Undercover Wife

Six of the smaller buildings had been prepared for lodging, Logan explained as they approached the first one of the group. “This one,” he told her, “is yours.” Then he pointed to the hut directly in front of hers. “I’ll be there.”

She poked her head inside the room he’d indicated as hers and was pleasantly surprised by the small but comfortable-looking cot. “It’s better than I expected,” she admitted as she turned back to him. “I was certain there’d be a sleeping bag on the ground in there.” She tried for a smile, but didn’t quite make it. She was just too tired and this was all far too overwhelming to work up enough enthusiasm no matter how hard she wanted to.

But it’s real, she kept telling herself. And she was free. That’s all that mattered, right?

Erin glanced around at the dozen or so armed men moving about. Well, maybe free wasn’t precisely the right word.

“After I’ve evaluated your strengths and weaknesses, we’ll move on to the finer details you’ll need for this mission.”

Here she was, way down in Mexico, right next to Guatemala if memory served her correctly, and she hadn’t a clue why she was here. “Can you tell me more about the mission?” A girl could ask, she mused.

“This way, Bailey,” he offered in reply, smoothly changing the course of the conversation, as well as her little sight-seeing tour.

The next building they entered was one of the largest and very dimly lit. An oily smell she couldn’t readily identify hit her nostrils with the first breath she took. She squinted to better make out the boxes stacked around the room. Crates, she realized, wooden crates. Logan paused at the first one of three she counted. She peered inside. Instinctively she drew back at what she saw.

Guns. Lots of guns.

“M9 Personal Defense Weapon,” Logan announced as he displayed one of the mean-looking guns from the crate. “Weapon of choice in personal defense.”

“M4 Carbine,” he went on, putting the first one aside and reaching for another, seemingly oblivious to her appalled expression. “Lightweight, magazine fed, selective rate, shoulder fired weapon. Even in tight quarters, a target can be engaged at extended range with accurate, lethal fire. Every terrorist’s wet dream.”

“Wait!” Erin backed away another step, her heart beginning to hammer. “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me about these weapons?”

Tears welled unbidden. This was insane and what was worse she was going to cry. She hated crying. It made her feel weak. “I don’t know anything about guns or terrorists or even personal defense.” She lengthened the distance between them by another step, blinking furiously to hold back the infuriating tears. “Just tell me the truth, Logan. What am I doing here?” She flung her arm toward the weapons he appeared to gloat over. “What is all this?”

His glare was as lethal as the weapon he held in those strong, too capable hands. “This,” he ground out, “is just a taste of what you need to know.” He put down the weapon and started in her direction. She wanted to run, but froze instead. Those dark, dark eyes held her in a kind of trance. “You have six days, Bailey. Six days to learn what I have to teach you. And this is only scratching the surface. Then we go in, ready or not.”

She trembled. “What if…what if I can’t do it?” She couldn’t. She was suddenly as sure of it as she’d ever been of anything in her whole life. This was impossible. She couldn’t do this. Not for freedom, not for vengeance, not for anything.

Logan stopped mere inches from her, staring down at her with a face wiped clean of emotion. Her pulse thundered with the fear exploding inside her.

“Then you have six days to live,” he said quietly, so damned quietly she wanted to scream. “Because on the seventh, we’ll both be dead.”

Chapter Three

She’d slowed down considerably. Logan resisted the urge to slow his own pace. She had to keep up or at least attempt to. Even if he had the luxury of time, which he didn’t, there was no place in any of this for misguided sympathies or regrets. She’d signed on to do this despite the numerous opportunities he’d given her to change her mind, opportunities he’d had no authority to give. But he’d needed to be sure.

For five days now he had pushed Erin Bailey hard. She’d held up far better than he’d expected, but it was catching up to her now. Again he forced away the need to look over his shoulder and check on her. Five days and he still hadn’t concluded his evaluation, was far from certain about anything. Sure, she managed to scrape by physically. She’d obviously been a runner before checking into Atlanta’s premiere federal resort. But holding up physically wouldn’t be enough. She had to be able to take the mental pressure.

He clenched his jaw and commanded his body to move forward, his long legs eating up the ground beneath him as his second wind kicked in, sending endorphins rushing through his veins. The hot desert sand sucked at his running shoes while the scorching morning sun milked the sweat from him, but he ignored both. He banished images of Erin Bailey’s struggle to keep up. She spent entirely too much unnecessary time in his head lately. He didn’t want to think about her as a person…only her ability to perform as his partner and the mission.

The mission…nothing else mattered.

“I can’t go any farther.”

Logan wanted desperately to disregard the feeble cry that came from some ten meters behind him. He wanted this mission over, wanted to pretend that certain death wasn’t lurking a mere forty-eight hours away. He slowed to a stop, braced his hands on his hips and took a moment to catch his breath, to compose himself really, before double-timing it back to where Bailey had stalled. She was bent over at the waist, her palms resting on her knees for support. He didn’t have to look to know that her arms and legs would be quivering with weakness. He’d pushed her harder today than the last two put together.

“Suck it up, partner, it’s five miles back to camp.” He swiped away the sweat rolling down his forehead. “We don’t have all day.”

She dropped to her knees in the sand, then stared up at him, squinting against the sun at his back. “I said—” she gasped for breath between each word “—I have to rest.”

He shifted just enough to allow the sun to beat down more fully on her. Her right hand automatically went up to shield her face. “While you’re resting,” he suggested, obviously going soft since he didn’t have it in him to drag her to her feet, “tell me about yourself.”

A few seconds passed before she responded. In that time Logan noted far more than he wanted to. Her blond hair, though pulled back in a ponytail, was mussed and slipping loose now. Long, silky wisps clung to the damp skin of her neck. Her face was flushed with exhaustion. Heavy-duty sunscreen was all that kept her delicate complexion from burning beneath the sun’s savagery. The rapid rise and fall of her chest stole his attention momentarily and before he could stop it. Her sweat-soaked T-shirt clung to her, outlining her breasts and disrupting his own heart rate.

“My name is Sara Wilks.” She scrubbed both hands over her face, then dropped them to her knees and pushed to her feet. She took a moment to regain her equilibrium and Logan resisted the urge to reach out and steady her.

She frowned petulantly. “But you call me Baby.”

She didn’t like his pet name for her, but it was the easiest way to go considering he didn’t have time for her to get used to Sara. He’d called Jess “Baby” often enough in front of the right people for it to work. Both he and Jess had taken variations on their own names for their cover. As far as Esteban was concerned, he was Logan Wilks and Jess was his wife Sara.

“I’m twenty-five,” she continued, then sucked in a desperate breath. “And I’m from Atl—”

He bit back the curse that sprang to the tip of his tongue. “You’re from where?” he demanded sharply.

“Austin,” she spat, shading her eyes once more so that she could glare at him. “Austin, Texas. I like guns…any kind. And if you mess with me, I’ll kill you.”

She said the last with a little more conviction than usual. Logan had the distinct impression that she meant it. “How long have we been together?” He started to walk, turning back to see that she followed.

“Three years.” She smiled saccharinely before starting forward. “My momma warned me about guys like you, but I didn’t listen. I just wanted out of Texas.”

Logan grinned. That was new. He liked it. “What about guys like me?” he prodded as he eased into a jog.

“You lie. You cheat. You steal.” She fell into stride next to him. “You do whatever necessary to get the job done. You’re former military. Got busted for drugs and went AWOL before you were court-martialed. You’ve killed five men, two for looking at me the wrong way.”

So far so good. Just the one slip. He was impressed. She was doing much better today than yesterday. “What was our last job?”

“We smuggled some weapons from Canada to a militia group in Montana.” She shot him a sideways glance. “Almost got caught, too, because you pissed off one of the guys with the buyer.”

“Very good.” Logan picked up the pace, she did the same. “And the one before that.”

“Drug smuggling. The Mexican authorities are still looking for us.”

“Then maybe we’d better get back to camp before they catch us out here in the open,” he said nonchalantly.

Her eyes went wide for the space of one beat, then she shot him a drop-dead look before breaking into a full-fledged sprint. About time she got her second wind, Logan mused as he surged forward, easily catching up with her.

Yep, she was determined. That much was certain. She could hold her own physically. It was the fright factor that had him worried. There was only one way to measure her ability to cope with that part. He forced away a prick of regret. He had no choice. Erin Bailey’s life, as well as his own, depended upon her reactions.

He had to know what they would be.

And time was running out.

“GOOD GOD, BAILEY, you’re dead already. In a real time situation, a miss gives your target an opportunity to return fire.”

Erin tossed her weapon onto the sand and stomped toward Logan. “That’s it.” She glared at him. Her pulse reacted instantly. God, she hated that. All week she’d been fighting this insane little physical attraction to the big jerk. “I’m calling it a day.” It was almost dark after all and she was beat. They’d been at this since before dawn. She couldn’t think, much less get a bead on a target.

“And nothing you can say will change my mind.”

She stopped right in front of him and dared him to argue.

She should have known better.

Those dark eyes fairly glittered with annoyance. “Pick up your weapon, Bailey.”

It wasn’t as much his ruthless tone as it was the expression on that handsome face: He was madder than hell. The reality gave Erin pause, but she didn’t budge.

“Now,” he added in a lethal growl.

Her jaw clenched, Erin spun away from him. “Jerk,” she muttered as she strode back to the abandoned weapon. A few other choice expletives flashed through her mind as she retrieved the black 9 mm weapon. What the hell had she been thinking agreeing to this crazy scheme? Clearly Jeff’s betrayal and her subsequent time in prison had affected her more profoundly than she’d realized. She whipped back toward her overbearing mentor prepared to demand what he wanted her to do now and found herself face to chest with him.

“Take aim at that target like you want to hit it,” he ordered curtly.

She wanted to hit something all right, but it wasn’t the human silhouette hanging on the other side of the makeshift firing range. Still, she did as she was told since she couldn’t be completely sure of what he’d do if she didn’t. She braced her left hand beneath her right wrist and closed one eye to peer down the barrel.

“Feet shoulder width apart.”

The sharply snapped command came at the same instant that a strong arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her against a hard male physique. Her breath caught. With her body held firmly against him, Logan kicked her feet apart.

“Now, fire,” he ordered.

She obeyed. Her arm flew up with the recoil. The shot went to the right of the target.

Logan swore under his breath. One powerful arm still pinning her waist, he reached out with the other and held her arm steady. “Take your time, Bailey,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. Too close. She could feel his warm breath on the sensitive skin there. “Focus. Hitting that target could mean the difference between life and death. You do want to live, don’t you, Baby?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

She hated it when he called her that, but, at the moment, very distracting sensations were bombarding her, eliminating any possibility of a clever rebuttal. The feel of him, hard, undeniably male, pressed against her buttocks, along the backs of her thighs. His arm around her, fingers splayed just beneath her breast. Oh, and the heady scent—male sweat mixed with his own unique musky smell… Seven long months of abstinence were finally taking their toll.

“Focus,” he murmured thickly.

Erin frowned. Was it her imagination, or was he holding her even more tightly now? Before she could sort through the new awareness generated by his unexpected reaction, he ordered, “Fire!”

She obeyed.

And missed yet again.

He muttered a stinging curse.

“You have to focus, Bailey!” He released her and stormed a few feet away as if needing the distance. He glared first at her, then at the unmarred silhouette.

She struggled to steady herself after the abrupt absence of his body against hers. A whole new barrage of sensations flooded her now. Need, sharp and demanding. And desire, dammit. Desire and disappointment. Disappointment at no longer having him near…for failing to please him.

God, she had lost whatever mind she had left.

He turned toward her then, the savage look on his face sending her stumbling back a couple of steps. “Forty-eight hours, Bailey.” He moved closer. “Two days. That’s all we have left. You’ve got to try harder.”

She shook her head in protest of his accusation. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“You have to do better.” He stopped directly in front of her and stared down at her with a fierceness that undid the last of her bravado. “Tell me about the weapon you seem to be having so much trouble using.”

She hesitated.

Logan cursed himself for the fool he was.

How could Lucas think for one minute that he could do this? There was no way she would be ready. Physical endurance wasn’t nearly enough.

“The weapon, Baby,” he snapped. “Tell me about the weapon you’re holding.”

“Don’t call me that,” she shouted back, sounding tired and disgusted.

He inclined his head and glared at her. “Get used to it. Now tell me about the weapon.”

Distress instantly replaced any anger she’d shown. Bailey stared at the gun in her hand as if it could somehow answer for her. “It’s a 9 mm…ah…” She shook her head and lifted her gaze back to his. “I can’t remember what kind.”

Those huge violet eyes shimmered with uncertainty and no small amount of fear. He swore again, silently this time. He had to find a way to tap into her anger. When she was angry she tried harder, fought back.

“Then tell me about mine.” He held the weapon up where she could see it. “I gave you a block of instruction on both a few hours ago.”

She chewed her lower lip, giving away her every emotion. Jess would never have done that.

“Forty cal Glock,” he barked impatiently as he showed her both sides of the weapon. “Weapon of choice these days by most federal agencies. Similar in weight and size to the 9 mm, but with more deadly force. Combat Tupperware.”

She shook her head, defeat sagging her shoulders. “I hate guns,” she admitted. “I don’t want to know anything about them.”

Fury charged through him. He snagged her right hand, drawing the weapon up where she had no choice but to look at it. He was out of time. He had to know now if she could take the heat. It was the only way. He hated the idea of putting her through what was to come…except his options were sorely limited. He’d come to that conclusion last night and had made the necessary arrangements for their next adventure.

“This is a Beretta,” he explained. “Very popular. Light weight, efficient.” He tightened his fingers around hers. “This weapon could save your life.”

She shook her head again, tears brimming this time. Just what he needed. “I can’t do this. You’ve got the wrong girl for the job.”

He let go of her hand. “You have to do it. And you’re the only girl for the job.”

“You might as well take me back to Atlanta.” Her fearful gaze collided with his. “I could never shoot anyone.” She closed her eyes and drew in a ragged breath. “I just can’t do it, Logan. Face it. This isn’t going to work.”

Wrong answer. They’d come too far to back out now. He wouldn’t let her give up just yet. “When you have an extreme situation, Bailey, you have to take extreme measures. Remember that.”

Before she could fathom his intent, he’d pressed the barrel of his Glock against her forehead. Disbelief registered on her face. “What’re you doing?”

“The question is what’re you going to do, Bailey? You’ve got a gun pointed directly at your head. You have to do something.”

“This is crazy. You’ve—”

“Do something, Bailey! If you hesitate, you’re dead.”

“Wait!”

“I dragged you into this messy situation. I’ve been pushing you day and night. Fight back! Do something!”

“I…I can’t do what you need me to do.”

“Then you’ll die.” A definite click echoed around them as he cocked his weapon. “Do something, Bailey. Do it now!”

That deer-in-the-headlights look captured her expression as the color drained from her face. She lifted the Beretta, jabbed it toward him as if that alone were a monumental effort.

“It’s going to take more than that. Shoot,” he commanded, “or I will.”

She trembled. Once. Twice. Her spine stiffened. “You’re bluffing,” she challenged, a glimmer of courage peeking past the fear in her eyes.

“Do you really want to take that chance? What exactly do you know about me? Are you sure you can trust me? I could kill you and who would know?” He leaned forward, putting himself nose-to-nose with her. “Who would care?”

Fury tightened her lips.

About time.

He pressed the barrel a little harder against her. “Who’s going first, Baby, you or me?”

He saw the subtle change in her eyes a fraction of a second before the resounding snap of the Beretta’s empty chamber announced that she had, indeed, depressed the trigger.

A smile slid across his face as surprise, then confusion and fear claimed her features. And here he’d worried she didn’t have it in her. “Very good, Bailey.”

The spent weapon fell from her limp fingers. “You son of a bitch.” The luster of fear disappeared from her eyes and was quickly replaced by glittering anger. “You knew it was empty. You goaded me into—” She moved in the last remaining inches between them and glared up at him. “You knew it was empty and you put me through that!”

Right on both counts. He’d known she’d used her last round and he’d worn a vest. He never went on a firing range with a newbie without sporting Kevlar. He hadn’t lived this long by being stupid. “At least we know now that you can shoot a man if you have to.”

In a metamorphosis that surprised him, she reared back and shoved hard at his chest with both hands, unbalancing him momentarily. “You are a jerk, Logan! And I’ve had enough!” Her eyes flared with fury. “Cut the cloak-and-dagger crap and tell me what’s going on! Why am I here?”

This was much more like it. He’d been waiting for her to demand some answers, had about decided it wasn’t going to happen. Damned if the woman wasn’t full of surprises.

“All right.” He tucked his weapon back into the waistband of his jeans. “Pablo Esteban is the most powerful man alive in the cocaine trade. Everybody from the CIA to DEA wants him…has tried to nail him, but he’s too clever. He never makes a mistake. Never leaves Colombia. Never gets caught in a compromising position.”

Logan erased a new line of sweat from his brow with his forearm, then rested his hands on his hips. “About a year ago he branched out into the arms trade. Now he steals military weapons and sells them to the lowlife around the globe. We’re going to stop him, but first we have to find out who’s leaking him the info on where and when to find the weapons.”

Glistening with perspiration, Bailey’s skin took on a definite greenish quality as she absorbed all that he said. Though still clearly angry, she looked on the verge of tossing her lunch. “Oh, God.”

Obviously what he’d told her was far more than she’d bargained for.

“How can we stop him?” she asked wanly.

“We’ll get to that,” Logan assured her. That was enough information for her to assimilate at the moment. “For now, just be glad you can do what you have to if the need arises.” He chucked her on the shoulder. “Surely if you can shoot me, you can shoot the bad guys.”

The reality of what she’d done seemed to hit her full force all over again. Her stance wilted. Any lingering anger dissolved, leaving those big eyes suspiciously bright. “I didn’t mean to…I just…”

He picked up her weapon, popped in a fresh clip. “Defended yourself,” he finished for her. “That’s a start.”

“Oh my…” Her hand flew to her mouth. Fainting appeared a distinct possibility.

“Sit. Put your head between your knees,” he ordered.

The sound of engines roaring in the distance drew Logan’s attention to the west. Phase two was about to begin. If she passed out now that would screw up everything.

“Who’s that?”

His gaze locked with hers. “Run!”

She stiffened, instantly alert. “What is it?”

He refused to acknowledge the renewed fear in her eyes. “Looks like the governor double-crossed me.”

She frowned, confusion overriding her fear for the moment. “What?”

He thrust the Beretta at her. “Remember, we’re wanted drug smugglers in this country. Run, dammit!”

As if in slow motion, Erin turned in the direction of the approaching sound. Three Jeeps were speeding toward them. The men inside the vehicles all wore khaki uniforms. It took another couple of seconds for her mind to wrap around the realization that it was the authorities.

Logan tugged her forward.

How far away was the camp? Two miles? They’d never make it. The Jeep they’d arrived in was more than a hundred yards away. They wouldn’t even make it that far.

A cloud of dust swept over them. Engines roaring, the vehicles surrounded them. Erin’s heart pounded harder. Logan suddenly skidded to a stop and pulled her behind him. Her mind raced with the possibilities, all too horrible to say out loud.

This couldn’t be happening.

Blackness threatened her for the second time today. She sucked in a ragged breath and fought to stay vertical and alert. Voices echoed. Logan moved in a circle, keeping her behind him as he faced the threat.

When the dust settled, more than a dozen weapons were trained on them. Erin clutched Logan’s shirt. What could they do? Nothing. They couldn’t possibly fight this many men.

“Remember everything I taught you, Bailey,” Logan muttered over his shoulder.

“Caiga sus armas!”

Erin jerked at the harsh order for them to drop their weapons.

It was over.

They were dead and it wasn’t even the seventh day.

SHE WAS STILL ALIVE.

That in itself felt like a miracle.

Erin paced the primitive cell. It was larger than the one she’d called home back in Atlanta, but lacked the modern conveniences. She glanced at what passed for a toilet and sink and grimaced. Well, at least she was alive.

She stalled in the middle of her dingy surroundings and prayed the same was true of Logan. The police had separated them as soon as they arrived at the prison camp. She’d been practically strip-searched. Thank God she’d been allowed to keep on her underwear. She closed her eyes and fought the urge to cry. Unlike in the United States, there had been no female chaperone during the proceedings. Once the guard had given her a thorough once-over, he’d told her to get dressed.