Page 3 of Wicked Intention

Present Day

A SHRIEK ECHOED through the Puerto Jardin government center. Zofia Parker jerked her head up from her phone, and her gaze swept the overcrowded room until she spotted the source. A toddler was being chased by his older brother, their mother in hot pursuit. She released the breath she’d been holding.

Conversations resumed, and with a grimace, Zo shoved her travel phone into her jacket pocket. She’d been having trouble concentrating even before her pulse zoomed into the triple digits. There was no way she’d be able to read now.

Chaos in the government center was normal, and a lot of people, especially those who’d driven in from the countryside, brought their children along. Usually, she could tune it out.

But not today.

She hated her antsiness. Only it wasn’t impatience making her jittery. What, though? Zo looked around the marble andmahogany room again, but no one seemed interested in her, not even the two soldiers standing guard at the entry doors.

It should relieve her, but it didn’t. Her instincts weren’t screaming, but they were whispering. Insistently. And they’d been doing it for a while now.

Zo tucked her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans to stop herself from putting a hand over the gold disk. It was hidden inside her leather jacket, and she could feel the weight of it, feel the warmth of it—there was no need to touch it.

The easy thing would be to chalk up her edginess to the relic. After all, if she were caught with it in her possession, she’d be looking at a lengthy sentence inside a Puerto Jardinese prison, and not even the United States government would be able to keep her ass out of jail.

But that was a load of bullshit.

Her job for the Paladin League was to rescue artifacts that had been looted from archaeological sites, and if necessary, smuggle them to safety. The risk of arrest wasn’t new, and while she was always aware it was there, it wasn’t something that left the hair on her nape standing on end. But it was now. Had been since she’d left her hotel…and bumped into that guy.

Maybe the two things were related. Zo examined the faces in the jam-packed room more closely, but she didn’t see the man with the scar.

That should relieve her, but it didn’t.

She checked her number against the electronic counter on the wall. There were a few people ahead of her. If she’d offered a bigger bribe, she’d be finished already, but Zo hadn’t seen the point when she’d arrived. Her flight didn’t leave Rio Blanco until this evening, and she’d be stuck killing time at the airport if she wasn’t standing around here waiting for her exit visa. Either way, she wasn’t getting out of the country any sooner.

At the moment, though, Zo wished she’d dropped theextra money. The delay was adding to her anxiety, and at least if she was out of here, she’d be moving.

The desire to touch the disk rose again, and she pushed her fingers deeper into her pockets. Of the many artifacts she’d handled, this one might be worth the most money. Solid gold, three and a half inches in diameter, and with a legend that had captivated her since she’d been a child—no wonder she was edgy.

More bullshit.

Zo wanted a reason for her nerves. If she could come up with an explanation, she’d be able to plan for contingencies. Jumping at shadows? There wasn’t much she could do to mitigate that.

A number was called, and the man next to her walked to the service counter. She moved to his spot in front of the window and glanced outside. Rio Blanco nestled in the mountains, and there was an awe-inspiring view of other peaks off in the distance.

The floor vibrated, and she looked out onto the street in time to watch a military convoy roll past. The country’s civil war had been on a timeout for most of the last two years, but things had recently kicked up again in the northern part of the country.

As she glanced away from the troop transport and the armed soldiers seated in the back of it, her gaze landed on a man smoking a cigarette in front of the building. She sucked in a startled breath.

The scarred man—hewasfollowing her.

He had dark, wavy hair cut below his ears, and he wore a black suit with a white shirt and a dark tie. From their encounter in front of her hotel, she recalled that his nose was crooked as if it had been broken multiple times, and there was a ragged scar on his right cheek. That wasn’t what had her unsettled. What creeped her out was the dead flatness in his eyes. Killers had that look, not normal people.

Zo realized she’d been holding her breath, and she released it with a shudder. Coolly, analytically, she considered the situation. She had two more people in front of her, and then she could get her exit visa. There was time to lose him before she had to be at the airport, and she knew this part of Rio Blanco well enough to ditch him.

Unless he was aware of when her flight left. A little cash to an airline employee, and he’d have the info. In which case, it wouldn’t matter whether or not she lost him. He’d simply show up at the airport. Zo ran through possibilities.

She could take another flight, but if he staked out the international terminal, he’d catch her anyway, even if she didn’t book until the last minute.

She risked another look over, but he was gone.

Or at least he was out of sight.

This wasn’t the first time someone had pursued her to grab an artifact. Dealing with antiquities thieves or their brokers meant there was always a chance of catching the wrong person’s attention, and they didn’t come more wrong than the man with the dead eyes.

She shivered, suddenly cold despite her jacket.

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