Free Cold in the Shadows 5 by Toni Anderson Page A

Surely the cartel doesn’t have spies everywhere? Surely when they figure out they made a mistake attacking me they’ll just leave me alone?”
    He sat on a chair beside the bed, leaning forward, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees. Even though she felt like crap she was uncomfortably aware of him as an attractive male, sitting close beside her, as she lay half-naked in bed.
    “Why would the cartel leave you alone?” he asked quietly. “They have billions of dollars and fingers in every imaginable pie. If they want you dead why would they ever leave you alone?” His anger echoed softly off the plain white walls.
    She swallowed. “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”
    His lip curled as if he thought she was lying.
    “Honestly.” Why didn’t he believe her? How insulting was that? “Look, they’ve made a mistake. That man who stabbed me also attacked me the night before. Told me ‘The Gateway Project was over’ and I was to tell my boss. But my boss didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, either.”
    “Were you hurt the first night?” The expression in his eyes was guarded, like he didn’t trust she was telling the truth, which was crazy. If she had the energy she’d roll her eyes. Why would she lie about any of this?
    “He tied me up, scared me to death, but didn’t hurt me—not then anyway. He obviously came back to finish the job.” Her energy started to lag. Her eyes felt heavy. “I reported it to the cops who were probably scarier than the perp.”
    Her brain grew fuzzy. She had a suspicion there was some sort of painkiller and sedative in her IV because she wasn’t hurting anymore but couldn’t keep her eyelids open.
    “Patrick?” she asked drowsily.
    “Yeah?” His voice sounded close, as if his lips were next to her ear.
    She turned her head toward the sound, opened her eyes to find him an inch away, staring at her with an expression she couldn’t read. “Thank you for saving my life.”
    *     *     *
    T RACEY W ILLIAMS SAUNTERED into the Colombian police station and smiled at the bored young officer who sat behind the front desk. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band and he had that amped up male vibe about him, all testosterone-driven virility. One of the easily manipulated. She was older than he was, but she kept in perfect shape. She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing attention to her impressive cleavage displayed by the deep vee of her tight white blouse. Then she bent just a little to smooth her hand down her just-above-the-knee dove-gray skirt. His eyes flickered. Good. Now she had his proper attention. She smiled straight into his dark chocolate eyes and watched his pupils heat.
    “ Hola, mi nombre es Meredith Childs. Trabajo con la compañía de seguros .” My name is Meredith Childs. I’m from the insurance company. Another false identity. In truth, she had so many she’d almost forgotten her real name—it was better that way. “ Necesito ver el carro de alquiler que se quemó anoche para evaluar sus daños .” I need to see the burned out rental car from last night to assess it for damages. Her Spanish held just the barest trace of an American accent but, to her annoyance, he replied in perfect English.
    “Trust me, Señorita , the car is a write off.”
    “I understand, Officer, but if I don’t personally set eyes on the vehicle, I can’t process the claim for the rental company, and then they can’t press criminal charges for destruction of property against the renter.”
    A look of amused disbelief crossed the young man’s face.
    She pushed. “My firm will send somebody else until one of us actually lays eyes on the car. You know how insurance companies are.” The same the world over.
    The young man gave a heavy sigh and shouted through an open door to some cops in the back room. The place was hopping after a murder—Dr. Lockhart’s student to be exact. Apparently Mano de Dios had thought the kid might have an idea where his