Chapter 20

MATT AND NINE others met Monday morning in a conference room to finalize the plans for tomorrow’s refugee center ribbon cutting. The air-conditioning’s mildew odor mingled with those of coffee and some dude’s body spray that smelled more like skunk than seduction.

Cole Stratton, his back to the group, stood on one long side of the table, pointing to slides of the site projected on a big screen. “Alina Greco has put in for the day off tomorrow. Likely she intends to join Cardona at the refugee center, maybe beat it out of town with him. We’re working with Modena Embassy Security to take her into custody before that can happen.”

He was finally finishing his third run-through of their plans and assignments — positions in the crowd or above with sniper rifles. Everybody had memorized the photos of Cardona and the men known to have sneaked into the country with him.

Matt, who was to be one of several in the crowd, slumped in his chair to the screen’s left at the table’s end, his gaze unfocused. What his sins would cost him with DARK was yet to be determined. He’d worked yesterday with Stratton and Byrne on the layout, timing and positioning. He took as a good sign that he was remaining on duty for this op.

On the other hand, he’d screwed up too much to ever fix things with Nadia. He betrayed her trust, making love with her while spying on her, the worst possible transgression. He deserved this anvil weight inside that made his chest too tight for a deep breath.

Damn Gabe Harris to hell for taking her insanely risky idea to Director Nolan, and damn Nolan for agreeing to stake her out for Cardona’s target practice. How they’d talked Sarika into agreeing, he had no idea. He couldn’t blame Nadia for refusing to see him since the flame-out.

The taste of his loss was bitter on his tongue. Only when he was losing her did he realize the depth of his feelings for her. Only now did what she’d said about his needing to belong come back to him. He could lose his job with DARK. He’d risked it all, but his biggest regret was that he’d lost her.

By God he would make certain she was protected. In the middle of the night, it had hit him. The planning had omitted a key component.

Hero Harris wasn’t leading the op, or he’d probably want to stake out both of them as targets. Stratton was level-headed, although he’d made clear his worry about Matt going squirrely. Weekend time on the firing range had improved his accuracy, even sighting right eyed. And with both Glocks, his 9mm and the .40 caliber. He wasn’t sleeping much, but he had steady hands and could summon professional detachment, block out distractions — of all kinds.

Stratton finished up with his usual pep talk. “Troops, we want Cardona’s men, but primarily we want Cardona. He’s the damn key to ending all this. The key to stopping attacks on the Modena royals and the government. The key to preventing the New Dawn terrorists from getting a foothold on that island.”

While Harris argued with him about a point of logistics, Matt zoned out. When the discussion ended, he spoke. “Nadia will wear a Kevlar vest and a transceiver. All well and good. But not good enough.”

Seated beside him, Simon Byrne raised his eyebrows. “You have a suggestion, maybe a suit of armor?”

Matt chose to ignore the jibe and answer the question. “As a matter of fact, I do. We embed a couple officers with the dignitaries near our substitute princess. Crowd size is anybody’s guess. Too many civilians in the area — refugees of every nationality, supporters, street people, who knows how many clowns. The whole thing is beyond dicey. If our op turns into a shit storm, one or both officers can pull her to safety.”

The small conference room went silent for a moment as his idea sank in.

Stratton remained expressionless, and then gave a brusque nod. “Should’ve thought of that myself. Too late to bring new personnel up to speed, so who’ll—”

“I’ll do it,” Matt said.

Byrne snorted. Harris rolled his eyes. Throats cleared around the table.

“No fucking way, Leoni.” Stratton sank onto his chair and fixed him with a steely gaze. “You’re too involved.” Shaking his head, he chose a man and a woman from the hands raised.

Matt shot to his feet. “But—”

The hall door opened. An officer escorted a woman into the room. Nadia Parker.

Her protective officer by her side, Nadia approached the high carved door to the conference room. She pressed a hand to her stomach, tied in granny and square and three other kinds of knots. She’d barely slept or eaten. Too difficult to get comfortable on a pillow wet with tears. And everything Officer Wade, her babysitter at the safe house, prepared, tasted bitter. Like regret.

How could she have fallen for his line again? Damn him and damn herself. And this time, she hadn’t just lost her senses, she’d lost her heart. What was that saying — fool me once, fool me twice? She couldn’t remember how the rest of that went. Enough, no more moping, wallowing in self-pity. At least until this mission, op, whatever the hell they called it, was over. She could hold off the bleakness until Sari was safe. She had to be tough.

“Here we are,” the woman said. “It’ll be fine. Officer Stratton has a few things to go over, and then I’ll deliver you to the Her Highness’s apartment.”

“Thanks, Officer Wade, you’ve been very kind.” She smoothed her damp palms down her tunic top. Someone from DARK had retrieved her suitcase from the Bethesda hotel and brought her the bill, which she refused to look at for now. Maybe she could pay the credit card a little at a time. That and disinterring her film company from the pit would have to wait. But wearing her own top and favorite black pants buoyed her confidence. She sucked in a breath as Wade opened the door.

The loud voices she’d detected through the closed door hushed as they entered. The artist part of her brain kicked in, perhaps to keep her sanity intact, and she endeavored to imagine the whole thing—the planning, the staging at the refugee center, Cardona’s plot — as a documentary.

Men and women sat around a huge rectangular table, tablets notepads and coffee mugs scattered before them.

One person was standing. Matt Leoni.

Her knees wobbled, threatening to buckle. She swallowed and gripped the back of the empty chair before her. His gaze turned razor sharp and his features morphed into a stony mask. Still, she had no trouble detecting that shadows colored his eyes and deep lines bracketed his mouth. He looked every bit as haggard as she must. Good.

Or maybe he was preparing to go undercover. His scruff meant he hadn’t shaved in at least three days. Damn him for making her want to run her hand over his jaw.

She forced her gaze to Stratton, who’d come to his feet. He smiled and gestured to the empty chairs, apparently saved for her and Wade. “Welcome to our meeting, Ms. Parker. Please have a seat.”

Only then did she realize she had a white-knuckle grip on hers. She nearly fell into the chair. Wade took the adjacent one. Nadia breathed a sigh of relief that the woman had stayed. She wasn’t alone. Unavoidable in her peripheral vision, Matt sat and cupped his hands around his coffee. Deliberately, she turned her attention to Stratton and wound her fingers together to prevent drumming on the table.

He said, “Everyone, this is Nadia Parker, who’ll be central to our takedown of Sandor Cardona and his rebels. Ms. Parker, we’re grateful to you for your courage in taking the role of Princess Sarika.”

Mustering a smile, she swept the assemblage with her gaze, skimming past Matt.

They looked at her in somber silence, and a shudder worked through her. What must they be thinking? That in two days they would have to protect her from an assassination? Or that she looked too panicky to follow through and they’d have nothing?

“We all appreciate how stressful the situation is for you as a civilian,” said a tall, rugged-looking officer who’d been introduced to her yesterday as Jackson Thorne.

“Yes,” said one of the several women officers, “and we’ll all be there primed to protect you.”

Stratton took over. “We do have Her Highness on board, although she threatened World War III if anything happened to you.” His comment elicited a few smiles and nods, but not from Nadia. And not from Matt. Stratton clicked something, and a slide appeared behind him, showing the area in front of the refugee center. He pointed out a few locations where officers would be stationed. Information she’d already examined.

Simon Byrne had showed her the slides yesterday. He and Thorne detailed the arrangements for the ribbon cutting. They didn’t mention and she didn’t ask if Matt would be one of the agents there. Did she want him there? He would do his best to protect her. She knew that. But—

“We’ve added an extra layer of protection. Two officers will be with you on the dais,” Stratton said. Thorne and a woman she didn’t know raised their hands.

Much better than being up there alone. The tension in her linked fingers eased. Oh, his questioning gaze meant she needed to respond. She squared her shoulders. “I’m grateful for all the care you’re all taking with this plan. I’ll hold up my end. Do you know if Cardona will show?”

“We have intelligence that he’ll be there, along with some of his men. We don’t know who’s expected to… attack. You’ll wear a bulletproof vest and a transceiver. That’s a miniature transmitter so we can communicate with you and you with us. Officer Wade will be in the command post, so if you spot Cardona, you can alert her.”

Finally, the words “attack” and “bulletproof vest” canceled the tame scenarios she’d conjured when she’d entered this room. Not even a docu-drama about an assassination, this would be a thriller starring her as the target. And it, in DARK jargon, went down tomorrow afternoon.

Wade squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, but couldn’t manage a smile.

As Matt rose, he caught her attention. He bent over the table, splayed his hands on the surface and speared her with a dark, glittering gaze. “You don’t have to go through with this, Nadia. You can end it right now. Say the word and we abort.”

She drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. “No. I’m in. I need to do this.”