Chapter 11

TWENTY AGONIZING MINUTES after Matt’s call, Nadia stepped onto the seventh floor of the Prospect Hotel. As the doors swooshed closed behind her, she jumped, her heart drumming. For no good reason. She’d been the only person in the elevator. Drawing a deep breath, she wiped her clammy hands inside her jacket pockets.

As instructed, she’d made no stops from the Ritz-Carlton and walked briskly, hoping she appeared relaxed as she headed for a dinner date. Or in her case, a rendezvous in a hotel room. No one looked at her twice, and no one seemed to have followed her.

Not that the ever-present fear had vanished. All her nerves were afire. If only this were over. If only she could talk to Dad. If only she knew more about Sari. Her fingers cramped and she flexed her clenched hands. Maybe Matt had good news.

The polished brass sign on the wall ahead indicated the direction of the room, and she turned left. The hall was empty except for a couple of room-service trays. She stood at the door, just stood, couldn’t move just yet. Would he kiss her again? Did she want him to?

She closed her eyes, replaying their embrace at the station. His kiss had been both ardent and tender, melting her against his hard body, so she could barely stand. The solid feel of his body against her sent thrills to body parts too long neglected. In a sensual haze, she’d somehow found her way to the taxi stand. She shook away the tingling sensations conjured by the memory. And the fantasy.

Damn, what was the coded knock? One and then two or was it two and then one? She closed her eyes and concentrated. Two and then one.

Matt yanked open the door immediately. He pulled her into his arms and kicked the door closed. No lip-lock this time. He only examined her as if to make sure she was whole, and then placed a chaste but warm kiss on her forehead, just enough to banish the chill inside her. She clung to him, savoring the rasp of his jaw against her skin, the press of his solid chest against her tight nipples. She ached for him to put his mouth — that wide, sensual mouth with the fuller bottom lip—lower. And lower, everywhere. But she stepped back, away. She couldn’t give in to her treacherous body, to wanting to escape the madness with him.

She couldn’t betray her father with Matt.

He didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. He gripped her shoulders. “You’re good? Nobody followed you?” As if trying to see inside, he peered hard into her eyes.

She lifted one shoulder in an elaborate shrug. “I made sure I wasn’t followed.” She sidestepped him and checked out the room. Bathroom was spacious, plenty of towels, good lighting. Desk with all the technology connections, poster-size framed photographs of the city rather than generic prints. For some reason, she felt compelled to describe her safety measures. “I stopped twice to check the reflection in store windows.”

He nodded, lowering himself to a bed.

“Other people got off the elevator at lower floors, but the thought occurred to me that someone — an FBI agent, a Modena rebel? — could’ve noted the number of my floor. So I pushed a higher floor and continued up before coming back down. Alone. No one else got in the elevator.”

“I have no reason to think either of us was followed from the train station. What you did verifies that. Good technique, subtle and efficient.” His amused tone suggested she’d been amateurish using methods gleaned from the movies — which was true — but maybe he was just happy she made it safely.

“Thank you, oh Master Spy.” She crossed the room, past the beds, two queens as he’d promised. Matt had placed all her purchases and her other clothes on the second bed, as if to make clear his good intentions. She tamped down the fillip of disappointment. “Nice room, bigger than I had back when. And they’ve remodeled.”

“Glad you approve.” He glanced around as if seeing the décor for the first time.

And perhaps that was true. The ice bag drooped over his knee. He’d been busy with the ice and waiting to phone her. “Let me refill that for you. The bag looks a little flat, but not the knee. How’s it feel?”

“Ibuprofen’s helping. So’s the ice.”

“And the back?” She started to reach out, but linked her fingers together instead. Lifting his shirt and putting her hand on his naked back, and him on a bed? Significant parts of her grew hot just thinking about it, dammit. “Should I check it? Put more antiseptic on the cuts? All that… stuff that hit you could cause infection.”

He sent her a cocky grin. “Nah, feels fine.”

A sigh wove through her, but was it relief or disappointment? “Okay, then. But you’ll need the bandages changed sometime.” They were likely in for the night. So before bed. Bed. Two beds, remember.

She turned her back on him and crossed to the bathroom, where she emptied water from the bag into the sink. Breaking eye contact seemed to douse the electric awareness fizzing through her.

After refilling the bag from the ice bucket, she handed it to him. “So how long do we have to wait for DARK to scoop us up? I need to check on my dad, and I’d like to know more about Sari’s condition.” Her eyes burned, and she bit her lower lip, seeking control.

His expression darkened, and he squirmed around before settling as if for a long chat. Or for an uncomfortable one.

Her stomach tightened. Did he have bad news? Was it Sarika? Oh, Sari…”

Before she could ask, he said, “I know you’re worried, but I have nothing new on Sari, but I do have some things to tell you. In a minute. First, my pack there on the floor, would you get out the bottle and pour me some over ice?”

She gaped at him, at his stony expression, a long few seconds. When he didn’t elaborate, she dug into the pack through clothing and… a pistol, which shouldn’t have surprised her. Actually, knowing he was armed reassured her. The bottle was nestled in a sweatshirt. “A fifth of Jack Daniels? You’ve been carrying that all this time?”

“Had the cabbie stop at a liquor store on the way here.” His little-boy grin triggered warmth low in her belly.

“But you’re hurt. Are you—”

“Sure? Damn sure. The drink?” He jerked a thumb toward the ice bucket. “You’d go against the wishes of an injured man?”

She glared at him, and then shrugged off her ire. He wouldn’t be driving. She poured his drink and one for herself diluted with a little water.

She handed over his glass and sat on the edge of his bed. “So, DARK?”

“I can’t tell you everything, of course.” She raised an eyebrow to convey her skepticism. “My contact confirmed that the dead in the blast were Kelmen and Herbert and the princess’s admin.”

Her throat stung with the shame that she’d forgotten to even ask about the other person in the room along with her crew and Sari. “Pascale was a lovely person. She left a husband and a teenage daughter. I’ll contact her family as soon as I can. Anything on my dad?”

“My contact had nothing new about Sarika or your dad’s injury. I’m sorry about that, but you understand why you can’t call the prison.” There had to be a way, somehow. All she could do was nod as he went on. “DARK learned that that Modena Security received an anonymous tip just before the bombing.” He ran through the highlights reel of the call — the timing, the circumstances.

She shuddered. “One of those burner phones, like we’re using. No wonder they were shooting at us.”

“DARK is staying under the radar on the investigation because nobody’s to know about my undercover role. The mission’s control officer wants to set up a trap for Sandor Cardona, who’s made it into the country. Reports indicate he may even be in D.C.”

Nadia studied his expression. No longer stony, but carefully bland, eyelashes at half mast — and sexy, dammit — back to his sloth-like persona. During film school and for her own films, she’d interviewed enough politicians, executives and activists to know that everyone hid something. Behind those sleepy brown eyes Matt was hiding something. “Why aren’t you telling me about DARK bringing us in?”

He set his glass on the bedside table and clasped her free hand. “Because it sucks, that’s why. Gabriel Harris is my control officer. You must remember him.”

Her brows snapped together and she jerked with such vehemence, liquid sloshed out of her glass and onto her skirt. “That bastard! How could I forget? He yelled at me, stalked around me, scared the crap out of me, all while I was frantic to talk to Dad, to find out what was really going on. He treated me as if I was the one who sold secret plans to terrorists.”

“Bastard, yes.” Matt kept possession of her hand. “When Harris gets hold of something, he doesn’t let go, even when he’s wrong. More than once he’s gone overboard and come up sputtering, but other times he’s popped up crowing with triumph. I suspect he goes for recognition rather than the agency’s goals. Some of us refer to him as Hero Harris.”

“What does this have to do with now?” At Matt’s down-turned mouth, she regretted asking.

“When I called in, I was told somebody would pick us up, so I could help plan the trap and so Harris could question you.” That hit her so hard, he might’ve slapped her. She opened her mouth to say, well, she didn’t know what, but Matt shook his head. “Take a healthy slug of your drink and hear me out.”

She did as he said, savored the burn in her throat and willed her pulse to settle. Hand shaking, she set the glass beside his. “O-okay, so?”

“Harris still doesn’t trust you, thinks you could’ve been bribed by the rebels. I don’t trust him to treat you fairly. So we’re on our own for now. We need rest. While DARK works on a plan, we’re safe here, off the street. And while I work on who could help us, somebody who won’t betray me — or you.”

Taking all that in without running screaming from the room was a struggle. She jumped up and paced a circle while her brain spun faster than a computer hard drive.

After a few deep breaths, her temper cooled, and so did her head. Something didn’t jibe. Even if DARK loaned Matt to the Modena royals to find the rebel traitor, there was more to the matter. Correction, more to the mission.

She returned to her seat on Matt’s bed, where she could watch his expression. Closely. “If you’re supposed to report to a control officer—” she couldn’t help a curl of her lip at the thought of Harris calling the shots “—DARK is more involved than you’re telling me. Why does a U.S. anti-terrorism agency care about a rebellion on little ol’ Modena?”

He scraped a hand through his hair and downed the last of his drink. “I’m already up to my neck in shit, so I might as well spill. A Yamari extremist group called New Dawn is dumping cash and weapons into Sandor Cardona’s cause to eliminate the royalty and take over the government. Their goal is controlling the former U.S. naval base on the island.”

She clutched at the bedspread, a whirlwind tunneling her vision. In deep, measured tones, Matt continued to explain. A slow-mo montage of horrific possibilities reeled across her mind’s eye, terrorists… Russians… base of operations. Terrorists controlling a port in the Mediterranean? Unthinkable.

“The king discounts the terrorist threat, so DARK is operating in secret. Our goal is to roll up Cardona and eliminate any possibility of a foothold by New Dawn. To date we’re not even on the fucking playing board, let alone back to square one. It’s like wrestling smoke.” He slapped his empty glass onto the table so hard she jumped.

“The naval base. I ran across the history of it in my research on Modena. I had no idea…” Her throat was so tight, the words came out barely above a whisper. She forced down a swallow and wished she’d refilled her glass. “And now DARK — and you — are scrambling for a plan to trap Cardona.”

He nodded. “And now you know what’s at stake.”

“Not only that. I’m in the way, keeping you from contributing to the search for Cardona, for concocting a plan, for—”

His big, capable hands grasped her shoulders. “No!” Apparently thinking he’d hurt her, he relaxed his grip and his palms circled warm comfort. “Our being on the run is keeping Cardona and whoever is helping him on edge. That works in our favor—or DARK’s favor.”

She studied him, searching his dark gaze for dissembling. Seeing nothing but honest concern and maybe something more, she eased away and stood. “I need to think. And I need a shower.”

“For what it’s worth,” he said in a soft tone, “I’m sorry I had to lay all that on you. If only a shower could wash away trouble.”

“Exactly.”

“One more thing. Sarika doesn’t know about the terrorist connection. Her father didn’t want to worry her.”

“Because he doesn’t believe in the threat.” She shook her head at the unreasonableness of that. And the tragedy.

She left him with his ice and Jack. Her small bag of toiletries in hand, she grabbed the long sleep tee she’d purchased. As she dashed into the bathroom, she caught sizzle in his heavy-lidded dark gaze. In answer, matching heat streaked through her body.

Turning up the water as hot as she could tolerate, she dropped her head and let the powerful pulsing spray loosen her tight shoulder and neck muscles. She washed with the hotel’s gel and shampoo, labeled “Herbal Serenity.” If only. At least the crisp aroma of lavender and the tang of lemongrass were cleansing the grime of the explosion and the sweat of their run — and her fear — to safety.

Rinsing her hair, she let the tears flow. For Sari, who might be healing or sinking. For her father, who— How bad were his injuries? Would he survive? Why had those men attacked him? More tears for the future of her dreams, now well and truly trashed. She’d worked so hard to achieve even a small measure of acceptance and validity in the documentary arena. And now this. If not for Matt, she might be in detention somewhere in a DARK or FBI basement. If Modena Security didn’t shoot her. If not for Matt…

She opened her eyes and turned off the water. Matt had disabled his secure DARK phone, cutting himself off from his team. And the two of them were using burners. No batteries in those either. He was hiding her. Protecting her. Sure, he’d said being on the run had an advantage, but did he just make that up on the spot to ease her anxiety?

Matt was defying orders by not delivering her for questioning. Risking his job, the career he loved. And more.

Didn’t Feds have to take some sort of oath? Just how much was he risking — and why?

For her? What else wasn’t he telling her?

She shivered, but not from the water cooling on her skin.