Chapter 9
MATT’S MIND RACED. He would come clean with her, but not until they were tucked in a hotel room farther away from the Kalorama neighborhood. “I called my DARK contact while you were shopping. Kelman and Herbert were phonies. They’re involved in the bombing somehow, and my contact’s working on it. But he can’t send anyone for us yet. We’re on our own for now. I got this, Nadia.” He crossed mental fingers she would continue to trust him.
Her expression unreadable, she studied his face for a moment. “A cab you said. To where?”
He allowed himself an inner sigh of relief. It could be another day or more before he could come up with something, anything — like a trap for Cardona. Damn Harris for mistrusting Nadia! He gestured at his worn sweatshirt. “We’ll need better clothes than you found in that shop, enough for a couple nights in a hotel. And I need some stuff from a locker I keep.”
“A locker? Why do you keep things in a locker?”
“Spy, remember?” He twirled an imaginary mustache. “In case an op goes sour, I can disappear fast.”
She slanted him a skeptical look, but when he headed toward the street, so did she.
Two cabs passed them by on busy Connecticut Avenue, but they caught the next as it was depositing a group of Asians near the Chinese Embassy. He announced their destination as the Greek restaurant on Irving. Nadia’s eyebrow winged upward. Paying them no attention, the Nigerian driver negotiated the traffic, still rush-hour heavy at nearly seven. Matt figured no one had followed them from the park, but turning around to check would look like what it was. Not worth giving the guy a reason to remember them beyond Matt’s limp.
After paying the cabbie at the restaurant, he checked the traffic behind the taxi. Satisfied, he pulled Nadia over to the posted menu.
“Looks good,” she said. “I like moussaka, but I doubt hunger pangs are what brought you here.”
He could quip that he was hungry for her, which was always the truth, but he turned around and urged her toward the street. When she started to speak, he shook his head and, when there was a break in the traffic, hurried her across — not as fast as he wanted because of the damn knee. Closed-circuit cameras poked out from ceilings and over shop doors, but his and Nadia’s altered appearances shouldn’t trigger recognition from any watchers.
Inside, a uniformed D.C. Metro cop, hand on his utility belt, ambled toward them down the wide corridor as he talked on his phone. Nadia gripped Matt’s arm, and he planted a kiss on her temple, lingering long enough to breathe her in. That lilac scent — soap or shampoo — and the light tang of nervous sweat.
The cop walked on past them.
In one of the department stores, they found everything they needed. Khakis and a green dress shirt for him, a blue skirt and matching pullover for her and rain jackets for them both because the taxi’s radio had mentioned fog and rain.
He left Nadia and the shopping bags in the Columbia Bar and Grill — perfect, no cc cameras — and collected his go bag from his sports club locker. It contained essentials for being on the run — including his personal sidearm. The Glock 17 fit his hand better than the agency’s .40 caliber weapon. The pack also held a fresh pack of gum. He stuck a piece in his mouth and forced interest on his face as the gym trainer bent both his ears about some fucking new health regimen guaranteed to build muscle and male stamina. Matt figured that made the company ripe for lawsuits. The trainer claimed it would heal Matt’s sprained knee. Finally, after lying that he’d sprained his knee playing pick-up basketball, he got away with the bag, which came equipped with backpack straps. Carrying it on his back made it a hell of a lot easier to manage while using a cane.
He hustled back, ignoring the throbbing with every step. Had he left her too long? What if she’d bolted? But when he skidded into the bar, she was working her way through a goblet of white wine and a bowl of chips.
Tamping down his hard breathing, he stuck the gum in a paper napkin and snagged a couple of chips. He noted the shadows beneath her eyes. She had to be exhausted from fear and worry but she never quit on him. Bold and creative and gutsy. “You okay?”
She wagged her shoulders and took a drink.
Okay but shaky. Hell, so was he. The place was about half full. Women with shopping bags, suits — male and female — with briefcases, maybe some students from Howard, and a few hardcore drinkers bent over shots and beers at the bar. A guy alone at a table gave Nadia a leering once-over, but at Matt’s stinkeye, he decided to study his drink instead.
Damn straight. “We should eat. Then we’ll get a hotel room.”
That right eyebrow arched again. She crunched into a chip. “A hotel room?”
“Absolutely. I’m not leaving you unprotected.”
At her mutinous expression, he couldn’t help but grin, ready to counter any objections. But the server, an older woman in black pants and the bar’s logo T-shirt arrived and took their orders. “I’ll bring that beer right over, hon.”
Nadia was staring at a couple standing by the bar. Then she shrugged. “I had a déjà vu moment there but whatever memory it almost triggered is gone.” She picked up her wine and finished the last drops. “You’re right about the hotel room and security. Plus it’s your money. I do appreciate that. I’ll repay you.”
“Not necessary. I have money socked away. Never have time to spend it.” He glanced up as the server returned with his beer and another white wine. “Thanks.” He dropped his DARK cell in his pack and withdrew a battery and another phone, one of several he’d installed with blocking software. He put in the battery and booted up.
Nadia’s gaze was lowered to her wine glass, the corners of her mouth turned down. When she looked up, her eyes were bleak. “The film crew. I hired them. If they did this, the explosion, it’s my fault. I… killed—”
“Never!” She shouldn’t even give thought to the idea or voice to the words. Shit, she was feeling guilt on top of her grief. He glanced around. Nobody turned their way. People were either focused on their booze or staring at the local news broadcast, images of a car pile-up on one of the city’s arteries. He lowered his voice anyway. “Don’t even think it. This disaster is all on me. I should’ve done more, and faster.”
“I hired them, didn’t I? I should’ve known something was odd when they contacted me about the job. Kelmen said he’d seen my search on the clearing-house website. But I was desperate.”
“Hey, even DARK’s background check okayed them at first.”
Her frown said she wasn’t convinced. “Kelmen was always hurrying, but why did he care? Their contract with me was for two weeks, with a provision for more days if we fell behind. He and Herbert both seemed extra nervous this morning. I assumed they were dumbstruck by the princess’s presence.” Her chin wobbled, but she straightened and recovered.
Her ability to pull herself together impressed him. She was tough. “When I left to find you, he said, ‘Time is money.’ I’d heard him say it before, figured he used it to keep shoots moving. Maybe this time he meant more. Maybe the bomb was on a timer.” He tipped up his beer and pictured the scene. The two men had never been out of his sight. He had nothing. No idea unless.... “Or did they intend to leave it behind so they could trigger it later?”
She nodded. “When they’d have been safely away. But how’d they hide it? We were right there. If they left any equipment behind when the shoot ended, I’d have noticed. Or else they had nothing to do with the bomb. If you and I had been in that office—” She shook her head, as if refusing the logical conclusion. “Matt, you said that DARK cleared them ‘at first.’ Do you know more than you’ve told me?”
Shit, no reason not to share the rest — about the phony crew at least. He explained about the spoofed website. “For damn sure they were involved. Why and how they got caught up in the blast is the question. I should’ve gotten the dirt on them earlier. Pushed DARK to dig deeper. Thought I had time.”
“Look at this, Tanisha,” one of the drinkers at the bar yelled. “She’s alive!”
“Told you, Bert.” The server sashayed over and wagged her finger at the bartender. “I win the bet.”
The sound on the news feed was muted, but on the big TV screen, wording scrolled across a recent video of Sarika and the First Lady in the Rose Garden. His breath caught in his throat. A glance at Nadia — eyes wide, hand to her lips — told him she saw it too.
The typing did a snail’s crawl, and after a dozen eons, revealed, “…be killed in a bomb blast. But Modena’s Crown Princess Sarika is reported to be in critical condition at Walter Reed.”
“Oh, Matt,” Nadia whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.
He gripped her shaking hand with both of his. She’s not dead. Thank you, God. “Don’t say anything. Be cool.” As if he could, but he managed to keep his expression impassive.
She blinked back her tears and blew into a napkin.
The server bustled over and set down their plates. “Burger for the gent and crab cakes for the lady.” She beamed them a wide smile and winked. “Special evening for you two lovebirds?”
He threaded his fingers with Nadia’s. “I’m working on it.”
She coughed as if she’d nearly choked. But her lips curved in a grin, a little tight and forced, but brimming with hope. “Special is right.”
Her fingers untwined from his, and he had no choice but to let her break the connection.
Nadia clasped her hands in her lap, savoring the warm tingle from Matt’s touch. Finally, she picked up her fork. She didn’t think she could eat a bite, but his rumbled words and sexy smirk had made her laugh in spite of everything. Enough to find her voice. And her appetite.
And now she had hope. Sarika was alive! Critical but alive. Walter Reed treated soldiers with terrible war wounds, so she’d receive the best possible care. She’d be all right. She would. She had to be.
The Maryland crab cakes were surprisingly delicious. Who knew a mall bar would have a decent chef? Well, a cook was more like it. But still. While they ate, she watched Matt fiddle with his new phone, the one from his pack. He told her he was searching for a hotel. He shook his head and stowed his phone when the server brought their check.
They changed into their new clothes in the mall restrooms and stuffed everything else into his pack. Rides on two Metro lines delivered them to Union Station. They entered the main hall and stood to one side near the Mass Ave exit. Aromas of grilling burgers wafted from a nearby restaurant. Travelers, commuters and shoppers streamed past them.
She bit her lower lip, checking everyone who passed and every cop in uniform while he did another search on his phone. No one even looked their way. Voices and shoe heels echoed off the barrel-vaulted ceiling, gleaming white with gold leaf touches. She remembered reading somewhere the station had been refurbished since the earthquake in 201l. She feigned a bored-girlfriend look, and made herself stare upward at the few dozen statuary on the balconies. Why Roman soldiers with shields? Probably to go with the exterior’s classical design, but still bizarre. And naked.
“Lots of hotels in Georgetown.” Matt’s voice, low and confiding and sexy, drat the man, brought her back from her musings. “And far enough away from Kalorama. We don’t want a small boutique hotel. Too easy for staff to pay attention to us.” A frown skewing his scars, he continued scrolling.
“When I was here during Dad’s trial, I stayed at the Prospect Hotel. Pretty big, a tourist hotel with lots of families and couples. Pricey though.” Too high for her budget, but she’d needed to be in town, not in the suburbs. “Too long ago for anyone there to remember me.”
“Sounds good.” He kept his head down over the screen and scrolled. “Got it.” With a few more clicks, he was able to book a room.
They made their way outside, through the portico and a pair of enormous marble pillars onto a broad sidewalk. Nadia shivered in the cooler air and was grateful she’d had the foresight to wear the new jacket. She’d expected darkness would hide them by now, but safety lighting made the night as bright as day.
Two men and two women loitered near the taxi line. They seemed to be studying faces and glancing at their phones.
Her heart sank into her belly. “Matt.”