Chapter 5

LATER, AFTER MATT had ordered and collected the rental equipment, Nadia took him through the building. Either she wasn’t as affected by their near-kiss as he was or she was a damned good actress. She breezed along the corridors, describing the offices, conference rooms and personnel in them. He’d already studied all the locations and staff and had most memorized, but her guiding allowed him to absorb more details.

She’d have let him kiss her. He’d seen it in the tilt of her head and the darkening of her eyes. But he figured she might misinterpret the move, or resent it, so he turned away and got to his feet. Maybe her nonchalance as they toured meant she was relieved. Gabe Harris, one of the DARK officers on the Isaac Parker investigation, had claimed then that she came on to Matt only to sidetrack him. He didn’t buy it. Her kisses, her sighs, her touches... She meant all of that as much as he did.

He should forget his fascination with her and concentrate on the damn traitor, whoever he was. Preventing harm to Sarika was his mission, nothing else. So why did his belly clench like when he’d waked up to the disastrous outcome of that Brussels explosion?

Better to concentrate on the building. Because of annexing two neighboring houses, the place was a rabbit warren. Carved wooden doors led to offices — first floor clerical and Security, second and third for higher-level diplomatic staff. Brass nameplates for all offices. The fourth floor was storage, and the basement held the Monte Cristo quarters, a kitchen and a dining hall.

People carrying folders or tablets or both bustled along the corridors, which crisscrossed, their walls in a soft green. He caught conversations in Italian, French and English, three of Modena’s national languages. Only Greek was missing. A few smiled and nodded but others broadcast only cool dismissal — or even outright disdain — like he was something scraped off the soles of their polished shoes. Could be his eye patch made him look too unsavory, a reason for mistrust. Or they simply disapproved of the film project.

As they passed a set of double doors on the third floor, Nadia gestured to the larger nameplate. “Ambassador Vincenzo will be one of our interviews, but today she’s giving a speech at American University. If we run into any of the attachés, I’ll introduce you.”

“Signorina Parker, does this person have Modena Security clearance?” The voice was part gravel and part Rottweiler.

“Ah, Captain, how lovely,” Nadia wheeled, flashing a smile that heated the hallway in general — and Matt specifically. “I was hoping we’d run into you. Yes, indeed, Matt Rikard, my script writer, has the clearance you yourself authorized.” She turned to Matt. “Meet the esteemed Captain Renzo, head of Modena Embassy Security. He keeps us all safe. And on our toes.”

The security chief looked like he sounded. On his days off, he could moonlight as an MMA fighter, minus the 9mm currently at his waist. A Ruger. Matt gave a small nod of greeting, waited for the other man to extend a hand. He didn’t.

Renzo’s gaze was cold, wary. And pointed, like a bayonet. If anybody could out Matt as an interloper, it would be this man. Matt could’ve matched his dead-eyed cop stare, but schooled his expression into mild-mannered, creative film guy.

One black eyebrow arched as the security chief turned to Nadia. “Yet another crew member, Signorina Parker?”

She drew in a quick breath. Matt wanted to tuck her behind him. Hell, his body wanted more than that, but he stood by. This was her show. “But sir, you approved Matt days ago, remember? He’s doubling as production assistant. Only in my crew, plus me, I assure you.”

The chill in Renzo’s eyes didn’t thaw, but the corners of his mouth turned downward. He grunted in acknowledgment. He’d forgotten. Probably had wanted to swing his self-important weight around and now would cover his blunder. “Him I remember. Then you needed new ones.”

“My apologies for taking up your valuable time. I appreciate your vetting my other crew members on such short notice. King Bernard is so eager to have this film completed soon, I will certainly tell him about your efforts in behalf of my little company.”

Damn, but she was good. The hint of flirtation in her wide smile, an added sweetener, brought spots of color high on the man’s cheeks.

He threw back his shoulders. “Very well, proceed. Signorina, Rikard.” Matt expected him to click his heels together, but he executed a sharp turn and strode away down the corridor.

She blew out a breath. “For a minute I thought we were in trouble.”

“Nah, you turned that confrontation totally around in your favor. You could be a diplomat.” On a chuckle, he added, “Matt Rikard, the script writer. I like the sound of that.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” They reached the elevator, and before she could push the button it opened and disgorged three people.

When they exited on the second floor, she gestured to an open lounge on their left, where two people were deep in conversation. Sarika smiled at something the man was saying. “That’s Dominic Traynor, the prime minister’s emissary. He accompanies her on most of the trade talks.” Nadia lowered her voice. She chuckled. “Usually I see him stalking along the corridors and hovering in doorways with a scowl, a brooding expression. But I think he has a thing for his princess.”

Matt recognized him. Tall, aristocratic, fortyish, wearing a hand-tailored suit that the elite set called bespoke. In his photos he seemed to have a stick up his ass, but not at the moment. As he bent his head toward Sari, his stern features softened. A person of interest, the heading on the file had indicated. But Matt said nothing to Nadia. Damn, he trusted her, but DARK didn’t, and she didn’t need to know that he already knew some of what she was telling him. Except for Traynor’s hall-monitor patrolling and interest in Sarika, which could be real or feigned.

When the princess’s admin hurried into the lounge, Matt and Nadia moved on.

Farther down the corridor, she said, “This is the office of George Ingel, the minister of political affairs. He told me he can’t wait for the interview. He asked if he needed makeup.” She laughed, touching Matt briefly on the arm before she snatched away her hand.

“Forget yourself for a moment, honey?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

He grinned to himself as they returned to the documentary’s quarters. She had forgotten to keep her distance, so maybe her resentment was easing up.

He did recon alone that afternoon. No one paid attention to him as he fiddled with his prop, a light meter, and planted some of the electronics hidden in his sport coat lining. He managed to chat up some of the female staff. Most seemed jazzed at his suggestion they might appear in some of the film’s scenes, but he couldn’t glean any gossip about dodgy characters.

The next day, Nadia’s new hires arrived with massive aluminum cases — the cameras and the sound paraphernalia. Hoping his cover story held up, Matt stood quietly while Nadia made the introductions.

Ned Kelmen, the beanpole of a cameraman, didn’t look strong enough to wrestle the heavy equipment. The sound tech, Brody Herbert, was a lumpy man in dirty khakis who reeked of tobacco. The two seemed to have worked together before. They accepted Matt as the writer but seemed doubtful of his ability to perform as grip. Nadia had explained the embassy’s crew-size limitations and pointed out he spoke Italian, one of Modena’s languages. After a few questions about the eye patch and the scars — a fireworks accident, he told them, damned close to the truth — the new guys eased up on him.

Three days later, after laying cable and setting up light stands in a mahogany-paneled conference room, Matt hustled out of the way as the interview began. He could do the basics without Nadia or the two techs yelling at him. But he was slow and everything was rush, rush, rush. Kelman liked to bark, “Time is money,” hourly. By the end of his stint, maybe he’d be down with the jargon. For now it was all geek — full scrims, heads with barn doors, follow-focus. Tripods were sticks, and the Panasonic HD camera had something called a RockNRoll handle. Fortunately, working one-eyed was not a problem.

Although the initial backgrounder declared Kelmen and Herbert legit, a niggling unease told Matt something was off about those two. The accident that had hospitalized the original crew seemed designed to substitute ringers, but nothing suspicious surfaced, and these guys clearly knew what they were doing. His only recourse was to watch them. But he’d requested a deeper probe into them and the accident.

He returned his focus to the shoot. The interview was winding down. With his round, ruddy face, Minister of Political Affairs George Ingel looked more like a jolly Santa than an opponent of the monarchy. No lean and hungry look on that fat cat. But looks often lied.

Nothing in the DARK reports hinted at anything beyond political maneuvering. Matt would withhold assumptions until he evaluated the results of the electronic bugs and minicams he’d planted and until he sweet-talked the man’s blonde admin assistant.

When he wasn’t probing the embassy staff, Nadia snagged his attention. The woman had impressive people skills. She’d cheerfully brought the new guys up to speed and charmed everybody they filmed.

She directed the show as well as conducted the interview. Out of camera shot, she sat to the side. Kelmen’s powerful lens framed her subject as he smoothed his black suit.

“Mr. Minister,” she said, “what else would you care to share about the stabilizing influence of the royal family?”

“Modena is fortunate to have been ruled by the Constantin family for hundreds of years.” Ingel spoke English with the vaguely European accent typical of Modena. His smooth politician’s delivery meant he had the bullshit ready before he heard the questions. “Although our parliament and the prime minister conduct most of the governing, the people look to the royal family for continuity and….”

As Ingel droned on, Matt’s gaze again drifted to Nadia, who looked hot and as professional as a network anchor in her red jacket and skinny black pants. Professional, yeah, unless you checked her footwear, red cross trainers. Easier to move around with all the cables, she’d told him. Made sense. After the first day, he’d opted for sneakers too.

Her anger at his perceived past deceit seemed to have cooled, so the order to spy on her gave him twinges of conscience now and again. He’d installed a keylogger in her laptop, so Stratton and company in DARK headquarters could monitor her typing. Only film-related emails and documents so far. As Matt expected.

Except for working together, she avoided him. Another officer kept surveillance at her hotel. When this was over, any confession would only make her hate him again. And hurt her again. The thought twisted through him. Damn, he hated deceiving her.

The lighting shut down and brought him back to the scene.

Nadia shook Ingel’s hand and thanked him. He beamed, his ruddy complexion deepening, and gushed about the film’s impact on his country.

Matt unclamped the reflectors and prepared to move the light stands. As he wound up one of the cables, he noticed Ingel’s admin, Alina, in the back of the room. Frowning, she held a clipboard, her crimson mouth pursed. With distaste? Dissent? A possibility.

Matt sidled closer. “You disapprove?” he asked in Italian, her native tongue according to intel.

She looked up, startled. “Forgive me. I should not have reacted so. No, the film will show good things about Modena and our royals.”

He sent her his best grin, the one that punched in his dimples. “Ah, Alina, that pretty blush must mean something. Your boss, then? It’s no secret he thinks the country should eliminate the monarchy.”

Fluttering lashes daubed with enough mascara to paint a wall, she made a shushing sound.

“Why do this interview then?” he asked.

“He likes his job. And he likes being on camera.”

Before he could probe further, Ingel sailed by and snapped his fingers at her.

She smiled and pushed impressive boobs not created by nature against Matt’s side. “Meet me later,” she cooed. “We can go out for a drink.”

She wasn’t his type. Too much make-up. Too much plastic. He made the date anyway. After a few glasses, he might coax her to dish on her boss.

As she wiggled along in her boss’s wake, Matt’s gaze veered to Ingel’s back.Interesting he preferred to do the interview here, not in his office. Was he hiding something? Would he cozy up to terrorists to revolt? And assassinate the monarchy? Including the only heir, Princess Sarika?

Nadia covertly observed Matt that afternoon as they set up to film in Sarika’s office. Every nerve ending she possessed sizzled with awareness. She flipped pages on her clipboard to check her prepared questions, but her gaze kept returning to him.

He’d nearly kissed her the other day, and she’d have let him. She wanted again the heat of his lips and the sensual textures of tongue and teeth. She’d never forgotten their time together any more than he claimed to. She’d started to think he meant it about his attraction to her. But no more. Today he was hitting on that plastic-Barbie Alina.

Nadia got the picture. Matt hit on any female under fifty. Every female fell for those dimples. And the eye patch added an aura of danger and mystery.

So what? She had no interest in him beyond getting through this ordeal. Yet when Alina rubbed her surgical enhancements against him, she couldn’t prevent the twisting and churning inside. She wanted to scream. She wanted to slap him. She wanted—

Hell, she didn’t know what she wanted. Why did she let him keep invading her thoughts? Don’t answer that.

He was running the cables while Kelmen adjusted the camcorder and Herbert tested the princess’s microphone. Sarika, the scowling emissary Traynor and Minister Ingel conferred in front of the bay window where the shoot would take place. Sarika’s and Ingel’s admins stood by taking notes on tablets.

In an ice-blue jacket dress, Sarika looked elegant and perfect, as usual. Always the perfectionist, she walked to the gold-framed mirror with her handbag. A moment later, lipstick refreshed and hair tidied (both totally unnecessary), she turned and smiled.

Nadia gave her a thumbs-up and breathed deeply. She had to get her preoccupation with Matt in check before this interview. It would be the centerpiece of the U.S. segment. Monte Cristo Production’s film. Hers. She inhaled the odors of ozone and overheated bodies and hair spray. She loved it all.

Feeling calmer, she returned her gaze to Matt as he set up the light stands. Darned if she wasn’t impressed with how he’d dived into his production-assistant role. He ordered all the equipment, including the top-flight lighting Kelmen was maneuvering into place. And for a lower rent than she’d expected to pay.

A wheeler-dealer. Who knew? And today he looked especially fine in a charcoal collared shirt that stretched across powerful shoulders and jeans that—

“Hey, Nadia,” Kelmen called. “You want those drapes closed before we start?”

She shook her head and pulled her gaze to the DP. Dammit, ogling Matt again? “Let’s try it with the natural light. Looks less like a TV set. Maybe move Her Highness’s chair closer to the bay window.”

“You’re the boss.” Much as Jamal would have, the cameraman hoisted a shoulder in resignation that he couldn’t control the light as he obviously preferred.

She’d spoken to her injured friend that morning. He was healing, as was Vivian, thank God, but she still wished they were here. She was so hyped up before a shoot, they kept her calm. These new guys seemed as anxious as she was, maybe more.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket and she tapped it open. Not a familiar number but the same area code as the federal prison. Her chest tightened.

What could Dad want? He never phoned before evening.

“Five minutes, people.” She walked to the empty anteroom to take the call. Sarika’s admin was inside with her boss and the others. She’d have privacy here. No need to walk any farther.

Chewing her cheek, she punched a key. “Dad?”

“Hello, Ms. Parker,” an unfamiliar male voice said. “This is Associate Warden Thomason at Allenwood. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”