Covert Evidence (22 page)

He neared the second-floor lip, and a glance to the right showed Cressida was stuck a few feet above him. Her hands were shaking, badly, as her right foot searched for a toehold.

The irregular surface of the wall made it impossible to see where to plant feet—she had to feel for it—but she prodded the wall dangerously close to a second-floor window.

Ian traversed to her side. Her shaking was even worse up close. “You’ve got this.”

A thump sounded through the window near Cressida’s shoe. Whoever had entered Rajab’s house was on the stairs—headed for their bedroom with the open window.

They had maybe fifteen seconds to get off the wall and onto the dirt bike. “Bigger steps, Cress. We’ve got to go.”

She nodded as sweat rolled down her neck. She shifted her weight to just her fingertips so she could prod even lower with her foot. Finally she found a cleft that could hold her, and she moved her other foot, then her hands, now in rapid, smooth choreography.

Ian followed suit, and five feet from the ground, he jumped, then planted his feet and opened his arms wide and whispered, “Jump.”

She leapt out from the wall without looking, even though she was a full eight feet up. Ian caught her, marveling that she’d trusted him without hesitation.

If they didn’t need to get the hell away, he’d have kissed her—in thanks for the trust, in gratitude for her quick and safe extraction—but that would have to wait for a time when a kiss wouldn’t get them caught or killed. With her hand in his, he ran toward the barn where he’d parked the bike, just as he heard a shout from the third-floor window.

He rounded the side into the barn and came face-to-face with Rajab. His friend lifted a gun and pointed it at Cressida.

“Thank you, my friend, for escaping the house. It is difficult to wash blood from the wood floor.”

C
ressida still hadn’t stopped shaking from clambering down the rock wall. She felt dizzy at the sight of the gun and more than a little nauseated.

“Give me the microchip,” Rajab said.

She shook her head. “I don’t have it.” The pendant was hidden beneath her shirt, but she felt it, sticking to her skin thanks to the sweat that had pooled between her breasts during the terrifying climb.

“Well then, I will just have to kill you and then take my time searching you. Every…little…crevice.” The last was said with such a repugnant leer. Shit, this guy had necrophiliac fantasies…and he wanted to play them out on
her
.

“You kill her, Rajab, and no one will ever find the chip. Hejan told her where it is. She’s the only one who knows where to find it.” Ian made the statement with such authority, even Cressida believed him for a second.

Rajab wasn’t nearly so trusting. “What is the American word you are so fond of, Ian? Bullshit?”

Ian took a step closer to Rajab, tucking her behind him. “If you so much as touch her, I will slice you open and piss on you as you bleed out.” His voice was low and menacing.

Rajab flinched, and Ian sprang. He kicked Rajab’s hand, dislodging the gun, and then landed a blow on the man’s throat. Rajab went down. Ian went after him and landed another blow to the head, but Rajab managed to get a hand on Ian’s throat.

“Get his gun, Cress,” Ian croaked.

She was already scrambling after it. It slid across the hard-packed dirt floor toward the barn opening. She plucked the weapon from the dirt. Behind her, inside the barn, a sickening cracking sound was followed by a soft grunt.

“The guy in the house will be here any moment,” Ian said.

A noise in the darkness beyond the barn alerted her, and Cressida turned as she raised the gun. A man charged toward her.

“He’s here,” she said and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Twenty-Two

T
he crack of the bullet split the silent morning. Ian’s gaze jerked from Rajab’s lifeless form to Cressida, who held the gun clasped between wildly shaking hands. She was still standing. Presumably, whomever she had shot at was not.

He plucked his own gun from the holster at the small of his back. With weapon raised to the ceiling, he approached her slowly so as not to rattle her. Who knew how she’d react? He pitched his voice low and adopted a soothing tone. “Is he down?”

She nodded without looking away from the dark morning into which she’d fired.

Ian scanned the shadows, seeing a lump on the ground ten meters away. “Rajab is dead. I’m going to check out the other. I need you to cover me. Can you do that?”

She nodded again, and light from the crescent moon revealed wide, scared eyes. But they weren’t wild. Not losing-her-shit-crazy eyes. Good.

“We’ll approach him slowly. Together.”

“He was coming straight at me, Ian. I didn’t think…I…I didn’t mean to…”

“You did good, Cress. I’d have done the same thing.” He
had
done the same thing when he snapped Rajab’s neck.

They reached the second man. Ian pointed his gun down at the body and prodded the mass with his foot. The guy wasn’t twitching.

The silvery moonlight splayed across the man’s head and shoulders.

Holy shit
. Neck shot. She’d severed his carotid artery with one clean bullet. A one-in-a-million hit.

More stunning, though, the man she’d shot was Sabal.

Ian took a step back. Rattled.

He’d guessed but still hadn’t wanted to believe Sabal was in league with Zack. Sonofabitch. Sabal. Rajab. Cressida was right. Spies didn’t have friends. Even spies who weren’t really spies but case officers.

Cressida gasped, and the gun slipped from her slack fingers. Ian caught it, before it could hit the ground. “Careful. This sucker has a hair trigger after the first pull.” He uncocked the Sig.

“Ohmygod. I—I was aiming for his belly.”

“You were shaking.” He wanted to take her into his arms and comfort her, but there wasn’t time. He needed to search the body and get the hell out of here. There could be more coming. Hell, there could be another one in the house.

The gunshot had ensured everyone in the tiny village was now awake. The only question left was, would they descend on them with pitchforks, or would they ignore the sound as another skirmish in the ongoing unrest between Kurds and Turks?

“Hold together just a few minutes more. I’m going to search him and finish searching Rajab, then we’re out of here.” He pressed the gun back into her hands, hating that he had to do it while she was falling apart, but they needed to work together to get out of here in one piece, and he was counting on the inner strength he’d witnessed repeatedly to hold her together.

She sucked in a deep breath, then gave him a short nod. “Okay.” She raised the gun, pointing it outward, into the surrounding darkness, and said, “Search him.”

Damn, she was amazing.

Not surprisingly, Sabal had nothing in his pockets. Ian was painfully tempted to return to Rajab’s house and search all three crooked floors. But his gut said they didn’t have time.

He plucked the gun from Sabal’s hand and checked the magazine. He rammed the clip back in place and flicked the safety. After a quick glance at Cressida, he continued searching the body. “He was armed and ready to fire. He probably never dreamed you’d shoot. The fact that you didn’t hesitate saved your life.” And mine, he silently added. If Cressida had been shot, Ian might well have been too stunned to react and save himself. He’d never doubted his ability to do his job before, but he didn’t have a stellar track record for doing the right thing when it came to Cressida Porter.

It appeared he’d found his Achilles heel.

Back in the barn, he finished searching Rajab. Coldly, methodically, he ran his hands through his pockets. Trying to forget the fact he’d considered this man a friend. That he’d just killed him.

He checked his watch. Five minutes since the shot. They’d pushed their luck to the limit. Time to get the hell out of the village.

He was tempted to take Rajab’s car, but it was too identifiable and would limit them to the roads. It was back on the bike for them. At least he’d managed to fill both the tank and the spare gas can strapped to the back. They had enough fuel to ride for hours.

Cressida waited until the bike was out and engine revving before she tucked away her gun and donned the helmet. She was moving like a regular operative, and damn he was impressed.

They set out over the wicked, rocky hills, the loud engine announcing their exit as surely as the bullet had heralded their presence. Minutes later, they were back on the steppe, waking only sheep and goats as they crossed the uneven ground.

T
hey stopped just after dawn, having traveled several miles in the wrong direction, away from Adana. Ian parked the motorcycle in the lee of a hill and shut off the engine. “We’ll stop here and rest for a few hours.”

Every muscle ached as Cressida swung her leg over the bike to dismount. “You sure this is safe?” she asked.

“Nowhere is safe. This is better than every other option.”

She rubbed her eyes, which ached from the strain of trying to see the rough ground ahead as they barreled through the dark night.

“The river we’ve been skirting, it’s the Tigris, right?”

He nodded as he plucked his backpack from the saddlebag. “What can you tell me about this area?”

She shrugged. “Not much. My research into the terrestrial archaeology of Turkey is relatively recent. My specialty is underwater.”

His brows lowered. “Yeah. I was wondering about that. What the hell is an underwater archaeologist doing studying the landlocked borders of Turkey?”

She really didn’t want to get into the hows and whys with him. She’d had enough trouble with the dissertation committee. “Trade routes on land are a strong influence on the water routes. And the illicit routes even more so.” She plopped down onto the hard ground with a water bottle in hand and leaned against the slope of the hill. “If you can find where the secret route meets sea, you’ll find the smugglers’ ships. The pirates. It’s all connected.”

Ian shrugged. “That’s no different from the modern drug trade—a water route is no good if you can’t sneak the drugs on shore or over the border.”

“Exactly.”

He dropped down beside her. She held out the water bottle, and he took a long drink. He set the bottle down, then pulled a gun from his backpack and checked the load. Satisfied with his inspection, he held it out to her.

She hesitated. It was the gun she’d used to kill Sabal.

“I want it by your hand whenever we aren’t riding,” he said.

She took the weapon. “It’s so sweet the way you keep giving me guns. Most men start with flowers.”

He smiled.

She studied the killing tool. Had it killed others, or just Sabal? “I recognized him. The man I killed. He was Sabal. You introduced us by the train platform.”

He nodded. “He would have killed you without hesitation. He and Rajab seemed to believe you have the microchip. They would have killed and gutted us both, to be certain neither of us swallowed it. That’s what Rajab meant about the blood, why he wanted us in the barn, not the house.”

She shuddered. She knew he was telling her this so she could accept what she’d done. And she did. At least, right now her plan was to save the freak-out over killing Sabal for later. Right now she needed to stay focused so she could protect the microchip.