Page 4 of Wicked Intention

If he were after her or the disk, she’d handle it the same way she’d dealt with every other oh-shit moment that had popped up in the four years she’d worked for the League. Maybe it seemed more daunting this time than in the past because she’d gotten used to having a partner.

Zo crossed her arms over her chest. Okay, so Finn was more than her partner. He was her best friend and lover, too, and she missed him something fierce.Hewas the primary reason she wanted to get home ASAP.

Or he had been the primary reason until she’d seen Dead Eyes.

The next two people had their numbers called in rapid succession—she was next. Zo checked the sidewalk outside the window again, but the guy was nowhere in sight. Now, if thehair on the back of her neck would lie down, she’d feel much better.

Of the many artifacts she’d rescued, this was the most important. Any Huarona artifact would be valuable—there were so few of them—but the Disk of the Gods was special. It had been the stuff of myth until her boss called her into his office and assigned her to retrieve it. It was real, and it was tucked in her jacket. Now she needed to get it out of the country so it could end up in a museum.

A number was called—her number. For no reason that she could discern, her pulse spiked, and Zo took another deep breath, trying to regain control.

She went to the counter, digging her passport out of the inner pocket of her jacket as she walked. The clerk was young, perhaps in his early twenties, and his eyes lit up when she headed toward his window. He wasn’t subtle—she saw him check her out, his gaze traveling over her from head to toe. His eyes gleamed when she stopped in front of him.

Call her cynical, but Zo figured the shine meant he’d identified her as an American, added up the cost of her athletic shoes, jeans, and jacket, and expected a bigger bribe than she’d been prepared to offer. There were some things she didn’t like about Puerto Jardin.

“Hello, pretty lady. How can I assist you today?” he asked in English.

She was fluent in Spanish, so she answered in that language, hoping it would reduce the amount of money he’d expect. “I’d like an exit visa, please.”

The clerk’s expression became crestfallen. Leaning toward her, he said in Spanish, “You’re leaving so soon? Perhaps you can be persuaded to stay a few days longer? I know the best clubs and will play tour guide for you.”

His flirtatious tone startled her for a moment. As she imagined Finn’s reaction to the clerk’s interest, she had to bite down hard on her lower lip to prevent a laugh. Her lovercould go caveman in a heartbeat when he felt some guy was showing her too much attention.

She met the man’s earnest brown eyes, and the genuine regard there had her infusing her voice with regret. “I’m sorry, but there’s no possibility of changing my plans.”

Disappointment clouded his gaze. “When does your flight leave?”

“Today.” He’d need that information anyway to issue the visa.

“Ah.” For a moment, he appeared inconsolable, and then with a shrug that clearly expressed win some, lose some, the clerk said, “I’ll need your passport.”

Wordlessly, Zo put it on the counter and slid it toward him, the appropriate bribe folded inside. He pocketed the bills so skillfully that she nearly missed the movement. Only when the money was safely tucked away did he compare her to the picture.

“Zofia.” Her name sounded almost musical the way the clerk said it. He entered her name into the computer. While they waited, he pulled out a paper form, and after copying down the information from her passport, he said, “Departure date, today. Airline and flight number?”

“PacAtlantic Flight 554.”

“Rio Blanco to Mexico City to Los Angeles. You are going through to Los Angeles?” He waited, pen poised above the paper.

“Yes.”

The young man recorded her destination. There wasn’t much more to the form, and after glancing at the computer screen, he offered an apology for the delay.

Zo wasn’t surprised; the miracle was that the ancient system worked at all. When the computer finally processed her information, he’d stamp an exit visa, initial it, and attach it to her passport. At the airport, the visa would be double-checked by another government employee. That was one thing shecould always count on in this country—an endless bureaucracy.

“I see you make frequent trips to South America and come to Puerto Jardin several times a year.” The clerk gestured to her passport, where the pages were nearly full with stamps.

“Sí,” Zo said cautiously.

He leaned toward her, the glow back in his eyes. “On your next visit, perhaps we can get together. I’ll give you my number, and—”

A beep from the computer stopped him, and Zo breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

The kid’s face went wooden, his interest gone with the blink of an eye. Or the perusal of the computer screen.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He didn’t meet her gaze, staring instead at the passport he held in his hand. “The computer…it isn’t working. I’ll finish your visa in the back.”

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