Karen.
That auburn hair of hers was unmistakable. The woman was beautiful and clearly smart and right now had to be terrified. Giving chase, he pulled out his phone and called Cole. “Hold everyone else back. I’m bringing her in,” he said tersely.
She was already terrified; she didn’t need to be faced with all four of them, and while Tucker knew he was probably the scariest-looking of his team, he wanted to talk to her first, to at least give her the illusion of coming back with him without force. God, he hated that they’d resorted to kidnapping a woman. An innocent woman. Who was so fucking beautiful it stunned him. And he hated that he noticed that, but it was hard not to.
As he raced through the woods, he quickly caught sight of her. Her hair was in a ponytail, her bright hair like a flag waving behind her.
She looked back and, when she saw him, let out a startled scream before turning back around and racing even faster. He pushed himself into a burst of speed, wanting to get this over with. Thirty yards and closing.
Twenty.
Ten.
She suddenly stumbled, crying out as she tripped. A scream tore from her throat. One that made something protective inside him flare to life. He hated being the cause of her fear. Though he’d taken on the role of murdering criminal-for-hire for more than one undercover job, this was the real him.
He was on her in seconds, starting to crouch down to help when she rolled over onto her back, a short stick in her hand.
She lunged at him with it. Using moves he could do in his sleep, he disarmed her and tossed the stick away.
“Bastard!” she shouted, grabbing for another nearby stick.
“Damn it,” he muttered, disarming her of that one too. Not wanting her to hurt herself or to drag this out longer than necessary, he flipped her onto her stomach and secured her hands behind her back as he straddled her hips. He didn’t cuff her, though, just held her wrists together. She twisted beneath him. “Karen—”
She started crying. Not all-out sobs, but her body started shaking and he felt her pain and fear and knew what she must be thinking. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
So he did the only thing he could. “My name is Tucker Pankov. I work—worked—with Max Southers as part of an elite, undercover unit. Someone murdered him and set up me and my team to be killed too.” Her struggles lessened a bit, so he knew she was listening. “Professional hits all at the same time. Now our clearances have been revoked and we don’t know who the hell to trust. Wesley Burkhart is pretty much the only person Max trusted.” Well, other than Tucker’s team and of course Max’s own family. “We’ve been trying to get hold of him for days and when we couldn’t, we went after you. We’re not going to hurt you. We need your help.” He paused a second. “If I let you up are you going to attack me?”
She’d gone very still and it was clear that she was debating her answer. “Tucker Pankov is the dumbest, most made-up name I’ve ever heard,” she finally said, her voice shaking with anger. Thankfully she wasn’t crying anymore.
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. Taking a risk that she might attack him again, he let her hands go. When he stood, she rolled over and shoved up to her feet. He noticed she winced when she put pressure on one foot, but she didn’t make a move to grab another makeshift weapon or come at him again.
“Tucker Pankov is my real name.” And he planned to show her his real jacket, not one of his many legends the DEA had for him.
Her lips pulled into a thin line.
She was going to read his file soon anyway, so he went for complete honesty. She deserved all the truth he could give her after what he’d done. “My father was a defector. He married a Southern woman and she refused to give me a Russian first name.” His father was brilliant and, according to his mom, had been a pretentious asshole until he met and married her. Of course she didn’t actually use the word asshole, but it was what she meant. The man had fallen for a true Southern belle and, to his own surprise, had taken to living in America quicker than he’d ever imagined. Not something that happened for all immigrants, especially ones who’d more or less been forced to flee their country, even if it was voluntary in the technical sense.
“You’re just dropping all sorts of interesting information. Is this part of your plan? To convince me we’re on the same side before the torture starts?” Her voice trembled and it was quick, but he saw the covert glance she made at one of the sticks. As if she wanted to lunge for it and attack him again.
“None of us have hurt you, something you’ll realize if you think about it. We’ve gone out of our way not to, in fact.” They weren’t acting like normal kidnappers, and she had to see it. “I can tie you up and carry you back to the house. I don’t want to, but I will.” He injected steel into his voice. “So either walk with me or I carry you. Decide.”
Gritting her teeth, she looked around the quiet woods and he knew the moment she decided to come with him. He knew it because he saw the defeat in her pretty, expressive green eyes.
She took a step forward and couldn’t hide another wince.
“Are you hurt?”
For a moment it looked as if she’d say no, but then she nodded. “Twisted my ankle.”
He moved closer to her, the snow crunching under his boots. When he made a move to pick her up, she flinched. Yeah, he was an asshole. “Listen, I can carry you.”
“Are you ordering me?”
“No.” Even though he wanted to.
“Then I’ll walk.”
Tucker rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, but it didn’t ease any of the tension. “Fine.” It would take a hell of a lot longer to get back to the house this way, and more important, she was clearly in pain, but he had to give her this bit of control.
He was so used to not giving a shit about the people he worked with in his undercover jobs because they were all criminals, all blights on society who preyed on the weak. This was different.
For a while he thought he’d lost the part of him that cared about people, even innocent civilians, but as Karen Stafford held her head high, marching on through her pain back to what she assumed was probably torture or a death sentence, he realized he wasn’t completely dead inside.
Chapter 5
Tradecraft: the methods developed by intelligence operatives to conduct their operations.
“Karen still hasn’t responded,” Wesley murmured as he shot off another e-mail. He frowned at his laptop, then glanced at the time on his watch even though he already knew it was thirty minutes after the time she normally arrived at work. She hadn’t e-mailed him or called and she was never, ever late.
Hell, the woman practically lived with her cell phone attached to her hip. Even when she went running she had it strapped to her ankle. More than an analyst, she’d recently moved into the role of his personal assistant and was invaluable. Well, officially moved into the role because she’d been doing more for him than her job required the last couple of years. In a few more years he thought she’d be ready to take on her own division, and he wanted to get her ready for it. That wasn’t why he was worried. He cared deeply about Karen. She was part of the “family” within his group, and he looked out for his own people.
Selene glanced at him, her cell phone to her ear, and mouthed, Hold on. They were in the backseat of an armored SUV, being driven from the private airport to an off-the-books meeting in Baltimore. “She’s still not at work,” Selene finally said, ending her call. “No one’s heard from her either. Ortiz has tried calling her and nothing.” Her eyebrows pulled together, her normally neutral expression showing true worry.