The Jaguar paced the snow-covered ground with the sleek elegance of his namesake. Dark anticipation and a keen sense of unfinished business had him feeling restless and edgy. Not only was Sean Cutter alive, but he was psychologically and physically sound and working for the CIA again. That more than anything surprised The Jaguar. By all rights, the man should be dead. At the very least he should be locked in a padded cell.
He and the federal agent went way back, but their relationship was far from amicable. Cutter was the only man The Jaguar had not been able to break. Even under torture, the agent had maintained his silence. He’d defied a black art form The Jaguar had made his business and built a reputation upon. The sense of failure had nagged at him for two years. This time, he would make certain Sean Cutter talked, then was tortured and killed.
Bracing himself against the cold north wind, The Jaguar lit a cigarette and walked to the chopper, where two of his men were working on the engine.
“What is the status?” he asked.
“Operable.”
“Excellent.”
“The smoke was evidently from a smoke grenade and did little damage to the engine.”
A diversion, he thought. How very like Sean Cutter… Hatred churned inside him. He looked up at the swirling snow, felt the dark anticipation stir. “Is the chopper equipped with infrared?”
The other man smiled. “The American government spares no expense when it comes to hunting down those who would question their absolute power.”
The Jaguar nodded. “I want the scientist and Sean Cutter. I want them alive. And I want them now.”
“The weather could be a problem.”
He turned his gaze on the other man. “The last man who questioned my wishes lasted for fourteen hours in my torture chamber. When I tired of his screams I shot him. Perhaps you want to test your endurance?”
The other man looked away, his Adam’s apple bobbing twice in quick succession. “I am merely looking out for your safety.”
“That would best be done once we’re airborne.”
“I understand.”
The Jaguar scanned the rugged countryside, feeling an uncomfortable urgency to finish what should already have been done. “They couldn’t have gotten far.”
“Not on foot and in this weather. They have no gear. No weapon or radio.”
The Jaguar said nothing. But he knew the other man underestimated Sean Cutter. He himself had underestimated the federal agent two years ago. He would not make the same mistake twice.
CUTTER HAD NO PROBLEM with risking his life for the safety and security of the American people. What he didn’t like was the idea of risking his life for the likes of a traitor like Mattie Logan. He had zero tolerance for anyone low enough to betray their country.
She might look like an angel with her wide eyes and porcelain skin; she might even be one of the most stunning women he’d ever laid eyes on. But physical beauty made no difference to Cutter when it came to treachery.
He stared at her, keenly aware of her proximity, that she smelled good, that her complexion was as pale and flawless as a child’s. But there was nothing even remotely childlike about the rest of her. Her eyes were deep and blue and filled with a woman’s secrets. Within their depths he saw the remnants of terror and a jumble of emotions held on a taut rein. Her blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, but several strands had fallen free to frame her face. Strands his fingers itched to brush aside.
She possessed the kind of beauty that blinded a man. The kind of sexual appeal that made even a smart man do stupid things. All for the sound of her laughter or the promise of a touch. An element that made her every bit as dangerous as the terrorists aiming to kill them.
Ignoring the uncomfortable tug of something he didn’t want to identify, Cutter turned away. “Let’s move. Chances are they’re going to use the chopper to search for us.”
“But won’t the storm ground them?”
“It would if we were dealing with a sane person.” He shot her a sober look. “In case you’re not reading between the lines here, we’re not.”
“But they don’t have a pilot. They shot him.”
Impatient with her questions, he took her hand and pulled her into a jog. “The Jaguar wouldn’t have shot him if he didn’t have a backup pilot.”
“The Jaguar?”
He hadn’t meant to say the name aloud. Just hearing it sent a chill up his spine. Even after two years he could recall what it had been like to be helpless and hurting and look into the other man’s eyes and see pure evil.
“Stop talking and start moving,” he snapped. “Faster.”
She complied, but Cutter knew there was little chance of them outdistancing The Jaguar’s men. The terrorist surrounded himself with the most brutal men in the world. Men who would risk it all to advance whatever twisted beliefs had transformed them into terrorists.
Cutter had been in worse situations and still come out alive. But with a storm moving in and killers hot on their trail, survival seemed a long shot at best.
“Where are we going?”
He glanced over at his prisoner. She had snow in her hair. It clung to her thick eyelashes. Her cheeks were pink with cold, her eyes bright with fear. He wished she wasn’t so damn good to look at. The last thing he needed was a distraction….