Spy Games (Tarnished Heroes #1)(3)

The shape of a man separated from the wall. He’d been waiting for her.

Her scream stuck in her dry throat. She was going too fast to stop.

He grabbed her around the waist, sweeping her off her feet, one hand slapping over her mouth.

No!

She kicked, swung her arms, jabbing him with her elbows.

“Stop,” he said in very clear English.

She froze.

Rand?

He dragged her up against the wall. A door opened at their back. He pulled her through it and eased it shut while the sound of footsteps thundered down the alley.

Sarah stood, shaking in the darkness. She could smell…spices. Her sweat. Oil?

“Come on. Give me your hand.” He reached for her, his fingers brushing her arm.

She grasped his wrist, squeezing tightly.

Was it Rand?

She’d told herself it was him because she needed to believe, she needed the hope, but she didn’t really know.

He guided her across the rear of what seemed to be a clothing shop, navigating the counters, a row of baby strollers, out the back of the store, and through the loading dock exit.

“They’ll figure out they lost us and double back. We don’t want to be here when they do.” He spoke so calmly, as if this were a normal thing. And for him, it might be. This was his life. A life she knew nothing about.

She was smart enough to know that whatever agents were stationed in South Korea were working things across the Demilitarized Zone in North Korea. No one had to tell her that. The tense relationship with North Korea and the rest of the world was all over the news. It only made sense that Rand would be doing something here to facilitate the gathering of information. But, was this man her brother’s former best friend? Or was he a stranger?

He propped the exit closed and moved a garbage can in front of it, maybe to hide the busted lock.

“How’d you know I’d go this way?” She could have taken other turns.

“I didn’t. Come on.”

There still wasn’t enough light to see him by. She got the impression of a strong jaw and a nose that’d been broken one too many times. Her heart squeezed and she blinked away unwanted tears. Stress and lack of sleep and food did funny things to her head.

She needed to know if it was Rand. “I’m—”

“Don’t. No names.”

The order burned her. But she knew better. The rules were the same for both of them. The company stressed anonymity.

“This way.” He held out his hand again, and she took it. The touch of him was familiar, settling.

As children, Rand had been a second, older brother to her. All of her memories contained him, next to Matt. She’d tagged along behind the boys, forcing them to include her. Matt had whined and complained, while Rand smiled and made room for her.

They walked, sometimes jogged, for what felt like hours. He doubled back and went in complete circles a time or two. It all began to blur together. Her throat was dry, her lungs ached, but the cramps in her calves and thighs were the worst.

“Shit,” he muttered. “They’re still behind us.”

“What?” That perked her up. Sarah glanced over her shoulder, peering into the deep shadows.

The faint sound of voices drifted to her ears. This late, there was nothing to mask the sibilant sounds of hushed conversation.

“What do you have on you? What are you carrying?” He stopped and faced her.

There was just enough light from the window behind her to make out some of his face. The reddish brown hair. Those stormy eyes.

It was Rand.

She swallowed.

“What are you carrying?” he said again.

“N-nothing. My clothes. The package. There’s a tracker on the package.”

“There has to be something else on you. The package is on a long-delay device. They can’t track you in real time. Lose the jacket and scarf. Come on.”

Sarah wiggled out of the coat. The scarf went with it. Rand shoved both into a garbage can. He snatched her hand, and they took off at a fast jog. They zigzagged across the streets, through alleys and a train station.

At one point, Sarah caught a clear visual of three people right behind them. Not just the two she’d seen before. She patted down her pockets, her hair, even groped her bra.

Rand pulled her into an alcove after another fifteen minutes of silent evasion.

“Have you had surgery recently? Anything that would put you under?” He was close enough that his breath warmed her forehead. This was her Rand—and he didn’t even know her.

“I—uh—yeah.”

“Where?”

“Once.” She held out her left arm. “The radial bone got crushed. I’ve got rods and pins all in this arm now.”

“Goddamn it.”

“What?”

“That’s what they do.” He took her arm, pressing none too gently along the inner side of it where the scar was the most pronounced.

“You think there’s a tracker in me? The Koreans did that?” She couldn’t even begin to fathom that.

“No. The company. There. Feel that?” He put her thumb over the fat-lump at the swell of her forearm, a few inches down from her elbow.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s a tracking device. Somehow the MSS has locked onto it”—he jerked his head behind them—“and they’re going to home in on you.”