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
