Lethal Lies. Lara LacombeЧитать онлайн книгу.
had swallowed hard, not wanting to believe the carnage in front of him. “How did you know?”
Tony lifted one shoulder in an eloquent shrug. “You have your sources. I have mine.”
The realization that there was a double agent at work filled Alex with a potent rage. Not only had the bastard outted him, but whoever it was, they were also responsible for the deaths of the agents tonight. Without stopping to think, he grabbed Tony, intending to arrest the man and haul him in for questioning. Tony wasn’t about to go quietly, though, and in the ensuing scuffle, managed to shoot himself in the chest.
“Damn moron,” Alex muttered.
He wanted nothing more than to let the man die, but he needed Tony to reveal the name of his mole. So he had shoved him into the back seat of his POS car and set off, intending to get him patched up.
And that’s when the evening had gone from bad to worse.
Now he stepped out into the cold night air, his case manager’s words ringing in his ears. “Why’d you do it, man? Why did you betray us?”
“I didn’t.”
Alex pulled open the door to the backseat, eliciting a moan from Tony as the movement jostled him. Too bad. Any pity he might have felt for the man was gone, washed away in the blood of the operatives who had died tonight, all because of his actions.
He stooped and got an arm around the injured man. “Let’s go. Time to move.”
“No, please. No more. Leave me alone.”
Alex ignored his request, pulling with a steady pressure until Tony slid from the car. He was a skinny guy and Alex had no trouble carrying him to the door of the motel room. He deposited Tony on one of the beds and stepped back, staring down at the man. His shirt was saturated with blood, and Alex could feel the sticky wetness on his own hands. Repulsed, he wiped his palms on his pants, needing to remove the stain of Tony’s blood from his skin. God, would he ever be clean again?
Feeling old beyond his years, Alex walked to the bathroom door and paused. He hated himself for having kidnapped this woman, this doctor who held his life in her hands. Hated terrorizing her, threatening her, hurting her. He’d tried to be careful with her, but given the ferocity of her struggles in the parking lot, he’d had to use more force than he’d intended to subdue her. He hoped she wasn’t too bruised from their encounter, but did it really matter? He’d kidnapped her, and he was going to force her to treat Tony’s injuries in a bid to keep the scum alive. In the grand scheme of things, a few bruises were the least of his worries right now.
He opened the door and she jerked, shrinking back from him as he entered the tiny bathroom. Her eyes were huge brown pools in her pale face and he had to look away, unable to stand her hunted expression as she studied him warily.
Alex stepped forward, pulling out his knife so he could cut through the plastic cuffs. She gasped and shoved away, her feet scrabbling wildly as she kicked at him in self-defense. He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath through his nose.
Idiot. What did you think she would do?
“Please,” she whimpered.
Her pitiful plea hit him like a punch to the gut. He was driven to find the mole to protect innocent people, but at what cost? The woman in front of him was completely blameless; her hands were clean of any wrongdoing. Her only mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now her life was forever changed. It pained him to admit it, but she was one more casualty in this war. One more life, irrevocably altered, by the actions of a few bad men.
And one more mark added to his personal tally of destruction.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. She stopped kicking and stared up at him with a look of profound distrust. Not that he could blame her.
He gestured to her wrists with his free hand. “I want to cut the restraints off. I won’t cut you, I promise.”
She held his gaze for a long moment. He remained still, waiting for her to give him permission to approach. It wouldn’t change things, but he wanted her to understand, even if only on an instinctual level, that he truly wouldn’t hurt her.
Finally she nodded once. He knelt and reached for her wrists, trying not to notice how fragile the bones felt in his hands. Like a bird’s wing, he thought. All graceful lines, perfectly formed.
The skin of her inner wrist was so pale as to be almost translucent, and he could see the dark blue lines of the veins that snaked from hand to forearm. He caught her shudder as he brought the blade close to that vulnerable skin, and was struck by the sudden urge to gather her in his arms, press her to his chest and rock her, to convince her with his body, if not his words, that he would keep her safe.
The knife sliced cleanly through the thin plastic. Once free, she snatched her hands away from him and wriggled to put more space between them. He felt an odd hollowness in his chest at the loss of contact, but quickly shoved it aside as he stood and returned the knife to his pocket. Time to check on Tony.
“My—” he almost choked on the word “—friend is on the bed. I need you to fix him.”
She stared up at him, her light brown eyes narrowing as he towered over her. “What if I can’t?” She thrust her chin out in defiance, but he caught the flicker of fear that danced across her face.
“You can.”
He’d meant the words to be reassuring, but her face blanched, losing the little color she had. Not wanting to scare her further, he elected to keep his mouth shut. He gestured with his arm and she slowly rose.
“He’s on the bed.”
She kept her eyes on him as she moved, reminding him of a watchful cat. She inched around him, pressing her back to the wall, careful to keep space between them. He caught a whiff of vanilla as she passed, and resisted the temptation to haul her close so he could bury his nose in her hair. The warm scent reminded him of home, but he knew she wouldn’t welcome his touch. Not now.
Not ever, he told himself firmly. In another life, she would have been his type. With her dark blond hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, soft brown eyes and gently curving mouth, she was just the kind of girl-next-door he preferred. Pretty but not intimidatingly so. A woman who could hang out with the guys in the afternoon then put on a ball gown and knock his socks off at night. And since she was a doctor, he knew she was smart, to boot. In other words, she was the perfect woman, the embodiment of all his fantasies.
And totally off-limits.
With a soft sigh he followed her into the main room. While he didn’t think she’d try to run before treating Tony, he couldn’t give her a chance to call for help. With the 3 Star Killers and the FBI after him, his life depended on staying off the grid. The last thing he needed was a 9-1-1 call revealing their location. His case handler already thought he was a traitor—if he discovered Alex had kidnapped a woman, he would never believe the truth, and Alex would be dead before the next sunrise.
I just need a few hours.
That’s all. Just a little bit of time to make sure Tony was going to survive. Once he was sure the bastard wasn’t going to die on him, he’d make his move and clear his name.
Jillian kept her eyes on the man lying on the bed as she shrugged off her black coat. She’d entertained a brief but vivid fantasy of kicking her kidnapper in the face and bolting from the room, but logic told her she wouldn’t get far. Besides, she couldn’t leave this man alone to die. It wasn’t in her nature to ignore a person in pain, not if she could do something to help.
She dropped the coat in the chair and scooped the bag of medical supplies off the chipped table. Fishing out a pair of gloves, she pulled them on as she walked over to her patient.
He