Dangerous Assignment (Aegis Group Book 4) (15 page)

She stepped into the hall and nearly walked into the wall of muscle that was Marco.

“Follow me,” he said.

Abigail fell into step beside him. He walked slowly, probably for her benefit.

“They said you were an Israeli spy.” Marco stared straight ahead. The overhead lights were dim, a later addition to the ages old structure. “Some of those marks were old. I heard a rumor they torture new Mossad recruits. Is that true?”

Parts of her clanked together. She’d been conditioned for so long to be the good little Mossad agent. The girl who never refused an order. Always did what she was told. And look where that got her? Nearly dead in a pit. Baron had used the two people who mattered to her without a second thought. Whatever allegiance she’d owed him or Mossad was gone. She couldn’t be their perfect weapon ever again. That knowledge left her adrift.

She really was a free agent.

“Yes, they spend five weeks breaking you. In week four they had to med-evac me to a hospital. The training is no joke.”

“Shit.” Marco was quiet for a few steps. “Luke’s a good guy. I’m glad you didn’t get him killed.”

Like she’d gotten Ethan killed?

She glanced at a window as they passed.

It would be easy to jump out of one. They were wide, with a good stone sill. She could jump up and out before Marco could stop her.

“Shit—I didn’t mean…” Marco sighed and his pace slowed. He stared up at the mosaic ceiling without seeing the artistry. “I suck at the bedside manner shit.”

“It is my fault your friend died. And—”

“Bullshit,” Marco barked. “You didn’t make that fucker set the bombs. You might not be innocent, but you didn’t kill Ethan. We know that much.”

“No, but he wouldn’t have been there if I wasn’t.”

“You should get over yourself.” Marco turned up a set of spiraling stairs.

She stared up at the man’s ass as it disappeared around the bend.

Abigail took several stairs two at time, despite the twinge of pain and the stitch in her side. It hurt, in a bad way, which only proved Marco’s diagnosis was probably on point.

“It was my fault,” she said.

Marco stopped and turned so fast she almost face-planted into his chest.

“Thinking like that’s going to get us killed. Guys like him? They do bad shit. You want to pretend like it’s your fault? You’re going to get us screwed, and I’d like to make it back for my dad’s birthday, if you don’t mind, so stop focusing on yourself.”

“Who died?”

Marco flinched.

It was the wrong question, she knew it, could see the signs, but she threw it out there anyway.

“Ethan’s death isn’t your fault.” Marco turned.

She let him climb several steps before she followed.

If she had to guess, someone very close to Marco had died. Family? Someone he saw as blood? He had that walking wounded glint in his wild wolf eyes. He’d been captured. A POW? For how long? Did it help him sleep better to put the blame on someone else? She hoped so. Because in her line of work, she was the only one to blame.

Marco led her down the hall to a room on the end of the third floor and left her without another word.

She closed the door behind her but didn’t bother with the lock. Luke would come looking for her and where he was concerned, she had no more fight left to give.

Clothes were piled on the big bed. A shower would feel so good. But first she needed to sit on something that wasn’t moving.

She crossed to the low window across from the bed and sat on the cushions some smart person had laid on the stone. She didn’t pull the curtain aside. With the sun streaming in, she could see enough through the thin linen.

What was she going to do?

The Smiths were the end of her plan, and they were gone.

Now she had an unknown someone out there, and Luke and all his friends to think of. Plus, who the heck in Mossad was in on it? She didn’t know. The only person she could trust was Luke, and he needed to be as far away from her as he could get. The smart thing to do would be to shower, change and leave. Get somewhere she could lay low, heal up, and figure out her next steps. But what kind of a life was that? It wasn’t living. It wasn’t even accomplishing anything.

Abigail leaned her head back against the wall, soaking up the warmth. She was too weary to go on, but she couldn’t give up. Not now. Because very soon someone would realize the key to getting control of her was Luke.

She’d get up and go in a minute… Just one more minute with her eyes closed was all she needed…

Luke sat facing the
wall, but his attention was on the door.

Abigail was somewhere overhead. He wanted to be with her. Not having his eyes on her bothered him. A lot. Which was strange. She’d be fine here. Their base of operations on the coast was secure.

The only times they hadn’t been near each other was when she was being physically and mentally tortured. Maybe it was habit to worry about her, or maybe it was something else.

Marco stepped through the doors and nodded at Zain.

Luke’s hand curled into a fist.

“How much do you know about her?” Zain turned to face Luke.

All eyes were on him. He forced his hand to flatten on the worn surface of the table and leaned forward.

“A lot,” he replied. Enough that his trust was won.

“I wasn’t able to find much on her. The Abigail alias is good, but not great.” Zain tapped at his screen.

“She said it wasn’t that great.”

“What’s her real name? What do you really know about her?”

“She’s Mossad. And she’s got some guilt ridding on her back.” Marco pulled out a chair at the end of the table and sat down.

“Mossad? Fuck.” Zain sat back in his chair.

Luke glared at Marco.

“What?” Marco glared back. “I saw those scars. She’s either former or current Mossad, and you’re caught up in some bad shit, man.”

“Trust me when I say—she’s good.” Luke wasn’t going to betray her confidence, no matter what she urged him to do.

“You’re sleeping with her.” Zain’s voice was flat. “You don’t get to make that call.”

“Really? Coming from you, that’s rich.” Luke’s laugh was bitter. They’d all heard about Zain’s stunt. They’d seen his client. Hell, she practically lived at the man’s desk when she was visiting, not that Luke was going to begrudge Zain falling for someone, but that was the pot calling the kettle black.

“Andrea was never a suspect. Abigail is an Israeli spy.” Zain tapped his screen and a picture of her with Mrs. Smith in the lobby of the hotel filled the wall. “Who knows what she was doing? The woman you know might be playing you.”

“The fuck she’s playing us. Those guys holding her? They tortured her. They weren’t kidding around.”

“We know next to nothing about her, and we have no way to verify her story.” Zain sat his tablet on the table and folded his hands together. “I can’t in good conscience say we can protect her—”

“What the fuck, Zain? She’s the reason I survived the last week.”

“She’s also a
spy
. A
wanted
spy.”

“She’s good people.” Luke narrowed his gaze.

“All I know about her is that she’s using a fake name, meant to kill our clients, and got you kidnapped by Mossad. By the people you say trained her. Is there something else we should know? Because right now all I see are reasons to turn her over.”

“No.” Luke’s vision hazed red. They didn’t know. They didn’t understand.

“What I want to know is why’d they torture her and not you?” Marco asked.

“Abigail said they were torturing her to get me to talk so they would have plausible reasons to release me or some bullshit.” Luke didn’t like that answer, or the reasoning behind it.

Marco muttered barely intelligible curses. “How the fuck did you keep your mouth shut then?”

“Fuck you,” Luke snapped.

“No, I’m serious. We all know you rescue damsels in distress, so why not tell them what they wanted to hear and get out of there?”

“Because…” Luke clenched his hands. “Because if I said a word, if I told them enough to make them happy, they’d let me go, and kill her.”

“They tell you that?” Zain asked.

“No, she did, but—”

“How do you know she’s telling you the truth?” Marco held up his hands. “I’m just asking, man. You don’t have the best track record when it comes to women. I mean, where the hell did Dianna even go?”

Dianna. Shit. A week ago Luke had lain awake at night, hoping she was okay. Now she wasn’t even an afterthought.

“She moved back in with her mother,” Luke said. He couldn’t deny Marco’s accusations, but Abigail was different. She wasn’t someone who needed to be rescued, not the way Dianna had. “Abigail’s telling us the truth.”

“Give me a reason to believe in her.” Zain spread his hand in supplication. He was a fair team leader when the need arose for him to be in the field, which wasn’t often.

“Let’s put it to a vote,” Marco said. “Who thinks she’s full of shit?”

Marco raised his hand and glared around the room. A few of the other guys muttered curses and others joined Marco’s forced vote with raised hands and averted eyes.

“Okay, who thinks this badass Mossad spy is our best bet to finding who killed Ethan?” Marco’s hand remained lifted.

Almost every hand in the room went up.

“There you have it.” Marco crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back. “She might be lying and dragging Idris over there around by the balls, but we can all agree she’s our best option.” He stared down his nose at Luke.

“The boss is not going to be on board with this,” Zain said.

“Ethan was one of ours.” Marco glared.

“Are we sure he’s really dead?” Listening to Abigail had made Luke paranoid. What if it was a ruse?

“No, until we get the body we don’t really know.” Zain leaned back and folded his hands. “And we haven’t said anything to his wife—just that there was an accident.”

“Shit.” Luke scrubbed one hand down his face.

“I’ll get us home. From there we can figure it out.” Zain stood. “Get some sleep. I’ll work out logistics.”

The guys made for the door in ones and twos.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Luke pushed to his feet. He wouldn’t risk mentioning the bomb until they were home. Their communications were encrypted and secure, but a secret like this needed to be told to the right person.

“Luke, hold up.”

He stood and stretched, keeping one eye on Marco stalking toward him.

“How’s Travis?” Luke slapped Marco’s hand.

“He’s not good.” Marco grimaced.

That was what Luke was afraid of. Travis and Ethan had served together. They’d been through a hell of a lot, and the loss of one would weigh heavily on the other. At least now Travis had Bliss. The woman had a grounding effect on the other man.

“Look, I don’t mean to hate on your girl. You know how it looks?” Marco’s unwavering stare was the stuff that broke lesser men.

“And I know what you don’t know.” Luke shrugged.

“It makes that much difference?”

“It does.” Just the thought of what Baron had put her through—then what he’d made her into?

“I’m just asking a question.” Marco held up his hands and took a step back.

“No, not you.” Luke scrubbed a hand over his face. Yeah, he probably looked like he wanted to murder someone.

“It’s that bad?”

“Worse.” They had no idea.

“Okay.” Marco stared at him a moment longer. “You need anything, I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks.” Luke slapped Marco on the shoulder.

“She’s in the room on the end. I think there’s a go bag for you by the door over there. I imagine if we hear anything knocking around—don’t come to check?” Marco grinned.

“Ear plugs. Wear ’em.”

“Go easy on her. Until we know more about the fluid in her lungs, no strenuous exercise. Doctor’s orders.”

Luke strode ahead of Marco and snagged the bag closest to the door. So long as he got a shower and a change of boots he’d keep wearing what he had on. It took less than forty-five seconds to climb the stairs and walk down the hall. He stopped outside the door, staring at the wooden surface. Everything in him wanted to be near her. But what was best for her? Was it him? Or was he another Baron in her life? He didn’t think he was using her, but his judgment was clouded.

He swallowed and pulled the door open, stepping in and securing it before one of the guys tromping into the other rooms got an eyeful.

The bed was empty.

The room was silent.

He almost missed the small lump on the window seat.

Luke’s heart didn’t know if it should melt or break.

Abigail still wore the same dirty, bloodstained clothes they’d escaped Amman in. She was curled up, her cheek pillowed against stone, sound asleep.