Chapter Eleven
A burst of adrenaline had Quinn scrambling to her feet. She tiptoed to the closet and slid the door open. “Please don’t tell them I’m here,” she said as she stepped in amongst clothes hanging from the rod. Her eyes pleaded with Mila’s. “Please. I only want to help you.”
The interloper was right outside the door. Quinn had no choice but to slide the closet closed without knowing if she was about to be exposed. In the inky blackness, she withdrew her Glock from her thigh holster and held it at the ready.
She felt the blood drain from her face when she realized she’d left her phone and purse right in the middle of the floor.
Her grip on the pistol tightened when she heard the bedroom door open. A woman began to speak in a brusque, accusatory tone. The Russian Quinn had learned at the Farm was of little help. They spoke too low and too fast for her to catch any of the conversation.
Mila received what sounded like a terse admonition and then responded in a conciliatory tone. The bedroom door closed with a click and the footsteps faded down the hall. Quinn sagged against the back wall in relief.
“You can come out,” Mila said softly.
Quinn stashed her pistol, slid open the door, and stepped out of the closet. She blinked against the light and looked at the empty spot where she’d left her belongings.
Mila twisted around, withdrew the purse and phone from under a pillow, and held them out toward Quinn.
“Quick thinking,” Quinn said, taking them. She sat down again. “Thanks for covering for me.”
“You’re welcome.” Mila’s ice-blue stare froze Quinn in place. “Can you really help us?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” Quinn said emphatically. “Climb out that window and go with me right now. We’ll take both of you somewhere safe.”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I have a younger sister and brother still in Russia. If I don’t go back, they’ll beat them. Pyotr’s father abused him so he ran away. He has no family to return to.”
“I’m sorry,” Quinn whispered. As much as she wanted to rescue them right then and there, it couldn’t happen. “I so much want to talk to you some more, but I don’t dare stay much longer. Can you tell me the names of your minders? The people who take you places? Where you’re kept in Russia? Anything at all that will help us find you again?”
“They don’t think I know, but I do. It’s Saint Petersburg,” she said. “But I don’t know which building. They make us stay inside and work.”
How could she just leave them without a way to track them down? “I’ve got it,” she said when inspiration hit. “Take my phone. It has a tracker that works all the time, even when the battery runs down.” She sent a quick text to James telling him to meet her at the spot behind the shrubs. When she received his reply saying he would be there, she opened the Emergency Red Button app on her phone and tapped in her security code. The screen went gray and then an ominous black. Every byte of data had just been wiped from her phone.
She jumped to her feet and dropped the phone on the bed. “Keep it with you. It’ll tell us exactly where you are. We’ll come for you.” Quinn’s gaze burned into Mila’s. “I promise.”
The only sounds in the room were the digital beeps chirping from Pyotr’s Game Boy as the seconds ticked by. “The woman who came in before,” Mila said. “That’s Mother Olga. She always comes with us when we go places. She and another woman, Zhanna, watch us all back in Saint Petersburg. They don’t get along because Zhanna wants to travel, too, but Mother Olga always gets to go. The big bald man is Anatoly. The other guy is Viktor. They’re pilots.” She picked up Quinn’s phone from the mattress and stuffed it under the pillow. “I don’t know the name of the man who’s in charge. Everyone only calls him Boss.”
“That’s great. Thank you.” Quinn picked up her purse, looped the strap over her head, and sat on the windowsill. “Before I go, can you tell me your last name? I can get a message to your parents, let them know I’ve been in contact with you.”
Mila’s chin stuck out in defiance. “They don’t care. They haven’t done anything to try and find us.” The hurt and betrayal in Mila’s voice cut through Quinn like a knife.
“You don’t know that. Relations between the US and Russia aren’t always the best. They might be getting stonewalled. Either way, knowing your last name will help us. Please.”
Quinn scarcely breathed as she waited.
“Semenov.”
“Thank you.” She swung her legs over and dangled them over the edge. “Take care and see you.” She pushed off the ledge and landed on the ground with a soft thump.
She raced for the hedge and bit back a shout for joy when she spotted James crouched behind it waiting for her. He almost tumbled backward when she hurled herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “People suck,” she whispered.
James’s arms cinched tighter. “I know.” After another moment, he leaned back and searched her face. “Some of us less sucky people will make the suckier people pay for their suckiness.”
She smiled at him, his words giving her hope. “I love you.” After a quick kiss, she heaved a huge sigh and said, “Can we clear out? I don’t want to be at this damn party anymore.”
“We can, although we need to make a final appearance before we leave.”
They stood, slipped into the shadows, and jogged toward the party. “Why?”
“I was being a belligerent drunk, right? I thought I could yell and bluster long enough for you to check things out. When I got your text, I had to go to plan B.”
“You tranqed them.”
“Yeah, but not in the way you think. I didn’t want them to see me with a weapon, so I started a brawl. I threw a couple of good punches and flattened them both. While they were on the ground, I removed a couple of darts from the magazine and jabbed them. Only gave them a little juice. They were starting to stir when you texted me to meet you. In the end, they’ll think I’m just this drunk who knocked them out.”
“You need to be seen drunk at the party to back up your story.”
“Yup.”
They circled around to the back of the property and rejoined the party still in full swing. At the fully dressed man doing the backstroke in the swimming pool, Quinn said, “As my dad would say, this party is a real humdinger.”
“It’s exactly what we want. It makes my fracas with Thing One and Thing Two even more plausible,” he said as they headed straight for the bar.
“You mean Anatoly and Viktor. Excellent Dr. Seuss reference, by the way.”
“Thank you. Hunter and I bonded over his books when you, your mom, and your sisters-in-law were getting manicures a few days before the wedding.” He caught the bartender’s attention. “Turk’s Head, please.” The man behind the bar opened a bottle of beer and handed it to James.
“I’m sorry I missed it. Maybe the next time you two read together, I can get in on the discussion regarding the deeper philosophical questions raised in Green Eggs and Ham.”
“We’ll have to make sure Bailey and Wyatt are in on it too.” He tipped up the bottle and guzzled. “Although Bailey will outthink us all.”
“No doubt,” Quinn said. When James raised the beer to his lips again, she noticed his red knuckles and hissed through her teeth. “Does it hurt?”
“Nothing a little ice won’t fix.” His gaze swept the area. “Townsend is at our two o’clock. You see Honeycutt?”
“No,” she said, scanning faces. “We should say our good-byes to Rhys. Gibson won’t remember we were here in the first place.”
“Astute observation, Mrs. Anderson.” He slugged back the rest of his lager and set the empty bottle on a nearby table. His eyes went from sharp to unfocused and droopy in a split second. He slouched and draped his arm over her shoulder. Leaning heavily on her, he gave her a sloppy kiss. “How’s my breath?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
A hoppy aroma filled her nose. “You could use a mint.”
“Perfect.” His right eye drifted closed in a lazy wink. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn he was honestly and truly blitzed.
“Okay, baby. Here we go.” Quinn slid her arm around his waist. With a tight grip on his wrist, she half-walked, half-dragged her faux-drunk husband in Rhys Townsend’s direction.
“I love it when you call me baaaaaaay-bee,” he crooned.
A snorting chuckle sounded at the back of Quinn’s throat. He was certainly having fun chewing the scenery.
Rhys’s eyebrows rose in interest as they approached. “James, you seem to be having a good time.”
“Great party,” James said. His head wobbled as if he was having a difficult time balancing it on his shoulders. He drew in a deep breath and blew it through his lips like a motorboat.
Rhys choked back a cough.
Looking into Townsend’s face, it took everything Quinn had not to grab a shrimp fork and stab it into the bastard’s eye. She swallowed her fury and gave Rhys a rueful smile. “I need to get him back to the hotel. He had a couple too many bottles from the local brewery.”
“Understandable,” Rhys said. “My cohost has been in a similar condition most of the evening.”
She studied him briefly, looking for clues as to whether or not he was coked up at the moment. She couldn’t tell, so she forced herself to focus on getting them out of there. “It happens. Anyway, thank you again for inviting us. We had a great time. And we both apologize about that dust-up out by the tennis court.” Her tone turned hopeful. “Bygones?”
Rhys opened his mouth to reply, but James cut him off. “I just wanted to play tennis,” he slurred and scratched his nose. “But I couldn’t find a racket.” His face twisted into a dark scowl. “And those guys didn’t like it when I started throwing around those balls I found.” Like flipping a switch, his anger vanished. He guffawed and shot Quinn a rascally grin. “I said balls.”
She snickered. “Yes, sweetie, you did.” To an amused but puzzled Rhys, she explained, “He told me he was going to go use the bathroom. When he didn’t come back, I went looking for him and found him out by the court in a scuffle with a couple of security guys. They’ll be okay.” She added an embarrassed, “You might want to send someone to check on them. They were kind of out cold when we left them.”
“You knocked them out? Both of them?” Rhys asked, clearly shocked. “You don’t have a scratch on you.”
James puffed out his chest. “I’m scrappy.”
“He also teaches Krav Maga on the weekends,” Quinn said and gave James an indulgent look. “When he felt threatened, his instincts kicked in. So to speak.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Rhys said.
Movement to her left drew Quinn’s attention. Anatoly and Viktor shouldered their way through the crowd of party-goers. Their nostrils flared like angry bulls as they scanned the area.
Rhys looked toward them. “Ah, there they are now. As I said, everything will be fine.”
Quinn felt James’s muscles grow taut. When she saw the murderous rage in those men’s eyes, Quinn’s grip around her husband’s wrist constricted like a boa. “They look like they’re ready for round two. We don’t want that. We have to go,” she said to Rhys.
“I think that’s wise. I’ll calm them down,” Rhys said and strode toward Anatoly and Viktor. “Ciao,” he called out with a wave.
Despite James staying in character by dragging his feet and hanging on Quinn, they moved at a swift pace through the house. “Quinn. Sweetie, you’re cutting the circulation off to my hand,” James said as they stepped into the front courtyard.
“Sorry.” She relaxed her hand. “I didn’t even realize.”
His fingers flexed and wiggled. “It’s okay.”
They stopped at the fountain. When one of the valets approached, Quinn said to her swaying husband, “I need the valet ticket.”
“It’s in my pocket.” A lascivious grin bloomed. “You have to find it.”
Quinn threw a feigned look of mild exasperation in the direction of the smirking valet. She stood in front of James, her front lightly pressed against his. With both hands, she reached around and plunged them into the back pockets of his linen slacks. She felt his wallet in one. Her fingertips brushed against the metal backplate of his phone in the other. After a little more exploring, she touched a slip of paper trapped between James’s bum and the phone.
She pinched his butt before removing the ticket.
He shot her a scandalized look and murmured, “Cheeky.”
“In more ways than one.” She handed the paper to the valet. “Here you go.”
From the backyard, she heard voices rise in anger. If she were to guess, Rhys was having a difficult time restraining the ego-bruised bodyguards bent on retribution. It wasn’t smart on their part, really, to come after them since a “drunk” James had already given them a thorough beatdown.
Regardless, she and James needed to get out of there. “You don’t have to get the car,” she called when the valet unhooked the keys from the board. “Walking might do him some good.” She fished a five-dollar bill from her wallet and held it out. “If you could just tell me where the car’s parked, I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes, miss,” the valet replied and hurried back. He happily exchanged money for keys. Pointing toward the road, he said, “Your car is fifth from the corner.”
“Thanks,” Quinn said. With her arm around James’s waist again, she started them toward the front gate. “Come on, you.”
James might have been hanging on her, but his stride was quick and sure-footed.
Behind them, furious voices echoed through the yard. Rhys had failed to persuade the raging bulls to stand down.
Quinn and James’s pace picked up even as their body positions remained a wife helping her inebriated husband to their car.
They reached a metal security door next to the gate blocking the entrance to the driveway. She turned the knob and pushed it open. Once they were through, it closed behind them with a resounding clang.
Now clear of the property, Quinn spotted their car in the moonlight. They veered to the right and power walked across the gravel-covered road.
Headlights flashed and the car chirped when Quinn pressed the alarm button on the key fob.
She opened the passenger door. James dropped into the seat and said under his breath, “Hustle, baby.”
The urgency in his tone had her glancing over the top of the car toward the gate. Anatoly and Viktor burst through the door and charged toward them. The light from inside the car drew them like bulls toward a red cape.
“Shit,” Quinn hissed and slammed the door. She sprinted around the front of the car while James leaned across the center console and pushed the driver’s side door open. She slid behind the steering wheel and jerked the door shut. The interior of the car was plunged into darkness. She jammed the key into the ignition and turned over the engine.
Quinn threw the car into reverse and cranked the wheel. She looked over her shoulder and backed up until the back bumper kissed the front of the car behind them.
Anatoly and Viktor closed in on them.
Quinn shifted the lever into drive and spun the steering wheel in the other direction. She glanced through the side window and yelped when Anatoly, his face thunderous, pointed a gun directly at her chest.
With her foot still on the brake, she twisted and threw herself on top of James, shielding him from the barrel leveled at them.
She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the explosion of glass and the searing pain of bullets ripping into her back.
The bullets didn’t come.
“Quinn! Their guns aren’t loaded,” James said. “I emptied their magazines while they were tranqed.”
She sat up and spun around. Anatoly gaped at the inert pistol in his hand.
Before he got any bright ideas like pounding on the window with the grip of the gun, she lifted her foot from the brake. The car inched forward.
She sat up as straight as she could and stared at the front edge of the hood. “I can’t see!” Perspiration spurted from every pore on her body. “Will I clear the car in front?”
“You got it. You got it.” James gripped the dashboard. “Go! Go! Go!”
Viktor’s fists pounded on the window behind her.
She gunned the engine.
Viktor bellowed when the car lurched into the road.
James looked out the back window as the car sped away. “I think you ran over his foot.”
She flicked on the headlights. A cluster of palm trees rushed up on them. She yelped and spun the steering wheel. The car drifted as it made a violent right turn.
As the car streaked down the dirt road, she clipped on her seat belt. James did the same.
Her entire body buzzed as every synapse in her nervous system fired.
She checked the rearview mirror. No headlights followed them. There were only the receding lights of the accursed Honeycutt estate.
She slowed the car as they approached the end of the lane. She wheeled onto another dirt road, one that meandered along the coastline. Quinn drove as fast as she dared along the dark, unfamiliar drive. Keeping one hand on the wheel, she wiped the sweat from her palm on her skirt. She switched hands and dried the other.
Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again. There was only inky darkness.
It was only after she turned the car onto the paved, main highway she allowed herself the luxury of sucking in a lungful of air and blowing it out in a gust.
James was the first to break the silence. “You were going to take a bullet for me.” His voice was subdued.
She peeked over at him. His jaw was set and his eyes were fixed on the blackness in front of them. “Yeah,” she said and returned her attention to the patch of road illuminated by the headlights. “You would have done the same for me.”
“Yeah, I would.” He reached out, lifted her hand from the wheel, and kissed the back of it. He enveloped it in both of his and rested them on his thigh. “Don’t ever do it again.”
From the seriousness in his tone, she knew he wasn’t kidding around. Neither was she when she answered with equal solemnity. “I can’t promise you that, James, any more than you could promise me the same thing. We’re partners. In everything. Forever.” She looked over at him and then out the windshield again. “We have each other’s backs. It’s what we do.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw his head fall back against the headrest. “You’re right.” After another stretch of silence, he picked up his head and turned his face toward her. She felt his intense gaze on her when he said in a thick voice, “Thank you.”
She swallowed at the sudden lump in her throat. “You’re welcome.” Her lips twitched in a tiny smile. “Besides, it’s what any CIA librarian spy wife would do for her CIA operative husband. Get used to it.”
He squeezed her hand. “Yes, dear.” She heard the smile in his voice.
They drove the rest of the way in easy silence. The time would come when Quinn would tell James all that she’d learned inside the cottage. But for now, they were content to decompress after the eventful evening.
Quinn turned the car into the hotel parking lot and parked near their suite. “I don’t know if Anatoly and Viktor got good looks at our faces. It was pretty dark. But on the chance they scour Provo looking for us, how do you feel about not leaving the hotel property the rest of our honeymoon?”
James unbuckled his seat belt and kissed her cheek. “It’s the perfect way to bookend it. Just the way it started.”
She stole a kiss and opened her door. “My thoughts exactly.”