across her for the seat belt. When he paused, his cheek was next to hers, so close it was like an intimate gesture.
Instead of being frightened, as she should have been, in that one moment she felt secure and protected. She was clearly losing her mind.
His eyes widened with some intuitive understanding, then narrowed before he moved back across to the driver’s seat, latching her belt in the same motion. For a man so intimidating in size and solid muscle, his every move was smooth and fluid.
He cleared his throat. “Want something to drink?” He put the car into gear and moved smoothly back into traffic.
“Maybe a water.” Gabrielle searched for a landmark as the car quickly reached cruising speed. They were on Interstate 75 and had just passed under the north 120 Loop overpass, which meant they were in the Marietta area, northwest of downtown Atlanta. She’d slept at least forty-five minutes, but didn’t feel very refreshed. Sort of like on those rare days she grabbed a nap in the afternoon after spending half the night online.
Carlos took the Interstate 575 split and turned off at the Barrett Parkway exit. Fast-food and retail stores choked the one-mile stretch so close to a popular Atlanta mall.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Oui.” She sat up, searching the many options on each side of the road. “But you have to park so I can visit the loo.”
He pulled into a McDonald’s and parked, then came around and helped her from the car. She hurried ahead to the ladies’ room. When she came out, he was camped outside the door with a bag of food. Her mouth watered at the smell. She did love fries. They ate in silence with her watching Carlos, and his gaze tracking everything that moved.
Back on the road, he pushed the car up to cruising speed again. “Now that you’ve had a nap and food, let’s talk.”
“About what? Thought you wanted to wait until I met your people.”
He shrugged. “You could fill in a few blanks tonight.”
“Like what?” Less was better than more.
“You’re the electronic informant Mirage.” He didn’t ask, just tossed that out, and added, “Where are you getting your intel?”
“Who are you and who do you work for?” she asked rather than admit anything, but she couched her questions more politely to encourage an exchange of information.
“If you’re worried about Durand Anguis, I’m not in his pocket.”
A nonanswer. She tapped her fingers on the door handle. “I sort of figured that out in the last few hours. That doesn’t tell me who you are working with…or what you want with me.”
“And, I’m not the one who has to answer questions.”
She got that, but she still needed to know whose team he played on. “Are you CIA or FBI?”
“No.”
“Are you wanted by either of those?”
“No, but I do work for an agency that protects American security.”
She sighed and dropped her head back. “That’s something, I suppose. But I might be more willing to talk if I knew what agency you were with.”
“Let’s just say, no one you’d know.” His eyes crinkled with mirth, but the rest of his features remained as stoic as ever.
“Do the CIA and FBI know about you?”
“No.”
So was he really with some form of law enforcement?
When Interstate 575 ended, Carlos took Highway 5 north.
Warm air curled around her shoulders, distracting her. Between the meal and the heat, her eyelids felt heavy again, but she had to stay vigilant. Any hope of getting away from Carlos depended on knowing where she was and which way to run.
She rubbed her eyes, letting them close for just a second, just long enough to rest them.
“Why were you in Peachtree City?”
His question snapped her awake. She stretched her face and eyes, trying to come alert. Bad sign that she’d fallen asleep so easily again. “What?”
“Peachtree City. Why were you living there?”
“I liked the area,” she muttered, then cleared her voice. “It was quiet with pretty parks and great food. They have miles and miles of paved paths so you can travel all over the city in a golf cart or on a bike. Good food, too. I’m going to miss eating at Pascal’s Bistro. That was my favorite-”
“That’s not what I meant,” he interrupted in a wry tone that poked at her patience.
Gabrielle crossed her arms. “It was just a place to live where I felt safe. No special reason that had anything to do with espionage, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I didn’t know anyone except my landlord, who I rarely saw.” She sat upright. “Good Lord. Harry might stop by this weekend. What about Baby Face’s body?”
“There are no bodies or cars on his property right now that don’t belong to him or you. What did you tell Baby Face?”
“Nothing.”
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“That the DEA wanted to talk to me about…” She forced her mind back over what everyone had said, trying to make sure she only shared what Carlos already knew. “Durand Anguis, but I don’t know why.”
“So Baby Face tracked you electronically-”
“Lucky hit.” She scoffed then frowned. She’d just admitted too much.
“You didn’t just let something slip,” he assured her.
She refused to reply since he picked up on every little thing she said and any reaction.
“Really,” he continued. “We know you’re the Mirage. Baby Face was an electronic mastermind with resources all over the world. He tracked you and so did my people. There’s no telling who else was close to locating you.” Carlos rode in silence for a bit then added, “You’re lucky I found you when I did.”
Gabrielle couldn’t argue that point. How had those two groups found her?
Answering that last post about Mandy needing her help gave someone a break who was watching for a second post, which Gabrielle had provided them with. That’s when Baby Face and the group this Carlos was aligned with figured out about the bounce from Peachtree City to Romania to Russia before the message was fed to several UK and American IPs.
She’d bet the emergency message she’d received about Mandy had been sent by either Baby Face or Carlos’s group.
Stupid mistake, but she would stick her neck out again to save a child.
Carlos had shown up in time to keep her out of Turga’s hands, but her appreciation was going to disintegrate if she found out his people were behind the post about Mandy last night.
That his group had lured her into a trap and exposed her to people like Durand.
Until she figured out what Carlos wanted and whom he worked for, she couldn’t let his protective nature continue to cloud her survival judgment.
“So, where are you getting your information?” he asked again.
She shrugged. “The Internet, where else?”
His scoff of derision rode on a laugh. “I don’t think so. Not all of it. You’ve passed information to the CIA, MI5 or MI6, Interpol, FBI, and a slew of other groups that couldn’t have been found randomly on the Internet. Pick a new answer.”
She would not tell him about her associates in South America who had fed her information for the past four years. Contacting Ferdinand and his son for help with Mandy’s kidnapping had been risky after all the trouble she’d gone through to set up a secure process for the Diaz men to feed information to her.
A one-way electronic street. Taking the initiative to contact them first opened a channel someone could track.
Please, God, tell her she hadn’t put Ferdinand and his son in danger by breaking protocol, but Mandy wouldn’t
