As Lost as I Get Page 3

  Colombia was punishment for his sins in his old life.

  “So I’m a friend of the Ambassador’s, then?” he asked.

  “An old friend,” Wishnevsky said with a grin. “His Excellency knows who you are, of course.” Old enough to be his mother, Janet Wishnevsky looked a good fifteen years younger than she was, and what she didn’t know about espionage in Latin America wasn’t worth knowing. “There will be several minor Colombian bureaucrats at the fund-raiser. Keep an eye open for a potential recruit.”

  Despite everything, it was good to be back in the field, even if it was a punishment detail in a relative backwater CIA operation.

  Fine. It was fine. Lee had had his share of dangerous and exciting ops. After so many years in the field, he’d found that his taste for adrenaline had died a little. “What are we offering?”

  “The usual,” she said. “You know the routine.” She stood, signaling the end of their briefing. “Six PM tomorrow, sharp.” Wishnevsky leaned across her desk, a gleam in her sharp eyes. “I hope you have a decent tux.”

  “I can make do,” he said. She knew who he was, who his family was. Tuxedos weren’t a problem.

  As if she read his mind, she asked, “How’s your brother?”

  “Better,” he said. “The trial’s over, and Lucas is back on tour.” Lucas Wheeler, bad boy rock star. Lee still sometimes wondered how they were related, much less twins.

  “That was a hell of a thing you did for him.”

  A hell of a thing that cost him a cushy D.C. analyst position. “It was all his fiancée, Gwen,” he said. “She did all the work of keeping him safe. I just pulled some strings.” Too many strings, and strings he shouldn’t have pulled. He’d do it again. With Lucas refusing to take the threat of a stalker seriously, all Lee could do was make sure Gwen had a weapon and anything else she needed. That, and a few extra-curricular background checks on Lucas’s staff. Those were what had landed him in hot water. “Still, they’re both safe, and things have settled. It was time for me to get back in the field.”

  “I’m glad to have you.” She let him pretend the choice had been his. “Bill McKenzie’s loss is my gain.”

  “Believe me, he doesn’t think so.”

  “McKenzie’s been sitting on his ass too long to recognize a good thing when he sees one.” She came around her desk, squeezing past a decade’s worth of books and files piled throughout the tiny office. “You’re going to do good things out here, Lee. We’re not as hidebound out here on the edges of things.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Wishnevsky grunted. “Cut that shit out. It makes me feel old. Come on. I’ll let you buy me a drink and I’ll fill you in on the scuttlebutt around here.”

  “Yes, ma’a—” Lee stopped himself in time and grinned. The scuttlebutt he wouldn’t hear was what he really wanted to know: why one of the CIA’s sharpest minds had been stuck as a station chief in Bogotá for over a decade. “You can tell me about the Russkis and the old days when you had to use passenger pigeons to carry messages.”

  She laughed and swatted his shoulder. “Asshole. The last passenger pigeon died in 1910 or something. Don’t think I can’t still wipe the floor with you in hand-to-hand.” Her phone rang. “I’ll grab that, then we’ll go.”

  Lee went out into the hall to give her some privacy. He took another look at his legend, the identity he meant to take on. The stakes were lower in Bogotá than his past assignments; he’d be doing more office work, analysis, some recruiting and running agents. He was out of the political air of D.C., where everything that came across his desk had a life-or-death weight to it. Out here, he could forget that he’d tried to live a normal life. Most important, he could forget Oaxaca and Zoe Rodriguez.

  Part of him had hoped to get to know her better after saving her—which probably broke more protocols than anything he’d done for Lucas and Gwen. After the mission in Oaxaca, he couldn’t get her out of his mind: her fierceness despite her fear, the way she hadn’t buckled until the very end. And, if he were honest, how beautiful she was. He’d visited her in the hospital afterward, and they’d exchanged a few emails, but it was clear to him that Zoe saw him as nothing but a reminder of her worst nightmare. If she never wanted to see him again, he couldn’t blame her. It was time to move on.

  “I hope you can return that tux.” Wishnevsky stood in her office doorway, her expression grim.

  “What is it?”

  “Explosion across town,” she said. “Word’s not official, but my source says it’s a bomb.”

  “Who?” He wasn’t sure at first if he was asking who was hit or who the bomb belonged to.

  “No one’s stepped forward yet. Too early. It took out a chunk of an office building full of American non-government organizations.” She turned back to her office, and Lee didn’t need to be told to follow.

  “Al-Qaeda’s not an active presence here, are they?” he asked, while she dialed her phone.

  “I doubt it. Colombia’s got enough of its own homegrown terrorists without needing to import more.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Get down to the operations center.”

  His mission in Colombia suddenly promised to be nothing like he’d expected. What was supposed to be a standard recruitment and surveillance job just got a lot more interesting.

  Chapter Two

  The phone call came just as Zoe was helping Maria finish the dinner dishes in the small house Médecins International rented for the doctors on staff in Inírida. They shared it with the clinic’s third doctor, Susan. Cell service in Inírida was spotty at best, so they had a satellite phone for emergencies. When it rang, that was Zoe’s first clue that something was wrong. She answered it with a worried glance at Maria.

  “Zoe, it’s Christiane.” Zoe barely recognized the voice coming through the phone. The sat connection was bad, like it was catching every bit of interference between Inírida and Bogotá, where Christiane was the regional head of MI. “You need to close the clinic starting tomorrow. Move the staff to a situation yellow footing.”

  “What’s going on?” Her tone must have alerted Maria, who put down the towel to listen.

  “There was a bomb. Our building—it’s gone.”

  Zoe’s stomach tightened and she sank into the nearest chair. “Oh my God. Is everyone okay? When?”

  “No. We lost ten people.” Christiane took a shaky breath. “It was this afternoon. There were other NGOs in the building. I don’t know yet—” Her voice cracked, then she steadied herself. “We don’t know who’s claiming responsibility. The police are investigating, and I think the U.S. government is involved too.”

  “What do they think happened?”

  “All we know is that there was a bomb. They’re treating it as a terrorist attack. We don’t have any reason to think they were targeting us specifically, but we’re not taking any chances. I’m calling all the clinic directors in the region and asking them to take precautions.”

  “Of course.” Zoe met Maria’s worried eyes with her own. “What else can we do? Anything?”

  “Just stay safe. We’re already working to keep supply logistics in place, but for now, just close the clinic until we decide it’s safe.”

  When they hung up, Zoe sat still and tried to control the way her heart was trying to race. This had nothing to do with her. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was safe.

  “What’s going on?” Maria crouched near her chair. “You look faint.”

  Zoe shook her head, trying to keep a lid on the panic—the panic that had nothing to do with the situation. “A bomb exploded in Bogotá. The MI offices.”

  “Dios mío. Revolutionaries?” Colombia had any number of leftist revolutionary groups regularly in the news.

  “They don’t know yet.” Zoe’s color must have returned, because Maria moved to sit in a chair.

  “Are you all right?”r />
  “Just shocked,” Zoe said. “We’re going to yellow and closing the clinic, hopefully just for tomorrow. As a precaution. I need to call staff and let them know.”

  “Zoe.”

  “I’m fine—”

  “Come on, chica. I’m not blind. You flinch at loud noises, you hate walking on the street, and I know you’re having nightmares.”

  “I’m okay.” Zoe tried to sound more convincing. “The transition back to working the field is a little harder than I thought, is all.” Maria didn’t look convinced. “I promise you, if it was something talking about would help, I’d talk.”

  “I know about Mexico,” Maria said quietly. “I was a volunteer in Nepal and remember the security bulletins we got. Talk to someone. If not me, somebody.”

  “I will. I promise.” She squeezed Maria’s hand. “Thank you. You wanna help me divide up these phone calls?”

  The next day they were left with nothing much to do. Maria called and checked on her obstetrics patients. Susan, their internist, hadn’t had any overnight patients in the clinic. Both of them took the closing in stride. Zoe didn’t think they realized how unusual the situation was.

  By noon, Susan was going stir-crazy. She convinced Zoe to go out for a walk with her, although Zoe would rather have stayed inside behind a locked door. The idea of Susan wandering by herself with her limited Spanish and terrible Texas accent, though, was more frightening than the thought of leaving the house.

  Or so Zoe thought. The crowds in Inírida’s market square were too much. There could be a bomber hidden around every corner, or beneath every friendly exterior. She envied Susan’s easy enjoyment, moving from stall to stall buying whatever produce looked good, practicing her Spanish as if nothing unusual were going on. The two of them drew attention, as opposite as they were: Susan tall and pale with straight red hair, and Zoe shorter with brown skin and curly golden brown hair. Even though she shared similar features with the Afro-Colombians from the coast, Zoe had been in the field long enough to know that she’d never be mistaken for anything other than an American. The locals always knew. Something in her bearing or her clothing gave her away every time.

  Susan interrupted her thoughts with two delicious-smelling arepas de huevo, purchased from one of the stalls. She handed one to Zoe. They were hot out of the fryer, cornmeal dough crisp around the edges. Suddenly Zoe was starving, the crowds momentarily forgotten. “Maria says she’s going to teach me how to make these,” Susan said as they walked to the next stall.

  “God help us.” Zoe laughed around a mouthful of savory corn cake and egg. She swallowed. “Warn me, will you, so I can be out. Or so we can alert the fire department.” She looked up ahead of them and her stomach slammed shut. It couldn’t be. There was no way she was seeing what she was seeing, and yet . . .

  A man was haggling with one of the stall owners, a good-natured smile on his face. His clear, fair skin and expensive-looking clothes marked him as an American; she would have known that even if she hadn’t known who he was. Her heart started pounding painfully in her chest, and it got harder to catch her breath. Oh God, not a panic attack, not now.

  The last time she’d seen Lee Wheeler, he’d brought flowers to her in the hospital and made uncomfortable small talk until visiting hours ended. The time before that, she’d been clinging to his hand while orderlies tried to wheel her away on a stretcher.

  What was he doing here? More important, why was the CIA in Inírida? She had to get out of here.

  “Zoe?” Susan touched her arm and she jumped. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I—I think the heat is getting to me. I should go back home. Will you be okay?”

  “Are you sure you don’t need me to go with you?” Susan frowned at her and pressed a hand to Zoe’s cheek and forehead. “You’re not feeling faint, are you, honey?”

  “No, it’s fine. Stay.” Zoe managed a smile. “Someone’s got to finish the shopping.”

  “Well, if you’re sure . . .”

  “I am, I promise.” She slipped away from Susan and made her way out of the market. She threw away the last of the arepa, not hungry anymore.

  It was too late. She reached a quiet section of the street when she heard, “Zoe?”

  Damn it. She turned around and there he was, tall and breathtaking and terrifying. He was nothing like she remembered him, disheveled and determined and smudged with dirt. Instead he was smiling and crisp and looked every inch the well-to-do American businessman. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you were in Miami.”

  “Lee, hello.” She hated how weak her voice sounded. “I’ve been here a few months. The MI clinic in town needed a director, and I wanted back in the field.” She made herself smile.

  Lee leaned a little closer and smiled. He wouldn’t stop smiling at her, and it was confusing. Was the adrenaline rush still fear, or something else? “I shouldn’t have even said hi, but it’s a small town, and I needed to catch you alone.”

  “A-Alone?”

  “I have to ask, when you spotted me in the marketplace, did you tell your friend who I was? It’s very important.” Now he looked more like she remembered: serious and intent, his bright blue eyes laser-focused on her.

  Zoe shook her head, unable to look away. She reminded herself she wasn’t in danger, but her heart beat loud in her ears like she was. She had a sudden vivid memory of being cradled in his arms, held against his chest, and how it had signified a return to safety and home.

  “Good, that’s good,” he said. He sighed. “Damn it. I hate to do this, but I need your help.” He needed her help? He looked around, then stepped closer. “I’m on assignment here. Undercover. We may not run into each other again, but like I said, it’s a small town and—”

  “I should act like I don’t know you,” she said, catching on.

  “No, I think that’s probably not necessary. Besides, someone might’ve seen us talking.” He wore a reassuring look that wound up having the opposite effect on her. “I need you to remember that my name is Will Freeman. If we do end up seeing each other again, can you follow my lead about where we know each other from?”

  She nodded slowly. “I think so. So . . . I should call you Will, then?” Should she ask what his mission was? Did she want to know?

  He raised a finger to his lips. “At least in public. But look at you! You look fantastic. And you’re back in the field. That had to take guts.” It was impossible to miss the admiration in his eyes, prying her open and leaving her exposed. A reckless, buzzing part of her brain—the part that had stopped feeling fear—liked it.

  She smiled back, and it was almost real. “Thank you. And yes, it was time. I needed to be back.”

  “Good for you,” he said warmly. They stood looking at each other while the pause in the conversation grew to an awkward length.

  “Well,” she said, “I should—”

  “Zoe.” Just that one word, her name spoken quietly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  His eyes, still so sincere (in her mind she heard My name’s Lee Wheeler. I’m with the CIA. I’m going to get you out of here), still so vividly blue, stayed on her face. “I’m glad you’re back out in the field.” He took a breath. “But I have to ask: is there any chance you might get reassigned somewhere other than Guainía?”

  “What? Of course not. The Inírida clinic is the only free clinic in all of Guainía, and I’m the director. I’ve got volunteers counting on me, regular staff, not to mention the patients—”

  “Look—” He stopped and ran a hand over his hair. “I shouldn’t say anything. You know about the bombing in Bogotá?” he asked, and she nodded. He leaned in and her pulse jumped when he spoke into her ear. “We’ve traced some leads out here. I just want you to be safe. Get out if you can.”

  The softness of his words threw her, as did the warmth
of his breath against her skin. She pulled back to find his eyes uncertain.

  “I—” Her heart was hammering in her chest. “Thanks for telling me. I have to— I should go.” She turned and forced herself to walk away instead of run, not wanting to make a fool of herself.

  I just want you to be safe.

  After the rescue, and after she’d been released from the hospital, they’d exchanged several long emails—chatty ones, talking about themselves, or at least, she talked about herself, and he told her funny stories about his travels. At the time she’d thought—well, hoped, maybe—that he was interested in her as more than a mission.

  Then the emails stopped, and the therapist she’d started seeing to cope with the kidnapping warned her about transference. It was natural for her to have a crush on the man that rescued her. She thought she was over it. But now?

  I just want you to be safe. The words followed her the rest of the day, down into sleep and in her troubled dreams.

  ***

  They got the all-clear to open the clinic the following day, but Zoe couldn’t shake the nervousness. After all, now she knew the bombing was connected to Inírida. Damn Lee Wheeler for telling her. Maybe he was trying to scare her off, but all he did was scare her.

  She tried to throw herself into her work. With the unscheduled day off, their workload was higher than ever.

  By mid-morning, she had forgotten all about Lee Wheeler.

  When a patient came in needing surgery beyond their clinic’s capacity, Zoe knew just what to do.

  She found Jacira wrestling with a new supply order in their makeshift supply room. If anybody could cut through layers of bureaucratic process and get her patient transferred out of the country, Jacira could. “Good morning, Doctor.”

  “When are you going to call me Zoe like everybody else?”

  “When you stop being a doctor, Doctor.” Jacira deftly cut open a box of surgical dressing.