“Guerrero has a man in your father’s office. Someone willing to trade you for a thick wad of cash.” His eyes blazed hotter, and they were focused right on—
“Eyes up,” she told him, aware of the hot burn in her cheeks.
Those eyes, when they met hers, flashed with a need she didn’t want to acknowledge right then.
“I know how this works,” he told her. “And I sure as hell know that we have to move now.”
GPS tracking. Yes, she knew that was possible, but...“Why? Why can’t they just let me go?” Her father was dead. Shouldn’t that be the end with Guerrero?
Logan didn’t speak.
“Turn around,” she snapped.
His brows rose but he slowly turned, giving her a view of his broad back. Juliana dropped the dress and towel and yanked on her underwear—a black bra and matching panties—as fast as she could. Her gaze darted to his back and—
Wait, had he been watching her in the mirror? She couldn’t tell for certain, but for a moment there, she’d sworn she saw his gaze cut to the mirror.
To her reflection.
“Done yet?” he asked, almost sounding bored. Almost.
Eyes narrowing, Juliana yanked on her dress. With trembling hands, she fumbled and pulled up the zipper. All while Logan stood right there. “Done,” she gritted out. Not even trying to play the gentleman now. “My father is dead. Why do they want to bury me, too?”
He turned to face her. His gaze swept over her. Made her chilled skin suddenly feel too hot. “Because you’re a witness they can’t afford.” He caught her elbow and led her back through the small hotel room. He paused at the door, glanced outside.
“A witness?” Yes, she’d seen the faces of a few men in Mexico, but...
“Did you know that no witness has ever been able to positively identify Diego Guerrero? The man’s a ghost. The U.S. and Mexican governments both know the hell he brings, but no one has been able to so much as touch him.”
She pulled on her pumps. Useless for running but she felt strangely vulnerable in bare feet. “Well, I didn’t see the guy, either. The big boss man never came in when I was being held.” He’d left the torture for his flunkies.
Logan shot her a fast, hard stare. “Yes, he did come in.”
She blinked.
“From what we can tell, he spent more time with you than he ever has with anyone else. You saw his face. You talked to him.”
Wrong. “No, I didn’t. I—”
“John Gonzales is one of the aliases that Guerrero uses.”
My name’s...John. John Gonzales. She remembered the voice from the darkness. Who are you?
“He didn’t need to torture information out of you, Juliana. All he had to do was ask for it in the dark.”
And they’d talked for so many hours. Her heart slammed into her chest.
“You weren’t talking to another hostage in that hellhole.” Logan exhaled on a low sigh. “My team believes you were talking to the number-one weapons dealer in Mexico—the man his enemies call El Diablo because he never, ever leaves anyone alive who can ID him.”
Goose bumps rose on her arms.
“That man with you? The one you were so desperate to save? That was Diego Guerrero.”
Oh, hell. “Logan...”
A fist pounded on the door.
Logan didn’t move but she jumped. “I need you to trust me,” he told her. “Whatever happens, you have to stay with me, do you understand? Guerrero’s tracked you. He’ll use anything and anyone he can in order to get to you.”
The door shook again. There was only one entrance and exit to that room. Unless they were going to crawl out that tiny window in the bathroom...
“I can keep you alive,” Logan promised, eyes intense. “It’s what I do.”
Her father had told her that he was an assassin. That for years Logan’s job had been to kill.
But he’d saved her life twice already.
“This is the police!” a voice shouted. “Miss James, you need to come out! We’re here to help you.”
Logan’s smile was grim. “It’s not the police. When we open that door, it might look like them—”
Nightmare. This is a—
“—but it won’t be them. They’ll either kill you outright or deliver you to Guerrero.” His voice was low, hard with intensity. “I’m your best bet. You might hate me—”
No, she didn’t. Never had. Just one of their problems...
“—but you know no matter what you have to face on the other side of that door—”
Cops? Maybe more killers?
“—I’ll keep you safe.”
“We’re comin’ in!” the voice shouted. “We’re comin’—”
Gunfire exploded. Juliana didn’t scream, not this time. She clamped her mouth closed, choked back the scream that rose in her throat and dived for cover.
Logan jumped for the window. He knocked out the glass, took aim and—
Smiled.
From her position on the floor, Juliana watched that cold grin slip over his face. She expected him to start firing, but...
But she heard the sound of a car racing away. Tires squealed.
And Logan stalked to the door. He yanked it open.
The man he’d called Gunner stood on the other side.
Juliana scrambled to her feet. “The cops?”
“Those trigger-happy idiots weren’t cops.” Gunner shrugged. “A few shots sent them running fast enough, but I’m betting those same shots will have the real cops coming our way soon enough.” His eyes, so dark they were almost black, swept over her. “There’s a hit on you. A very, very high price on that pretty head. So unless you want the next funeral to be your own...”
“I don’t.”
Logan offered his hand to her. “Then you’ll come with me.”
In order to keep living, she’d do anything that she had to do.
Juliana took his hand, and they ran past the now bullet-scarred side of the hotel and toward the waiting SUV.
Trust...it looked as if she had to give it to him.
Because there was no other choice for her.
* * *
DIEGO GUERRERO STARED at the television. The pretty, little reporter talked in an excited rush as the camera panned behind her to take in the destruction at the cemetery.
Smoke still drifted lazily in the air.
“Police aren’t talking with the media yet,” she said, “but a source has revealed that the limousine destroyed in that explosion was the car used by Juliana James, daughter of Senator Aaron James. Juliana was laying her father to rest after his suicide—”