”

  Yanking her hand free of his, she tore at the wrappers on the bandages. Her fingers fumbled and that made her even madder.

  “I’m not that man you imagined me to be,” he went on. “I let you see what I wanted you to see. The rest you made up as we went along. That’s what humans do. They fill in the blanks with the story they want to believe. You created the fairy tale, Maggie. I just gave you the jumping-off point.”

  Outrage burst inside her. “I made it up? Humans do this?” What did that make him? She slapped a palm against her chest. “I have the problem, is that it?” She couldn’t believe this. Did he not see how wrong his thinking was? How could anyone so smart be so blind?

  He reached for the bandages. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

  Maggie stilled. Her insides went deathly quiet. It wasn’t so much the words he said but the way he said them. Here was a man who had been abused, forced as a child to learn and accomplish horrific deeds most adults never experienced. His emotions had been batte
red out of him. He had carried that ugliness with him for thirty years. Most likely for the first time in all those years he had dared to share some part of that truth with someone and she had just done what he had feared all along.

  She hadn’t understood. She’d treated him like a freak.

  He was undeniably correct. She was the one with the problem.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He didn’t look at her as she spoke. “I’m the one with the problem.” She watched as he fumbled with the bandages. Finally she couldn’t take it anymore and pushed his hands away. “Let me do it.”

  Maggie took her time, lining up the bandages until the gash was fully covered. He definitely needed a few stitches, but there was not a thing she could do about that. Carefully, she wrapped a bandanna around the row of bandages and tied it snugly. “Maybe that’ll work.”

  He glanced at his arm. “Thanks.”

  She washed her hands with the peroxide and the other bandanna. “You want something to eat?” There was a variety of snacks and bottled water. The way her stomach felt right now, she might not be able to keep anything down. “You must be starving.”

  He stood. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

  Ire stirred once more as he strode to the window and stared out at the miles and miles of nothing but dirt and scrub grass. He wasn’t going to make this easy. She had learned that when he wanted to push her away he avoided using her name. What was that all about? Was it because he’d changed identities so many times that names were somehow irrelevant?

  Had he acquired an innate ability not to get attached to a name because he knew he would have to change it the next time that evil woman caught up with him? What kind of life was that?

  “What’s your real name?” Maggie asked as she joined him at the primitive window. The bright sun made her squint; looking at him made her yearn to touch that incredibly well-defined chest. It was crazy that even after what they’d been through and what she now knew, she was drawn to him on every imaginative level. Hormones? That had to be it. She forced herself to focus on her original question. “What was the name you were given at birth?”

  “The names I’ve used in the past are irrelevant.”

  Since he didn’t look at her and his tone was devoid of emotion, she wasn’t sure if he meant what he said or if he just made the statement for the shock value. He’d proven consistent in his determination not to reveal any facts about himself, much less any emotions. That he’d shared anything personal was stunning. Then again, she figured that he had reason to believe she wouldn’t survive this ordeal, or he wouldn’t have given her that bit of information.

  “But your birth name was different,” she countered, unwilling to give up the fight for more. “That’s your true name.” He couldn’t argue her point. Well, unless a person legally changed his or her birth name. She felt confident that wasn’t the case.

  He turned his head so that he stared down his shoulder at her. She knew that move. Intimidation. Subtle, but there nonetheless. That he towered over her, bare chested and looking incredibly sexy and somehow vulnerable at the same time, made her ache to reach out. But he didn’t want her to touch him that way. He didn’t want to connect on an emotional level, and the way she wanted to touch him was all about emotions.

  “What difference does it make? I’ve told you too much already.” His attention shifted back to the wide-open world outside where an ominous threat waited for him to show up for the final battle.

  The big, wide world where he had never been safe, not a day in his life. Maggie ached at the thought. “It matters because it’s yours,” she said softly, her own emotion choking her. “No one but you has the right to take it away or discard it.”

  “I discarded it.”

  How could he be so detached about his identity? Who he was mattered. He mattered.

  “If you discarded it that means you don’t care, so why not tell me?” There. Let him come up with an excuse not to answer her now.

  Rather than answer, he walked away from her.

  Maggie almost gave up. What difference did it make? By tomorrow he would likely be dead or someplace else with a new name. Either way he would be gone.

  If she survived, her child would grow up never knowing his father. Considering all that she knew, wouldn’t that be a blessing?

  Uncertainty tore at her. How was she supposed to know?

  She should just tell him. The thought startled her. Her intention had been not to tell him. If he stayed because of the baby, that would be wrong. She wanted him to stay because he wanted to stay. Was that selfish of her? Should she be thinking of her child rather than herself? Would her child resent that she had withheld this truth from his father? It wasn’t as if she would lie if her child asked one day.

  And what about Slade? Didn’t he have any rights? Wasn’t that the reason he carried such a massive grudge? Because his own mother had never cared about his rights or his feelings?

  Maggie summoned her shaky courage. “There’s something you should know.”

  He dragged on his shirt. Reached for his vest.

  “I’m serious, Slade.” She almost laughed at herself. As if the past twenty-four hours or so had been anything other than serious.

  “Stay inside. Away from the windows.”

  He wasn’t going to answer her. He was leaving again. “You’re leaving? After all that’s happened?” She threw up her hands in frustration. “This suicide mission of yours is the biggest thing you’ve got going on?”

  Her breath caught. She hadn’t meant to say that.

  For a single second he only stared at her. “I’ll get word to you when it’s safe to leave. If you don’t hear anything, after forty-eight hours, call your friends at the Colby Agency. The old man who let this place can get you to a phone.”

  Maggie felt cold. Empty. But she knew what she had to do. “I’m pregnant.”

  He walked out the door.

  SLADE KEPT WALKING. HIS instincts were railing at him to pay attention to his surroundings, but he couldn’t do it. Her words kept ringing in his ears.

  I’m pregnant.

  He didn’t have to ask her if she was certain. Maggie would know for sure before hitting him with this. She would never do this to trap him. She would never try to use anyone. Not him. Not a child.

  His feet stalled, unable to continue carrying him wherever the hell he was going.

  She had been carrying this burden since she’d shown up at the brownstone the night of the explosion. Had she come to tell him?

  How could he be a father?

  Fear twisted deep in his belly.

  He couldn’t be a father. He lacked the skills.

  Didn’t she know that he was incapable of true emotion? That he was nothing?

  Movement on the narrow lane that led to the village dragged his attention back to the present. A man on a bicycle was…heading this way…shouting.

  Slade’s right hand went automatically to his weapon.

  The man was still shouting when he braked to a stop so fast he almost landed in the dirt right in front of Slade. It was the old man who’d rented them this damn shack.

  “Gringos in the village asking about you and the woman.” He burst into Spanish from there.

  Three men in a big black SUV were questioning villagers about Slade and the woman with red hair.

  Slade glanced back at the window where Maggie watched.

  She carried his child.

  He had to protect her…had to protect that child…the way his father had not protected him.

  Slade turned back to the old man still frantically waving his arms and rambling on about the gringos. Slade grabbed his wrist. When he had his full attention, he explained, “I have an offer for you.”

  The man’s eyes widened with disbelief as Slade gave him the details. Two minutes later the old man drove away in the Jeep, headed back to the village. Slade rolled the bicycle back to the shack.

  Maggie met him at the door. “I’m afraid to ask.�
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  “They’re in the village looking for us.”

  Her eyes rounded in fear as she stepped back to allow him to pass.

  “I made a deal with the old man, but we have to lay low for a while.” Slade gathered some of the snacks and a couple of bottles of water and tucked them into his backpack. Maggie stood right where he’d left her next to the door.

  “That’s it?”

  She was angry. But this wasn’t the time. He slung the backpack over his shoulder. “You did hear at least part of what the guy said, right?”

  Without bothering to answer, she swiveled on her heel and walked out the door. Slade followed. He shook off the haze still cluttering his head. He’d deal with her news later.

  If he lived long enough.

  He swung onto the bike the old man had left. He patted the handlebars. “Hop up here.”

  She shot him an are-you-kidding look.

  “I have no way to estimate how much time we have. I would suggest we get moving.”

  Maggie straddled the front wheel, braced her hands on the handlebars and hopped up. Slade licked his lips and resisted the urge to cup her backside with his hands. What was it about this woman that could, for a moment, make him forget even an impending threat?

  Slade took the path the old man had told him about. He got to keep the Jeep if he convinced the gringos that the man and his redheaded woman had dumped it in favor of a better ride. The old man had no reason to renege on the deal. The Dragon’s men wouldn’t be offering any better deals. But Slade hadn’t lived this long by assuming anything.

  Rather than go to the cousin’s house the old man had offered, Slade rode the bike to the rock outcropping a hundred or so yards from the shack and stopped. He set Maggie on her feet.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “Just in case.”

  When the bike was hidden from view, Slade settled into position, binoculars and weapon in hand.

  Maggie crouched down beside him. “Will they try to kill us now or take us to her?”

  “As long as they don’t find us, they won’t do either.” He scanned the road in both directions. The answer was far more complicated than that, but his comment would, hopefully, satisfy her.