Deadly Seduction (18 page)

By the time they returned to the car, Max’s temper had evened out. He figured he owed Erin a dozen different apologies, but where to start?

Surprisingly, she’d kept up with his grueling pace without complaint. They’d come out of the canyon single-file, Max tossing the occasional “How you doing back there?” over one shoulder.

Her clipped “Fine” kept him moving.

While going downhill was easier, he’d left it up to her to call out if she needed a break. She hadn’t and that allowed them to return in less time.

Outside of monosyllabic answers, Erin had remained virtually mute after Max snapped her head off.

Over her one innocent: “Now what?”

Max didn’t have an answer, which royally pissed him off. Just the thought of having to say “I don’t know” again set his teeth on edge.

The stuff he
didn’t know
had piled up precariously, a veritable mountain of crap that only got bigger. The questions were profound:
Where was Taz? What had Rufin done to them? What had they done for Rufin? Where were the missing pieces of Max’s memory?

How could he ever reclaim a life he couldn’t recall?

He looked at Erin now. She leaned against the trunk. In spite of the fact she stared away from him, he noticed that her cheeks and nose were red; she was sunburned and breathing heavily, as if fighting tears.

The toll she’d paid was painfully apparent. God, he was an idiot. Grabbing a bottle of water, he cracked open the cap and held it out to her.

“Drink.”

She glared at him and pushed his hand aside. “Leave me alone. I’m fine. Just unlock the car.”

He set the water on the roof and moved to open the passenger door. That’s when he realized how long they’d been gone. Jesus, it was nearly three o’clock and they hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

Mr. Considerate, he’d stomped all the way back here, carrying the food on
his
back. That he’d been too angry to even think about eating was one thing. But totally forgetting her needs was unforgivable. He felt like such a shit right now. She had every right to hate his guts.

He turned to apologize. She had started to follow, to get in the car, but now stopped. He had seen her limp. It was evident that it hurt to take even a step. Now he felt worse than shit.

“I’m sorry, Erin.” He swept her off her feet. Ignoring her protests, he set her lightly on the trunk.

Loosening the laces of her right boot, he gently tugged it off and peeled away the sock. Two large bloody blisters marred the back of her heel, and another on her big toe and pinky toe. He cursed himself for not thinking about checking the fit of the hiking boots they’d got for her at the secondhand store.

He removed the other boot, found more blisters there. Grabbing the bottle of water, he rinsed her feet. She drew in a sharp breath. He knew they hurt like hell.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She pulled her foot out of his grasp. “I was afraid you’d leave me.”

“I’d never—”

She cut him off. “You’d have sent someone out to get me—but you’d have been long gone. I realized you were pissed. I also kept hoping you’d calm down.”

Max stepped away to grab the backpack. Erin shifted as if to climb down.

“Stay put,” he said.

“I’m not a damn dog, Max. Stay. Drink. Roll over.”

“Please, Erin, don’t move. I just want to grab the first aid kit.” He shifted back to her, preventing her from sliding down. The anger had drained from him, but not from her. And rightfully so. “I owe you an apology. I was an inconsiderate ass back there. Hell, I was probably one before that. I’ve dragged you into something terrible and now you’re paying a painful price.”

He set the white plastic kit with the big red cross on the trunk beside her and flipped it open. He’d bought it in case Taz needed attention—he hadn’t thought of Erin then either.

He grabbed the antibiotic salve and several bandages.

“These blisters will need to be cleaned with peroxide. This will help until we can find a drugstore. You’ll need a pair of flip-flops, too. You won’t be in shoes anytime soon. Are you allergic to aspirin or ibuprofen?”

“Now who sounds like a doctor?”

“Quack, quack.” Finished with the last bandage, he released her foot and leaned back in close. Cupping her chin, he looked her in the eyes. “This will sound insane given how I’ve mistreated you coming back down the trail, but I do care about you, Erin. And I could cut off my own hand that I let you get hurt. I also apologize for snarling when you asked me about what to do next. It’s no excuse, but it pissed me off to have had to say I don’t know. At the same time, I did learn something valuable.”

“About Taz?”

He shook his head. “About me. Being pissed at you actually felt good because I didn’t get that awful backlash of pain that’s been hounding me. I didn’t even realize it till just now. I can worry about you, get angry at you.”
Fantasize about you.
“And not get zapped.” It sure as hell beat counting to thirteen thousand and beyond.

“Now there’s something every girl wants to hear.”

He laughed and realized it was the first time he’d done that in a long time, too.

She smiled and he knew she had accepted his apologies. That all was forgiven felt ridiculously good.

“Let’s head back,” he said before scooping her back up in his arms. “We’ll get some food and a room. We’ll get cleaned up and take care of your feet. I feel like I have no choice but to call Dante again, see if they’ve had better luck finding Taz.” He knew she wanted to ask, “And then what?” so he added: “And then we’ll figure out the rest of it.”

They had just turned back onto the paved highway when the hair on the back of Max’s neck prickled.

Alert, he straightened. Looked around.

Except for a tan SUV that had shot past in the opposite direction as he pulled out, the road was deserted.

He concentrated on his thoughts. The sensation had been different, yet oddly familiar. An internal radar. He’d felt it before. But when? Had Taz tried to reach him, perhaps?

So far, Max thought that he’d been doing all the work, sifting the airwaves, seeking a connection to Taz. But what if Taz was seeking him? Was this a psychic
knock-knock?

Damn it, Taz, where the fuck are you?

Erin had her head leaned back, eyes closed. He’d gotten her to eat an energy bar and take two ibuprofen. Besides having sore feet, she had to be exhausted. They had slept in vehicles the last two nights.

As soon as they got back to town, he’d find a motel. Tonight they were sleeping in real beds.

And what about tomorrow?
He didn’t have a clue.

Max felt the tingling again and glanced in the rearview mirror. The tan SUV that had passed them earlier was behind him now.

And closing in.

Danger. Run.

“Hold on, Erin!” Max gunned the engine.

The SUV sped up, too.

“What’s wrong, Max?” She turned around, having picked up that someone was after them.

“The SUV. Do you recognize the driver?”

She pushed her sunglasses up, squinted, tried to focus on the face. “No. It’s probably an unmarked police unit.” Her voice sank. “Remember, we
are
driving a stolen vehicle.”

Max saw the other driver smile as if enjoying the game. “It’s not the police.”

Stomping on the gas pedal, Max passed a slower vehicle. The road ahead was clear. Behind him, the SUV passed the same car and kept accelerating.

Chasing them.

The stolen Taurus was no match for the SUV’s more powerful engine. By rights, they should be losing ground, but the SUV had backed off. Pacing them, biding his time.

There were no cars in front of Max, but an oncoming semitruck prevented the SUV from pulling up beside them and running them off the road. Which Max had sensed was the driver’s intent.

They were on a straight stretch of highway now but not too far ahead was a curvy section with sheer drop-offs. That’s what the SUV was waiting for.

Max backed off the gas just a little as he eyed the oncoming semitruck, estimating its speed. Just a few more yards…

Counting under his breath, Max swerved into the left lane, directly into the path of the semitruck.

Erin screamed, but he ignored her. The semi’s driver hit his brakes and began blasting the air horn. Speeding up, Max cut sharply to the right, darting around the jackknifing trailer.

The driver of the SUV had slowed, clearly disbelieving, but Max caught a glimpse of the handgun at the same time Erin did.

“He’s got a gun, Max!”

He reached over and shoved her head toward her knees. “Get down!”

Just then the SUV disappeared from sight as the now sideways moving semitruck blocked both lanes of highway.

Max couldn’t tell the extent of the damage, but the SUV didn’t come after them. It had come to a stop, with part of its front end crumpled. Hell…the car might still be drivable.

At the next intersection Max turned and headed west.

“Who was that?” Erin asked.

“We’ll figure that out after I’m sure we’ve lost him.”

Max switched roads several more times, mostly heading north.

No one appeared to be following, but now they had a higher risk of the Taurus being targeted by police if it had been reported by the semi driver as the causative factor in a car accident.

“I’m worried about the truck driver,” she said.

“The trailer stayed upright on the road,” he said. “It’s unlikely the driver was injured.”

“But what about the guy in the SUV? He had a gun, Max! What if he shoots the truck driver?”

“The driver of the SUV isn’t looking for random targets. He was after me. And he clearly wanted me dead—or incapacitated. Whatever I’ve forgotten must be incriminating as hell.” Max cast a look at her. “I’m even beginning to wonder if Dr. Winchette was involved. I remember catching a few of his thoughts and realizing he didn’t want me to awaken.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Bull. And as much as this is going to piss you off, I can tell you’re wondering the same thing. What exactly do you know about Winchette’s activities, especially concerning me?”

He’d been trying to read Erin’s mind since the accident, but just as he had problems reaching Taz’s mind, he was also having trouble probing hers.

Her expression told him a lot though. She looked angry. But when she suddenly started to cry, he panicked. Tears were Kryptonite.

He melted. “Ah, hell, sweetheart. I don’t mean—”

She cut him off. “No. You may be right. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Start at the beginning. How did you and Dr. Winchette become involved in this?”

Seeming overly self-conscious of her tears, she wiped them away. “We were called in to treat Dante Johnson when he first returned last March. I’d just come back to work after taking leave following my father’s death. We gained valuable experience working with Dante and I assumed that history was why we were called in to consult on your case. But when I saw pictures of that machine Taz was found in—I recognized it. I think Dr. Winchette did, too.”

“Recognized it from where?” Max listened as she explained seeing a similar machine in her father’s lab as a child.

“I was very young, Max. I may not be recalling it correctly.”

“Did you ask Winchette about it?”

“Yes, but he was so evasive in his answer. Then, I overheard him talking to someone. He mentioned a patient going brain-dead, and I assumed it was you or Taz because he mentioned Travis Franks’s name.”

“What exactly did he say about Travis?”

“Not much. Something like ‘Travis Franks agrees’—but I didn’t catch all of it.”

“And now Winchette is dead. Killed in my room, by the way, which has the word ‘framed’ written all over it.” Max shook his head. “I’m not saying someone at the Agency’s
not
behind this—but Travis Franks? I’m not buying it.”

Max trusted Travis. Or used to. Had something happened in the last two years to change Travis? Something he thought Max knew?
Or Dante? Or Harry?

“There’s more, Max. I believe my father was murdered. The official cause of death was suicide. An overdose. Which I never really believed. But I was working a temporary internship at a Canadian hospital, so I was gone in the months before he died.”

“What makes you think murder?”

She drew a breath. “When I went to scatter his ashes at his lake house, I found a letter he’d left me. It was left where he’d planted a tree with my mother’s ashes thirty years ago. He didn’t go into detail, but he clearly expected to die and wanted me to get certain papers to a colleague of his. He felt he was being watched and couldn’t send them himself. But that colleague was killed in an accident. And I haven’t found the papers my father mentioned.”

“Did Winchette know all this?”

“No. My father warned me against telling anyone. That he didn’t instruct me to take the papers to Dr. Winchette was telling. They’d been close, until just before my father resigned.”

Max reached over and squeezed her hands. “I’m sorry about your dad, Erin. But I think you’re right. This is all related in some manner.”

He turned into a gas station and turned toward her. “Right now I need to know how they found us.

They may have found the stolen camper by now and discovered this vehicle missing. But the odds of one person spotting us randomly is slim. I suspect something we brought from the hospital is bugged, maybe the bag from Dante, maybe your purse. We’ll have to ditch all of it. But first I want to call Dante. See if he knows why the Agency has its crosshairs on us.”

Bangkok, Thailand
September 24

Harry needed a better place to stay. Certain he hadn’t been followed, he retraced his steps back to the cheap warehouse he’d rented.

While he preferred five-star ratings, those places were too visible. And expensive. They would also be the first place Minh Tran would look for him.

Shifting the bags of food to one hand, Harry let himself in.
Lucy, I’m home.
He set the food on the table then untied Rufin.

The scientist’s eyes were red. He’d been crying again. What a wimp. All brains, no guts.

But were his tears for Bohdana? Or for himself?

After learning what Rufin had done, or tried to do, to secure his own future, Harry realized everyone had underestimated Dr. Rufin. They heard his stutter, saw his slight frame, and promptly forgot the scientist’s underlying genius. Maybe the little guy’s balls could be seen without the aid of a microscope.

The more Harry questioned Rufin’s claim of being able to re-create and complete Zadovsky’s work, the more it rang true. And if Rufin had created Sugar-Cane and JumpJuice in his “spare time”—what could he do with dedicated resources?

“I brought you soup. And bread.” Harry tugged Rufin to his feet and plopped him in a chair.

“How c-c-can you eat?” Rufin asked.

“After killing someone?” He knew he couldn’t tell Rufin the truth. It had never bothered Harry to kill. He could soft-soap it, by saying it got easier, but that wouldn’t endear him like an outright lie.

“Once I found out Bohdana had made a deal with the Thai government to trade you for her own freedom, I knew she’d stop at nothing,” Harry said. “As cold as it sounds, it was her or us, buddy.”

Rufin picked up a spoon and stirred his soup. “Is that how she got to Thailand? By trading secrets to the Thai agents?”

Harry nodded.

“She told me she’d come here to live with an old girlfriend.” Rufin blew his nose then stirred his soup some more.

“I never met a woman that could be trusted.” Harry opened the container of rice.

“What do you intend to do with me?”

Harry had quickly corrected Rufin’s assumption that he worked for the United States, portraying him-self instead as a high-dollar, freelance mercenary. Not necessarily Rufin’s enemy, but still a threat.

Now, however, Harry wanted to cultivate Rufin’s friendship.

“I was thinking about what you said,” Harry went on. “And I’ve got a deal to propose. You and I could be partners. We’d have to figure out the whole trust thing, because neither of us trusts the other right now. And since I’m not going to make any magnanimous gestures—like free you—our relationship won’t change much in the foreseeable future. But here’s my proposal. I find Taz and get a lab set up. You manufacture SugarCane to help finance our operation until you can get that—what did you call it, Serum 89?—perfected. Then we sell out to the highest bidder, split the profits, and go our separate ways.”

Rufin looked at him, and then back at his soup. “And what guarantee do I h-h-have that you won’t k-k-kill me in the end and keep all the money?”

Harry tore off a chunk of bread. “There’s a couple ways we can work that. You produce serum samples, but keep the recipe. Once it’s sold, we can get half the money up front, split that, and take off in opposite directions. Then you can forward the formula to the buyer, who will then pay the balance to each of us separately. Or something like that. We can work out the details later.”

When Rufin actually took a bite of food, Harry knew he’d won. He’d seen his type time and time again. Pussy.

“But for now I’m still your prisoner?” Rufin said.

Harry nodded. “Trust me. It’s for your own good. I’ll treat you a helluva lot better than the Thai government. Or even the U.S. They’re pretty eager to get ahold of you, too. For all the wrong reasons. Just remember, I’m the only one who will offer you a collaborative deal.”

Harry’s phone vibrated. He read the text message, then sent a quick reply.

“I need to go meet someone. Finish eating.”

“You’re going to l-l-leave me here again?”

“If this deal works out, I won’t be gone long.”

Rufin pushed his food away. “What if you don’t return?”

There was always that chance. In that case, the police would investigate when someone reported the bad smell…

“I’ll be back. Now come on and let me tie you up.”

The exclusive right to market SugarCane had made Minh Tran the number one drug dealer in Southeast Asia.

Jengho Vato, the man Harry was meeting with now was the former number one dealer. That Minh Tran had once worked for Jengho only intensified Jengho’s hatred.

The deal Harry proposed was Jengho’s wet dream. Getting rid of Tran and gaining the exclusive right to SugarCane, in even larger quantities than Tran had access to, was tantalizing.

Naturally Jengho was suspicious. But the majority of his skepticism died when he realized Harry—or
Doug Harold
—was the associate of the late Dr. Zadovsky that Minh Tran sought. Jengho also knew that Tran’s supply of SugarCane had run drier than usual.

“What’s in it for you, besides the obvious financial gain?” Jengho asked. “If you weren’t happy with your deal with Tran, why not renegotiate with him?”

The unspoken question was the most important.
What would stop Harry from selling out Jengho at some point?
Just like he was doing to Tran now.

“My former colleague left me holding the bag after taking a large sum of Tran’s money.” Since Zadovsky was dead, Harry could blame him fully. “Quite frankly I don’t feel it fair that I have to shoulder that debt alone. Once Minh Tran is dead, I can move more freely. And you can reclaim your position as top dog. We both win.”

“You speak as if killing Tran is easy. Which I
know
is not fact. He’s impossible to get close to,” Jengho said.

“I can provide the means for you to get to him. And with the advance you pay me, I can get a lab set up and ready to produce ’Cane in the quantity you desire.”

“But you’re also wanting safe passage out of the country. What guarantee do I have you will return?”

“I will let you hold the scientist who will help me produce the drug. Do not think you can cut me out of the picture, though, because he doesn’t have the secret recipe. I do.”
Or I will
, Harry thought. As soon as Rufin was securely hidden, Harry would join the hunt for Taz.

“We will dispose of Minh Tran before you get your scientist back,” Jengho said.

“Agreed.”

“Then we have a deal.”