“As soon as Marie is on her way, we’re moving the base of operations back into Portland, where we can coordinate with the NIS and the FBI,” Hawk said. “What Agent Graham could bring forth before he was taken out of Dimitru’s confidence shows a very small window between tonight and Saturday, when the women will make landfall and be in the States. Marie is there as both distraction and mole.”
Malcolm was nowhere around. After she’d found him in the basement, he’d gone off to make himself busy. So far she’d seen him fixing windows and the front porch. And then he’d disappeared.
Marie checked her watch. T-minus fourteen minutes. Fourteen! Would he let her leave without seeing her? He struggled with her going in, but she hadn’t considered he’d refuse to see her.
She touched the empty spot on her arm where she’d had the armband. She wouldn’t bring it with her. No matter what he said, no matter what she believed, she couldn’t. Call it bad luck or a damn curse. If she was going to use it as leverage, she didn’t want it with her.
The little hidey-hole under the house was going to have to be good enough. Dimitru would want it, and she would give it to him…when she saw Uncle Bert was okay.
“Ready?” Stacy stood next to her, and Marie looked around, noting the room had emptied.
She sighed. “Yes. Into the den I go.”
Stacy put an arm around her shoulders. “You’re good at what you do, Marie. Hawk wouldn’t have hired you otherwise. Besides, we’ve got your back. And when this is over—”
“Twenty to life?”
The boss lady laughed. “No.” She paused before continuing. “We all have moments of weakness, Marie. Lines we’ll cross for our loved ones. No one on this team blames you for what you did.” She gave Marie a pointed look. “You should have come to us.”
The reprimand sounded so very familiar. The delivery from Stacy—compared to Malcolm—was harder to take. Sympathy made the regret cut deep, whereas Malcolm had pissed her off by being Judgy McJudgment-Pants. “I was ready to cut loose from the team.”
“Well, there’s your problem. Cutting loose from Hawk Elite is impossible. Once a team member, always a team member, even if you decide to move on. You’ll always be ours. And we look after what’s ours. Don’t forget. Ever.”
Tears sprang to her eyes again, and Marie swallowed hard, blinking to stop the flow.
“We’ll see you through this glitch with the police.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re part of this family. We’ll get you the best lawyer. And no matter how far Dimitru or the state takes these charges, you’ll have our support.”
Her heart about stopped. “Really?”
“Really,” Hawk said behind her.
Marie turned, feeling more like a kid than she had in a long, long time. And like a stupid kid, she threw herself into Hawk’s arms. He patted her back and ran a hand over her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said, backing up and wiping her face. It was too much. The flood of relief pounded through her head. She squeezed her eyes shut with her fingers and took a deep breath. “At least I’ll look the part now—road-worn, weary, teary, and puffy-eyed.”
Hawk’s smile was one she’d seen a thousand times in the last year as he interacted with his kids. The warmth of knowing he thought of her as his own… “I’m proud of you, Marie. You fight for what’s yours. And even in your mistake, you’ve taken the shots standing up. You don’t hide behind excuses or lies. You’re strong.”
She wiped the stray tear. “Thank you,” she whispered, and then quickly hugged Stacy. “I better go. Tell Malcolm—” She didn’t know what. Where the fuck are you? Why aren’t you here? I’m sorry? “Tell him I’ll see him later.”
She left through the back door with her bag on her back and turned to the old barn. If she was going back, there was only one way to do it. Full Feur, full Bălan. No apologies for how she was raised. No faking it.
The barn door squeaked when she pulled on it, and she propped it open to the right and stepped into the dim interior.
And stopped.
Malcolm stood there, the rays of light shining through the old wooden slats of the door and touching his black combat boots. Her helmet rested in his arm against his hip. His hair was pulled back, one ornery strand falling onto his forehead and temple.
“There you are,” she said as her heart pounded again. This time for a very different reason.
“Something told me you’d take the bike.”
She lifted her brow. “Very know-y of you, Malcolm.”
He shrugged one shoulder in a way that said, “I know you,” and she planted herself in front of him, glad she wasn’t going to have to leave without saying goodbye. “Tracking device on the bike?”
He blushed, as if caught in the act. “Of course.” He stood back, eyeing her up and down. “You ready?” he asked, back to studying her face before he knelt in front of her. Her heart pounded before she felt his hands on her boots, fiddling with her shoelaces and tightening them.
When he looked up, she swallowed an ache. “Easy-peasy,” she answered. “Find Uncle Bert. Find the girls. Report. And Rescue.”
Malcolm put his hands at her waist, stood, and discovered her Kel-Tec P-32. “Looking for trouble?”
“Just playing the part. Would be a fool to go in empty-handed, don’t you think?”
“He’ll take it.”
“Maybe.”
Malcolm stared at her.
“Okay, probably. But, depending on the length of time, I could earn it back. I’m very good at being conniving and convincing.”
“So you are.” Regret lingered in his voice.
She grinned. “Are you getting all sentimental?”
“Fuck no,” he answered, and pulled her close. She didn’t mind clinging to him. They’d finally made it past a line.
They were going to make it.
And then she was going to jump his bones and hold on to him for the rest of her life, whether he liked it or not…in a completely fine and good way, of course. His embrace lifted her from the ground, and he kissed her neck, up and up to her ear. She turned her face to him and found his mouth, his soft lips showing her she was his.
A tear streaked down her face and she broke the kiss. “I have to go.”
“Be careful,” he whispered as he pressed a hand over her heart. She placed her hand on top of his. She would take his heart with her, whether he knew it or not. But it wasn’t stealing.
It was a trade, because in its place, she would leave behind her own.
***
The old estate outside of Portland look particularly malicious as she parked her motorcycle under the drive’s porte-cochere. Lights were on, but the late afternoon rain had left a thick fog in its wake. She shivered under her jacket as she braced the bike on the kickstand.
Despite the tracking devices and listening devices and even her sidearm, she was like a mouse on a mission in a fricking cat store. The familiar prickle at her neck, like she was being watched, set her nerves on edge. She knew, before knocking, that Vladimir was waiting.
Burly Guy answered the door, his eyes going wide. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to get my uncle.” She lifted her brow in true Romanian hauteur. “I will see Vladimir Dimitru now.”
He looked behind her, searching for the trap, but saw nothing and narrowed his eyes. “Come in, but don’t move.”
She knew where every camera was located.
“Marie Bălan Feur.”
The voice sent a tremor down her spine as she turned. “Dimitru.”
“Please, call me Vladimir.”
She didn’t respond.
“Gregory tells me you’re here for your uncle.” He came close, looking to intimidate her, she imagined. “Shouldn’t you be in jail?”
She crooked her neck to look up at him. “They couldn’t hold me,” she answered.
That seemed to stop him. “What makes you think I have him?”
Ignoring his question, she took a nonchalant glance around, as if curious. “I have something you want. And I’m willing to help you get more.”
“I only want one thing. The—”
“The Romanian government recently agreed to allow the national treasure to travel to New York. Did you know?”
Dimitru paused and nodded. He was listening again, which was the point.
“The pieces will travel by courier from Boston to New York City in one week.”
She saw the stirring of interest in his gaze. “Has my security company gone rogue? Or is the little Bălan butterfly gypsy taking off on her own?”
“I was raised to be a thief. It’s all I know.” She shrugged. “I grew up on the stories of the old country. Look,” she continued, straightening her spine, adding all of her Romanian pride to her short stature, “I would kill to have what you’ve got in your gallery alone. I’m willing to share, because I think together, we can both have what we want. You have means…I have the skill.”
His gaze warmed as it skimmed her body from head to toe.
And there was the lecherous douche she knew and hated.
He moved into her space, making her heart race as he towered over her so she was forced to look almost straight up to see his face. “We could make a good pair.” His glance at her lips turned her stomach.
“Hey, don’t get any ideas. This is business.” Marie put a hand up to his chest, stopping him. “Gold. That’s all.”
“It was meant to be, you know.”
“What?”
“A Bălan would eventually mate with a Dimitru.”
She almost laughed. “We’re humans, not animals. Besides, from what I hear, someone already tried, and your family was offended enough to end it.”
“There was always a set time—fate.”
At the soft tone of his voice, her guard went up. His eyes had lost the calculation and gone dreamy. Well, damn. He believed all the bullshit legends about marriage and prosperity.
She swallowed. They’d taken his overzealous behavior the night of dinner as a clue to his slimeball-ness. They hadn’t anticipated maybe he was completely unhinged. He toyed with her hair, setting her teeth on edge, and then tugged her closer. “But you came back. I knew you would come back.”
Marie snapped her fingers in his face. “I came back for my uncle…and for our mutual monetary benefit. Nothing more.”
The calculation returned. “But there is so much more.” He leaned in. “Didn’t you know? Together, we hold the answer to the greatest power in Dacian history.”
The air stilled around her. She hadn’t heard that word in a long time. Long, long time. “The Roman-Dacia? Early witchcraft? Like, the myths of power to rule the world? No,” she replied firmly. “Those ideas disappeared in the fifth century. What I know is we can be richer than we’ve ever dreamed. That’s what I know. Everything else is hocus-pocus bullshit. Now, you’ll take me to my uncle first. Then we can set up a plan for this heist, which will make us all richer than the devil.”
She whirled away, but he grabbed her arm. “I want the armband,” he said.
“My uncle first.” She tugged her arm free. “The armband is somewhere safe until I have my uncle and we come to an agreement.”
It didn’t even hurt to say it. Not a smidge of pain, no regret. She was learning something this year, and that was to let go. All those years, stealing moments in little trinkets, stupid acts of betrayal.
And then Malcolm.
Why him? What about him had changed her heart?
He was the first person to frown on her abilities.
Uncle Bert had never discouraged her.
Malcolm hadn’t only discouraged her. He’d turned his back on her.
And he made her want to not steal.
“Sentiment will make you weak, my dear.”
“I’ll have my uncle first. Then you can have your armband. It will be our first step to trusting one another in this bigger venture.”
He threw his head back in laughter. “We come from different angles, but our goal is the same.” Vladimir glanced behind her and nodded.
She tensed as Burly Guy approached, and she stepped back.
“Just a precaution, my dear,” Vladimir said as he turned to pick up a phone on the table along the wall. He pressed a button and spoke quietly.
“Stand feet apart, arms out,” the second man said, and then patted her down. Hands to shoulders, and down her sides, hips, and legs. He was impartial and professional, and she was grateful.
When she looked up again, Dimitru was watching. “Remove the belt,” he said slowly. “The phone.” He scanned her from head to toe. “The earrings.”
She bit back the refusal. She’d worn her mother’s old dangly copper earrings—for comfort, as a distraction, to play the part. They are merely objects, she reminded herself, admonishing the sentiment he’d only a second ago warned her would make her weak. She slipped them off, and her hand shook as she placed them in Burly Guy’s palm. “When you discover they are clean, I want them back,” she added with a scowl.
Dimitru tilted his head, a creepy light in his eyes. A shiver ran up her spine, and then he laughed. “Put them in the security room, Gregory.” He held out an arm to her, as if to escort her, and she took it, albeit reluctantly. “You must be hungry and tired after our little ordeal the other night, and your subsequent run-in with the police. Come.” His accent thickened. “I will bring you to your uncle and then we will retire to the dining room for an evening meal.”
She gave him a curt nod.
He hadn’t noticed the earring with the bug.
Her connection to her team hadn’t been destroyed. Yet.