This wound was nothing. Mercer had been stabbed four times on a mission in Panama years ago. Those wounds had been so deep, crisscrossing over his chest. She’d been so afraid, then, and—
“I’m done.”
Her breath rushed out. She’d made it through. An old trick that she had—just use bad memories to push away the current fear. Fight one fear with another.
It was her way.
Because she knew too much about fear.
Cale finished cleaning up. He put a bandage over her arm. His fingers seemed to linger against her skin. “Where did you go?” Curiosity had deepened his voice.
Her head turned, and she stared into his eyes.
His jaw locked. His fingers—not covered in latex gloves any longer—rose to her cheeks.
He’s wiping away my tears.
She hadn’t realized that she’d been crying. Had the tears been due to her wound? Or her memories?
Those stab wounds on Mercer’s chest... When she’d seen him in the hospital, looking so broken, she’d been sure that he was dying.
But it would take a whole lot to kill Bruce Mercer.
“You’re not an EOD agent,” Cale said, sounding absolutely sure.
Her chin jerked up at that. “Don’t be so certain. I did a good enough job of saving you back there, didn’t I?” He would have taken a bullet to the back if it hadn’t been for her. Stitching up her wound hardly made them even.
No matter what he might think.
That steady gaze of his never wavered. “How’d you know the shooter was there?”
“I saw the glint of his weapon.” She’d had only an instant to react. She’d shoved Cale with all of her strength.
And saved him.
Point for the debutante.
He stepped away from her—or as far away as the small space would allow. “I want to know your story.”
I’m not in the mood to tell it. So she needed to distract him. “Mercer honestly sent you down here without briefing you? I mean, do you usually just unquestioningly follow the guy’s every order—”
He’d headed back into what she figured was supposed to be a den of sorts. She followed right on his heels. He spun around, and she had to pull up short so they didn’t collide.
After a considering moment, he gave a nod and said, “I’ll tell you the mission I was given.”
Uh-oh. She didn’t like the silky menace in his tone.
“I was told that I needed to head down to Rio and find a party girl named Cassidy Sherridan.”
A party girl? Well, that was the image she cultivated.
Only that’s not the real me.
“I was directed to follow her every move. To stick to her and make sure she remained safe at all times.”
Her brows climbed. Her arm was still throbbing, but she ignored the pain. “That’s it? That’s all you were told?” Talk about being in the dark. Mercer must have grown even more paranoid about her in recent months.
She’d give Cale a few details since he’d almost gotten shot.
“That’s all until I hear from Mercer in—” he glanced at the black watch that circled his wrist “—forty-five minutes.”
Not enough time.
She’d have to talk fast. Luckily, she’d always been a fast talker. Cassidy exhaled slowly and began with the truth. “Four years ago, my best friend was abducted from a pub just outside of Dublin.” Four years ago, but the memory was just as fresh in her mind. Fear didn’t fade. “The men who took her said that she’d be returned if they were paid three million dollars. They got their money, but Helen never came home.”
Not alive, anyway. Her body had eventually been found by the authorities.
Helen’s death hadn’t been fast or easy. No one should die that way.
“Since then, over a dozen other women—wealthy, young, well-connected women like Helen—have been taken. Sometimes...sometimes they are brought back, with only nightmares and shadows as their memories, but other times, their abductors leave their broken bodies behind.”
He watched her in silence.
She felt as if she’d just ripped open an old, too-raw wound...because she had. “The leader of the group is a man called the Executioner.”
Cale’s dark brows rose.
“He named himself—” arrogant, sick jerk “—when he...when he first contacted Helen’s father. He said that if he didn’t get his money, then Helen would face the Executioner’s knife. His knife.”
And Helen had faced that knife. The blade had sliced away the beauty of her face before plunging into her heart.
His gaze hardened. “The men at the party...”
“I think they were the Executioner’s men.” They’d been after their next target. After trying to attract their deadly attention for so long—
Finally, they’d come for Cassidy.
That knowledge was in his eyes. “You set yourself up as bait.” Angry, clipped words.
She had. There’d been no choice. “Someone has to stop them!”
His head shook. “The EOD—”
“I’m the one who told the EOD about the Executioner! I’m the one who went to Mercer.” Because she’d been so desperate.
“That’s why you have him on speed dial.”
She waved that away. “My family has connections.” As did the families of all the women who’d been taken. “My grandfather is the French ambassador to the U.S. government. Helen’s father was an Irish diplomat. The Executioner goes after a certain type of woman—”
“A woman like you.” There was fury darkening his words.
“Yes.” It made her the perfect bait. The Executioner was an international killer, and because he hunted in so many places, it was hard for one country—and that country’s authorities—to track him.
The faint lines on Cale’s face had tightened. “Mercer agreed to let you put yourself up as bait?”
Not exactly. That would be why he kept sending agents to guard her. Only this time, Mercer must have realized just how close she’d finally gotten to the Executioner. “Now that I have the Executioner’s attention, I can’t walk away. This is my chance.”
But Cale’s voice roughened even more as he demanded, “Your chance to do what? To wind up dead like your friend?”
Cold, brutal words. She knew his words were supposed to scare her. She’d been dealing with fear too long to let it stop her. “It’s my chance to stop him—and his men—before they destroy more lives. If I can get to the Executioner, if I can bring him down...”