Chapter 10

“I SEE THEM. This way. Slowly, casually.” Matt took her arm and turned right, away from the taxis.

They strolled around the next pillar and back inside.

“Okay, new plan,” he said. “They’re looking for a couple. We’ll split up and take separate cabs.”

Nadia shook her head. Her whole body quaked with fear and exhaustion. Because of his throbbing knee, Matt had to be worse off, but he kept going, like that battery bunny. The image nearly made her smile, except her lips wouldn’t move.

She dragged in a breath and straightened her shoulders. “It’s not Modena Security. They won’t shoot us. It’s DARK or the FBI. Why not let them take us in? We’d be safe and maybe I could go to the hospital and visit Sarika.”

“I know you want to see her. So do I, but it’s not possible right away. Those people out there aren’t DARK or I’d know them. They’re FBI. Even in jeans and windbreakers, they look like they should be wearing black suits. I’ll explain later why turning ourselves over to them is a bad idea.” He set down his pack and cupped her shoulders. “Being on the run is stressful. Hell, more than stressful, it’s terrifying. You’re a trouper, Nadia.”

His strength and the heat of his hands seeped through the jacket, easing her nerves and making her want to lean into him and feel his arms around her. And not just because he was protecting her and organizing their “getaway.” She felt every millimeter of contact, and a flicker, a quiver low in her belly. No way, not him, even if she needed him now. She went for flippant. “Thank you for that. What’s that fabulous new plan? A magic carpet? Or asking Scotty to beam us up?”

He tugged her closer, but quickly released her, as if not realizing what he’d done. “Think of it as being in your own documentary.”

“Feels more like a Dan Brown thriller.”

He grinned. “Close. Here’s what I’d like you to do.”

At least he’d asked and not ordered. When she nodded, he withdrew a second phone from a pouch on his pack. “I’m putting my new number on speed dial for you.”

She gaped at the pack. “How many of those phones do you have?”

“Dunno. Maybe a dozen burners and more SIM cards,” he said as he programmed the phone for her.

He handed it to her along with more cash. Still pondering his foresight and — what should she call it, spycraft? — she tucked both in her new, small handbag. She concentrated as he told her to take a cab to the Ritz-Carlton.

When she frowned in confusion, he held up a hand. “Separate, remember. Hang out in the lobby and wait for my call. I don’t think you’ll have any problems, but if anybody followed you or is watching you or—” he stopped, his mouth tight, probably hated scaring her further “—the FBI or anybody has you, answer the call with ‘sweetheart.’”

She frowned and her chin wobbled, but she sucked back her trepidation. “You’re going to the Prospect Hotel and when you call, I’ll walk there?” Of course. His knee must be killing him, especially with the extra weight of that pack. He was limping more.

“That’s it. I hate sending you out alone, but—” He gave his knee a middle-finger salute, as much complaining as a macho spy could allow himself. “Can you do this?” He studied her, his expression hot and piercing.

“Absolutely.” She could, even if her insides quivered like jelly in an earthquake. She turned away to leave him.

Matt’s arm shot out and his hand clasped hers.

She gasped as he reeled her into his arms. His warm mouth covered hers and the light rasp of his scruff on her skin gave her goosebumps. The touch of his tongue urging her lips to open made her insides clench, and she opened to his hunger. His kiss was tender and claiming and tasted of spearmint. She had no idea how long the embrace continued, only that she didn’t want it to end. A guttural sound from his throat resonated within her.

He lowered his arms and stepped back. “Go.”

She nodded, her pulse rioting, her knees wobbly as a new foal’s. Calm, steady, she told herself as she forced herself to walk away.

Matt drew deep breaths and ordered his body to stand down. He’d heard the desperation in her voice, seen it in her gaze. She’d needed support, and grabbing her, holding her, the kiss, whatever, was supposed to be merely that. Like sending her into battle. He winced. Definitely not that. He’d wanted to kiss her. Hell, it might have been his only chance. A sneak attack. Shit, stop with the war analogies!

He watched her from the shadows as she walked across the wide apron and to the taxi queue.

The Feebs paid her no attention. Except for the one guy who checked out her legs. Five minutes later, the yellow cab she entered pulled away, and he could breathe again.

He waited another ten minutes before shouldering his pack. He hobbled toward the cab line. At least six people ahead of him, not counting two families with piles of luggage. They’d need a vehicle bigger than a sedan.

One of the male FBI agents turned toward him. Shit, they’d met once or twice at coordination meetings. Smithers, maybe Smitts or something. Would the guy remember him? He kept walking, kept looking straight ahead. No need to exaggerate the limp. The swelling was taking care of that.

The guy cocked his head, squinted. Could be the glare of the pole lights. Or not.

Matt kept walking, kept his gaze on his destination except for covert glances at the agent.

The man looked down at his phone, likely at Matt’s official DARK photo, the new one with scars and eye patch. Looked up again. At the awkward gait, at the backpack, at his face. Smithers/Smitts dropped the phone in his pocket and headed toward him.

Matt kept moving, kept his expression neutral. Hoped sweat hadn’t washed away the makeup covering the scars.

The agent passed him and continued out of sight, either behind the pillars or into the terminal.

Figuring the guy could still be watching him, Matt resisted the urge to look back. The other Feebs appeared focused on the crowd in general. Didn’t look at their phones. Didn’t look his way.

He joined the taxi queue and waited the forty-seven centuries it took for him to climb into a cab.

Matt shrugged off his pack and tossed it on the floor, along with the cane. He crossed to the window and twitched aside the sheer curtain. If the Prospect Hotel desk clerk had cared at all, he probably thought Matt requested the street side to save money, but if any government entity located them, they’d more likely set up surveillance on this side than along the side overlooking the Potomac. Outside now, some pedestrians with briefcases, couples who might be headed out to dinner, no obvious Feebs. Nobody at all loitering unless you counted the valet-parking attendants.

A snail could’ve beat his cab through the traffic from the train station. Even with the painful balloon that used to be his knee, he could’ve walked the distance faster. So unless Nadia’s cabbie drove a flying car, she might’ve barely made it to the Ritz-Carlton by now. He didn’t want to risk calling her if she was still en route. He didn’t like it, but he’d give her a few minutes.

After filling the purchased ice bag with the hotel’s cubes, he settled on one of the queen beds. He propped the bag on his knee and let the chill seep in through his jeans. “Deflate, damn you, deflate.”

He dialed Stratton’s cell number. Fifty-fifty whether his friend would answer, but Matt wanted more info before divulging anything more to Nadia.

“Yo, who is this?”

The rumble of a Harley-Davidson assured him that Stratton was out of the office and couldn’t easily do a trace. “Chill, Cole. It’s me.”

“You have any idea what firestorm you started, Leoni?” the other man barked. “Going off the reservation, taking a suspect with you—”

“Whoa, fucking whoa! She’s a suspect now?”

Grumbled sigh in his ear. “More a person of interest. Harris kept me at HQ until late. His head may explode before this is over. Do you realize what you’ve done? The risks you’re taking?”

Matt stared at the phone screen. The risks he was taking? No shit. He could lose— He wouldn’t think about that. This was about protecting Nadia. Freaking Hero Harris would interrogate her, terrify her and then have her locked away somewhere, and Matt could do zip. She’d been through enough. He’d gotten her out of danger and he’d keep her out. “I know the risks.” The words scraped his throat like broken glass.

“Where the hell are you?”

He resisted replying with the childhood taunt for me to know and you to find out. “In the wind. Any new developments?”

The bike’s engine cut off as Stratton gave in to having a conversation. Sounds of other vehicle engines firing up echoed. He was probably in the parking building. “This afternoon, the Modena Security office received an anonymous phone tip that the film crew were tied in with the rebels and had smuggled in an explosive. Security guys were heading to the princess’s office when the bomb went off.”

“The reason they shot at us,” Matt said as much to himself as to the other man. “Any chance of a trace?”

Stratton snorted. “Non-working number, burner phone. But the admin who took the call said the male voice had an accent that could’ve been from Modena. She was pretty shaken up, so who knows.”

“Cardona or a minion.”

“Possibly a way to divert attention from their spy inside the embassy.”

“Or to set us up to take the fall when the bomb went off,” Matt said. Without the call to Nadia, they’d have all been killed, phony crew included. That part didn’t fit. They needed more intel. “Anything new about the princess’s condition or Nadia’s father?”

“I got nothing, only info about the three dead, what’s left of them. But I can check if you want. So about Parker, why is she afraid to come in?”

“I’m not talking to you about her, not unless Harris changes his mind about interrogating her.”

“Only questioning. Come on, it’s not the third degree. What could he do?” Stratton’s tone was even, but pressing for more discussion. Why?

Light tapping sounds over the phone, on a tablet or another phone. Matt sat up straight, the move knocking away the ice bag. He poised his thumb over the red receiver icon. “You ready to trap Cardona?”

“Harris and the AD are working on a plan, but—”

“I’ll see what I can come up with on my end. I’ll contact you when I have something.” He disconnected before the other man could alert somebody in DARK to trace Matt’s phone’s location. Triangulation was the best they could do, but he’d rather not give them the chance.

Dammit to hell. And now he was late calling Nadia. Waiting for the connection, he held his breath.

“Oh, thank God,” she said. “Are you okay?”

He exhaled, and his shoulders relaxed. She was safe, alone, but ready to jump out of her skin. And she was worried about him? “All set. You sure you had no problems?”

“Only traffic. There’s a snazzy company party here, so no one’s paying any attention to me. I’m gawking at the evening clothes while pretending to do email on this phone.”

“Well played, Mata Hari.” A small laugh from her, the deep chuckle he hadn’t heard this time around, reassured him and turned him on. “You probably won’t need this info, but just in case. We’re registered as Mr. and Mrs. Paul Malik.” He spelled the last name.

“And do I get a first name?” She huffed, but with humor, not irritation. Or fear. Good.

“Amy.” His high school girlfriend, but he’d stay mum on that. He gave her the room number and a knock code. “Walk through the lobby to the elevators without stopping.”

“I remember the layout. I’m leaving now.”

“Take M Street, not the smaller side streets. Safer with all the night life there. Don’t stop anywhere or talk to anybody. Come straight here.”

“Yes, Mom.” She disconnected before he could dredge up a laugh.

And now — again — he waited. Surveillance duty had taught him patience and alertness. So had the instances when he had to go deep and hide out. But this was different. This was Nadia. He was alert all right. And sweating. He held the ice bag against his forehead.