Hunter hoped he hadn’t terrified her. Surely she realized he hadn’t touched her. Well, other than carrying her from her apartment building to the car he’d parked down the street and putting the nightgown on her when he reached the jet. It was either the nightgown or put her in the bed half-naked. The only other clothes in the bedroom had been Todd’s, which Hunter wore.
No way to avoid catching sight of the tiny mole on her thigh while handling her, which kick-started images flipping through his mind. And the killer had called her Abigail.
Abbie was Abigail.
He might have realized who she was sooner if he’d spent more than a few hours with her that night six years ago in Chicago. She’d been skinnier back when they met as well.
An unhealthy thin. And her hair had been straight and blond, not curly chestnut brown.
Everywhere he went women wore their hair straight, miles of silken strands that fell like a rushing waterfall.
But curls were interesting. Different. Soft. Pretty.
“I don’t remember you.” She shook her head and winced in pain.
He unclipped his seat buckle, picked up the icepack, and handed it to her. “You going to be sick?”
“Not if you stop asking me that.” She snatched the pack and placed it against her forehead. “How do you know me, or are you just screwing with my mind?” She propped her elbow on the chair arm to support her head and closed her eyes.
“I’m not screwing with you. We met a long time ago.”
She squinted at him, taking in his face and shoulders, down to his boots.
He could see why she hadn’t recognized him either. He’d been at the end of a mission just outside of Chicago that required him to grow a beard and color it to match the dark brown dyed hair hanging to his shoulders.
A bloody mission that had resulted in losing a thread they were following on a string of “accidental” deaths of prominent citizens, one of which had close ties to the sitting president at that time. That was the first time BAD found one of the JC killer’s titanium baby spoons. With three carved-up bodies, one of them a child. Hunter had debriefed in a local safe house, then went looking for something else to think about, to whitewash the pictures in his mind.
Abbie had walked into the bar where he’d decided to drink away the night. She strutted in wearing just enough screaming red dress to prevent an indecent-exposure arrest and cut loose a laugh he’d never forgotten.
He’d needed her smile and the tinkle of feminine laughter. Needed to look into turquoise eyes that weren’t terrified of dying.
Those eyes were unforgettable, but he’d buried the memory somewhere safe, away from the hideous ones.
The more she drank that night, the funnier she got, even though he’d sensed something troubling her. She shielded her pain well, like now, when she tried to hide her trepidation and confusion. He didn’t think she had a concussion, but he’d shaken her awake several times while she slept just to be sure. She still looked too damn pale.
“I’m not up for games.” She took a sip of her drink, fixing him with a look of stubborn determination.
“Me either. I’ll answer your questions after you answer mine,” Hunter started. “How do you know Gwenyth Wentworth?”
“I don’t know her.”
“Then how did you end up in a private conversation with her when others wait three months to get on her calendar?”
“I told her I wanted to discuss the Kore Women’s Center.” Abbie took a longer drink of the whiskey. “What were you doing so close to her private patio when she got shot?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I’m through talking.” She lifted her legs and tucked them beneath her, looking like an abused fairy in all that iridescent material.
He’d have to come up with clothes before he handed her over to BAD. He couldn’t take her into a room full of male agents wearing that. “How’d the guy in your apartment know your name?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t recognize his voice and I didn’t know what he was talking about.”
Every move in her face, eyes, and body said she was telling the truth. Or was one hell of a liar. She’d been terrified at Gwen’s shooting and again in her apartment. Both had seemed like true responses. He’d give her the benefit of the doubt for now.
“You’re in some kind of trouble, Abbie. If you let me, I’ll help you. If not…” He opened his hands in a show of “what will be, will be.” The JC killer had made the comment twice about Abbie being helpful tonight, but she hadn’t acknowledged the statement. Hunter didn’t think she knew what the killer meant, but she played some role in this and had to explain.
“I have no idea who that man was tonight. I have no idea why anyone would shoot Gwen. And I have no idea who you are or why you kidnapped me. That pretty much sums up what I know about all of this.”
Hunter believed her on those points, but Abbie was still hiding why she’d met with Gwen. “Why did you threaten Gwen?”
Her eyes shifted away, looking past him at the floor and her glass, then she let the ice pack slide down to shield one eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She got the Worst Liar award.
Most women he knew had an inherent gift for reshaping the truth, but Abbie sucked at it.
He didn’t have much time before they reached Nashville and he still had to alert Joe that he was bringing someone into headquarters. When Hunter drove Abbie home, he’d sent Carlos a text saying he was following the woman who had been with Gwen during the shooting. Carlos sent back that he’d forwarded her identification information to Gotthard, who would research her.
Joe would be pissed at Hunter for not informing Carlos that he was of transporting Abbie to headquarters, but Carlos might have wanted to send another team member with Hunter. This was the only chance Hunter had to get information out of her. Handing her over to Joe when they landed might negate some of the backlash. That plus delivering the USB memory stick from Linette, which was supposed to explain the Fratelli network and details on tonight’s meeting. Hunter was to deliver the memory stick to headquarters by tomorrow morning, so arriving this far ahead of schedule would be a plus.
“Abbie, I need to know what you and Gwen were talking about. I can’t explain why, but it’s important to national security.”
“National security?” Her smile was loaded with skepticism. “Why should I believe you or tell you anything? How do I know you aren’t going to kill me, too?”
“Because I’m the best bet you’ve got for staying alive.”
She tossed the ice pack to the table and sat her glass in the cup holder, then leaned forward with hands on her knees. “Explain what you mean. Who was that guy in my apartment, since he seemed to know you?”
“He’s a trained assassin. The best way to keep you safe is to put you in the WITSEC program, which I can arrange. I can’t tell you what I do, but I have the connections to get you in there. That’s where we’re headed now.” Sort of. Once Joe and Tee got what they wanted, she’d end up in WITSEC.
“No! You can’t do that.”
Hunter rolled out the let’s-be-intelligent-about-this tone he saved for reality-challenged individuals who couldn’t size up their options quickly. “I can understand how frightening it seems to leave your life and identity, but it’s not as scary as someone trying to kill you. We have people who can help you transition.”
“No, no, no! I will not go into WITSEC.” She jumped up, looking around as if she could find a way out.
He stood and grabbed her arms to steady her. “Sit down before you fall.”
“I can’t just disappear. I have responsibilities. Everyone will be looking for me.”
“We’ll get a message that you’ve been called away on a family issue, then let you write a letter to your family we’ll deliver.”
Her lips parted, eyes wide in disbelief. “First, the police will not believe that after what happened tonight. Second, my family needs me now.”
“My people will keep your name out of the media—”
“That’ll be some trick since I work for a local television station.”
His jaw snapped shut. She was with the damn media? “You told me—”
“—that I was a writer, which I am,” she snapped, then added, “Don’t look at me like that. You lied to me the whole night, too.”
“You’re a reporter.” He didn’t back off the disgust in his voice. “What did you tell your station about tonight?”
“Nothing. I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone between giving police reports and walking in on a killer in my apartment.” She leaned forward and stabbed a finger at him, ordering, “Take me home. Now.”
Not in this lifetime. Hunter shook his head.
Her anger died down, but her stiff profile said she was not giving up.
He needed one of BAD’s damn transition specialists.
“Have a seat and we’ll talk calmly.” Hunter would rather deal with an insane terrorist than an upset female. The women he normally encountered on an op usually fit into one of two categories—an enemy who would gut him without a second thought or a civilian who had to be rescued and would readily jump at a chance to be in a protective environment.
Someone should have shared the black-ops handbook with Abbie. He gave it another try. “It’s too dangerous to return to your life.”
“I have to go home.” She backed out of his grasp, grabbed her head, and shuffled drunkenly until she latched a hand on the headrest of her chair.
He rubbed his eyes, recalling how Eliot had always been better at dealing with irrational or upset women than him. But Eliot was gone and Hunter had to get Abbie to talk before they landed since BAD would be waiting at the airstrip once he alerted them. “You don’t have a choice about going into WITSEC. Your life’s in danger.”
She straightened her shoulders, but terror spilled out with every short breath. Color faded from her face. She turned a dull shade of grayish white that made him think she might lose her struggle with nausea even though her eyes blazed, battle-ready. “I don’t care.”
That just pissed him off. “You don’t care that someone is trying to kill you?” he shouted.
“Of course, I care about that,” she shouted right back, then took a breath. “But I still have to go home. My mother’s sick. She needs me.”
The agony and worry in her voice struck him in the chest. “We’ll get your mother help.”
“You don’t understand. I have to be there myself.”
“Is going home worth getting killed for?”
She jerked her head back at his words. “Yes, she’s worth dying for.”
“You won’t be much help to your mother dead,” he argued coldly. Why couldn’t she see the reality of her situation?
“I won’t be any help to my mother if I leave. In fact, I am the only person who can help her.” She raked a handful of curls off her face and muttered, “You just don’t get it.”
“Then make me understand.” He knew she couldn’t.
Abbie curved her chin up. Tears shined in her eyes but stayed put because of the sheer determination flooding her stance. “You want to know if I’m afraid of dying? Hell yes. Who wouldn’t be? But my mother needs me. I’m the only one who could have gotten to Gwen and now Gwen can’t even help me, but I can’t hide somewhere safe knowing my mother—”
This was going nowhere. He cut in with, “I get that you’re worried about your mother, but we have resources. Just tell me what’s wrong with her and I’ll see what I can do while we put you somewhere safe in the meantime.”
She shook her head.
Didn’t the aggravating woman realize this was not a game? That she was in real danger of dying?
He pressed on. “So you don’t want to see if our doctors could help her?” He sounded like a heartless bastard snapping at her, but his options were exhausted. “You want to negotiate? Tell me the truth about why you were meeting with Gwen and I’ll discuss options.”
Abbie folded her arms. Icy thoughts crossed her gaze. “My perfectly healthy mother went to the Kore Women’s Center ten days ago to donate blood they store for her and to have standard tests performed. The day after she came home her spleen started shutting down, which is causing major internal problems. She may need a liver transplant soon. Kore refuses to admit they treated her with anything, but my mother’s doctor told me the truth about Kore. That they do secret testing on childbearing women with rare blood, which my mother was when she first walked into Kore over thirty years ago. She has very rare H-1 blood. Our doctor said Kore had to have given my mother something that damaged the spleen, but he’s run every conceivable test. No one knows what’s wrong with her, but she’s getting worse every day.” Tears bubbled at her eyelashes.
Oh. Shit.
“I’m her only hope,” Abbie said, forcing strength into her voice. “My mother’s dying and may not live through the week. So, yes, I’d rather die trying to save her than live with the guilt of wondering if I could have. If you can’t understand caring that much for someone you love then you’re one coldhearted bastard.”
Chapter Fourteen
Hunter generally had an answer for everyone on any topic, but not this time. Brittle silence competed with the rush of air outside the fuselage.
Abbie waited quietly for him to give her an answer, worry and anticipation glowing in her eyes.
He was a coldhearted bastard, but taking her away from her dying mother would put him in a category of humans lower on the food chain than those he’d helped put into prison.
If he handed her over to BAD’s witness protection handlers they’d make sympathetic noises while processing her and she’d have no chance to get to her mother. Not any time soon.