Page 7 of Savage Escape

“Quinn.” It was a goodbye. He looked damn near sad forher.

What an idiot.

But still, on the likely chance that this was going to be it, well, she was sorry he’d gotten his ass caught. Caden grinned at the man and patiently waited for the trio to get their shit together.

“Walk,” he said in Russian.

And she did. One foot in front of the other.

4

NATHAN

Nathan hated that smile. It wasn’t even a smile. It was a baring of her teeth. All predator, no lifelike spark in those dark eyes. Like she had no soul. Like she was nothing but a sack of organs that somehow functioned. It scared the shit out of him.

When she directed that shark smile at him, Nathan couldn’t help the cold shiver that crawled down his spine. He’d seen that same look on dead men, on men in firefights who had nothing at all to lose and didn’t give a shit if they took a bullet to the head.

She didn’t always smile like that; sometimes she smiled like she was human. He’d seen her smile in Bangkok when he’d pulled from his colorful mental archive of doozies.

And then there was that one time in Oregon. He’d tracked her from Egypt and somehow miraculously stayed on her while she took the most diluted and confusing route possible (three different modes of transportation into it, he’d figured she was shaking possible tails). She finally ended up in Portland, Oregon, and was all soft smiles talking on the phone like she wasn’t a wanted fugitive.

That had changed when he had headed her off at some Ma & Pa restaurant. She’d gone directly for the bathroom; Nathan had followed, knowing he’d been sighted and expected a fight. They’d duked it out in the woman’s handicapped stall. He’d promptly gotten his ass kicked and was put out of his misery, rather forcibly, by way of his head connecting with a handrail three times. Generally, they were on pretty equal footing when it came to hand-to-hand combat; Nathan was big and strong, whereas Caden was fast and ruthless.

But in Portland, she’d had rage on her side and it had been scary. Her eyes got all kinds of crazy. That shark smile appeared, and she hadn’t even so much as taunted him. Usually, when they went at it, Caden Quinn was the picture of professional: calm, collected, and even jovial. Like she very much enjoyed his attempts at arresting her.

Which annoyed him.

Sheannoyed him.

So Nathan switched thought tracks and tried not to think of all the horrible things being done to the woman—no, genderless mercenary, notwoman—who annoyed him.

Kyott.

The head honcho’s name was Ralph Kyott.

Nathan had recognized him from his days as the government’s bloodhound. Human trafficking was his main thing. If Nathan remembered correctly, the short man was originally from Boston, went down for kidnapping and murder way back when, but got back out again and disappeared. Nathan had never personally gone after him while employed by the US Government, but he had sure as hell heard of the asshole.

Caden Quinn did not fit into that picture. Her thing was high profile, high-value art, and occasionally (or well, more often than not) she’d involve herself in violent disputes. Last he knew she did not work for scumbags like Kyott.

Though that bit of knowledge was dated. But somehow he couldn’t see her involved with human traffickers.

Nathan hadn’t realized he’d dozed off until the sound of a door creaking open jolted him awake and got his adrenalin running. Someone aimed a light directly into his eyes and, if they were competent, a gun was on him as well. So Nathan put up his hands and didn’t move until they chucked a body inside and backed out again.

“Quinn.” She was slumped in a pile on the ground like she was dead. “Come on, get up.”

Panic shot through his system when she didn’t even so much as twitch. Usually, she was either hitting him by now or retreating from all physical contact.

Nathan bit back the rising panic, gripped her by the shoulders, and flipped her as gently as possible since he didn’t know the extent of the damage, so she was on her stomach. She moaned in his arms and started cursing.

Thank Christ.

She wasn’t dead.

Nathan had to take a moment to breathe that in before he went back to examining her hurts.

“What they do to ya, Quinn?” Nathan kept scowling when she didn’t answer. “Come on, Quinn! Talk to me; I can hardly see anything.”

The light was gone, but the moon was shining through the window bars. His hand came back wet and dark. Dammit, she was all bloody again. The back of his shirt was in pieces. Her back was all torn to hell. Like they’d whipped her until they broke the skin. Numerous times.

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