And that really pissed him off. Because he was more than nothing. His team had been more than nothing. And suddenly, because of her, if it was the last thing he did, he wanted not only justice for them, but he wanted this bastard taken out. And he wanted to be the one doing it.

“All right, Ms. Hot Tamale Diaz,” he said, deciding to give her what she wanted. “We’re going to play this out. We are going to proceed as though we have our fingers on the trigger of a gun that’s going to go boom in the face of the man who killed a lot of good men, a lot of innocent people, and ruined my life.

“But so help me God,” he warned her when relief and satisfaction filled her eyes, “if you don’t deliver the goods—”

“I’ll deliver,” she promised. And though he had a shitload of reasons not to trust her, the conviction in her words made him want to believe—at least part of her story. She was still lying her gorgeous ass off about who she was and what she did. Reporter? Not a chance. She was personally vested in this—her heavy-handed tactics at the bar told that story.

“If you sell me out, chica, be warned: There’s not a corner of this earth remote enough for you to hide in.”

She had nothing to say to that, but her eyes told him he’d made her a believer.

“Aeropuerto. Rapido,” he told the taxi driver, hoping to hell he wasn’t going to regret his decision.

9

When Brown decided to move, he moved. They hit the Jorge Chavez International Airport running. First stop was at a small hangar far away from the busy international commercial terminals. With an order for the cabdriver to wait that Brown insured by tipping him with some of the money he’d lifted from her pockets, he grabbed her hand and they raced into the building.

“Do you think we’re being followed?” she asked breathlessly.

“If there had been more than one shooter, we’d have met up with him before we left the hotel.”

That made sense, but didn’t stop her from constantly looking over her shoulder.

The hangar housed several small private planes and as Brown jogged briskly across the concrete floor, she’d either have to keep up or fall flat on her face. He dragged her along behind him at a break-neck pace.

“What are we doing here?” They ducked around and under several wings before stopping beside a vintage twin turboprop Beechcraft King Air.

“Getting my passport.”

The Beechcraft was a sweetheart of a plane—her dad had been a Beechcraft buff so she recognized the make and model immediately. PRIMETIME AIR CARGO was sprawled across the gleaming white fuselage in glittering red, white, and blue letters.

For a man who claimed no love of country, they were interesting color choices, she thought as he unlocked the door with a key he fished out of his boot.

And for a man who didn’t want anyone to think he gave two rips about anything, the plane was immaculately clean and well cared for.

“If you sell me out, chica, be warned: There’s not a corner of this earth remote enough for you to hide in.”

Despite the pulsing heat under the tin roof of the hangar, she suppressed a shiver at the memory of the look in his eyes. He’d meant it. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—or like a man who’d been played by a woman.

But that sword sliced both ways. If it turned out he’d lied and he was responsible for Ramon’s death, she wouldn’t hesitate to throw him to the wolves.

“We’d better ditch the guns here. Stash them in the plane.” He held out his hand.

He was right. They’d never make it past airport security. Reluctantly, she handed hers over.

“Wait here.” He tucked her Glock in his waistband and pulled down the airstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

He trotted up the five steps and ducked inside. Curious about what she’d find inside, she ignored his order to wait and followed him up the stairs.

He spun around so fast that if he hadn’t grabbed her and pulled her against him, she would have tumbled backward down the steps.

For a very long, very intense several seconds, they stood that way. Him gripping her upper arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, their gazes clashing and hot. For a wild and crazy instant, she thought he would kiss her. For an even wilder and crazier instant, she thought she might let him.

“I told you to wait,” he growled, breaking the spell.

Stunned by her reaction to him, she lifted her chin and gave him a “you’re not the boss of me” look.

He shook his head and with a roll of his eyes, let her go.

And damn if she wasn’t shaking. She steadied herself with a deep breath.

What the hell was that?

Adrenaline. Had to be. And sleep deprivation. And the constant, recurring memory of the pillow exploding on the bed from the gunman’s MP5K.

While Brown dug around in the cockpit, she grounded herself by looking around the plane. Pretty basic, totally empty. Apparently the cargo business wasn’t merely a front. The passenger seats had been removed and the fuselage was rigged with nylon straps fixed to the floor to secure freight.

“Let’s go.” Suddenly he was right behind her.

She jumped and whirled around. Hyper- awareness. More proof that she was running on empty.

He stuffed his passport and some cash into his hip pocket.

“You travel light.”

“I travel fast.” Face grim, he headed down the airstairs.

Whatever that moment had been about earlier, he clearly hadn’t liked it any better than she had. Which was fine with her.

“Now what?” she asked after he’d locked up and they were hustling back toward the hangar door.

“This is your show, chica. You tell me.”

After a quick look around outside to insure that they hadn’t been followed, he gripped her elbow and sprinted for the waiting cab.

• • •

Her Kevlar vest had stopped two rounds from penetrating her chest cavity. Besides saving her life, the vest had saved her from broken ribs when she’d hit the roof of the cab. Pain ripped through her body with every breath she drew, but she’d recover. It was her arm that worried her. She couldn’t feel her hand anymore, and blood still trickled sticky and warm down her arm, despite the makeshift tourniquet she’d forced the cabdriver to tie at gunpoint.

Slumped in the backseat of the stinking, hot relic of a taxi, she felt herself slipping. Blood loss. Shock. Disbelief that she’d blown it so badly. That she’d become the prey. That both targets had gotten away.

She was so damn pissed.

“H… how long?” she asked in Spanish, disgusted by the weakness in her voice.

The adrenaline that had mainlined through her system when she’d tumbled off the roof of the cab and had made it possible for her to crawl into the backseat had let her down. Her MP5K had easily persuaded him to speed away from the hotel, then park in a back alley several blocks away. It seemed like an eternity had passed since she’d made him use his phone to call the number she’d committed to memory before she’d left for Lima. She never commissioned a job without a contingency plan, and was anal-retentive about backup—even though she’d never had to use it until now.

The cabbie quaked behind the wheel. “Twenty-seven minutes,” he said, the fear thick in his trembling voice. He’d learned quickly to be precise.

Twenty-seven minutes. Two minutes since she’d asked the last time.

What was taking so damn long? Someone should be here by now.

She felt her eyes roll back in the sockets and her head fall backward, and she snapped to with a start. This was bad. She couldn’t win the battle to stay conscious much longer.

But she had to hang on. Had to. She caught herself going under again and forced herself to a more upright position. Knowing she needed the shock of pain to keep her even semi-alert, she jabbed the barrel of the MP5K against her ribs. And bit back a scream as the blinding, white-hot pain exploded through her brain.

A black SUV suddenly pulled up parallel to the taxi. Two doors opened, then closed. The driver’s-side door of the cab flew open with a gruffly ordered, “¡Vaya!” Go.

The cabdriver couldn’t get out from behind the wheel fast enough. He took off running down the alley, stumbled, righted himself, and disappeared in the dark as the rear door of the cab opened.

“What took you… so fucking long?” she gritted out, fighting both unconsciousness and pain as a pair of strong arms reached inside and helped her out.

“GPS isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. How bad?”