“You have a gang after you?” She should have known—the smell of the car alone should have tipped her off. The 3 Star Killers were the major meth suppliers for the city, and the heavy, cloying stench emanating from the upholstery wasn’t due to casual drug use. She’d probably been riding around in a mobile meth lab, a thought that made her skin crawl.
Watching her captor now, she was struck again by the thought that he didn’t look like a typical user or dealer. How was he associated with the gang and what had he done to bring their wrath down on his head?
“Something like that.” He ducked his head, the gesture of a little boy in trouble. His refusal to meet her eyes made her stomach clench. He was hiding something.
“There’s more.” It wasn’t a question and he knew it.
“You don’t need to worry about the details now.”
She considered his statement, wondering if he was right. It would be easier to remain ignorant of the danger facing them, but what good would that do in the long run? Better to know, so she could be prepared for the worst. Maybe there was a chance she could slip away before the gang even realized she was with him. The 3 Star Killers weren’t known for their subtlety, and she knew that if the gang found them, they wouldn’t distinguish between the one who had wronged them and the one who was in the way.
“Please,” she said, her voice quiet. “If you’re not going to let me go, at least tell me what’s really going on.”
He looked at her then, his dark blue eyes sharp and focused, glinting like twin sapphires in the dull bathroom light. “Why should I tell you? How do I know I can trust you?”
Jillian felt her eyes grow round with the question. Trust her? He had doubts about trusting her? After everything he’d done to her? She fought down a wave of exasperation and tried to see things from his perspective. She’d probably be a little paranoid if a gang was after her, but still. Who was she going to tell?
“Seeing as how you kidnapped me, and not the other way around, I don’t know why you’d have trouble trusting me.”
He raised a brow, regarding her skeptically. “Seeing as how I just found you filling a syringe with a whopping dose of sedative I can only imagine you meant for me, you can see why I’m a little worried.”
She felt her cheeks heat with a blush, but refused to look away. “Can you blame me?”
He smiled again and she couldn’t help but return the gesture. “No, not really. I’d probably do the same thing.”
“But you’d probably be successful,” she muttered.
His smile broadened as he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Please tell me,” she whispered.
The smile faded from his face as he regarded her, his expression sad. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said softly.
How could she get him to talk? What could she say that would convince him she needed to know what was going on? She deserved to know—her life was in danger too, dammit!
She wanted so badly to yell and scream, to rail at him until he gave in. But she knew he wouldn’t respond; if anything, her temper would only cause him to shut down. No, if she wanted answers, she would have to extend some kind of olive branch. What did she have that he wanted?
When someone offers their name, it’s customary for you to offer yours in exchange.
Did he still want to know? Would that be enough?
“Jillian,” she blurted, breaking the silence between them.
He tilted his head, studying her like she was some kind of talking monkey.
“My name,” she clarified. “You asked me before. It’s Jillian.”
* * *
The name fit her, Alex thought as he watched her draw herself up, as though she was preparing for battle. He knew why she had finally told him—she was hoping he’d give her some information in exchange. Tit for tat. One of the oldest interrogation tricks in the book; a tactic he’d used with varying degrees of success throughout his career. He’d never been on the receiving end before and was surprised to realize how susceptible he was. Her confession, her peace offering, made him want to explain things, to lay it all out for her. He was sorely tempted to tell her the truth, not just about why he’d taken her, but about everything.
It was a heavy burden he carried. He wanted badly to share it with someone.
But he didn’t want to put her in any more danger.
Needing time to think, he stuck his hand out in a bid to buy a few seconds. She stared at it warily, as if he offered her a stick of dynamite. When he didn’t move, she grudgingly slid her hand into his and gave him a perfunctory shake. “Nice to meet you, Jillian,” he said.
She pulled away quickly, no doubt repulsed by his touch. He wished he could say the same, but her small, strong hand had felt nice in his own. It was so easy to think of her as fragile, because of her porcelain skin and delicate bones, but he had only to touch her to be reminded of her hidden strength.
His resolve weakened with the contact, the words building up on the tip of his tongue. Why not share the truth with her? Who could she tell? After all, he was going to keep her by his side until the mess died down. He should be able to make contact with his case handler soon, explain everything. Now that Tony was stable, he had evidence to support his claim. He’d get things straightened out with the Bureau, find the mole in the organization, and then his nightmare would be over. He’d make sure Jillian had a protective detail, so if the gang got wind of her involvement tonight, she’d still be safe.
The more he considered it, the more he realized that if he told her the truth, things could only get better. Since they were going to be stuck together, he needed her to trust him. Besides, he couldn’t stand the way she looked at him now. The combination of fear, determination and hurt that shone in her eyes just tore him up inside. The way she flinched every time he moved broke his heart. He’d never hurt a woman before, never given one cause to be afraid of him, and he didn’t like the slimy sensation he felt in his gut every time she jumped in response to his actions.
His mind made up, he straightened from the door jamb. Jillian watched him move, her stance reminding him of a feral cat, ready to run at the slightest provocation. Alex took a deep breath, gearing up to say the words. After so many years as an undercover agent, it was hard to overcome his ingrained reluctance to reveal his identity. But it had to be done.
“I’m undercover FBI. I was involved in a sting that went south tonight. A lot of government agents died because of a mole in the organization who told the 3 Star Killers about the takedown. Tony knows the identity of the double agent, which is why I needed you to save his life. I couldn’t take him to a hospital, because the FBI and the gang would know, and they would send people to either arrest or kill me. I can’t let that happen.”
She watched him, her eyes growing round as he spoke. “You’re an FBI agent?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but he thought he detected a note of doubt. Not that he could blame her—he hadn’t exactly acted like an upstanding lawman tonight.
He nodded. “I infiltrated the 3 Star Killers almost three years ago. I’ve worked my way up the chain of command, passing on intel to the FBI so they could build a case against the gang. Tonight was supposed to be the big operation, the one that crippled the gang and effectively took them out. But it all went wrong.”
“I see.” She nodded mechanically, and he had the distinct impression she was humoring him. As though he was a mental patient and she was agreeing with everything he said so as not to provoke him.
Biting his lip in frustration, he thrust his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his identification. He normally didn’t carry his