Chapter 16

MATT DRANK COFFEE and watched Nadia enjoy her macchiato, something sweet that should revive her while he used one of his burner phones to search online for news. Although she hadn’t complained, she was flagging after their hour trek. Her eyes were nearly closed, but her occasional sexy hums were reviving a vital part of him. He shifted in his seat.

After taking off along the shoreline away from the hotel, they’d kept up a good pace on 36th and then 35th. Zigs and zags through a townhouse neighborhood then took them to Wisconsin Avenue north, away from where the men had been searching. On their long walk, she shared her conversation with her dad. More than he’d overheard.

“As she was dying, Mom had made him promise to tell me about her being pregnant before they met, but he kept putting it off,” she said, sniffing back tears.

“Why now?” Although he feared he knew the answer.

“More than one reason. He didn’t say so, but he’s afraid of another attack.” She shook her head as if to dispel violent images against her frail father. “But there’s more. Tests at the hospital found advanced prostate cancer.”

Matt had pulled her under a shop awning and held her while she cried. Her father was seriously ill and could die in prison — and not too long in the future. “When we get out of this, I’ll see what I can do to get him moved,” he told her as they’d moved on.

His knee ached by the time they found this coffee shop by its smell of fresh donuts, bread and pastries. The place was full, but they’d lucked into a back table covered with an honest-to-God red-checked cloth as a couple was leaving.

Nadia wiped crumbs from her lips and fluttered her napkin. “Great cranberry muffin. Good mix of sweet and tart.”

Like you. He liked that she appreciated food and didn’t pick at it like some women, but he knew better than to blurt that out.

She nodded toward the phone. “What are you finding on that thing?”

“Not much about the bombing, but some good news.” He held the screen so she could see it. News footage showed the princess being wheeled out of the hospital and helped into a limo.

Hope glistened in her eyes. “Oh, oh, she’s on the mend. I’m so relieved.” Her expression sank. She lowered her voice. “But doesn’t that put her in danger again?”

He swallowed his bite of donut. “She’ll have protection, but yes, and it means we need answers. And fast.”

Along with the info about her father during their trek here, she’d told him she knew their attacker. “You’re positive about that guy working at the embassy?”

“Security guard, yes. I recognized the blond hair and his eyes. Mean and squinty. I don’t recall his name though. He and a couple of the others carried boxes for me when I moved into my basement space. I wondered at the time why it wasn’t maintenance workers, but now I think Renzo wanted his guards to keep an eye on me. Afraid I’d steal the silverware or something.” Her green eyes widened. “Could those men searching for us be Modena Security?”

“Possible but a stretch. Foreign embassy personnel have no legal standing to investigate or make arrests on U.S. soil. Captain Renzo likely has input, but it’s the Feds in the field.”

“And you don’t think those guys are F.B.I.”

“Not Secret Service either, even with the military footwear.” A possibility hit him. “Rebels. Squinty could be with the rebels. Could be the traitor.” Fuck. He hit the table with his fist, rocking their crockery and drawing unwanted attention.

She steadied both mugs and smiled an apology at the startled neighbors. To him she said, “Don’t beat yourself up about that. You didn’t have much time.”

“Thanks. It helps, but…” He jabbed stiff fingers through his hair.

“And it makes more sense the traitor is or was someone higher up in the embassy.” Her mouth tightened as she thought. “Before everything went to hell, did you suspect anyone?”

“Nothing definite. I had my contact officer dig deeper about a few. DARK regs say I can’t tell you, but given our circumstances, why not.” She had good instincts about people. Not counting about him. “George Ingel, for one.”

“Ah.” She pursed her lips, plumping them. He wanted to kiss her. “He’s been outspoken about ending the monarchy. Does all that jolly humor hide betrayal?”

“I’ve wondered the same. If he’s involved with the rebels, patriotism is an unlikely motive. More likely ambition.”

“He was talking with Sari in the office as we were getting ready for the interview. Unless something was in his suit jacket pocket, he brought in nothing and left with nothing. With so many people around, I can’t see how he could’ve planted an explosive. He’s been in and out of her office many times, so I suppose that means nothing.” She picked at the crumbs on her empty plate and swung her crossed leg— sexy even in jeans — back and forth.

“He hurried out with Alina Greco and Dominic Traynor. The explosive DARK thinks was C-4, a plastic compound. It could’ve been in there for days waiting to be triggered with a specific cell phone signal.”

“Like people think we did.” Her expression was purposeful but strained. Her attempt at calm and thoughtful was costing her. “More likely that Kelmen or Brody brought it in that day in some filming equipment.”

He covered her hand with his. “Sorry.”

She nodded and squeezed his fingers. “I agree, although I hate it. If not Ingel, who else?”

“Dominic Traynor, the prime minister’s man sent to aid Sarika in trade talks. Or to spy on her for him. Also a man with ambition. But who in public life doesn’t have ambition?”

“I got the feeling something romantic was going on between him and Sarika. But she’s never said anything.” Her expression brightened. “At least we know she’s on the mend.”

“The only good thing in this… mess.” He’d started to say clusterfuck, which was a better description. But there was another good thing. Nadia. And the something going on between them, albeit temporary. He wouldn’t let himself dwell on the reasons for that.

Other than the embassy guard, they had nada. If only he could fucking get at what DARK had dug up on Ingel and Traynor or anybody. If only he could find out where Cardona was hiding. He must have something else planned, but what? Dammit, the inability to talk to Stratton sliced through Matt. He blew out a harsh breath. Looking up from his clenched fists, he saw Nadia studying him with that focused intensity he knew well. She’d come up with another idea. “What?”

“Maybe Squinty’s not the only traitor. Suppose there are two, even three people tight with the rebels.”

“DARK’s source was definite on only one. It doesn’t seem likely Cardona could turn more than one person and embed them in the embassy at the same time.”

“Could Squinty have made the phone call that set us up?”

“The call came from outside the embassy,” he said. “Doesn’t mean he’s not a traitor. And we don’t know who answered that call. Could’ve been him.” Shit, more he didn’t know.

“So say he’s with the rebels. Why would Cardona want his men to shoot us?”

Matt shook his head. “Remember what Squinty said—‘You will come with me.’ Those guys want to grab us up, not kill us.” Yet. But he wouldn’t say that. “Besides, the Beretta’s safety was on.”

“Same question. Why?” She set down her mug and held up her hand. “Okay, Cardona and his cronies framed us for the bombing. They probably expected the blast to kill us along with… everyone else, which would leave no one for authorities to question. Could Cardona fear we know something?”

“Makes sense. Good thinking. You could be a DARK investigator.”

Her smile lighted her eyes and put color in her cheeks. “Why thank you, Officer Leoni, but I’ll stick with my documentary.” She faltered. “If I still have a gig.”

“We’ll get through this. With a little more info, I can come up with a plan.”

She stopped the leg gymnastics. Peered under the table, behind her, under his chair, and grinned. “And where will you find this info?”

“In Maryland. Buddy of mine, Janna Raymond, is a DARK tech officer. Woman’s a genius at anything computer. Maybe I can talk her into digging into DARK’s probe, and I’ll set her on Cardona’s trail.” Janna was as big on following regs as Stratton, but she’d understand their plight and not turn them in. He hoped.

Her brow creased, and she tilted her head. “You sure she won’t turn us in?”

“Nah, she’ll help us, but we have to wait until she gets home from work. Maybe around seven, maybe later.” He’d save the rest for later, for when Janna couldn’t back out.

Nadia’s skeptical expression hadn’t eased, but she nodded. Then she raised both hands, gesturing at the thinning crowd in the coffee shop. “We can’t sit here all day eating muffins and donuts.”

He pushed back his chair and stood. “Hey, what does anyone do on a rainy day? We go to the movies. We can make out in the back row.”

Nadia shivered in the night air. Thank goodness the skies had cleared. They stood in the dark, watching Janna Raymond’s deck and apartment windows. Matt hadn’t seen Gabe Harris’s car in the lot, but he wanted to be sure before ringing the bell. He said he’d been there with a few colleagues for a cookout, so he knew the layout. The man must keep a map in his head of everywhere he’d ever been. The lights were on, but that was all they’d discerned.

They’d spent a few hours at a Star Wars marathon, a great escape. A few other people lounged scattered around the theater, but they had the back row to themselves. They disagreed about nearly everything — the best movie, the best character, the best special effects. But they both hated the episode with Jar Jar Binks.

She caught him covering his right eye, checking how much he could see with the damaged left. Her silent prayer winged upward. She didn’t ask, but laid her hand on his arm.

“About the same. For now,” he whispered. “It’s coming back.”

She smiled now at the memory of making out in the back row. They’d argued about that too.

“Making out?” she accused. “Is this the sixties? Next you’ll call it necking.”

In the theater’s darkness, his eyes were midnight, his features hard planes and angles. He curved his arm, strong and warm around her shoulders. His chuckle vibrated against her temple. “So let’s get it on. Then we can call it a real date instead of hiding out.”

Before his last words could yank her back to reality, he pressed his mouth to hers and delved inside with his tongue, salty with the popcorn they were sharing. Her blood was pumping, and she heard herself whimper before she dredged up the strength to end the kiss. Breathing hard, he tipped his head against hers and returned his gaze to the current movie. She couldn’t have come up with the title if it had been the final Jeopardy! clue.

The rain had slowed to a few drops by the time they emerged. The subway took them to Dupont Circle’s art galleries, and later a ride-hailing service dropped them at an Italian restaurant in downtown Silver Spring.

“Looks like we’re in the clear.” He forked up a hunk of his lasagna. “Fewer surveillance possibilities in the ’burbs. The only hitch I foresee could be at Janna’s.”

Her left eyebrow leaped upward. Goosebumps prickled on her forearms. Had she become too complacent, mentally blocking the dangers? She set down her full fork of shrimp marinara. “Hitch?”

“Crap.” His broad shoulders rounded and twin red spots appeared on his cheekbones. “I should’ve told you earlier, but I figured you’d balk. Janna’s all I got.”

He’d kept something from her, but how bad could it be? “Spit it out.”

He took a long drink of red wine. Fortifying himself? “Janna’s dating, hell, practically engaged to Gabe Harris.”

Nadia’s ears rang with Matt’s last words and her pulse scrambled. “So why would she—”

“Help us? Because she and I are old friends, even before he came on the scene, and because she knows Harris’s doggedness, even ruthlessness on a case.”

They’d discussed the alternatives for a few minutes. Argued actually, until agreeing there were no alternatives. The longer they stayed in the wind, he said, the worse it looked. So she’d agreed.

After the meal, they’d walked here to this garden apartment complex.

“You should’ve told me earlier, you know,” she said now.

“No shit. I’m a coward. I tried a couple of times, but couldn’t get out the words. Until I had to say it. I’m sorry.”

He held out his arms, and she walked into them. She knew his scent, the rhythm of his breathing, the gentle way he touched her, held her. He was smart and funny and loyal and sexy as hell. He understood her as no one else had. She saw the mirror of her loneliness in his dark eyes. She knew now that he hadn’t used her five years ago, that he’d genuinely been attracted to her. And she no longer felt she was betraying her dad.

No other man had ever said to her he was sorry, not even Dad. It was enough to tip her over the edge and acknowledge the truth. Even though there was no future in it, she’d fallen for him.

“Okay, honey,” he said, taking her by the hand, “here we go. We wait any longer, she’ll turn off the lights and go to bed.”