The next Man on a Mission hero safeguards his charge until she reaches the witness stand—and his heart

Caterina “Cate” Mateja is prepping her testimony against the crime kingpin who enslaved her when his henchmen open fire in the courthouse, narrowly missing her. US Diplomatic Security Service agent Liam Jones dodges bullets to get her to safety, and yet the gorgeous man seems to want nothing to do with Cate’s case—or her.

It’s not Liam’s job to protect Cate. But after he discovers everything she’s been through, he makes it his personal mission to ensure she’ll have her day on the witness stand. Staying by her side 24/7 may mean opening his heart to a woman who’s unable to offer hers.

“So the other witness must be dead,” Cate said.

Liam nodded. “Yeah. I was told a little while ago.”

“Vishenko murdered her.” A flat, cold statement.

“Maybe,” he said. “There’s no proof of that. Not yet.”

“There may never be proof. But I know.” She tapped a hand against her breastbone. “I know it here. Just as I know he’s the one who tried to have me killed. He is ruthless. Amoral. An animal. He’ll do anything to prevent me from testifying.”

“But you’re going to testify anyway. Why?” he asked, curious to understand what drove her to take the risk when so many men had refused to flip on Vishenko in the past.

“Because your brother Alec and my cousin Angelina are right. He is evil, and he must be stopped. No matter the cost.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as if she were reciting an oft-repeated mantra, so that Liam had to strain to hear her next words. “‘I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something.’”

He recognized the quotation with a sense of shock. There was more to Cate than he knew.

* * *

Be sure to check out the next books in Amelia Autin’s exciting miniseries.

Man on a Mission: These heroes, working at home and overseas, will do anything for justice, honor…and love.

* * *

Dear Reader,

When I wrote McKinnon’s Royal Mission, part of my Man on a Mission miniseries, two characters who intrigued me were Princess Mara’s other two bodyguards—Diplomatic Security Service agents and brothers, Alec and Liam Jones. Alike in many ways, and yet so different in others. They are emotionally close, as brothers should be, so I started writing their stories simultaneously, weaving the plots together into a cohesive whole, although each book stands on its own, as it should.

But it was the brothers’ differences that caught my imagination. While both men are protectors, Liam, the younger of the two, is more—more concerned, more protective, more emotionally involved. Liam is also more idealistic than his pragmatic brother. As I saw him, he should have been born in the twelfth century, roaming the world as a knight-errant, saving damsels in distress.

So the only woman for Liam was either pure as the driven snow…or something else. And I settled on the something else for my heroine because she was more appealing to me. True or not, Caterina “Cate” Mateja has judged herself unworthy of a good man’s love after everything she has survived. Can Liam convince his lady otherwise in Liam’s Witness Protection?

I love hearing from my readers. Please email me at AmeliaAutin@aol.com and let me know what you think.

Amelia Autin

Liam’s Witness

Protection

Amelia Autin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

AMELIA AUTIN is a voracious reader who can’t bear to put a good book down…or part with it. Her bookshelves are crammed with books her husband periodically threatens to donate to a good cause, but he always relents…eventually.

Amelia returned to her first love, romance writing, after a long hiatus, during which she wrote numerous technical manuals and how-to guides, as well as designed and taught classes on a variety of subjects, including technical writing. She is a longtime member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), and served three years as its treasurer.

Amelia currently resides with her PhD engineer husband in quiet Vail, Arizona, where they can see the stars at night and have a “million-dollar view” of the Rincon Mountains from their backyard.

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For Sharon Treister, Stephanie Hyacinth, Susan Kyser Frank, Debbie Oxier, Sharon Wade and a host of other readers whose emails, book reviews and posts kept me going in 2014 and helped me make my deadline for this book—this one’s for you. For my sister, Diana MTK Autin, Esq., who helped me get the legal details correct (any errors are mine and mine alone).

And for Vincent…always.

Acknowledgments

Though itself part of the US Department of State, the Bureau of Diplomatic Security is the parent organization of the Diplomatic Security Service (DSS). The DSS is the primary tool by which the DS carries out its security and law enforcement mandate. For more information,

please visit www.state.gov/m/ds.

I have the highest regard for the work these federal agencies perform. Nothing in this story is intended as a negative representation of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security or the Diplomatic Security Service, their duties or their employees.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

She didn’t look like a prostitute. That was the first thing that came to Liam Jones’s mind when he saw her standing next to a bench outside the courtroom. He didn’t know what he’d expected—not exactly—but it wasn’t a fresh-faced woman in her midtwenties wearing a summery dress in pastel swirls of pink and green, bare legs and sandals. Her blond hair was shoulder length, clean and shining, and held away from her face by cloisonné combs in a way that made her look heartbreakingly young.

There was a definite family resemblance to her cousin, Liam’s new sister-in-law, Angelina Mateja. So she had to be Caterina Mateja. Which meant looks were deceiving. If he hadn’t known who she was, if he hadn’t known she was testifying in his brother’s human trafficking and prostitution ring conspiracy case, he’d have pegged her as a model—tall, slender, almost delicate in appearance, aloof, with a touch-me-not air. And a definite attitude. She was listening to two men in impeccable dark suits and power ties that shrieked they were the prosecutors on the case—one a dapper man in his fifties, the other younger than Liam. Prepping their witness? he wondered idly. Isn’t it kind of late for that?

And though he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he knew damned well Caterina Mateja wasn’t at all happy with whatever they were telling her. Two other men wearing identical black outfits, badges and sidearms—all of which Liam recognized—stood on either side of her, obviously providing her with protection.

A longtime Diplomatic Security Service special agent, Liam wasn’t there in a professional capacity. Not officially. Officially he was on vacation for the next three weeks. But his brother Alec, also a DSS special agent—not just a special agent, he reminded himself with a smile of familial pride in his brother’s accomplishments, the regional security officer at the US embassy in Zakhar—had asked him to meet him at the courthouse this morning for the start of the trial. As a witness Alec had been precluded in a pretrial motion from sitting in the courtroom for the proceedings. But there was nothing stopping Liam from being there, and Alec had asked him to attend as a special favor. Not that Alec had told Liam a lot about the case ahead of time, nor would Liam discuss the trial with his brother while it was under way. But this case was important to Alec—a career maker—and Liam would do anything for his brother.

Liam glanced at his watch. He was early, but that was par for the course with him. He planned his days carefully—planned his entire life that way, actually—and he didn’t like leaving things to chance. Traffic in Washington, DC, was rarely predictable, often troublesome even in the summer, so Liam almost always arrived early for whatever he had going when he was in town. He was never late. Not even in New York.

He leaned casually against one of the rotunda’s marble pillars, careful to keep his distance as he waited for his brother. Alec had told him US Marshals were guarding Caterina Mateja since she was a crucial witness in this trial, more crucial than Alec, who had orchestrated it all. So even if Liam hadn’t recognized their outfits and badges he would have known who the two men were.

Liam was armed—he’d had to display his DSS badge and show the guards his SIG SAUER P229R in its shoulder holster in order to bring a weapon into the building past the metal detectors—and he had no intention of making the marshals think he was a threat to their witness.

But even from this distance he couldn’t help notice how beautiful she was. How graceful her hands were as she tried to make some point to the prosecutors. How altogether classy and patrician she looked standing there arguing with them but never losing her cool. Anyone less like a hooker he’d yet to see.

Movement out of the corner of his eye had Liam turning sharply in its direction, then he grinned. “Hey,” he said as Alec came up to him.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Told you I’d be here.”

“Yeah, but sometimes things crop up, so I’d have understood if you couldn’t make it. When did you get in?”

“Late last night. Thought about taking the train down from New York, so at least I’d get a little sleep on the way, but decided to drive after all. I’d have been here earlier, but there was a screwup with the guy covering for me at the UN.”

Alec grimaced. “Speaking of screwups, I hate to tell you this, but the trial won’t actually start until tomorrow—I just found out or I’d have called you. The jury was supposed to be seated this morning, and the trial was going to open with the big guns—Caterina Mateja’s testimony—but it’s been put off for a day. Last-minute pretrial motions. Sorry I got you down here a day too soon.”

Liam shrugged. “Not a problem. I didn’t have any other plans.”

“So you’re really on vacation? For three whole weeks? How’d you wangle that?”

“Three whole weeks,” Liam agreed, then affected a pious air. “Clean living.”

“Yeah right,” his brother scoffed.

“Well, it might have something to do with the fact that I haven’t taken any vacation at all so far this year, and my boss would like me to use up some of it before he sends me out of the country.”

“That’s sounds more like it.”

Liam grinned. “So are we on for dinner tonight? Or do you have to rush back to your blushing bride?” He made a sound like a squawking hen, devilishly teasing his brother the way they’d done to each other since they were kids.

Alec cursed him genially, fake-punched his shoulder, then grinned, too, and said, “Angel’s given me the night off—she’s having dinner with her cousin.” He tilted his head in Caterina Mateja’s direction. “I’m off-limits there. I’m not supposed to have any contact with her—the trial judge was quite clear about that. But the restriction doesn’t include Angel since she’s not a witness in this trial. And Caterina will need her moral support.”

He shook his head regretfully. “The defense attorneys will rip her to shreds if they can. They’ll paint her as black as the judge will let them get away with. A vengeful prostitute is what they’ll call her, out to get her former lover—so they’ll say—any way she can for dumping her. Even lying to convict him.”

“Any truth to that?”

Alec bent a hard stare on his brother. “I’m going to pretend you never asked me that question.”

Liam shook his head. “Look I know she’s your wife’s cousin and all that, but—”

“But nothing,” Alec said in a steely voice. “You don’t know what Caterina’s been through. If you had any idea...if you knew the courage it’s taking for her to face these men—especially Aleksandrov Vishenko—and testify in open court, you wouldn’t—”

The chatter of submachine gunfire and screams from civilians echoing through the cavernous rotunda interrupted whatever Alec had intended to say next. Both brothers spun toward the gunfire, reaching simultaneously for their SIG SAUERs. And both brothers saw immediately they were shielded from the gunmen’s sight by the marble pillar they were standing behind.

How the hell did they get Uzis past the metal detectors? Past the guards at the door? were Liam’s first thoughts, but he didn’t waste more than a couple of seconds on those questions. His gaze swung toward the woman he was pretty sure was the intended target. The marshals had her down on the floor, covering her body with theirs as they tried to return fire. Both prosecutors were also down—but not voluntarily. One was obviously dead, a grim sight. The other was still alive, but for how long was anyone’s guess. And the marshals weren’t faring much better. One was wounded in the thigh, the other had taken a spray of bullets to his nonshooting arm and shoulder. Both were doing their damnedest to shield Caterina, but they were caught out in the open with only the bench for shelter and no warning. And semiautomatics were a pitiful defense against submachine guns.

“Cover me,” Alec said, darting to his right, not even waiting for acknowledgment. Liam switched his gun to his left hand—thank God I’m ambidextrous, he thought—operating on instinct and training that was second nature after so many years, not to mention a lifelong knowledge of his brother. He peered around the marble column, took careful aim and fired a volley of shots at the men with the submachine guns to distract them from Alec circling around behind to get the drop on them. Liam had the savage satisfaction of hearing a scream of pain as one of his shots found its target.

One down, he thought, still on autopilot. One to go. He switched his gun back to his right hand, moved in the other direction and fired again from the other side of the column, emptying the clip. His spare clip, which he carried in his jacket pocket, was already in his left hand. Seconds was all it took to eject the empty clip and slam the full one home. Seconds he didn’t really have, because one of the Uzis was still firing.

But then he recognized the sound of Alec’s SIG SAUER, followed by an agonized scream—not Alec’s voice. When he slid cautiously out from behind the pillar he saw Alec kicking the Uzis away from both downed gunmen, and he started running toward his brother. But Alec had other ideas.

“They’re dead,” he shouted to Liam across the rotunda. “Get Caterina the hell out of here. She dies, this case dies, too.”

Liam hesitated for only a second. Then he turned in the direction of Caterina and the US Marshals shielding her. “Diplomatic Security Service,” he announced quickly, displaying his badge before the men could draw a bead on him. “That’s my brother over there with the gunmen. He’s DSS, too.”

Both marshals were bleeding heavily, but they were still conscious. “Your brother’s right,” one man gasped. “It might be just those two, but who the hell knows? Get her to safety.” He rolled off Caterina as he said this, and Liam—still carrying his gun in his right hand—reached down with his left hand to help her to her feet. Blood had dripped from the wounded men onto the dress she was wearing, and there was blood on her arm, but Liam was glad to see she appeared to be unhurt. Shocked. Dazed. But physically untouched.

He grasped her arm as a courtroom door down the hallway opened and a dozen spectators spilled out, along with the deputy assigned to that courtroom. “Come on,” he urged, pulling Caterina behind him, shielding her with his body just as the marshals had done.

It took no time at all for Liam to decide going out the front door was too risky. He didn’t know what other exits there were in the building, but he did know there was a garage downstairs. A garage where he’d parked this morning, not knowing that spending the few extra dollars to park beneath the courthouse instead of a couple of blocks away would be a lifesaver.

He hustled Caterina to the nearest stairwell—he knew better than to try for an elevator that could become a death trap—never letting go of her arm. He’d just thrust her through the doorway when he caught sight of two men moving purposely toward them. But the men were on the other side of the rotunda, too far away to catch them if they didn’t dawdle.

Time seemed to stretch out in that odd way it does when adrenaline is pumping, and Liam’s thoughts raced ahead of his body as they clattered down the stairs. Garage. SUV. Police station? No, too many unknowns. Uzis in the courthouse. Conspiracy? Those two men. Good guys or bad? No way to tell. Need a bolt-hole. Safe house. Who to trust?

Alec, of course, but Alec couldn’t be a part of this. Not now.

Liam practically threw Caterina into the backseat of his SUV. “Get down on the floor,” he ordered brusquely. He grabbed a blanket out of the emergency pack he kept in the rear, and spread it lengthwise over Caterina’s body. “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe. I don’t want anyone to see you, not the parking attendant or anyone else.”

He drove out of the garage at a sedate pace, not wanting to raise suspicions if he squealed his tires in his haste to escape. But his eyes were on the rearview mirror, watching to see if anyone exited the stairwell he and Caterina had used. So far so good.

He paid the attendant with a twenty, refusing to let himself display the slightest hint of impatience as he waited for his change. He didn’t bother with a receipt. He’d just rolled up the window when he saw two men in his rearview mirror. Running in his direction. He couldn’t be positive, but they sure looked like the same men who’d chased after them upstairs.

Liam floored the accelerator. Then he was on the streets of DC. He turned left, and left again, then gunned the engine as the light turned yellow, watching sharply to see if anyone ran a red light to follow them. It wasn’t likely—the men pursuing them had been on foot, so he didn’t really expect a chase car that quickly—but he wasn’t taking any chances. No one ran the red light, so Liam drove five blocks, turned right, left and right again, then pulled his SUV onto the freeway heading toward Virginia. Virginia, and anonymity. Anonymity equaled safety. At least for now.

Traffic was light on the freeway out of the city in the middle of the morning, and Liam made good time. He only needed part of his attention to drive, and he returned to ponder the question he’d asked himself earlier. Who to trust? His fellow DSS agents at the Bureau of Diplomatic Security? His boss? The State Department? The FBI?

Though he knew better than to text while behind the wheel, Liam suddenly pulled his cell phone out and hit speed dial two for Alec—his SUV’s Bluetooth capability would allow him to talk hands-free.

“It’s me,” he said when Alec answered. “Just wanted you to know we had two pursuers on foot.” He quickly described what the two men looked like and how they were dressed. “Could have been Fibbies, but I doubt it. They just didn’t have the look, if you know what I mean. Didn’t see any guns, but that doesn’t mean anything. If they were bad guys they’re probably long gone by now, but just in case...”

“We’ll check it out. You got clean away?”

“Yeah. Heading out of the city as we speak.”

“You got a destination?”

Liam laughed a little. “Anywhere but here, bro.”

“Caterina okay?” The concern in Alec’s voice was obvious. And just as obviously, his concern wasn’t all professional.

“Not a mark on her.”

“Keep her safe.”

“You know I will.”

There was silence on the other end. Then, “Call Cody when you get the chance,” Alec said.

“You read my mind. What’s the situation there?”

“Both shooters are dead, but you already knew that. No ID, nothing to say who they are. The serial numbers on the Uzis were filed off, but the FBI thinks they might be able to raise them—we might get lucky there.”

“What about the people they shot?”

“The lead prosecutor’s in the morgue, the other one’s critical. I think the marshals are going to make it. Hey, gotta go. The FBI’s bearing down on me again, and I don’t want them to hear this conversation.”

After Alec hung up, Liam’s thoughts kept circling back to the events as they had unfolded. Uzis in the courthouse, he reminded himself. He knew they were Uzis—the sound was unmistakable. This hadn’t just happened. Someone had plotted and planned very carefully. How did they get Uzis past the metal detectors and the guards? he asked again, still without an answer. At least not a palatable answer. Because the answer was—they couldn’t. That meant a conspiracy. A conspiracy that included someone with enough authority, enough clout, to smuggle the submachine guns in. Someone with a lot at risk. Someone who would do anything to keep Caterina from testifying.

Liam dismissed the idea that the prosecutors had been the targets. They were collateral damage, nothing more. Caterina was the one they wanted dead. He only knew the bare bones of the case she was testifying in, the few bits and pieces Alec had shared with him, but he knew one thing for sure—she was lucky to be alive. Damned lucky. And even luckier she’d fallen in with someone who could protect her now that her US Marshals bodyguards were out of the picture.

Liam had been driving in silence for fifteen minutes when he suddenly realized something and cursed softly. Despite the fact that Caterina had to be smothering underneath the blanket on the floor even with the SUV’s A/C blasting on max power, she hadn’t moved, hadn’t complained, hadn’t asked if she could come out from beneath the blanket yet.

In fact, Caterina hadn’t spoken one word since this whole thing began. Not a single word.

Chapter 2

Cate had escaped into a self-induced fugue state. She’d learned how nine years ago, how to disassociate her mind from her body so that what was happening to her body was as remote as if it was happening to someone else. It was the only way she’d been able to survive those two years with Aleksandrov Vishenko. The only way she’d been able to bear the pain—mental and physical. The only way she’d been able to stay sane in a world that had gone sickeningly insane.

But she hadn’t had to escape this way for years. Not since she’d physically escaped Vishenko’s clutches, not since she’d regained possession of her own body...her own soul. But she hadn’t forgotten how. Just as she would never forget what Vishenko had done to her, she would never forget the coping mechanism that had allowed her to survive those two hellish years.

She floated in darkness beneath the blanket, remembering the rosebushes in the garden at her cousin’s house. How she’d envied her cousin living among all that beauty! Angelina’s mother’s prized rosebushes, which she’d nurtured as if they were all the other babies she could never have after Angelina was born. Red roses, yellow roses, roses with fancy blended colors and even more fanciful names, like Fire and Ice and Dream Come True. But Cate had always preferred the white roses. Plain. White. Pure. Like a young girl in her First Communion dress. Untouched. Cleansed of mortal sin.

She’d been that girl a long time ago. A lifetime ago. But she’d never be that girl again. She could never undo what had been done to her. Could never undo what she’d done to survive.

Suddenly she wasn’t floating anymore. Suddenly she was remembering what she’d long-ago sworn she would not remember, waking or sleeping. The memories her brain had successfully blanked out for years, until Alec Jones had erupted into her life and forced her to remember. Alec, who’d convinced her to testify against Vishenko and the others about what she knew, about the evidence she’d secreted away. Alec, who was married to Angelina now.

He hadn’t judged her. Not the harsh way she judged herself. Neither had Angelina. They’d treated Cate tenderly, lovingly, but with a matter-of-factness that allowed her to retain that mental disassociation from her past. As if those things had happened to someone else. Not to her.

Now that she was aware of her surroundings, Cate realized she could barely breathe beneath the blanket. It was hot, stuffy, smothering. She was also aware of the steady rumble and vibration caused by the engine and the SUV’s wheels as they ate up the miles. Putting distance between themselves and the men who’d tried to kill her. Vishenko’s men. She had no doubt about that.

The SUV slowed. Then veered to the right. Then stopped. Cate heard the driver’s door open and close, but she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Suddenly the side door opened. “Sorry,” a deep voice said above her as the blanket was abruptly removed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Strong yet gentle hands helped Cate rise and come out of the SUV to stand next to it, and for a moment the world swung dizzyingly around her as she regained her equilibrium. Then she steadied and was able to focus on the man in front of her.

He looked so much like Alec Jones that he could be his twin brother. But there were differences, and though Cate couldn’t have said exactly what those differences were, she knew in an instant this man wasn’t her cousin’s husband. He was tall and broad-shouldered, just as Alec was, with a muscular compactness that spoke of a man who kept himself in fighting trim. Close-cropped auburn hair, also just like Alec. And soft brown eyes. Is it his eyes that are different? she wondered distractedly. Not the color, no. But the expression in them. An expression that told her plain as words he found her attractive. Man-woman attractive. Alec had never looked at her that way. Alec had known she never wanted any man to look at her that way...ever again.

But there was something else in this man’s expression that bothered her even more. Gentleness notwithstanding, Cate knew he’d made a snap judgment about her...and found her wanting. It wasn’t obvious from his manner, but she had a sixth sense about these things.

“Who are you?” she asked abruptly. “You’re not Alec.”

“Liam. Liam Jones. Alec’s my brother.”

She glanced around now, taking in their surroundings. They were in a rest stop on the highway. Not deserted, but not overly crowded, either. There were no other cars in the parking area, but there were a couple of tractor-trailer trucks on the other side of the divider. “Why have we stopped here?”

He smiled ruefully, and Cate caught her breath. That smile changed his whole face from pleasantly masculine to something extraordinary. “You were so quiet I forgot you were under the blanket in the back,” he said in a deep voice that sounded like Alec’s in a way, but was also different somehow. “When I remembered, I was kicking myself for not letting you out sooner. I stopped the first chance I had.”

His hand went to brush back her tousled hair—a perfectly natural response under the circumstances—but Cate shied away. Then despised herself as a coward when the smile faded from Liam’s face.

“Sorry,” he said again, but there was a watchfulness in his eyes now. A guarded expression she couldn’t read. Not exactly. But she knew he hadn’t missed her reaction to his innocent gesture. His gaze dropped from her face to her dress and then to her arm, and when she looked down she realized the blood had already dried. Not her blood, of course. The blood of the men who’d risked their lives protecting her. Men like this man.

She didn’t know how she knew Liam was a bodyguard, too. There was just something about him. She had only vague, disjointed memories of their flight from the courthouse—she’d already entered that escapist fugue state almost the moment the first shots were fired, the moment the two US Marshals had thrown themselves on top of her to shield her with their bodies. But Liam had carried a gun, she remembered that now. And he would have used it, she remembered that, too. Had he already used it? Was that how the machine guns targeting her had been silenced?

“Did you kill them?” The question popped out before she could stop it.

He obviously knew to whom she was referring. “I killed one of them,” he said quietly. “Alec got the other one. But there could have been others around—backup killers—there was no way to know. So Alec told me to get you out of there.”

She culled her memory, trying to recall the frenzied voices around her during and after the attack. Then she said slowly, “‘She dies, this case dies, too.’ That was Alec, yes?”

“Yeah. I didn’t like leaving him in that situation, but he was right. I had to get you to safety. That was more important.”

“Who are you?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I told you. I’m Alec’s brother Liam.”

She shook her head impatiently. “No, I mean, what are you? Are you a US marshal like the men who were guarding me?”

“Diplomatic Security Service. DSS. Like Alec. The DSS is responsible for a lot of things, including protecting foreign dignitaries when they visit the US, and I’ve done my share of that. In fact, I was on the detail guarding your Princess Mara when she first came to this country. Alec and I both were. So yeah, I knew what to do when bullets started flying. That’s my job.”

“So what is next? Where do I go?”

“We,” he told her. “Where do we go. I’m not sure. I’ve got to call a man.” He pointed to the dried blood on Cate’s arm, then indicated the restroom a short distance away. “You might want to wash up a little and use the facilities while I do that. My call will take a while.”

When Cate agreed, she was surprised he led the way to the ladies’ room but prevented her from entering until he’d checked it out. “It’s clear,” he told her when he returned. Then he moved away from the doorway a couple of paces, pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial.

He was still on the phone when Cate came out of the ladies’ room. She’d washed the blood from her arm and done her best with the dress—which was still damp in places, although she’d blotted as much of the water from it as she could—but anyone who looked closely could still see the faint discolorations that would probably never go away completely. She didn’t care. This dress didn’t really belong to her, it was a dress designed to present a certain appearance for the jury. Well-to-do, but not too expensive. Not the Mayflower Madam, but not a street hooker, either. The dress had been picked out by the prosecutors, who wanted her to look young and wholesome. The girl next door.

Cate was young. In years, if nothing else. But she wasn’t wholesome—she was damaged goods. She would never be wholesome again. But the jury didn’t have to know that, and she had no intention of telling them how she felt about the two-year nightmare when she’d been Vishenko’s prisoner. Stick to the facts, the prosecutors had hammered home, don’t volunteer opinions.

Angelina had said the same thing. But she’d also advised Cate to let her emotions show just enough so the jury empathized with her, believed her implicitly. If she was too cold the jury wouldn’t like her. And the jury needed to like her, Angelina had said. Angelina, who had at one time been a prosecutor herself long ago, but who had also been a bodyguard for Zakhar’s Queen Juliana. Angelina, who now headed the queen’s security detail, but who had come over to the States to be there for Cate during the trial.

“Okay,” Liam was saying to the man on the other end of the phone. “Call me back as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting.” He listened for a minute, then laughed and said, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s a hell of a way to start a vacation.” Then he disconnected.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked.

“Let’s sit in the SUV,” he told her. “I don’t want you out in the open if I can help it.”

He held the passenger door for Cate but didn’t touch her at all, as if he knew she couldn’t bear to be touched in a personal way. Then he got into the driver’s seat, saying, “That was Cody Walker. My brother-in-law. At this point he’s about the only person who can help us that I know I can trust. He was already working on it—can you believe it?—he’ll call me back when he has something definite.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Alec called Cody a half hour ago, told him I was in trouble and I’d be in touch. Even before I talked with Alec. Damn! Alec’s always one step ahead of me—he can read my mind.”

“I know him,” she said. “Your brother-in-law. I met him when I first met your brother. You told him where we are?”

Liam shook his head again. “The first thing you have to learn about security, Ms. Mateja, is a concept called ‘need to know.’ At this point Cody doesn’t have a need to know where we are, so I didn’t tell him. When and if he needs to know, I will.”

Cate waited for one heartbeat, then two, before she said, “Cate. Please just call me Cate. I... I don’t like Caterina.” She couldn’t suppress the little shiver as she said the name. “And I don’t use Mateja anymore.” Not for seven years. “Except in court, of course. I must use it there—it’s my legal name.”

“What last name do you go by, then?”

She laughed a little. “Would you believe... Jones?”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.” She darted a look at his face. “I wanted an American name so common no one would be able to trace it...or me. The only names I could think of like that were Smith and Jones.”

“‘Alias Smith and Jones,’” he murmured under his breath.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Just an old TV western Alec and I used to watch on cable.” He looked as if he were going to explain more, but changed his mind.

She waited, but he didn’t say anything, so she continued. “Cate Smith sounded too much like Kate Smith, the singer—I didn’t want anyone to remember me for any reason.” Her smile faded. “The book I read in the library about going underground advised not changing your first name too much, especially the first letter. Too easy to slip up and say your real name—or at least start to say your real name—if you’re taken unaware. Same thing for signing your name. So I became Cate Jones.”

“Cate Jones.” He tilted his head to one side as he considered it. “Not bad. And most people who heard you say it would think K not C, making it even less likely they’d recognize your name.” Then his soft brown eyes hardened. “So why were you going underground in the first place?”

She wanted to look away from that hard, uncompromising stare, but she couldn’t. “Alec knows,” she said finally. Painfully.

“But you don’t want me to know, is that it?”

Cate shook her head. “You don’t have a ‘need to know,’” she reminded him.

“Touché,” Liam said with a little huff of laughter. “Touché.”

* * *

“Escaped?” roared Aleksandrov Vishenko in Russian to the two men who were the bearers of bad tidings to their boss. “What do you mean, she escaped?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” said one man as he tried to placate his boss. “But there was interference from an unexpected source—Diplomatic Security Service agents who happened to be in the courthouse...armed. Both of our men are dead. At least they cannot talk.”

“They would not have talked anyway,” insisted the other man.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” the first man said, glancing at him. “They are dead, so it no longer matters.” Then he faced his boss again. “The courthouse is swarming with FBI agents and men from the US Marshals Service—both marshals guarding the woman were wounded. One of the federal prosecutors is dead, the other could die any moment. And the woman was spirited away by one of the men who foiled the initial attempt on her life. We do not know where he has taken her. Not yet.”

“Find out,” Vishenko hissed at his men. “Find out where she is and take care of her. Permanently. If she lives to testify, we are all dead.”

* * *

Liam’s cell phone shrilled, interrupting his conversation with Cate, and he grabbed it. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” said Cody Walker, Liam’s brother-in-law. “I spoke with my boss, Nick D’Arcy, in Washington.”

“Was that necessary?”

“Not unless I wanted to have a job tomorrow,” Cody said dryly.

“Sorry,” Liam apologized. “I guess I’m not thinking clearly at the moment.”

“D’Arcy can be trusted. There are only a few absolutely incorruptible people in the world, people I’d trust with my own life, and Nick D’Arcy is one of them. He’s also one of the most brilliant minds in the business, not to mention eerily omniscient. Didn’t I ever tell you his nickname is Baker Street?”

“Yeah, you mentioned it once or twice. Keira, too. Sherlock Holmes, right?”

“Right,” Cody said. “So do you want to hear the plan he came up with, or not?”

“Let’s have it.”

“The agency has a safe house in Fairfax, Virginia. Got a pen and paper?”

“Hold on a sec.” Liam pulled both from an inner jacket pocket, and balanced his cell phone as best he could on his shoulder. “Shoot.”

“Go to this address first.” Liam jotted down the address Cody gave him, then repeated it back. “Right. Someone from the agency will meet you there and exchange vehicles—just in case they know who you are, just in case they’ve got your license plate number and are tracking you that way.”

“Make it an SUV, okay? I’m more comfortable with that kind of versatility and power under the hood.”

“Sure thing. You won’t have any complaints. And he’ll have a new cell phone for you, too. Encrypted. Untraceable. At least I think it’ll be untraceable. Alec had to tell the FBI who you were, so of course they’ve got your cell phone number. They can locate you by triangulating on the cell towers your phone pings off.”

Liam hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t thought he needed to hide from law enforcement as well as from the men out to kill Cate, but apparently Cody had. “For now, make sure your cell phone is off unless you’re using it. Once you’ve got new wheels and a new phone, go to this safe house.” And Cody recited another address.

“Okay,” Liam said, after he’d confirmed he had the second address correct. “So we go to the agency’s safe house. Then what?” He looked at Cate as he said this, but her expression gave away nothing of what she was thinking.

“You stay there with our witness, at least for tonight, while the agency opens an investigation—or rather, reactivates the one we already had going with Trace McKinnon and Alec. You did know the agency had a hand in this case, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t, but I do now.”

“Talk to Alec, once you get to the safe house. He’ll bring you up to speed on everything you need to know. Tell him I said the agency trusts him to use his discretion.”

“Will do.”

“And, Liam? I know technically you’re on vacation, and maybe I shouldn’t even be asking, but...”

“But what?”

“D’Arcy wants to know if you’ll stay on this assignment...at least for the next few days.”

Puzzled, Liam said, “Sure thing. But why?”

“There was a case a few years back—before your time—when D’Arcy was working for the US Marshals Service. They were infiltrated by a domestic terrorist organization, and a witness D’Arcy was responsible for was almost killed. Later, your sister discovered the FBI had been infiltrated at the same time, by the same group. A group with ties to the Russian Mafia.”

“Holy crap.”

“Yeah. Information was leaked, and three people died when the terrorist organization tried to torture the whereabouts of the witness—a former cop who’d gone undercover for the FBI—out of his partner. The partner would have given the witness up if he’d known where he was—one of those killed was the man’s own baby son, and the other was his wife—but he honestly didn’t know where the witness was, so he was killed too, to send a message. That’s why D’Arcy doesn’t want to take any chances. He doesn’t want the FBI or the US Marshals Service to know where our witness is...at least for now.”

“He’s dead wrong, at least where those marshals are concerned,” Liam said hotly. “I saw them. They were covering her like a blanket, taking the bullets meant for her. If either of those men betrayed—”

Cody cut him off. “It wouldn’t necessarily have been one of them. It could have been anyone who knew where she would be, all the way up the line. In the US Marshals Service or the FBI. Hell, it could have been the US Attorney’s Office for all we know. But someone smuggled those guns into the courthouse. And until we know who, D’Arcy wants the agency to play it close to the vest. So are you in?”

“Sure, but for how long? I’ve only got three weeks.”

“Hopefully not that long, but the agency will clear things with the DSS either way—you’d better believe D’Arcy has that kind of pull. That’s one of the reasons I wanted him involved. He’ll call in a favor if that’s what it takes—and just about every federal agency owes him one...or a dozen.”

“Okay. Then I’m in.” He almost disconnected then, but Cody stopped him.

“One more thing.” Liam could sense Cody’s hesitation before he said, “Do what you need to do to keep Caterina Mateja safe.” Liam glanced at Cate, but again her expression conveyed nothing that gave him a clue to her inner thoughts. “We had another witness in her case,” Cody continued, “one who could corroborate much of her testimony, but she’s dead. It happened over the weekend. Caterina doesn’t know it yet—the prosecutors didn’t want to frighten her, but I got the report last night. It was made to look like a traffic accident, but—and keep this to yourself—she was murdered. Despite the fact she was being guarded by US Marshals, too, same as Caterina.”

Liam carefully schooled his face so Cate—who was watching him intently—wouldn’t be able to read anything from his expression, and Cody continued with barely a pause. “The FBI is still trying to piece together exactly where the protection on the other witness broke down. The agency was politely told to butt out. But they did confirm it was murder. Just like whoever killed her tried to murder Caterina this morning. Only with Caterina, they weren’t trying to hide anything—and they were willing to take out anyone to get to her.”

Liam swore under his breath. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse...they did. “I get it,” he told his brother-in-law. Alec knew the other witness was dead—he had to, Liam thought. “After it all went down Alec said, ‘She dies, this case dies, too.’ That’s pretty much it, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. In a nutshell. We’ve got other evidence against Vishenko and the conspirators, but nothing like what Caterina has to say. And some of the physical evidence needs Caterina to validate where it came from—it’s useless without her.

“D’Arcy told me the death of the other witness was the main reason the trial was delayed a day. The prosecution made a motion first thing this morning to use this other witness’s grand jury testimony and her deposition, since she’s no longer alive to testify in person. The defense, of course, fought that tooth and nail, citing the defendants’ rights under the Sixth Amendment to confront the witnesses against them. No one knows how the judge will rule—the motion is still pending—but I wouldn’t make book on the ruling going our way unless the prosecution can prove the defendants are the ones who killed the witness. Of course, everything’s on hold for now, with one prosecutor dead and another in intensive care. The judge granted the prosecution a one-month continuance.”

“What about the marshals who were wounded?” Liam asked. “Alec said he thought they’d make it. Do you know anything more?”

“Holding their own, that’s the last I heard.”

“Better than nothing. Thanks for checking. Keep me posted if you hear anything.”

“Sure thing. And, Liam...be careful, okay? I don’t want to be the one to tell my wife her brother’s dead and I knew it might happen.”

Liam smiled to himself. “Don’t worry. I’m a big boy. And you should talk. You and Keira both. There’s no bullet out there with my name on it.”

After Cody hung up Liam sat staring into space for a few seconds. Thinking about what Cody had said...and what he hadn’t. Then he glanced over at Cate, who was watching him with blue eyes so pale they looked gray inside the SUV’s shadowed interior. Who was sitting still as a statue in the seat next to him—he’d never known a woman who could be as still and silent as she. And he wondered exactly what—out of all the things Cody had said—he was going to tell her.

But that wasn’t all he was wondering. Be honest, he told himself. You’re wondering what the hell Alec knows that she doesn’t want you to know. You’re wondering how a woman like her—good background, intelligent, obviously educated—ever ended up as a prostitute. And knowing that about her, you’re wondering why she acts as if she can’t bear being touched by a man. By you.

The last one hurt. He didn’t know why, but it did. Badly.

Chapter 3

A nondescript SUV was waiting for them in the church parking lot Cody had directed Liam to, and it took only a few minutes to make the swap. “So what will you do with my SUV?” he asked the agent as he moved his GPS and emergency overnight case into the agency’s vehicle and they exchanged keys.

“We’ll take good care of it, don’t worry,” the man assured Liam. “It’ll be ready and waiting for you the minute you need it. And we’ll deliver it to your doorstep, no charge.”

Liam eyed the replacement SUV dubiously, wondering about its roadworthiness given the exterior, and the man said, “It looks a little worse for wear on purpose. The agency doesn’t like its vehicles to attract attention. But it’s got brand-new tires and everything under the hood is new, too, so don’t worry about that. And the plates are untraceable.”

“Good deal,” Liam said. He handed over his cell phone and took the replacement offered. After he’d tucked it in his pocket, the agent handed him something else—a zippered case. “What’s this?”

“Maintenance kit and ammo clips. Fully loaded. SIG SAUER P229R, right?”

Liam hadn’t been expecting it—but maybe I should have, he thought. The agency was damned efficient, and he might need the additional firepower—he was already operating on his spare clip after the firefight this morning. And his own maintenance kit had been left with his luggage in his hotel room. He took the case in his left hand and shook the other man’s hand with his right. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Good luck,” the agent added sincerely.

* * *

They’d driven for ten minutes, following the automated voice of the GPS, when Cate suddenly said, “I have nothing with me. No clothes other than the ones I’m wearing. No purse. I don’t even have a toothbrush.”

Liam glanced over at her for a second, realizing she was right. She didn’t have her purse with her. She must have dropped it in the courthouse, and of course he hadn’t been worrying about that then. He returned his gaze to the road and said, “I doubt that will be a problem. If I know Cody, everything we need will be at the safe house, including clothes.”

“How will they know my size?”

Liam laughed abruptly, thinking about the ammo clips the agency had provided him with at the same time he’d been given the SUV and new cell phone. Ammo clips that were a perfect match for his SIG SAUER. “You’d be surprised what the agency knows.”

A long silence followed. All of a sudden, Cate said, “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Liam was instantly on alert. Cody had told him not to mention it. “Who?”

“The other witness.” Her voice was soft, and he caught the faintest trace of an accent that reminded him of Princess Mara of Zakhar, whose bodyguard he’d been for six months in Colorado. But Cate’s English was less formal than the princess’s, more idiomatic. Maybe because she’d spent eight of the past nine years in the US. And despite the softness, there was a layer of steel beneath it, just like the princess. This woman was no pushover, either.

When Liam didn’t answer, she explained, “The woman who was going to back up my testimony. She’s dead. That’s why the trial was delayed. That’s why the prosecutors were so insistent this morning I needed to come in for another prep session with them this afternoon, even though we’d already spent so many hours preparing last week I was sick of it. That’s why your brother said, ‘She dies, this case dies, too.’ So the other witness must be dead.”

It was the longest speech Liam had heard Cate make to date. He made a judgment call, then admitted, “Yeah. Cody told me a little while ago.”

“Vishenko murdered her.” A flat, cold statement.

“Maybe. There’s no proof of that. Not yet.”

“There may never be proof. But I know.” She tapped a hand against her breastbone. “I know it here. Just as I know he’s the one who tried to have me killed. He is ruthless. Amoral. An animal. He’ll do anything to prevent me from testifying.”

“But you’re going to testify anyway. Why?” he asked, curious to understand what drove her to take the risk when so many men had refused to flip on Vishenko in the past.

“Because Alec and Angelina are right. He is evil, and he must be stopped. No matter the cost.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as if she was reciting an oft-repeated mantra, so that Liam had to strain to hear her next words. “‘I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do.’”

He recognized the quotation with a sense of shock, mentally adding the last sentence, “And by the grace of God, I will.” The entire thing was carved in wood over the fireplace mantel at home, a maxim his parents had instilled in all their children from an early age. It was the driving force that had led him and all his siblings into the US Marine Corps and then into public service. “Edward Everett Hale,” he said blankly. “How do you know that quotation?”

She drew a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Your brother said that to me. I was afraid—so terribly afraid I ran and hid for six years. Then Alec found me. He is such a good man, your brother—I could not let him down. He made me realize I have a duty to do whatever I can do to stop Vishenko. ‘I am only one.’ But if all the ones band together, we can defeat him.”

Liam was shaken. Cate had divined the kernel of wisdom out of the quotation, had pinpointed his own raison d’être—his reason for being. Yes, he was only one. But sometimes one person could make a difference.

Right and wrong. Good and evil. He couldn’t remember a time when the differences between these things weren’t important to him, same as they were for Alec. For all his siblings. Maybe it was old-fashioned nowadays. Maybe the dividing lines had become blurred for many. Not for him. But that didn’t mean he saw the world only in black-and-white. It didn’t mean he didn’t recognize and accept that a thing could be both right and wrong.

He’d killed a man today. Some would say that killing was always wrong. Not in his book. There was a higher right—saving lives—that trumped the wrong. Did he regret killing that man? Liam glanced away from the road for a second toward Cate sitting so still and quiet, looking even younger in repose...until one looked in her eyes.

No, Cate was alive now because the men who’d tried to kill her were dead. The only thing he regretted was that he and Alec hadn’t somehow prevented the entire incident from occurring. So that no one had died. So that no one had been wounded. Impossible, of course. But otherwise he didn’t have any regrets.

Except the way Cate had shied away from him. From his touch. That still bothered him. And while you’re at it, might as well admit something else is bothering you, his inner voice nudged into his consciousness.

He so didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to examine his reaction too closely, but... It is what it is, he admitted to himself. He’d never been jealous of Alec—not since the day he turned eighteen and joined the Marine Corps anyway, which Alec had done the year before him. From that point on their friendship had been untainted by anything as destructive as jealousy on either side. Each was the other’s cheerleader, and the accomplishments of one were a source of pride to the other. Liam had even followed his brother into the DSS. Not because he was jealous of what Alec was doing, but because he believed wholeheartedly the DSS was his true calling, same as it was for Alec.

But that’s exactly what he was feeling right now. Jealousy. Hot, harsh, unreasoning. He didn’t like it one bit, but he couldn’t refuse to acknowledge it. He was jealous—of the admiring way Cate spoke Alec’s name. As if...

“At the end of the road, turn right,” said the GPS. And when Liam had dutifully done so, the GPS said, “You have reached your destination.”

* * *

Twilight covered the earth, and there was a delicious smell of roast chicken wafting through the house. The agents who ran the safe house—a husband and wife team in their fifties, but who continued to instill confidence in their abilities—had told them dinner would be ready in thirty minutes. Lunch had been so delicious Cate was looking forward to dinner with an appetite she hadn’t had since Alec had found her. Since he’d convinced her to testify against Vishenko.

In addition to feeding them, the agents had made sure Cate and Liam had everything they needed—from clothes, to toiletries, to bedrooms, to information. What little information they had, anyway, which wasn’t much. Cate remembered how the first question Liam had asked was the status of the marshals who’d been wounded in the attack on her, and the other prosecutor, too. As if he really cared about men he didn’t know. As if it mattered to him.

She’d wanted to know, too, of course. She hadn’t had a lot to do with the prosecutors other than prepping for trial, but the two marshals were part of a team guarding her for the past month since she’d returned to the US from Zakhar, and she’d gotten to know them. Both men were married. One had two young boys already and his wife was expecting their third child in a couple of months. The other had just become a father for the first time six months ago. If Cate still believed in a just and merciful God, she would have prayed for the men, prayed they would recover completely and their families would get through this terrible time in their lives without too much grief.

But Cate didn’t believe. Not anymore. Vishenko had killed her faith in God as surely as he’d killed her faith in the goodness of mankind. So she no longer prayed. Not for herself. Not for others.

Angelina still believes. And Alec, she told herself wistfully as she sat on the bed in the bedroom assigned to her—a delightfully feminine room she would have loved when she was sixteen. Now it did nothing for her. Cate had spent more than six of the past seven years running. Hiding. Living off the grid. Taking temporary jobs where they’d pay her in cash. Living hand-to-mouth at times, barely able to scrape up enough money to rent a room in a halfway decent boardinghouse. Skipping meals on occasion, when her money wouldn’t stretch to cover a roof over her head and food. Always looking over her shoulder. Always terrified. Always moving on to somewhere new after a few months, somewhere Vishenko’s men couldn’t find her.

No friends. She couldn’t afford friends, and not just because they might accidentally betray her. She couldn’t take the chance—if Vishenko’s men finally ran her to ground—that one of her friends would get caught in the cross fire. She knew Vishenko’s men wouldn’t care who else was killed so long as she was. She was almost more terrified of causing someone else’s death than she was of dying.

Like the prosecutor today. Dead because of her. One minute he’d been alive and she’d been arguing with him, the next minute he was dead at her feet and her bodyguards were plastered over her, taking those bullets meant for her. Vishenko’s revenge for her daring to oppose him. For daring to escape. For daring to testify. The prosecutor wasn’t a friend, but she’d still caused his death. And if anyone else who was shot this morning died, that was her fault, too.

Don’t think that way, the rational part of her brain told her. It’s not your fault, it’s Vishenko’s. But her conscience didn’t want to listen. If she’d stayed in Zakhar all those years ago, if she’d listened to Angelina...none of this would have happened. You would probably be married by now, she thought, to a strong man of good character. A man who would treat her with respect. A man with high moral standards—like the ones she’d had herself when she was sixteen. A man like...

She shied away from that thought, the same way she’d shied away when he’d tried to touch her hair. Liam. He hadn’t meant anything by it. Hadn’t intended to give her cause for alarm. And he certainly hadn’t been going to strike her. Abuse her. Terrify her. She knew that. Her brain knew that. But her body had reacted without thinking. Would it always?

She would never marry. Not now. What respectable man would want her? And even if—miracle of miracles—she found one who did, could she ever bear to be touched...that way? If she couldn’t even let an obviously decent man like Liam brush her hair out of her eyes—an innocent gesture—how was she ever going to let a man touch her in more intimate ways?

She sighed, suddenly so worn-out she could barely sit up. She laid down on top of the bedspread and pulled a corner of it over her. Fifteen minutes, she promised herself as she closed her eyes. Just fifteen minutes. She shivered a little in the air-conditioned room and clutched the bedspread closer, huddling beneath it. She wasn’t used to air-conditioning. And she was too thin.

Does Liam think you’re too thin? The question came at her out of nowhere, and it surprised her. Even more surprising was the answer. No, he doesn’t. Remember the way he looked at you? The way his eyes said he found you attractive?

Such a good man, despite the fact he’d already judged her. She didn’t fault him for that—his opinion of her was no worse than her opinion of herself. It made no difference in the way he treated her, though, and that touched a secret place inside her. Even thinking the worst, Liam was so protective, like Alec. But Alec was Angelina’s, heart and soul.

Hovering between waking and sleeping, Cate’s thoughts winged back to Angelina. Sometimes it seemed as if her memories of long ago, her memories of her cousin were the only things that still belonged to her. Angelina, who’d treated Cate like a little sister...spoiling her a bit, making much of her. Calling her dernya, which meant little treasure in Zakharan. Never making her feel unwanted the way her parents had made her feel unwanted because she wasn’t a boy.

Cate smiled sadly, remembering happier times with her cousin...when they were both determined to succeed in their own way. When they both believed in the power of prayer the way they believed in hard work. Back when she’d idolized Angelina and wanted to be exactly like her—even though she’d known she couldn’t be. She’d known she’d never excel academically, the way her cousin did. She’d been twelve to Angelina’s seventeen, but she’d known even then that if she excelled it would have to be in a different arena.

When had she decided to become a model? Was it when she’d shot up four inches between seventh and eighth grades, adding another three inches in ninth? When the other girls in her school had gazed enviously at Cate’s luxurious golden hair, her face, her slender figure, her graceful walk? The desire to excel at something—to stand out from the crowd—the way Angelina always had and always would?

Cate hadn’t been jealous of Angelina, but she had wanted to impress her—easy to see that now. But Angelina had stayed safely in Zakhar—accepting the limitations staying there placed on her as a woman, yet working within the system to effect change. Cate had been impatient with those limitations, those restrictions, especially the ones placed on her by her parents. Restless to break free, to escape the tedium of school—where even her popularity with her fellow students hadn’t been enough to satisfy her—and seek fame and fortune as a model.

And when her parents had died unexpectedly in a car accident, sixteen-year-old Cate suddenly saw it was possible. She’d thought the promised modeling contract in the US was her one-way ticket out. Had believed the work visa provided by the US embassy—but paid for by the man who’d dangled that modeling contract in front of her starstruck eyes—was her escape from middle-class mediocrity. Who could have known she would escape...into hell.

* * *

Dinner was still twenty minutes away and he’d already meticulously cleaned his SIG SAUER, so Liam called Alec again. He’d spoken with his brother twice since he and Cate arrived at the safe house, but both times had been strictly business. Now he needed to talk to his brother about Cate—and the things Alec knew that Liam knew nothing about. He told himself it was important to the case, and maybe it was. But in his heart he knew that wasn’t why he was asking. There was just something about Cate he couldn’t shake off. Cate...and her relationship with Alec. His brother. His newly married brother.

Come on, he rallied himself. You know Alec inside and out. There’s no way he’s fooling around. Not Alec.

Cate was a different story. He knew almost nothing about her, and what he did know wasn’t...encouraging. So his attraction to her was unexpected, unwanted and totally out of character. He’d always been drawn to sweet young things, ever since the transition from junior high to high school, when he’d first noticed girls were different. Wonderfully different. But he’d always gone for the wholesome girls back then, the girl-next-door type. And when he’d grown up, things hadn’t changed all that much. He was still attracted to women he wouldn’t be ashamed to introduce to his family.

He didn’t know how or why Cate had become a prostitute, but even when he’d been in the Marine Corps stationed overseas he’d never picked up a hooker. Never paid for sex. He had a healthy libido—okay, more than healthy to tell the truth—but he drew the line at paying for sex. It was degrading to both the man and the woman.

Besides, even though he and Alec didn’t have the looks in the family—Shane and Niall had a corner on that—they did have something even better. Charm. Charisma. And a way with the ladies that had become almost legendary in the DSS, though neither brother was the kind to kiss and tell.

So the fact that he was attracted to Cate—and damn it, he couldn’t shake it off—meant he needed some answers from Alec. Fast.

“So tell me about Cate,” he said as soon as his brother answered the phone.

“Cate? You mean Caterina?”

“Yeah. But she says she doesn’t go by that name anymore. Except in court.”

Silence at the other end. Then, “When did she tell you this?”

Liam let out his breath long and slow. “This morning. When she told me she doesn’t use Mateja anymore, either. When she told me about going underground. About picking an alias.”

“Must have been quite the conversation.”

“Not really.” Liam laughed ruefully. “When I asked her why she went underground, she told me that you know, but I don’t have a ‘need to know.’ Right after I explained the concept to her.”

“And do you have a need to know?” Alec asked pointedly.

Liam thought about it for a minute. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Silence hummed between them, and Liam knew his brother was reading between the lines, hearing what he wasn’t saying. Finally Alec said, “Not a good idea, Liam. She needs protection. Not some guy hitting on her.”

“I’m not ‘some guy,’ and I’m not hitting on her.” Liam held on to his temper...barely. It was so unlike him, it gave him pause. “And I know she needs protection. That’s why I’m here.”

“As long as you remember that.”

“You don’t have to tell me how to do my job.” His temper threatened to get away from him again, and Liam knew his brother could hear the edge he couldn’t keep out of his voice. “That’s what she is. A job. That’s all,” he insisted, but an insidious little voice in his head asked, Are you trying to convince Alec? Or yourself? He ignored the little voice and said harshly, “Just tell me what I need to know, damn it.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Why did she go underground? What was she running from?”

“Not what. Who. Aleksandrov Vishenko. One of the defendants in the case.”

“She mentioned him. Said he was the one trying to kill her.”

“With good reason. She can put him away for life. Not to mention what her testimony can do to the other defendants.”

“What does she know?”

“It was a three-way conspiracy. A group of Zakharian criminals were luring young, pretty Zakharian women to the US under the guise of modeling contracts. The previous two regional security officers at the embassy—the one I replaced and the one before him—and several Foreign Service officers were fraudulently providing US visas for the women. Many of them underage girls, really. And Aleksandrov Vishenko’s branch of the Russian mob was taking delivery of the women and forcing them into prostitution. Making a fortune selling some of them to gangs across the country, or pimping them out themselves.” Alec paused for a moment. “Caterina saw it all. She lived it. And she had evidence.”

“How’d she get the evidence?”

“If you believe Vishenko, she was his willing mistress for two years.”

Something cold and hard gripped Liam. “And if you don’t believe him?”

“She was his prisoner for two years. His personal sex slave.”

“Oh, Christ!”

“Yeah,” Alec said dryly. “That’s what I said when I first heard about it. Made me sick to my stomach. Literally. Then I wanted to cry. For her.” He didn’t say anything for a minute, letting that sink in. Then he added, “I can’t tell you any more than that. It’s her story. You would have heard all about it in court tomorrow—if Vishenko hadn’t tried to kill her. But for now, you’ll have to get the rest from her. If she wants you to know...she’ll tell you. But let me say this. You really don’t want to know. I wish I didn’t. Because knowing what I know, well...it makes me think vigilante justice might not be such a bad thing after all.”

Guilt slammed into Liam as he realized he’d made assumptions about Cate based only on what little he thought he knew about her...most of it false. He tried to figure out why he’d been so quick to judge her, then shook his head when it dawned on him he’d wanted to think the worst of Cate...to counteract his totally unexpected strong attraction to her. It hadn’t worked. And now he could add guilt to the equation.

Chapter 4

A voice from the bottom of the stairs called Liam and Cate to dinner, and Liam started down the staircase. But when no sound came from Cate’s bedroom he turned around and tapped on her door, thinking maybe she hadn’t heard the call. When she didn’t respond he rapped harder, but still no answer.

He tried the doorknob and it wasn’t locked, so he twisted the knob and opened the door a few inches. “Cate? Dinner.”

The room was shrouded in darkness, and there was no movement, nothing to suggest she was even in there. Suddenly concerned—she wouldn’t just take off, would she?—he pushed the door open all the way. That’s when he saw her huddled in the center of the bed, the bedspread pulled around her slender body. Fast asleep.

He trod quietly over to the bed, hesitated for a second, then touched her arm lightly. “Cate.” She jumped as if he’d shot her, jerking upward so quickly Liam was startled back. “Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to tell you dinner’s ready.”

She pushed her hair away from her face and blinked at him. Then she rubbed her eyes—tired eyes, he saw now. Sad eyes. Ancient eyes that were the window into a soul in torment. How had he missed it before? “It’s okay,” she said finally. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was just resting my eyes, and...” She stared at Liam through the shadows in the room. “Thanks for waking me. I wouldn’t want to miss dinner.” She smiled, a slight movement of her lips that came and went so quickly it almost couldn’t even be called a smile. “I’ve been smelling that roasted chicken for hours, it seems.”

Any other woman Liam would have offered a hand to help her off the bed. But Cate wasn’t any other woman. And now that he knew—well, he didn’t know exactly what he knew, but his imagination was working overtime, supplying details he didn’t want to think about. Not about Cate, or any woman. So no way was he going to touch her. It made sense now why she hadn’t wanted him to touch her before. It wasn’t personal. It wasn’t Liam Jones she was rejecting—she didn’t want any man touching her. And he didn’t blame her. Not one bit.

* * *

Dinner wasn’t the silent affair Liam had expected. The agents, who went by the last name of Morgan, carried on a conversation between the four of them by sheer will. They refused to let Cate withdraw within herself, and asked a series of innocuous questions designed to put her at her ease. She answered haltingly at first—as if she wasn’t in the habit of carrying on dinner conversation—then with increased confidence. And Liam was convinced that whatever else she was, whatever else she’d been, she was well-read. Self-educated? he wondered. Cate let something slip that made him suspect libraries were her only recreational outlet...in large part because they were free.

Liam answered when questions were addressed to him, but in between he watched Cate. Surreptitiously. He remembered watching her that morning—was it only that morning?—arguing with the prosecutors. Her hand gestures graceful and fluid. Now he watched her hands close up, fascinated by everything she said and did. And that’s when he saw it. It wasn’t obvious—just a slight darkening of the skin. But it shouldn’t have been there. Not twin bands circling both wrists in almost exactly the same location. And suddenly he knew what they were. And how she’d gotten them.

Scars. Scars left by something bound tightly around her wrists, bindings she must have fought against until her skin was raw and bleeding. Repeatedly. Then he heard Alec’s voice saying, “...Made me sick to my stomach. Literally. Then I wanted to cry. For her...”

Bile welled up in his throat as his stomach churned violently and he wanted to cry for her too, despite his deceased father’s long-ago strictures on crying. But more than that he wanted punish the man who’d done this to her. He wanted to pummel him into a bloody pulp, wait a few minutes, then come back and do it again. And again. Until the man had paid for those scars, and what they had to mean. As if he could erase his own mistaken thoughts about Cate by exacting two years’ worth of vengeance. For her.

Shaken more than he cared to admit, Liam swallowed hard and glanced away. His eyes caught those of Dave Morgan across the table, and knew the other man had spotted the same thing he had. Was having the same kind of reaction any decent man would have to the knowledge that Cate had been abused. Bound. And most likely raped—repeatedly.

Guilt slammed into him again. Guilt that he’d judged her from the beginning, that he’d wondered how and why she’d become a prostitute. That he’d been baffled by his attraction to a woman of the streets, even one who looked like her.

Now he knew that whatever she’d done, it hadn’t been by choice. She hadn’t chosen her life any more than she’d chosen to have those scars inflicted on her by Aleksandrov Vishenko. Has to be him, he reasoned. Who else it could be? No wonder she despises him. No wonder he’s afraid of what she’ll say on the witness stand and tried to have her killed. And no wonder Alec wishes he could exact a little vigilante justice. I do, too.

Liam’s new cell phone suddenly shrilled, startling him out of his reverie. The ringtone wasn’t his usual one, so it took him by surprise. He quickly excused himself from the table to answer the call.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me. Cody. Just wanted to let you know we were right. The agent you gave your cell phone to used it, on my orders, just to see what would happen. And sure enough, someone in the FBI was triangulating on the signal.”

“Shit.”

“No kidding. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything bad. Could be they’re just trying to locate you to bring you in for routine questioning in the shooting—you’d be cleared of course, but they have to follow procedure. Get your statement and match it to the statements of the other witnesses, not to mention Alec’s statement. Do ballistics tests on your gun. The whole nine yards. Or it could be they just want to bring Caterina in for safekeeping—she’s still a key witness in the conspiracy trial. On the other hand, it could be someone trying to track down the two of you...for Vishenko.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“So D’Arcy wants to change the plan a little. We’ve got Alec and his wife in protective custody—and boy, the FBI was pissed about that, especially when D’Arcy refused to divulge their location to them. We want to ensure the same for Caterina and you—but the FBI knows about the agency’s safe house in Fairfax. Don’t ask how—it’s a long story. So D’Arcy wants to move you to another safe house, one outside Fayetteville, North Carolina. If you leave now you can be there in just under five hours.”

Liam was tired—he’d had a long drive yesterday from New York to DC, today had been another long day and his body had used up its store of adrenaline already—he wasn’t looking forward to a five-hour drive. But now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Safety was the primary concern. Cate’s safety.

Cody was still talking. “Don’t use your credit cards to get there—pay cash. The Morgans will give you enough cash for anything. And new identification and credit cards for both of you will be waiting at the next safe house, just in case we have to move you again. Oh yeah, and swap GPS units with the Morgans.”

Surprised, Liam blurted out, “They can track us by my GPS? I didn’t think that was possible, not without—” He stopped abruptly, realizing that law enforcement was constantly coming up with new and improved surveillance techniques, some of which the public was completely unaware. And if it could be done at all, the FBI would know how.

Silence at the other end. “Think about it,” Cody said finally. “But don’t think too long. We want you out of there in the next fifteen minutes.”

“What do I tell Cate?”

“At this point I think you’re going to have to tell her the truth. At least some of it.”

“I already told her about the death of the other witness.”

“I told you not—”

“She knew,” he said flatly, cutting Cody off. “She figured it out, so there was no reason not to confirm it.”

“How’s she holding up?”

“She’s keeping it together, at least on the surface. I don’t know what she’s feeling inside, but it can’t be good.”

“She’s still planning to testify, right?”

Liam grunted. “Don’t worry. Whatever Alec told her, it must have resonated. So yeah, she’s still planning to testify. No matter the cost.”

* * *

They drove through the night, a night that—thanks to the full moon and the steady stream of traffic—wasn’t all that dark. But it was anonymous, and that’s all Cate cared about. She hadn’t hesitated when Liam told her they had to move on to another safe house. Moving on was something she did on a regular basis, so it wasn’t unusual for her. She’d packed the few clothes and other essentials the Morgans had given her into a small suitcase—also provided by the Morgans. She’d been ready in less than five minutes.

Now, as she watched Liam driving at a steady pace—the speedometer just barely nudging the legal limit—she considered asking him the questions that had been percolating in her mind since his sudden announcement right after receiving the phone call. Who called you? Was it Alec? He’s a witness too, so is he safe? And Angelina. What about my cousin?

But she wasn’t in the habit of asking too many questions. When you started asking questions, people had the unfortunate response of thinking that gave them the right to ask questions in return. And Cate didn’t answer questions. Not as a general rule. The less people knew about her, the less chance there was that Vishenko’s men would find her.

Alec had asked questions. So had the FBI and the men from the US Attorney’s Office. She’d had no choice but to answer those questions. And she would answer any and all questions put to her in court. Honestly. But for some reason she didn’t want Liam asking her questions. Especially about her past—she didn’t want him to know. Anything.

And why is that? a little voice inside her head asked. The answer was one she didn’t want to acknowledge. You don’t want him to think badly of you. But you don’t want him to think of you as a victim, either. You just want him to think of you as a woman. A woman he’s attracted to. Admit it.

“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Liam said. “You okay?”

“Fine. I’m just thinking.”

“Worried about this move?”

She shook her head, but realized his eyes were on the road and he couldn’t see it. “No. Not really. I’m used to it.” I’m used to moving from place to place, she thought. Whenever I got the feeling Vishenko’s men might be close, I always moved on. Why do you think I’m still alive? But she didn’t say any of this to Liam.

The long silence that followed was broken when Liam said, “Cody—my brother-in-law—said the FBI knows about the safe house we were just at. That might not mean anything, but Cody’s a damn good poker player. First rule of thumb—never give away anything, especially an edge. Not if you don’t have to.”

“‘Need to know,’” she said. “I understand.”

“Exactly.”

“So where are we going now?” she asked.

Liam hesitated.

“I do have a need to know,” she said softly, but putting determination behind it. “It’s my life—not only do I need to know, I have the right to know.”

“Okay, yeah,” he agreed finally. “The agency has another safe house in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Cody and his boss think we’ll be safer there than at the one in Fairfax.”

“Why?”

He told her. Flat out. Not trying to sugarcoat anything. When he was done she said, “Thank you for being honest with me.” She considered everything he’d said, then asked, “So Vishenko has the FBI infiltrated?”

Liam shook his head. “We don’t know that. It’s only one of several possibilities they’re considering. But in the meantime, the agency doesn’t want to take any chances. Not with you.”

Cate thought of something. “Alec is a witness, like me. And Angelina. Are they being guarded, too?”

She could tell her question bothered Liam somehow—it wasn’t anything he said, just a feeling she got. Is he worried about his brother’s safety? she wondered. As I am?

“Don’t worry. The agency has them in protective custody,” he said curtly. Then he asked, “What do you mean Angelina’s a witness, too?”

“Not a witness in this case—the conspiracy. But she would be a witness against Vishenko if he’s extradited to Zakhar.”

He glanced at her for a second, as if puzzled, then shifted his attention back to the road. “I don’t get it.”

“For the attempted assassination of the crown prince,” she explained patiently. “Don’t you know?” She added a few specifics regarding the assassination attempt in St. Anne’s Cathedral in Drago during Crown Prince Raoul’s christening ceremony the year before, an assassination attempt foiled by her cousin, Angelina and Liam’s brother. “If Vishenko gets off in this trial, he still has to face justice in Zakhar. Alec told me the extradition paperwork has already been processed on Zakhar’s end. They’re only waiting for the outcome of the conspiracy trial here before pressuring the State Department to turn Vishenko over to them for Zakharian justice.”

“Alec didn’t mention it.” And there was an edge to Liam’s voice that said he was upset he’d been kept in the dark.

Cate put a hand out to touch his arm in commiseration, then drew it back. Instead, she said, “At first I asked Alec why I needed to testify. Why I needed to risk my life to put Vishenko behind bars in the US when he will be tried in Zakhar for what he nearly did to the crown prince. One of the shooters has already confessed, naming Vishenko as the man behind the attempt. The man who supplied the money.” She breathed deeply. “But Alec made me see it is not just Vishenko, although he is key. All the men in the conspiracy must face justice—the Zakharians who lured the trafficked women and the men from the US embassy who provided the false visas are just as guilty as the men from the Bratva. We cannot bring them down unless Vishenko goes down.”

Cate was silent for a moment. “Whenever I’m afraid—and I’m often afraid—I remind myself that even if Vishenko escapes justice here he will be tried in Zakhar. And the courts in Zakhar are much quicker than they are in the US. Justice is swift. Punishment harsh.” Her voice dropped a notch. “Even if he kills me he will not escape. And that is a very comforting thought.”

“He’s not going to kill you,” Liam asserted. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Warmth from out of nowhere filled Cate at Liam’s words. Not so much the words themselves as the tone of voice in which they were uttered. Coolly confident in his own abilities. Determined. And she knew he meant it. She was safe in his hands, as safe as it was humanly possible to be...which was a tremendously relieving feeling.

* * *

They arrived at the new safe house before midnight. As he’d done at the first safe house, Liam didn’t pull into the driveway, walk up to the front door and knock. He reconnoitered first, driving past the house and around the block slowly, then circling back again. It was a little thing, but it emphasized to Cate he wasn’t a novice at this. And that extra caution only added to her feeling of safety. Vishenko might still succeed in killing her—anything was possible—but Liam wouldn’t make it easy for him.

Just as before, Liam parked on the street a few houses away, and Cate knew he didn’t want to announce to anyone who might spot the SUV or who might have been following them which house they were actually in. Not that they’d been followed—Liam had made sure of that, too, long before they’d arrived at the safe house. Another little detail.

So many details, Cate thought. Between the US Marshals who’d guarded her before and Liam now, she realized just how much she hadn’t done to safeguard herself those six years on the run. Vishenko’s men hadn’t found her, so she must have done something right. But some of that must have been luck. Blind luck.

Liam handed Cate’s suitcase to her and grabbed his duffel bag with his left hand. He guided her down the sidewalk toward the safe house without actually touching her, his right hand tucked inside his jacket. And Cate knew why. He’d killed for her before. He would again, if necessary. And somehow, instead of making her afraid of that ruthless side of him the way she feared Vishenko, the thought helped her breathe easier.

* * *

It was after two in the morning, and Liam still couldn’t sleep. He was exhausted—more than exhausted after a long, adrenaline-packed day capped by a five-hour drive through what seemed an endless night. And he hadn’t been able to let Cate share the driving for two very good reasons. First, she had no ID at all on her, since she’d left her purse behind in the courthouse, so of course she wouldn’t have a driver’s license or other state-issued ID with her. And second—more importantly—she didn’t know how to drive.

He’d been dumbfounded when she’d admitted as much to him when they’d stopped for gas and he’d asked her if she wanted to take a turn behind the wheel while he rested. Except for a few anomalies, such as residents of New York City, what US citizen over the age of sixteen didn’t know how to drive? He’d held back the question with an effort, but then realized he should have known. Duh, he’d told himself when she’d flushed with shame at her deficiency. Cate wasn’t born and raised here. And if she’s been living off the grid for much of the past seven years, what chance would she have to learn to drive? To practice?

Now as he laid in bed, moonlight streaming through the window across the room, he wondered what else Cate had missed out on besides the teenage rite of passage of obtaining a driver’s license. Don’t go there, he warned himself. But it was already too late. His thoughts winged to the scars on her wrists he’d noticed at dinner, and what they meant. What they had to mean. He gritted his teeth as he heard Alec saying, “You really don’t want to know. I wish I didn’t.”

But he did want to know. He wanted to know everything. And he wanted Cate to be the one to tell him. He wanted her to trust him as much as she trusted Alec, and he wanted her to confide in him the way she’d confided in Alec.

Jealousy reared its ugly head again. It made no sense. Cate didn’t belong to him and he had no right to feel possessive of her. No rights at all where she was concerned. Especially when it came to his brother. His married brother. But that didn’t stop Liam feeling as if he did. As if somehow...someway...as if saving Cate’s life gave him the right to care about her. Not just her future, but her past, too.

Liam’s older brothers Shane and Niall used to tease Liam when he was little, saying Liam had been born in the wrong time. That Liam should have been a knight-errant in the twelfth century, roaming the world saving damsels in distress. He’d hated that designation as a boy—hated being teased—but as a man Liam had to admit there was more than a little truth to it.

Wasn’t that why he’d been so upset when it seemed as if Trace McKinnon was taking advantage of Princess Mara back when the three of them—McKinnon, Alec and Liam—were guarding her? Wasn’t that why he’d wanted to confront McKinnon about how obviously in love with him the princess was, even though he’d let Alec talk him out of that confrontation?

And wasn’t that why—when he and Alec had drawn straws to see which one of them got to tell McKinnon what the princess had left behind for him when she’d unexpectedly returned to Zakhar—he’d almost decked Alec when Alec had won the draw? Because he’d wanted to be the one defending the princess. Because he’d wanted to be the one making McKinnon pay for hurting her so grievously.

Liam sighed and turned over restlessly, the sheets rustling softly around him. “You can’t escape who you are, Jones,” he muttered, punching up his pillow. And on that note he finally fell asleep. But his sleep was rocked by dreams. Dreams of Cate. Dreams of saving her from a fire-breathing dragon...a dungeon...the black knight, who bore a strong resemblance to Aleksandrov Vishenko in armor. Dreams of riding off with Cate on horseback, her slender body cradled protectively in his arms. Even in his dreams he knew it was ridiculous—he didn’t know how to ride. But that detail wasn’t germane, because in his dreams he was invincible—he could damn near do anything he wanted to...in his dreams. And what he wanted to do more than anything was keep Cate safe. No matter what he had to do.

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