LITMIR.BIZ

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was looking for someone to guard you, and he got a recommendation from one of my former bosses at the CIA. I guess he liked what he heard.”

      “You quit the Agency?”

      “I got into a situation in Greece.”

      “What kind of situation?”

      “I got my partner killed,” he snapped.

      “It probably was as much his fault as yours.”

      “Her.”

      “Oh.”

      “I should have known better than to get involved with her.” The way he said it told her this was another subject he didn’t want to talk about. She wouldn’t press him. Not now when he was injured, although she couldn’t help wondering what had happened.

      She opened the bottle of antiseptic. “This may sting.”

      He answered with a tight nod.

      She poured the clear liquid onto his arm, hearing him wince as it pooled in the wound.

      When she was satisfied that she’d cleaned it well, she taped on the gauze pads.

      Next came the shirt, which she pulled out of the bag and unbuttoned. Reversing the process, she helped him get his arms through the sleeves, which turned out to be about an inch too short, so she left the cuffs unbuttoned.

      Before she finished, a blast from a car horn startled her, making her lose her balance and fall forward, pressing her breasts against Wyatt’s face. Quickly she pushed herself away. Turning, she saw a white Jeep with an orange dome light on top. A middle-aged man in a security guard’s uniform was leaning out the driver’s window, staring at them with narrowed eyes.

      “This side of the lot is for store owners and employees only. You can’t come back here and make out,” he said in a stern voice.

      When she started to object that they’d been doing no such thing, Wyatt put a hand on her arm.

      “Sorry, Officer,” he said.

      “Button up your shirt and move along.”

      “Yes, sir,” Wyatt answered.

      She’d never expected to hear him cave in the face of authority, and she knew he probably hated doing it, but she also knew he was avoiding any kind of confrontation, avoiding having the guy come over and see the bloodied shirt or the gun in the car. While Wyatt and the guard had exchanged pleasantries, she’d bundled the supplies back into the drugstore bag and thrown them in the backseat. Now she hurried around to the driver’s door. The security guy stayed where he was while she pulled away, then followed her to the parking lot entrance. She waited for the light to change and pulled out, heading down the road in the opposite direction from where they’d come.

      Wyatt had leaned back in his seat but now he sat up suddenly and cursed.

      Carrie’s gaze shot to him in alarm. “What?”

      “We have to get rid of that gun.”

      “Like throw it in the bushes?”

      “No. Like put it in the trunk.”

      He craned his neck to look at a road sign. “Turn off on a side road and look for a place where there aren’t any houses.”

      She followed directions, and they both got out. She blocked the view from the road while he stowed the weapon out of sight.

      Back in the car, he directed her to the Intercounty Connector. When they’d gotten onto the high-speed road that cut across the D.C. area, he said, “Get off at Route 29 and head for Columbia. There are a lot of motels over there. Find something that’s part of a midpriced chain.”

      When they reached Route 29, she slowed, and he looked at her inquiringly. “What are you doing?”

      “I have to call my father and tell him I’m okay.”

      “When we know we’re safe.”

      “He’ll be worried.”

      “We’ll be in Columbia in less than thirty-five minutes. If you were dead, he’d know it. The news stations would have already broadcasted it.”

      She winced.

      He leaned back and closed his eyes, and she took the highway he’d suggested, which turned out to be a toll road that cut across Montgomery County to Howard County.

      ALTHOUGH THE SAFE house had been deemed an easy target, four men had been given the job of taking it down and waiting for Carrie and Wyatt to return. Now two of the men were dead and one was wounded. The guy who was still functional walked down the access road and into the woods, where he and his partners had parked a white van out of sight. The standard anonymous utility vehicle. In this case, perfectly suitable for getting rid of the bodies of three large men who’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time. And two terrorists who’d gotten themselves killed by taking off after the fleeing man and woman.

      The four-man team had caught the hired guards by surprise because the bitch they’d been minding had been out of the house, which was reason enough for them to relax. The unwanted visitors had disabled the security system at the safe house—as a further means of gaining access unawares. Nobody had been looking out the windows when they’d crept up through the fields and made the dash across the cleared land around the house. Only one of the guards inside had been on his toes enough to make it outside, and he hadn’t gotten any farther than the back steps. Too bad his body had alerted the guy with Carrie Mitchell that something was wrong at the house. And too bad he’d come sneaking up from the side yard. Apparently, he was an efficient and cautious fellow.

      The men who’d taken the house were named Harry, Sidney, Jordan and Bruce. Sid was the only one not wounded or killed.

      He wished he’d turned down the job. He hadn’t signed up for this gig because of any ideological convictions. He was in it strictly for the cash. Now he was cursing himself for getting lured in by easy money. It flitted through his mind to climb in the van and drive away. Then keep driving. He already had the first payment from the patron who’d hired him and the others.

      But he didn’t think escape was a practical solution. You didn’t just quit a job like this. Once you were in, you were in for the duration. And from where he was sitting now, it looked as though it was going to be a longer haul than he’d been led to believe. The only way they were getting out of this was to finish the mission—or die trying. Harry and Jordan were already dead. And Bruce had a mangled leg. Two of the guys in the downtown end of the operation had also bought the farm.

      Although Carrie Mitchell and her bodyguard had made it out of the area, Sid didn’t call in for instructions right away. Instead, he spread tarps in the back of the van and started the annoying process of loading the five bodies into the vehicle before cleaning up the blood on the floor inside the house and moving dirt around to cover the blood outside, as per the instructions he’d been given to leave as little evidence as possible.

      Bruce watched him work with dull eyes. Usually he was the one in charge. Now he was in too bad a shape to do more than nurse his wounded leg. “I’m hurt bad, man,” he moaned.

      “We’ll get you back to headquarters.”

      “Shouldn’t I be in the hospital?”

      Sid gave him a considering look. “Hang on. That’s what you’d say to me if our situations were reversed.”

      “It’s a long way back to the hideout.”

      “Not that far, and it’s real private.”

      Bruce cringed, probably thinking that his partner was considering leaving him in the same condition as the bodies. He closed his mouth and let Sid finish the quick and dirty cleanup. The rushed job wouldn’t hide the evidence if the cops came in with luminol. But it was probably going to be a long time—if ever—before the authorities got to the safe house.

      Who

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