“They got him out?”
He didn’t want to lie to her. “Maybe.” He’d been trained at deception for so long, sometimes he wondered what the truth was.
He took a slow step toward her. She didn’t flinch away. That was something. “Did they … hurt you?”
She touched her cheek. He could see the faint bruise on her flesh. “Not as much as they hurt John. They’d come in and take him away, and later, I’d hear his screams.”
Another slow step, almost close enough to touch. “So they took you, but they never questioned you?”
“At first, they did.” She licked her lips. Now wasn’t the time to notice that her lips were as sexy as ever. It wasn’t the time, but he still noticed. He’d always noticed too much with her.
Not for me. Why did he have a problem getting that fact through his head?
They were thrown together at the moment, but once they got back to the United States, they’d be going their separate ways. Nothing had changed for him. The senator’s daughter wasn’t going to wind up with the son of a killer.
And now he was a killer, too.
Logan glanced down at his hands. No blood to see, but he knew it stained his hands. After all these years, there was no way to ever get his hands clean. Too much death marked him.
He was good at killing. His old man had been right about that. They’d both been good….
Too good.
Logan sucked in a deep breath. Focus. The past was buried, just like his father. “So when they were … questioning you …” The team needed this info and he had to ask. “Just what did they want to know?”
Her chin lifted. “They wanted to know about my father.” She paused. “What did he do this time?” Pain whispered beneath her words. Logan knew that Juliana had long ago dropped the rose-colored glasses when it came to her father.
As for what the guy had done this time …
Sold out his country, traded with an arms dealer, took blood money and thought that he’d get away scot-free. A normal day’s work for the senator. “I don’t know,” Logan said. The lies really were too easy. With her, it should have been harder.
She blinked. “You do.” She stood slowly and came close to him. Juliana tilted her head back as she looked up at him. At six foot three, he towered over her smaller frame. “But you’re not telling me.”
Being the guy’s daughter didn’t give her clearance. Logan was on Uncle Sam’s leash. The job was to get her home safely, not blow an operation that had been running in place for almost two years.
“What did you tell them about the senator?” Just how much did she know about his dark deeds?
“Nothing.” Her eyes were on his, dark and gorgeous, just like he remembered. “I didn’t tell them a thing about my father. I knew that if I talked they would just kill me once they had the information they needed.”
Yeah, they would have. He hated that bruise on her cheek. “So you didn’t talk, and they just left you alone?” Her story just didn’t make sense. Unless Guerrero had been planning to use her as a bargaining tool and the guy had needed to keep her alive.
For a little longer, anyway.
Juliana shook her head and her hair slid against her chin. “When you found me … they’d taken me into the torture room.” She laughed, the sound brittle and so at odds with the soft laughter from his memory. “They were going to make me talk then. The same way they made John talk.”
But they’d waited four days. Not the standard M.O. for Guerrero’s group. All the signs were pointing where he didn’t want them to point. “This John … what did he look like?”
“Tall, dark … late twenties. He kept me sane, kept me talking all through those long hours.”
Yes, Logan just bet he had. But “tall and dark” could be anyone. He needed more info than that.
“You get a good look at his face?” Logan asked.
She nodded.
He offered her what he hoped was an easy smile. “Good enough that you could probably talk to a sketch artist back in the States? Get us a clear picture?”
A furrow appeared between her eyes.
“We’ll need to search the missing-person’s database,” he told her. Liar, liar. “A close image will help us find out exactly who John was.”
She nodded and her lips twisted. “I can do better than meet with your sketch artist.” Her shoulders moved in a little roll. “Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I’ll draw John’s image for you.”
He tried not to let his satisfaction show. Juliana was an artist; he knew that. Sure, she usually worked with oils, but he remembered a time when she’d always carried a sketchbook with her.
She’d always been able to draw anything or anyone … in an instant.
“We’ll want sketches of every man or woman you saw while you were being held.”
Now her shoulders straightened. “Done.”
Hell, yes. This could be just the break they needed.
“I want these men caught. I want them stopped.”
So did he, and Logan wasn’t planning on backing off this mission, not until Guerrero was locked up.
The mission wasn’t over. In fact, it might just be getting started.
He turned away from her. “Try to get some more sleep.” They could take care of the sketches soon enough. For the moment, he needed to go talk with his team to tell them about his suspicions.
But she touched him. Her hand wrapped around his arm and every muscle in Logan’s body tightened. “Why did you come for me? Why you, Logan?”
He glanced down at her hand. Touching him was dangerous. She should have remembered that. He’d always enjoyed the feel of her flesh against his far too much.
With Juliana, only with her, he’d never been able to hold back.
Maybe that was one of the reasons he’d run so far. He knew just how dangerous he could be to her.
“The senator came to our unit.” Yes, that was his voice already hardening with desire—just from her touch. “He wanted you brought to safety.”
“Your unit?” Her fingers tightened on him.
He gave a brief nod. “We’re not exactly on the books.” As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the EOD, or Elite Operations Division, didn’t exist. The group, a hybrid formed of recruited navy SEALs, Rangers and intelligence officers from the FBI and CIA, was sent in for the most covert missions. Hostage retrieval. Extreme and unconventional warfare. They were the ones to take lethal, direct attacks … because some targets had to be taken out, no matter the cost.
“Does your unit—your team—have a name?”
Not an official one. “We’re called the Shadow Agents.” Their code name because their goal was to move as softly as a shadow. To stalk their prey and complete the mission with a minimum amount of exposure.
They always got the job done.
“My father really came to you? How did he even know you were—” Her hand fell away, and he missed her touch. Close enough to kiss, but never close enough to take.
It was the story of his life.
“He didn’t come to me for help.” The senator had nearly doubled over when he’d