Seduced by His Target. Gail Barrett

penetrate something inside him, allowing her mesmerizing eyes to crack open the lid on his buried emotions—and tempting him to care.

      And that was a danger he couldn’t afford. His work ruled his life now. He couldn’t go back, couldn’t resurrect the man that he once was, no matter how much she appealed to him. That part of him was dead.

      To be safe, he had to maintain his distance from her, especially if she was here at her father’s request. Although frankly, the more time he spent around her, the harder that was to believe. Her fierce resistance to any orders, her rush to protect Henry at any cost—even her refusal to use her Jaziirastani birth name—suggested that she was exactly what she seemed: a victim in this affair. Then again, these terrorists were shrewd. He wouldn’t put anything past them in their quest to root out a traitor, especially on a mission this big.

      The gelding lurched, and Rasheed adjusted his grip on the doctor’s wrists, trying to keep him from falling off. Regardless of his doubts about Nadine, there was one thing he knew for sure. Henry had nothing to do with the upcoming attack. He was an unlucky bystander, an unfortunate do-gooder whose admirable intentions had placed him in the terrorists’ path. Now Rasheed had to convince these men to leave him behind—or Henry might pay for that generosity with his life.

      The horses continued plodding downhill. The creak of the leather saddles, the muffled thud of their hooves broke the silence of the mountain air. Mulling over his course of action, Rasheed glanced at the sheer peaks towering overhead, the rows of cultivated coca now encroaching on the wilderness. A hawk soared silently past, the predator a stark reminder that he had to proceed with care. Manzoor was astute. If he wanted to persuade him to release Henry, he had to be careful not to tip him off.

      Manzoor reached a clearing a moment later and drew his horse to a halt. The group straggled to a stop beside him, the buzz of insects loud in the air. Nadine slid off her horse without a word, dropped the reins and staggered off, seeking the privacy of the nearby shrubs.

      The other men swung down. Rasheed inhaled and steeled his nerves. This was it. It was time to make his move. He knew he was taking a risk. These terrorists would perceive any concern as weakness—or worse. But he had to do something about Henry. And he had to do it now, before Nadine came back and overheard.

      “We have a problem,” he told Manzoor, who was taking a map from his saddlebag. He waited until the leader looked up, then gestured toward the doctor sleeping against his back. “This man isn’t going to make it. His condition is getting worse.”

      Manzoor unfolded the map and shrugged. “The woman is a doctor. Let her deal with him.”

      “She tried to, but he’s too sick. The ride is making him worse. We need to leave him behind.”

      “We can’t.” Clearly dismissing the subject, Manzoor turned his attention to the map.

      Rasheed slid a glance at Amir. The terrorist stared back, his eyes simmering with resentment, and Rasheed bit back a curse. He didn’t want to give Amir another reason to suspect him, but for Henry’s sake, he had to persist.

      “He’s too weak to ride anymore,” he continued. “He keeps passing out. He can’t be that important to our plans.”

      Manzoor raised his head. Annoyance flickered in his black eyes. “He’s not important. But the woman won’t try to escape while he’s along, so he stays.”

      Rasheed couldn’t argue with his logic. Nadine obviously cared about the older man. And using him to control her was a surefire way to keep her in line. “I understand that. But I’m telling you, he can’t hold on.”

      “So let him fall,” Amir cut in. “That will teach him to pay attention.”

      “A fall will kill him.”

      “So? Why do you care?”

      “I don’t care.” Rasheed chose his words with caution, aware that he was walking a tightrope, and that a slipup would invite more suspicion of him. “He doesn’t matter to me. But I do care about the success of our mission. And the doctor’s a complication we don’t need. He’s only slowing us down.”

      Manzoor’s gaze went to the sleeping man. “We only need him until we reach Buena Fortuna. We’ll dispose of him there.”

      Rasheed’s heart skipped a beat. Dispose could only mean one thing. If the concussion didn’t kill Henry before they reached the town, Manzoor would. He wouldn’t leave any witnesses behind.

      And it made sense. According to his intelligence briefings, Buena Fortuna was the town where the drug plane would pick them up. The plane would fly them to the staging area on San Gabriel, a small, private island controlled by the drug cartel off Colombia’s Caribbean coast. There they’d make their final plans before entering the United States. And it was Rasheed’s last chance to meet with the undercover operative who’d infiltrated the cartel and tell him what he’d learned.

      Except he hadn’t learned anything of value yet.

      “How far is it to Buena Fortuna?” he asked.

      Manzoor looked at the map. “Twenty-five miles. We’ll reach it in the morning if we push through.”

      Twenty-five miles! Hell. It was way too soon. He needed more time than that to question Nadine and find out what she knew.

      Keeping his voice indifferent, he perservered. “He won’t make it that far. I say we spend the night in a village to let him rest.”

      But Manzoor only shook his head. “No, we will ride through the night. We don’t have time to waste.”

      Rasheed curbed his frustration, knowing he had to back off. “You’re in charge. But the horses are worn-out. They’ll collapse before then. And the man won’t do us any good if he dies along the way.”

      Manzoor only grunted in reply.

      Rasheed pulled out his canteen and drank, but his thoughts continued to spin. What a mess. He had to get Henry to safety before his usefulness ended and Manzoor had him killed—assuming the doctor didn’t die before then. And yet, he also needed information about this case, vital information that only Nadine could provide. And as soon as he spirited Henry to safety, she’d try to leave.

      But could he justify delaying Henry’s rescue for the mission’s sake? And what about Nadine? If she was as innocent as he strongly suspected, didn’t he have an obligation to help her escape? But could he really trust her? What if he misjudged her? Could he risk making a mistake of that magnitude?

      The branches of the dense shrubs moved. Nadine emerged a second later, her head down, her long, black hair spilling over her arms. She walked straight to the mare, her movements stiff, her discolored jaw bearing the imprint of Amir’s fist. Then she glanced at him, her eyes shooting daggers, and his hopes sank.

      She’d heard. She now knew they intended to kill Henry when they reached the town. And if he’d learned anything about this woman, it was that she’d never capitulate. She was going to do something reckless to get her companion free.

      Swearing at his predicament, he tightened his grip on the reins. He had to stop her. He couldn’t let her risk her life. But if he interfered—even to protect her—she’d trust him even less.

      She mounted the mare, her expression hostile—whether from anger or pain, he didn’t know. But he did know one thing. He’d just made this complicated situation even worse. He had to help the injured doctor. He couldn’t tip off the terrorists and ruin his chance to stop the attack. He also had to contend with Amir, a man clearly gunning for revenge.

      More importantly, he had to get close to Nadine and find out more about the terrorists’ plans. And he had to do that without giving in to the attraction simmering between them like a cauldron ready to blow.

      But if she was the innocent he believed, he’d just guaranteed that she wouldn’t trust him. And yet, if there was any chance she was in league with these terrorists, he couldn’t trust her.

      So