Carol Ericson - Catch, Release

“Coburn wouldn’t order your execution without listening to what you had to say first. My assignment was to find you and bring you in.”

“That was your mission.” Her gaze tracked to the open bathroom door. “Maybe he gave someone else different orders.”

He pushed off the vanity and grabbed her hand. “I think you’re looking in the wrong direction, Deb. Prospero doesn’t want you dead.”

“Someone does, and it’s not Zendaris—at least not yet.”

“We’re getting out of here.” He squeezed her hand. “Check out and we’ll find another place.”

“B-but I’m not supposed to leave.”

“Do you think Zendaris would rather have you dead? He has you exactly where he wants you. He’s not going to squander this opportunity.”

She chewed the inside of her lip. “What if it’s all a game? What if Zendaris doesn’t even care about those plans? He kidnapped Bobby and now he’s torturing me. He has a personal vendetta against us, you know.”

“Prospero?”

“Prospero Team Three specifically. One of our members recently discovered that Zendaris’s wife may have been a casualty of the raid we conducted on one of his munitions factories. He blames us for killing his wife.”

Beau whistled through his teeth. “That puts a different spin on this.”

“Exactly. He wants revenge. What better way than to kidnap my son and then toy with me before...before he kills us both.”

Beau pulled her against his chest, wrapping both of his strong arms around her. “That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to let it happen.”

“Why are you helping me, Beau?” She rubbed her nose against the soft flannel of his shirt. “Is it really just to get a crack at Zendaris?”

“That and I have a soft spot for...kids.” He tilted her head up with a finger beneath her chin. “Do you take me for some kind of coldhearted killer?”

She blinked her eyes. “I’d heard about you before I ran into you that night in Zurich—the mysterious Loki, Norse god of mischief. I knew all the stories—the hostage rescue in Mali, boarding that Somali pirate ship, taking down the mastermind behind that string of embassy bombings in London, the assassinations.”

He put a finger against her lips. “Didn’t happen.”

“If you say so.” She shrugged. She’d been half in love with Loki before she’d ever set eyes on him in the hotel bar where she’d been gathering intelligence at a conference of oil-producing nations.

Of course, she hadn’t known the man of steel with the cobalt-blue eyes sipping scotch at the end of the mahogany bar was Loki in the flesh. But on some level, she’d sensed it. Waves of power and danger had emanated from him and washed over her like some seductive potion.

Their eyes met across the room and an electric current had zapped her down to her toes. Just like now.

The rough pad of his thumb trailed across her cheek and over her lips, which throbbed at his touch. She dropped her lashes, avoiding the fire in his eyes, afraid of getting scorched once again.

It didn’t work.

His palm cradled the side of her head. His lips touched hers, and her bones melted.

She huffed out a breath against his mouth as she hooked an arm around his neck to stay vertical.

He deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth across hers, sliding his tongue between her teeth.

God help her. She’d bed him as quickly as she had in Zurich. He could have her right here on the bathroom floor and she’d welcome any discomfort, any inconvenience to have him inside her again.

But now she had responsibilities. She planted her palms against his chest, and her fingers tingled to explore the hard slabs of muscle that shifted beneath his flannel shirt.

She pushed him away even as her lips kept contact with his.

Despite her mixed messages, he got the hint and stepped back, ending their heated kiss. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Me, too.” She put a hand over her mouth as if to remove the temptation. “It just felt kind of good to share my burden, you know?”

Of course, sharing her burden didn’t mean winding up in bed with the first man to offer his help. Not that Loki was just some man. He’d been the man for the past three years of her life.

“Let’s get out of here.” He dropped to the floor again. “I’m going to get that wig for you. Wear it out of here. We’re going to have to take the car Zendaris provided or he’ll wonder how you’re getting around.”

“It’s parked in the hotel parking lot. Where are we going?”

“Another hotel, but we’ll stay in Cambridge just so you can show good faith to Zendaris. We don’t want him to think you’re trying to escape.”

“What if that sniper was a test? What if he wants me to stay put no matter what happens?”

“Even Zendaris is not going to expect you to put yourself in mortal danger. He wouldn’t trust someone like that to find the anti-drone plans.”

Beau crawled back across the floor and swept the blond wig from the bed along with the phone and dragged the designer bag over the carpet. Once back in the bathroom, he shoved them at her.

“Here you go.”

She tucked her hair beneath the wig, punched her arms into the sleeves of the coat and slung the heavy bag over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”

Beau poked his head into the hallway and then gestured her through the door. Placing a hand against the small of her back, he guided her toward the stairwell. “Can you navigate the stairs in those shoes? I don’t want to be a sitting duck in the elevator.”

She kicked off the shoes and shrank five inches, her head barely reaching Beau’s chin. “Lead the way.”

They ducked into the stairwell. The rubber soles of Beau’s running shoes squelched against the steps while her bare feet made her his silent companion.

“We have to go through the lobby to get to the parking garage.” She pointed at the metal door on the ground floor.

“Keep your head down.” He pushed open the door.

People crisscrossed the lobby on their way back from their business meetings or sightseeing for the day. Deb’s gaze darted from group to group, seeing some imagined threat in each one.

Beau hustled her out the side door onto a cement path that led to the garage. He blocked her body with his, his blue eyes wary and alert, his hand nestled in his pocket—the pocket where his gun resided.

He still had her weapon, too. He may be planning to help her rescue Bobby, but he didn’t quite trust her.

Should she trust him?

Maybe his willingness to help her was a ploy to get her back to Prospero. And the kiss had been designed to soften her up.

If Beau planned to turn her over to Prospero, he’d learn soon enough she still had a few tricks up her sleeve. She’d fight like a caged animal to save Bobby, even if that meant doing battle against Bobby’s father.

She’d put her shoes back on before they hit the lobby and now the clicking sound of the heels echoed on the parking garage’s cement floor. “The car’s in the next aisle.”

She unlocked the car as they approached it. Beau slid into the passenger seat and she tossed the bag into the backseat. Revving the engine, she turned toward him. “Where to?”

He rattled off some directions when they exited the parking structure.

“I wanted to get more info from you before that sniper took aim at your head. Where were you when Bobby was kidnapped? Where do you live?”

“In Virginia, outside of D.C.”

“Zendaris sent you to Boston after the kidnapping?”

“Yes. Turn here?”

He nodded. “Is the jewelry heist the first thing he asked of you?”

“After he told me to fly into Logan Airport.”

“Do you think Bobby’s still in the Virginia area, or do you think he’s here?”