Sharron McClellan - Mercenary's Honor

“Please. Stop crying,” Angel said, sounding desperate.

“Sorry,” she said with a sharp laugh, noting the frantic edge to her voice. “It’s been a bit of a Monday.”

Once again, Angel wiped a tear from her cheek, and she tried not to sigh at the unexpected tenderness in his touch. She needed touch. Needed to feel safe. And for all his gruffness, Angel made her feel as if nothing bad could touch her again. “I need to get to a television studio,” Fiona whispered. “They can transfer the footage to digital format, and then I can e-mail it to whoever we want.”

“That won’t keep you safe,” Angel said. “Even if you send the story out, Montoya will come after you as long as you’re in Colombia.”

“Let’s deal with the tape,” she said. If she thought about the future beyond the tape, she’d start crying again. That, or go screaming down the street. “I want the world to see this man for what he is. Then we can discuss the next move.”

Juan took her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Thank you for telling me about Maria,” he said. “If we can put Montoya behind bars, she will not have died without purpose.”

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

He nodded, his eyes tearing again.

“If I could have saved her, I would have,” Fiona said. “No one was supposed to die.”

“It’s not your fault. You are a brave woman.”

“Brave?” Fiona laughed at the phrase. She wasn’t brave. Numb was more like it.

“Yes,” Juan said.

She didn’t laugh again. Perhaps she didn’t believe in herself as much as Juan did, but it didn’t matter. She had the images of Tony’s and Maria’s deaths and the burning need to set things right to motivate her.

Courage meant little when compared to justice. “I’ll get their story out,” she vowed.

“Just finish Montoya,” Juan said. “Make him pay for what he has done.”

“I will,” Fiona said. For Tony. For Maria.

“No, we will,” Angel corrected.

“Thank you,” Fiona said. Standing so close, he realized that darker circles, almost purple in color, ringed her blue eyes.

They were mesmerizing.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, reminding himself that her appearance was part of the job description and that pretty didn’t equate with moral or good or smart. She was a reporter, and that meant she had more curiosity than common sense.

Just like Isabel.

Isabel. The woman he’d loved and buried. It was the millionth time he’d thought of her and the millionth time he pushed her memory away. Beautiful as Fiona, passionate as Maria, and a journalist in search of her big break, she’d died for her curiosity, leaving him behind to pick up the pieces of the past and bury the future.

What had Tony been thinking in sending Fiona—another Isabel in the making—to him when there were plenty of guns for hire in Bogotá? If the cameraman had lived, he’d be tempted to kill him himself. But Tony was dead and had left it to him to help Fiona. Angel scraped a hand through his hair, torn between the urge to shove the reporter out the door and live up to his duty by helping her.

“Ignore his temper,” Juan said, changing the topic. “There is an independent television station just outside the El Parque de la 93 sector. They are friendly to RADEC and are eager to see Montoya stopped. Will that do?”

“Maybe,” Fiona said.

“It’ll have to do,” Angel said. He needed to get this blond nuisance out of his hair as fast as possible. Unfortunately, El Parque de la 93 was north of the city, which was hell and gone from where they were.

“Even though Juan didn’t see anyone, we’re going to assume you were followed, which means that we need to get you out of here. To someplace safe while I take the tape to the station.”

Fiona’s full lips turned downward. “You’re taking the tape? I don’t think so.”

“I’m sure that since you’re a TV reporter, you know that the El Parque de la 93 sector is dangerous,” he said, not bothering to hide his derisive feelings regarding her profession.

She didn’t appear to notice. “It’s a wealthy area. Good shopping. Popular clubs—”

“Kidnappings,” Angel interrupted.

“—and muggings,” Fiona interrupted back. “I know all that. The wealth brings in more than the tourist trade.”

Maybe she wasn’t a total waste, Angel decided. She knew the region and its pitfalls, but book knowledge wasn’t the same as street smarts. “There are also spies. People who would do anything for money. Including turning you over to Montoya.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “You don’t exactly blend.”

“Ya think?”

He tried not to smile at her unexpected sarcasm.

“I can’t let this tape out of my sight,” she continued. “Tony trusted you, so I do, too. Kinda,” she added with a slightly mocking half smile. “Besides, two people are better than one.”

“Not when one is a tall blond reporter on the run,” Angel countered.

Fiona took a step toward him, all defiance and determination. “I have the only tape. What if you’re caught? I have to make sure this tape gets into the right hands.”

Angel sighed in exasperation. He had two sisters and knew that tone. She wasn’t going to back down, and there was no time to argue. He needed to get her to safety and get the footage to the public. And he was going to have to do it with her in tow. “Fine. But a few things first.”

She relaxed, her shoulders dropping from their tense position. “Like what?”

“We wait until dark to head to the district.”

“Isn’t that when most robberies happen?”

“Yes, but Montoya won’t expect you to travel then, and as for muggers, I can take care of them.”

“No doubt,” she said, her eyes traveling from his feet to his mouth. When she reached his eyes, her cheeks turned a bright red.

Angel chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Fiona gave a tentative smile, but her cheeks remained bright. “I just meant that since you’re a mercenary, you can take care of yourself.”

“I know what you meant,” he said.

Juan squeezed her arm. “Angel is more than a mercenary. He is a hero. He will protect you.”

Fiona nodded. “A hero? Who did you save?” she asked.

“He saved a busload of children from bandits,” Juan said. “And another time, a village—”

“Shut up,” Angel said. He didn’t need the bartender telling Fiona his business.

“So, a bit more than a paid killer,” Fiona said, her voice warm.

The thought of her admiring him, seeing him as a hero, rankled him. Admiration meant obligation, and he was up to his neck in responsibility. “No. I was paid. And I killed,” Angel said. That was all she needed to know. Anything else was for friends, and Fiona was not on his friends list.

Her skin returned to its normal shade of pale, pink china. “Fair enough,” Fiona said, the warmth gone from her voice. “I suppose I should pay you, then.”

“Money’s good,” Angel said. He felt like an ass, but it was too late to back down now.

“So why help me?” she asked, staring at him with narrowed, curious eyes. “I can’t pay you. Not yet.”

“You can owe me.”

“Agreed,” she said. “Once the footage is safe, I’ll get you your money. Somehow.” Her eyes distant, she smiled for the first time. “And if this story wins an Emmy, I’ll invite you to the party.”

“An Emmy party?” Isabel had talked of the same thing the morning she left to get her big story.

He’d teased her about party aspirations as she’d walked out the door. Painful hindsight told him that he should have gone with her, but she hadn’t told him the truth about the danger. If she had, he’d have kept her in bed. Safe in his arms.