Black Ops Warrior. Amelia Autin

he still had to kidnap her and make it appear to be the work of the PRC. Everything depended on it. Which meant this man who’d suddenly turned up on the tour and befriended Dr. Whitman, this man who’d unwittingly interfered with the brilliant plan, had to be eliminated. One way or another.

      * * *

      Savannah stared in wonder at the vast expanse in front of her that was Tiananmen Square, across the street from the Forbidden City. So vast, it literally dwarfed the tens of thousands of people assembled there. The tour guide was droning on and on about the history of Tiananmen Square in her electronic earpiece, but she turned off her little receiver because she didn’t need him to tell her. She knew.

      She could see the row of tanks in her mind’s eye, see the lone man confronting them. You could debate the rights and wrongs of what happened that day in 1989 and everything that led up to it, but the bravery of the man confronting the tanks was beyond question.

      She turned to Niall, standing quietly at her side, and blinked away tears. “He believed,” she whispered.

      Niall seemed to be able to read her mind, because he said, “Yeah. He had the courage of his convictions. He didn’t die that day, you know—he was pulled to safety. But no one knows what ultimately happened to him. There are conflicting reports. Some say he was later arrested and executed, some say he escaped and went into hiding.”

      “I believe in fighting for democracy, too,” she blurted out. “With all my heart. I have friends who ask me how I can do what I do for a living and still sleep at night. And I tell them they don’t understand. The work I do—the work I did,” she corrected, “it’s vital to national security.”

      She drew a quick breath. “Guided missiles are so much better than anything we used to have. It’s my job to make sure our missiles are as accurate as possible, so they hit the military targets they’re aimed at, and civilian casualties are minimized.”

      He didn’t say anything for the longest time. Then he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. “Eloquently put,” he murmured when he raised his head. There was an expression in his eyes she couldn’t interpret. It almost looked like remorse. But what about her words would make Niall feel remorseful?

      * * *

      More proof—if he needed it—that Savannah wasn’t a traitor, Niall realized. But someone had deliberately set out to convince the US government she was. Why?

      Her words also made him extremely glad he worked for a government that didn’t automatically assume guilt and act accordingly. Yes, he’d been dispatched to prevent Savannah from betraying the US by whatever means necessary. But his first assignment had been compiling proof of her guilt that would stand up in a court of law. Killing her would have been a last resort, only if he couldn’t stop her any other way.

      He didn’t want to dwell on what might have been, because it wasn’t going to happen. Not now. But what she’d just revealed only added to his determination to find out who had made Savannah his target, and why. And to bring that person to justice.

      * * *

      The couple posing as husband and wife watched from a hundred yards away as Savannah and Niall walked hand in hand through the Forbidden City. Savannah, they were quick to notice, was completely oblivious to the danger they posed. Niall, not so much. His gaze was constantly moving, moving. Checking out the crowd, almost as if he were cataloguing people for future reference. They smiled and waved when his eyes met theirs, then they turned away to enter one of the small courtyards to deflect suspicion that they had Savannah and Niall under observation.

      “Spencer was right,” the man said. “He’s a complication we don’t need.”

      The woman froze, then glanced left and right to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “You’re going to kill him?” she whispered, obviously appalled. As if to say she’d signed up for kidnapping, but not for murder.

      “I’d rather not if I don’t have to. Don’t want to bring official scrutiny on the tour if I can help it. But if I can arrange a little accident...” He shrugged. “A broken leg, maybe. Something to put him in the hospital or at least incapacitate him. We’ll see.”

      * * *

      Hours later, Savannah was exhausted. She’d walked for miles, it seemed, had ascended and descended countless broad stairways in her determination not to miss anything, had poked her nose into numerous courtyards, had peered into glass-walled rooms depicting homey little scenes of family life in the royal palace. She’d taken hundreds of photos with her camera that would be a pictorial diary she’d look back on years hence.

      And she’d reveled in Niall’s company. She’d been surprised at how knowledgeable he was about Chinese history, both ancient and modern, and had thoroughly enjoyed every moment they’d spent discussing the pluses and minuses of life in China’s glorious past.

      “Not so great for women, of course,” she stated after long discussions about Chinese contributions to art and science, the Silk Road and commerce, gunpowder, the invention of paper and life in general under the Chinese emperors.

      “Yeah, but not really all that different from what life was like for women in England or Europe at that time, either,” he countered.

      “True.” She stopped and drew a deep breath, conscious that her leg muscles were about to revolt.

      “Tired?”

      “A little,” she admitted, then amended, “Okay, a lot. But very happy I came here. It’s just so much to cram into a small span of time. I could spend days here and not see everything.”

      One corner of his mouth twitched into a half smile. “Yeah, but you’ve seen the highlights, same as at the Great Wall. And you can always say you’ve been here.” He gestured to her camera. “Want me to take your picture for you?”

      “Ye...yes...”

      But he’d apparently noticed her slight hesitation. “You don’t want me to take your picture?”

      “That’s not it.” Just spit it out, she told herself firmly. “Could I take one of the two of us?” She raised her camera. “I’ve gotten pretty good at taking selfies. Would you mind?” Then she held her breath.

      “The pictures you already took of me aren’t enough?”

      She stared at him. “You knew? You didn’t say anything.”

      He laughed. “You’d make a lousy spy—you weren’t all that surreptitious.”

      “Oh.” Nonplussed, she asked, “You don’t mind?”

      “Mind that you want memories of the time we’ve spent together?” His lips quirked into a smile. “What do you think?”

      “I wasn’t... It’s just that... Well, yes,” she confessed. “But I’d like at least one photo of the two of us together. Please?”

      He slid an arm around her shoulders. “My pleasure.”

      Savannah held her camera out away from the two of them and snapped a couple of shots, looking at the screen after each one to make sure she hadn’t cut off the top of their heads or anything stupid like that. “One more,” she pleaded.

      Niall flashed her a smile. “Why sure, darlin’.”

      His smile went right through her, and she felt it all the way to her toes. She sighed softly, then smiled at the camera and pressed the button. “Thanks.”

      “Now one for me...to go with my collection.”

      Her smile faded. “Collection?” she faltered, unsure what he meant by that but not liking the sound of it. Was Niall referring to a collection of women he’d been—?

      “Pictures of you,” he added, as if he’d suddenly realized how she’d interpreted his statement. He whipped his iPhone out of his pocket to show her, scrolling through what appeared to be a dozen