by Juno Rushdan
Torture.
Maddox sat on Cole’s bike, doing her best to maintain a healthy distance from his body, knees splayed. Then he started taking hard turns, forcing her to press against him, wrap her arms tighter around his waist, legs hugging his. Her pulse revved along with his engine, stirring her mind, bringing up images and sensations from last night. Like this was a game.
A distracting game of torture.
Cole sped into the lot alongside the little Yellow Cab Company across from the National Arboretum and parked. There wasn’t a single yellow taxi, despite the name. For some unearthly reason, they were orange and black or red and white.
Before the kickstand was in place, she hopped off the bike, desperate for space away from him. And longing to have all of him at the same twisted time.
Stuffing the tangled emotions into a save for later compartment, she removed the helmet and steeled herself. She walked around the squat mud-pie building with its faded orange accents and distinct adobe-clay facade.
Cole was on her heels when she opened the front door. A ding from a bell announced their entrance.
The stale odor of cigarettes and mildew almost made her turn back. A pocked-face guy scratched his potbelly, sitting behind a desk littered with balled-up fast-food wrappers. A headset covered one ear, mic reaching out to his chapped lips. “Where you headed?”
“We’ve reached our destination.” Cole strode up to him, taking point as if he were in charge, and bravely set his helmet on the guy’s desk. No telling what might crawl into sight.
The man’s piqued gaze bounced from the helmet, up between Cole and her. “What? You don’t need a cab?”
The phone rang, and he lifted a swollen hand for them to wait. “DC Yellow Cabs.” He dragged a finger down the screen. “You headed to the airport, Mr. Morris?”
Maddox wrangled an impatient sigh, resisting the urge to snap her fingers and ask the guy to rush through the call.
“No problem, Mr. Morris. A car will be there in less than thirty minutes.”
As the man lowered the receiver, Maddox curled her helmet under her arm, stepping up to the desk. “We need the driver of the cab with plates ending in Papa, Charlie, Bravo, one.”
“Huh? What you say?”
Cole rested his hip on the filthy desk. “The lady said, p as in pizza, c as in cookie, b as in burger, one as in ‘us boys only have one sausage to yank.’”
“Who are you? You guys got a warrant?”
She stayed quiet. What useful skills had Cole picked up besides incapacitating someone?
“We’re from Rubicon Security. Your driver picked someone up at the corner of…” Cole looked to her.
“Massachusetts and Van Ness, around eleven thirty last night. We need to know where the passenger was dropped off.”
“We’d truly be grateful.” Cole pointed a finger at him. “What’s your name?”
“Pete.”
“Yes, Pete. We’d really appreciate the assist.”
Pete’s scrunched face didn’t suggest cooperation was forthcoming.
“Have you ever had a thin-crust pizza from Bistro Italiano?” Cole asked.
“Nope.” Pete shook his head.
“A Neapolitan-style crust. The sauce is perfection. Buffalo mozzarella. I’d be happy to arrange a delivery of one loaded with your favorite toppings as a sign of our appreciation.”
Stubby fingers danced across a computer keyboard. “You don’t need to talk to the driver. I can look it up for you. All right, let’s see. Pizza. Cookie. Burger. One.”
Surprise ticked through her. Cole was pretty good at this.
“That was Rodney’s car,” Pete said. “He dropped a passenger at the Hotel Monaco at 11:46.”
Her chest cramped. She was suddenly light-headed, her equilibrium knocked sideways.
Pete scratched his belly. “It’s located at 700—”
“We know.” Cole’s voice was quiet as he exchanged a knowing glance with her.
At Hotel Monaco, they’d shared their first time together. He hadn’t pressured or persuaded her into it. She’d been ready and eager. Inside suite 303, surrounded by candles and rose petals, he’d taken her virginity lovingly and with such scorching intensity, he’d branded her as his forever.
Averting her gaze from Cole’s burning eyes, she moved from earshot outside and called Castle on her encrypted Gray Box cell phone.
“Our Ghost was dropped off at the Hotel Monaco last night. It’s 700 Foxtrot Street November Whiskey. We’re headed there now.”
“TV station is a dead end,” Castle said. “One of the security guards scrubbed everything. No record the Ghost landed or entered the building. We’ll meet you at the hotel.”
Through the glass door, she watched Cole throw a couple of twenties on the desk and scrawl something on a piece of paper for Pete. Then he came outside, up close to her.
Too damn close.
The heat radiating from him slid across her like a second skin. Her chest throbbed, pulse pounding in her head. She turned, facing the flesh-colored building, refusing to show him how his proximity affected her, and dialed Gideon.
“What’s your status, Reaper?” she asked.
“I located the helicopter at a local charter company. I’m going to squeeze the owner for any information.”
If anyone was good at squeezing a person to make them talk, it was Reaper. Formally trained in interrogation and assassination, he was the ruthless type who’d push—or pull off fingernails if necessary—to get the information.
“Okay.” She filled him in on the hotel and called Harper at the Gray Box. “It’s me. How long would it take you to hack into a hotel’s guest registry?”
“I don’t know. Depends on the firewall encryption and—”
“Hotel Monaco. DC. I need the registered names and room numbers for any guests who checked in between eleven thirty and midnight last night. Also, tap into their security camera feed and run the facial recognition program for our targets.”
“I’m on it.”
Stabbing the phone with a finger to end the call, Maddox turned, headed for the bike. Cole put one hand on the wall, blocking her, and with the other dragged his knuckles across her jaw. The searing contact nearly stopped her heart.
Oh God, if she looked up at him, it would be her undoing.
His mouth caressed her hair, his warm breath against her ear. “Maddox—”
She shoved the muscular barrier of his arm out of her way and strode toward the bike. One foot in front of the other. The squeeze in her throat almost made it impossible to talk, but she swallowed past it. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 20
Hotel Monaco, Washington, DC
11:56 a.m. EDT
Maddox craned her neck, looking up at the splendid Corinthian pillars of the neoclassical building as Cole pulled in front of Hotel Monaco.
What had once been their special place. They had come here many times, to be alone together, away from his parents’ house or her roommates in her Georgetown dorm.
Squirreled away in the hotel, they’d talked about everything from their childhoods to their hopes for the future, had fed each other room service, swathed in a sense of completion, lying curled naked around one another for hours after making love. Always intense. Threaded with passion, like their souls had been sewn as one with adamantine strands.
The helmet became stifling. She needed to get it off. Needed to breathe.
Cole parked in a spot ahead of a line of taxis.
Heart racing, she ripped off the helmet and raked in a breath. She dismounted the bike and gripped the hard seat of the motorcycle until the ground beneath her feet stopped teetering. Across the street stood the National Portrait Gallery. Home of the Kogod Courtyard, where Cole had strolled into her life.
He’d been so freaking cute. Wild, mid
night hair. Warm, penetrating eyes. A disarming smile. He’d strode up to her like he was capable of taking on the whole world to get anything he wanted.
His bad-boy hotness, heck, just talking to him had made her crazy-giddy.
She’d accepted everything he had offered—lunch, a ride on his bike, a smoldering kiss she’d remember until the day she died—even though he was trouble.
The kind of trouble that gave her father nightmares.
Pivoting, she looked back at the hotel.
This was ground zero.
A dull ache echoed through her.
Cole gripped her, and she realized she was shivering. He pried the helmet from her rigid fingers. “I’ve got you.”
At those tender words, something inside her snapped, and she jerked away. “No. You don’t.” A fierce whisper. “You let me go. You let me grieve. You let me fall.”
“Maddox.” The shock on his face would’ve twisted her soul in knots if the icy anger sweeping through her hadn’t been doing such good work numbing her. “I’m sorry.”
Such feeble words meant nothing, changed nothing between them.
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got a job to do.”
Squaring her shoulders, she zipped up her steely composure. Head in the game. Zero tolerance for one sloppy drop of maudlin mush.
She met his gaze and didn’t flinch at the grief in his eyes. “We need to find Novak.” Her tone was pure business.
His face strained with messy emotion, but he gave a firm nod. “Do you have a picture of him to show the hotel staff?”
“Harper loaded our phones with one.”
Cole glanced around. “Why do you think he chose this hotel?”
The ten-million-dollar question. A dozen similar hotels would put him in walking distance to the U.S. Capitol, the White House, museums, but he’d chosen this one.
“Let’s go try to find out.”
A few long strides brought him to her side.
Despite how crazy he made her, having a lethal, capable man such as Cole on her team was a definite plus. He’d give his all, which equated to more in one day than some operatives mustered in their careers.
They headed up the steps toward the entrance shaded beneath a crimson awning. As they reached the door, he cupped her elbow, stopping her. “It’s possible he’s already released smallpox-M inside and could be on his way out of the country.”
They could be walking into a hot zone. She’d prefer a bullet if given a choice between the two. After Novak escaped from the yacht, he could’ve gone anywhere, but chose DC. There were other hotels far closer to the television station where the Ghost had landed. And instead of deploying it right away at the station or a nearby hotel, he’d taken a cab thirty minutes across town. Novak had chosen this hotel for another reason.
“I’ve got to take the chance. This is our only solid lead. You’ve risked too much already—you don’t have to come in. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you waited out here. No one would.” Other than Castle.
“Where you go, I go. Whatever is waiting inside, we face it together.”
Cole was doing a number on her, testing her in new ways.
Damn it. One little sloppy drop of warmth slipped through. Just one.
She had to hunt an assassin in possession of a lethal weapon. She needed to stay hard. Be that hunter and stalk her prey.
Cole opened the door, leading the way inside. They strode across the marble floor into the understated grandeur of the quaintly elegant lobby. It left her as awestruck as the first time.
A couple lounged on a crocodile leather sofa in front of a cold stone fireplace. A woman carrying shopping bags strolled toward the elevators beneath opulent, emerald-green crystal chandeliers. Staff chatted as they headed down a walkway along a wall of mirrored glass.
The hotel had almost two hundred rooms. The Ghost could be in any one of them. Or worse, if he wasn’t here, then anywhere in the city.
Maddox approached the front desk, still scanning the lobby. Cole stuck to her side.
A young woman greeted them with a cordial smile. “Hello, how can I help you?”
“Is there anyone available who worked the front desk last night—between eleven and midnight?” Maddox asked.
The woman shook her head. “No, sorry. We did our shift change at six this morning. Is there something I can help you with?”
Unease whispered down Maddox’s spine. She glanced over her shoulder. Two men in suits strode through the lobby, griping about a business merger. The couple on the sofa cuddled, oblivious.
She pulled out her phone and brought up the picture of Novak. “Have you seen this man? He’s the subject of an ongoing investigation. It’s critical we find him.”
The elevator on the left pinged and her heartbeat quickened. The doors opened. A man and woman pushed a baby stroller off.
“We suspect he checked in late last night under an assumed name,” Cole said.
Maddox turned back to the young woman behind the desk, who shook her head at the picture. She brought up a photo of the Ghost’s son, Val. “What about this man? Have you seen him?”
The receptionist peered at the picture for a long moment. “He doesn’t look familiar.”
They’d have to wait for Harper to hack into the hotel system.
Maddox spun on a sigh, doing another sweep of the lobby.
A man wearing a baseball cap pulled low, sunglasses, blue long-sleeved shirt—despite the ungodly heat outside—and carrying a backpack did an about-face, pushed through the front door, and hurried down the steps to the street.
She got that palpable sense that something wasn’t right. Like maggots slithering in her gut, lice crawling over her skin. She’d only caught a glimpse of the man, not even a full profile. But the way he moved triggered her well-honed instincts, urging her toward action.
Snatching her phone from the receptionist, Maddox ran to the door. She dashed down the steps and whirled 180 degrees, scouring the street. Ditching the button-down and cap would alter his appearance, but there hadn’t been time.
One man caught her eye. He was slender and had a hat, but it wasn’t Novak.
She ignored the pang of knife-sharp frustration and scanned the opposite direction. Stepping wide around a woman walking a dog, she spotted a flash of blue. To the right, headed north on F Street toward Seventh. Long-sleeved shirt. Navy ball cap and black backpack. Right height and build. He had the cagey walk of a predator on the loose.
She needed to see his face.
Her palms itched as she marched closer. She lengthened her stride, but restrained the impulse to charge toward him. The last thing she wanted was to spook him into running. She needed to cross the street at the first break in traffic and follow parallel to avoid detection.
And almost at once, it was too late.
The man glanced over his shoulder, checking his six, and sunlight bounced off his sunglasses. The profile was a dead ringer.
A cold jolt of adrenaline raced through her.
The Ghost took off like a bullet fired. She bolted after him, with Cole sprinting at her side.
Novak plunged into the congested traffic on sprawling Seventh Street. Bobbing and weaving around cars, joggers, people on bikes, buses, he never broke his stride. Horns blared and tires screeched as cars braked. The man had mind-boggling speed and agility. Zero fear. He pushed down the lengthy stretch of sidewalk along the Capital One Arena, shoving pedestrians out of his way.
Maddox and Cole skirted around traffic, holding up hands to get oncoming vehicles to slow. They were losing him. Novak glided down the street, extending his lead.
A biker clipped Cole, and he stumbled, pitching forward, hitting asphalt.
She didn’t slow. Getting hemmed up would crush their chance to capture Novak. They had to cut through the congestion of Pe
nn Quarter.
The Ghost pounded past the arena, headed toward H Street. He was closing in on the bustling Gallery Place mall, the hubbub of Chinatown, and Metro stations teeming with passengers.
The odds that he’d lose them escalated with each second. The hotel had been their one good lead. If he got away now, they might not get another.
Cole pushed up alongside her, recovering lost ground.
Digging until her thighs screamed, she fought through the fire shredding her legs, the ache nibbling at her side. Shoppers filtered in and out of Gallery Place ahead—an abundance of stores, restaurants: too much collateral damage if this went sideways.
The sweltering sun beat down, turning the streets into an oven. Her jacket trapped the slick sheet of sweat on her skin. She gritted her teeth and blocked it all out.
The heat. The burn. The dread.
Weakness.
A businessman on his cell drifted out of a bar and grill on a collision course with a killer. The Ghost barreled into him, sending the guy spinning hard into the street like a wobbling top. His briefcase flew into the air, and the poor suit crashed into a cyclist, bike bell zinging, planting them both face-first into the blacktop.
She stayed locked on the Ghost.
Steady.
Maddox dragged in thick, short breaths condensed with humidity, like breathing through a straw.
The path cleared of pedestrians. Cole broke away at a dead sprint, pulling ahead. She pumped her arms, driving her legs harder, forcing her body to go faster still. The tall, rectangular signpost for the Gallery Place Metro station on the corner of H Street stood erect like a beacon.
If the Ghost made it into the station and on a train, they could lose him for good.
Chapter 21
F Street, Washington, DC
12:21 p.m. EDT
No thought of how far he’d have to run, how long he had to push, Cole held a singular focus: catch the Ghost.
To keep Maddox safe, he had to reach the devil first.
Extending his stride in a flat-out sprint, Cole gave it everything. His shoulder hurt like hell.
He was gaining on him. Less than thirty feet, chipping away at the distance with every hot lungful.