Chapter 8

THE WINE BAR’S outdoor patrons shaded their eyes against the light bar’s strobe-like glare. Matt blinked and blinked again, furiously. Right eye closed, he looked down at the floor, up again in the direction of the light bar. What the—

“Oh, God, what do we do?”

At Nadia’s hushed question, Matt pulled himself together. He squeezed the slim hand gripping his forearm. “Chill. It’s not about us. Not yet. It’s been less than an hour since the bombing.” He could add that even if the officer was checking for them, he’d simply haul them in and DARK would spring them. But she might not take it as comforting as he would. “I’m going to have my coffee, and I suggest you do the same.”

The tattooed server brought their order and the check and beat it back to the kitchen. Maybe the guy had cause to be leery of cops.

She sucked in a breath and picked up her mug with both hands.

A couple of minutes later, the cruiser took off again, siren screaming. Nadia relaxed against his side. Collapsed was more accurate. He’d take her nearness, the soft press of her breast against his arm, her scent, whatever the reason. Still, he needed her to get out of here so he could think. And report in.

When she’d inhaled some caffeine and seemed ready for the errands, he gave her directions and checked her on the PIN. Good to go. Nadia stood and started to walk away, but then turned back as if reluctant.

He winked at her. “Hey, a little shopping trip. What could go wrong?”

She rolled her eyes but then made her way outside.

He waited until she’d gone out of sight, and then covered his right eye again. He turned his head, sweeping his gaze over the tables, the mirrored wall, the entrance. His pulse tap-danced. He swallowed, hard. Yes! He could see! Not much, but more than shadows. Fuzzy shapes and more light. He couldn’t yet rely on vision in that eye, but for the first time the possibility of real healing wasn’t just a pipe dream. Wearing the patch for most of the day, he hadn’t realized.

After a long drink of the hot java — holding the cup with both shaking hands — he took out his phone. He speed dialed his contact officer.

“About time. What the hell’s going on?” Stratton barked into Matt’s ear.

“I missed you too.” He lowered his voice. “Hangin’ out trying not to get shot. Could’ve used the cavalry in that clusterfuck.” When silence was the only reply, he brought the other man up to speed. “We booked it down the street and are lying low. So what’s going on at the Modena embassy?”

“I’m getting zip from the bugs you planted because most people evacuated. Video surveillance shows personnel still standing around outside. Modena Security faced off with Metropolitan PD cops for a while, but now there seems to be a truce, and cops have cordoned off the street. Fire trucks, ambulances still there. I saw a couple FBI higher-ups go in, so the ambassador must’ve requested U.S. help. I expect Secret Service to show up next. So far it’s only the cops scrambling to look for you and Parker.”

Matt hung his head. “Any word on the princess?”

“Nothing yet.”

“You have any idea why Modena Security thinks Nadia and I are to blame?”

“No idea. I’m waiting for a call back from a Feeb buddy of mine. How’d the two of you avoid being confetti?

Matt explained why they’d left the princess’s office. “Can you get me anything about Isaac Parker’s being shanked?” For Nadia, but also because the attack might be connected to the bombing.

“I’ll see what I can do. But I can say you were right to be suspicious of the substitute film crew. Phony IDs, and they spoofed the website so theirs looked like the real deal. They must’ve worked in the business, so we’re digging for more.”

“They knew filming, for damn sure. They could’ve smuggled in explosives in the equipment — maybe C-4.” Matt shook his head. “If they brought in the bomb, did they intend to hide it in Sarika’s office and then leave? Or did it go off by accident? If they didn’t smuggle it in, the smoke and mirrors to get the gig make no sense. They’re definitely involved. Still, the bomb could’ve been brought in by any of the others who left before the interview was to start.” He listed the names.

“Roger. Will look deeper,” Stratton said.

“So when can you send someone to bring us in?”

The long pause didn’t lighten Matt’s mood. “Cardona probably planned the bombing and his inside partner carried it out, whether or not the film crew did the smuggling or were just scoping out the place. DARK knows you’re not guilty, and nobody knows about the undercover op except the princess and us. Let the Feebs and Modena Security work on the bombing angle. The CO wants to set up a trap for the rebel leader.”

Crap. This op’s control officer was Gabe Harris. Always one for grandstanding while others did the grunt work. “You’re not bringing us in, are you?”

“Not the way you mean.” Stratton cleared his throat. “Let someone know where to pick you both up. Harris wants to question Parker, find out if she was involved.”

The coffee he’d drunk turned to acid in his stomach. His hand tightened around the phone. “Nadia’s no more guilty than I am.”

“Not my call, man. Just follow orders.”

“Like hell! Harris always thought she’d conspired with her old man. He would twist her words, make her look guilty, like he almost did five years ago. You know it and I know it. Princess Sarika was her friend. She’d never harm her. She’s been through enough.”

“You sure you’re thinking straight about this woman, Leoni?” Stratton’s words were measured and clipped. “Didn’t the director order you to keep an eye on her?”

“Fuck this. I’ll be in touch.”

Matt disconnected. He jabbed a finger at the edge of the phone back. Fucking fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Fucking phone slipped and fell on the floor. He bent over to retrieve it, but twisted his knee. The pain, like knives filleting the joint, made him suck in a breath. Still puffing, he bent more carefully and hooked the phone. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Harris railroad Nadia. And for no fucking reason. Finally the phone back popped off, and he removed the battery.

Nadia had nothing to do with the rebels, the bombing — none of it. He rubbed his knee, now swollen so much his jeans leg was tight. Aw, hell. Harris might hang her out to dry, and being on the street with Matt and his gimpy knee might put her in the crosshairs. A tossup.

But no telling what could happen if Harris grilled her and turned her loose without protection. Matt wouldn’t put it past him. Modena Security might scoop her up. If Renzo didn’t shoot first, his people wouldn’t be gentle about interrogating her. Or Cardona’s rebels might grab her, set her up her as the scapegoat. Matt couldn’t help Sarika, but he sure as hell could protect Nadia.

He stared out at the street, willing her to return so they could get out of here. A woman wearing a nubby white pullover, a short skirt and low-heeled shoes ambled his way. She carried a cane and a large plastic shopping bag. With every step, the bag swished against her long, sexy legs.

In spite of everything, he smiled. He pushed to his feet and tossed money on the table. He had an idea of their next move, provided he could still hobble. They had to hurry before the night closed in.

An hour later, Nadia was adding the finishing touches to her task. The lamppost, too far away from their bench, cast only feeble light on her subject. During their nerve-racking walk from the wine bar, everyone they’d passed seemed to look at them with suspicion. Only her imagination, but still… Here in Rock Creek Park the traffic fumes were left behind. Only muted traffic noises penetrated the trees. The quiet and the green, earthen smells eased the cold hollowness inside her. She drew a deep breath and surveyed her handiwork. Almost finished.

Matt’s eyes remained closed as she applied another layer of foundation to the scars above and below his eye, avoiding the eyelid. Touching him like this, smoothing on the makeup with her fingertips, was way too intimate. Was the nearness affecting him too? Possibly. He might’ve been asleep except for his tight grip on the edge of the park bench. Or his tension might be due to pain. His swollen right knee must be throbbing. Damn, bad word choice.

The makeup should hide most of the scars, and anyone searching for them wouldn’t look twice at a man without a black eye patch. She tilted her head. If he didn’t need it, why wear the patch? Because red, slashing scars weren’t sexy but an eye patch was?

Or hiding behind it because he feared he might not regain vision in that eye? Or because it made him look dangerous rather than damaged? Hell, she was finding it harder and harder to resent the man.

Especially after the way he took charge and saved her. After the gentleness of his touch when he’d doctored the cut on her cheek and pressed on a small bandage. And after she’d had her hands on his back—his muscular, naked back. Only to put antiseptic and bandages on his cuts, but oh my…

She shook off the heat sparking in her belly and backed up. As she wiped her fingers on a tissue, she nibbled on her lower lip. The park trail, both ways, was mercifully empty. The paths and grounds were growing too dark for walkers and joggers. Too dark for Matt and her too. They had to find somewhere he could put up his leg and apply ice and the stretchy binding she’d purchased.

“Finished making me look all girly?”

She jumped. Nope, he hadn’t been asleep. “Don’t know about girly, but you’re ready for the camera.” She dropped the makeup into the shopping bag and pulled out a gray hooded sweatshirt and a faded Orioles baseball cap. “For you.”

Putting on the garments, he eyed what else she held. “A fedora? Really?”

“Wait.” She wound her hair on top her head and secured it with a scrunchie. “See, the hat hides my long hair. Voilà, my disguise.”

“Not bad.” He pushed stiffly to his feet. “Anyone would think you made spy movies instead of documentaries. You’ve done great here, buying thrift-shop clothes so they don’t look too new.”

“Consignment shop,” she corrected. “Remember, it’s an upscale neigh—” A siren’s wail choked off her reply and shot her pulse into the stratosphere. Her chin trembled. In the fading daylight, doing their damn disguises, she’d let herself feel secure, but now the shadows closed in. Once the siren had faded, she blinked furiously. “I… I… the bomb, Sari…” The words scraped across her heart. She lifted her hands, and then let them fall to her sides.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Easy. About Sarika, everything, we’ll talk. Soon, but not here. Come on. We’re just a hot babe in a fedora and a gimpy guy with a cane.” He backed away so fast she might’ve imagined the warmth of his embrace. Was he worried she’d slug him? But then his big hand enfolded her shaking one. “What d’you say we get out of here and flag down a cab?”

His question confused her. “Why a cab? Didn’t you say you’d have DARK pick us up?”