Her chin lifted. “They wanted to know about my father.” She paused. “What did he do this time?” Pain whispered beneath her words. Logan knew that Juliana had long ago dropped the rose-colored glasses when it came to her father.
As for what the guy had done this time...
Sold out his country, traded with an arms dealer, took blood money and thought that he’d get away scot-free. A normal day’s work for the senator. “I don’t know,” Logan said. The lies really were too easy. With her, it should have been harder.
She blinked. “You do.” She stood slowly and came close to him. Juliana tilted her head back as she looked up at him. At six foot three, he towered ov
er her smaller frame. “But you’re not telling me.”
Being the guy’s daughter didn’t give her clearance. Logan was on Uncle Sam’s leash. The job was to get her home safely, not blow an operation that had been running in place for almost two years.
“What did you tell them about the senator?” Just how much did she know about his dark deeds?
“Nothing.” Her eyes were on his, dark and gorgeous, just like he remembered. “I didn’t tell them a thing about my father. I knew that if I talked they would just kill me once they had the information they needed.”
Yeah, they would have. He hated that bruise on her cheek. “So you didn’t talk, and they just left you alone?” Her story just didn’t make sense. Unless Guerrero had been planning to use her as a bargaining tool and the guy had needed to keep her alive.
For a little longer, anyway.
Juliana shook her head and her hair slid against her chin. “When you found me...they’d taken me into the torture room.” She laughed, the sound brittle and so at odds with the soft laughter from his memory. “They were going to make me talk then. The same way they made John talk.”
But they’d waited four days. Not the standard M.O. for Guerrero’s group. All the signs were pointing where he didn’t want them to point. “This John...what did he look like?”
“Tall, dark...late twenties. He kept me sane, kept me talking all through those long hours.”
Yes, Logan just bet he had. But “tall and dark” could be anyone. He needed more info than that.
“You get a good look at his face?” Logan asked.
She nodded.
He offered her what he hoped was an easy smile. “Good enough that you could probably talk to a sketch artist back in the States? Get us a clear picture?”
A furrow appeared between her eyes.
“We’ll need to search the missing-person’s database,” he told her. Liar, liar. “A close image will help us find out exactly who John was.”
She nodded and her lips twisted. “I can do better than meet with your sketch artist.” Her shoulders moved in a little roll. “Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I’ll draw John’s image for you.”
He tried not to let his satisfaction show. Juliana was an artist; he knew that. Sure, she usually worked with oils, but he remembered a time when she’d always carried a sketchbook with her.
She’d always been able to draw anything or anyone...in an instant.
“We’ll want sketches of every man or woman you saw while you were being held.”
Now her shoulders straightened. “Done.”
Hell, yes. This could be just the break they needed.
“I want these men caught. I want them stopped.”
So did he, and Logan wasn’t planning on backing off this mission, not until Guerrero was locked up.
The mission wasn’t over. In fact, it might just be getting started.
He turned away from her. “Try to get some more sleep.” They could take care of the sketches soon enough. For the moment, he needed to go talk with his team to tell them about his suspicions.
But she touched him. Her hand wrapped around his arm and every muscle in Logan’s body tightened. “Why did you come for me? Why you, Logan?”