Regan texted her sincere thanks and backed out of her text app.
She was about to hit Nathan Castile's number when several knocks reverberated from the opposite side of the hotel room's door.
Neither she nor John had ordered dinner, so who—
More knocks. These were louder, heavier. Seriously pissed.
And then, "Open the fucking door!"
Riyad.
How the devil had he found them?
Why?
21
The shower was still on. The cover noise from the running water had prevented John from hearing the knocking.
Thank God. Relief swept in as Regan quickly crossed the plush carpet of the hotel suite. Given the mood of the man behind that current round of pounding, John's absence was a definite plus. She thought about retrieving her 9mm as she passed the desk, but decided against its attendance as well. If her growing suspicions about the spook were correct, the SIG's open participation would only enflame the situation.
Unfortunately, the fourth round of pounding grew heavier still as she reached the door. Louder. Along with the outrage in Riyad's voice.
"Damn it, man. I said open—"
"Good evening, Sam." She scanned the hallway behind the spook. "What brings you to the Serena tonight—alone?"
Where the hell was Agent Castile? Because Nathan hadn't accompanied him.
Fortunately, there was no one else out there either.
Despite that racket in the hall, Mr. and Mrs. Goethe's cover identities just might remain intact. And, if she could get the spook inside and calmed down before John finished showering, she just might be able to get a handle on the rest of their case.
That noise from the shower would help.
She motioned the spook inside, swiftly closing the door behind him.
"Where the hell does Garrison get off—"
"Lower your voice."
That scowl she'd become so familiar with finally shifted—to a sneer. "Why? Afraid lover boy will think—"
"—think what, asshole?" John.
Score one for cover noise, zero for her. The shower was still running, but of course, John was no longer inside it. Before she could blink, he'd crossed the remainder of the suite and swiftly inserted his body between hers and the spook's.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
John was buck naked. And every single inch of that scarred mountain of muscle was dripping with water and barely suppressed, ice-cold rage.
Could this get any worse?
Unfortunately, the spook's deepening sneer suggested yes. It swept down the dress shirt she'd put on, then slid over to the rumpled sheets of the bed across the suite, before returning to John. "Quite the cozy bolthole you two managed to scrounge up on Uncle Sam's dime—" The sneer snapped to her left hand, to the cover-story rings she'd donned and long since forgotten about. "—or should I say diamond?"
"You got a point to make, Riyad?"
"Yeah, you're on the job."
"Wrong. I was on the job—two hours ago. Unless the shit hits the fan between now and then, I will be again in another eight. Until then, this happens to be my downtime and hers. What she and I do during our mutual downtime is none of your goddamned business. Nor is how I spent my dimes—not the government's. So you can scurry back to the embassy compound and hole up there tonight, because I have no intention of paying for your bed."
"Damn it, Garrison—"
"Goethe. At the moment, the name is Karl Goethe." He snapped his chin toward her as she stepped up beside him, hoping to calm the rumbling storm before it broke free. Though that wasn't looking likely. "This is Rachel Goethe. It's called a cover. Sometimes—while on the job—it's necessary. And when it is, we do our best to maintain it. Now, I know you've still got memories of live, tasty fish treats and all those bouncing beachballs you've had to balance on your nose filling up that slippery head of yours, but try and gather up enough human brain cells to remember that, okay?"
The scowl had returned, only this time it was leveled on John. "You know."
"Buddy, I knew within two minutes of meeting you. What I didn't know was why you were so damned determined to hide it."
"Because you weren't cleared to know. And after that stunt you pulled today—"
"Stunt?" Crap. She should've kept her mouth shut.
At least until John had donned something.
Instead, he turned to her in all his still dripping glory, dragging out this entire ludicrous scenario as he casually crossed those obscenely hefty arms and shrugged. "He's still pissed because I lost his incompetent tail ten seconds into Abbottabad."
"That wasn't me."
John turned back to the spook. "Obviously—unless you managed to shrink a good four inches and bleach your hair down to dirty blond. Which brings me to my question of the night. How did you know I was here?"
"Kettering. He called Palisade. Then called me back."
"Well, well. You really are on first names with the Big Bubble. Congratulations. That'll do wonders for your new career. 'Course the way I also hear it, you've got your nose stuck so far up that man's ass, you've got permanent ring around the collar."
The spook's brow rose. That was it.
But so had John's.
Swiftly. Silently.
Shit.
She had about two seconds before this thing headed south—in a major way. Pun absolutely intended. "That's enough." She stepped in between the men, shoving at John's damp chest as she glared up at him.
He didn't budge.
Neither did she. "I mean it, John. Knock off the gorilla warfare. And put some damned pants on, will you?"
She wasn't sure what had given the spook pause, but something had.
The scowl on his face had finally splintered apart and regrouped into open confusion. "I think you meant guerrilla."
John actually had the nerve to laugh. "Oh, no, she meant gorilla."
You bet she had. She stalked over to the desk to retrieve his trousers since he clearly couldn't be bothered, throwing them at him as she returned. "Now, put that appendage away, Mr. Goethe."
The spook glanced down at John's shirt, her bare legs and feet beneath. "I'll…wait outside."
John's fury might have ratcheted down several clicks, but it was still there, spiking into his answering nod. "You do that."
The door closed behind Riyad with a solid snap.
She turned her back on her very own, chest-pounding silverback and headed for the desk to gather up her clothes. Bundle in hand, she turned again to march into the bathroom to get away from him, since—
"Hon?"
She whirled around, staring up into that irritating twinkle that was once again warming the gray.
The twinkle took on a glow as that dent slowly folded in.
"What?"
His scarred paw came up. Dangling from the end—the scrap of white cotton she'd evidently dropped. Her underwear.
"Like I said—you're an ass." She snatched the scrap of cotton from his paw and spun around to stalk into the bathroom.
He was still laughing as she slammed the door.
Worse, everything that had been said while the spook had been in the room—and everything that hadn't—was still spinning through her brain as she thrust her hand into the shower to turn off the spray. It all continued to spin in as she dressed as quickly as she could. It was still spinning as she braided her hair and tucked it under, but when she reached out to switch on the faucet to splash water on her face, the diamond on her left hand winked up at her, finally forcing her to slow down and pause altogether.
To accept it.
She'd slipped in and out of so many identities, so many times, when she'd worked undercover, the rings hadn't even registered. She'd just put them on and immediately forgotten about them. But as she stared at the brilliant, mini explosions of blues that this oversized rock was throwing off every time light from the overhead fixtures hit it, she realized her mistake.
She should have looked
at them.
Even without Riyad's dig and John's comeback, it would've been obvious. The diamond wasn't a fake. Nor had Tulle picked the rings up on behalf of the Army. John had. Somehow, he'd found a moment to slip into a jewelry store today and had purchased them with his own money. They might've needed the rings to complete their covers so they could compare notes in private and away from the embassy, but John had been working a second, simultaneous mission this entire time—and it was extremely personal.
He had no intention of returning the rings for a refund. Let alone accepting them back from her.
So, now what?
Focus. Find out why Riyad was here—and if her budding suspicions about the former SEAL were correct. More importantly, if the two were connected.
She shored up her nerve as best she could and exited the bathroom.
John had obviously had a second shirt in his bag, because he was dressed and standing at the desk, secreting the final piece of his coup-level arsenal within his suit. She stepped up beside him and reached for her shoulder holster—only to find her right hand engulfed in his. He used her fingers to guide her around until she was facing him.
Those proprietary paws of his slipped into place at the small of her back, tugging her close as he bent down to capture her stare.
Her.
"Stop worrying. It'll all work out. Just…give it time. Meanwhile, I meant what I said. What we do when we're off the clock is nobody's business but ours. USASOC sent me here. You, too. I spent fifteen months wanting you back in my life. I'll be damned if I'll let anyone get in the way of us when we're not actively on the job. Anyone."
He was right. They might be Army, but they deserved a life.
She might not be ready for what he was really saying with that diamond, but she was ready for him. At the very least, she was ready to risk finding out.
"Rae?"
She slid her hand up around the back of his neck as she stretched up to press her lips to the growth on his cheek, then moved on to murmur in his ear. "Agreed."
His breath eased out as he released her. "I'll get the door."
She donned her shoulder holster, frowning as she automatically slid her SIG out, then in, to check it. Her fingers were trembling again.
Peachy.
She crossed her arms as Riyad entered the suite. The motion served two purposes. It hid her recalcitrant hand from John, and it also let the spook know she was still royally pissed at him. "Where's Nathan?"
"Near as I know, still at the consulate in Peshawar. Why?"
"Because you're supposed to be there, too. Assisting him."
"I was. I did." Riyad must've had as exhausting a day as John, because he finally scrubbed his hands over the dark growth on his jaw and sighed. "Look; Castile's fine, okay? He's a good man, and he has everything in hand. We sat down and reviewed his approach. I offered a few course corrections—but, all in all, it's solid. He's good to go. He will ID that woman from the cave. It's just going to take time. Boots on the ground."
John flicked his stare at the black leather dress shoes at the base of the spook's suit. "Those work as well as boots. Why aren't you assisting? As Palisade directed?"
"Because Riyad got a tip." That's why the spook had called Admiral Kettering and flown back from Peshawar.
From their expressions, her statement had surprised both men. John, because he had no idea what she was talking about, since she hadn't yet mentioned her budding suspicion, let alone her texted request to Jelly. And Riyad, because the spook knew exactly what she meant and was more than a bit bemused that she'd sussed it out.
Bully for her.
Her instincts might turn out to be off regarding Embassy Islamabad's deputy chief of mission, but they were dead on regarding the former SEAL that Warren Jeffers worshipped. At least about this.
All that rage Riyad had been channeling since she'd met him? His dogged suspicions regarding John, and his even more dogged determination to put him away for murder? Once John had filled her in on that SDV and the fiasco of a mission around it, she'd realized the rest. And then there was that wariness that was currently deepening Riyad's stare almost to black.
That was her proof.
"Senior Chief Zakaria Webber. You got a tip about him, didn't you, Agent Riyad? Today. You also knew Webber was dirty—before that final SDV mission went down." She held up a hand as the spook tensed and stepped toward her. Mostly because Riyad's instinctive movement had caused John to shift his body as well, so he could cut the spook off if need be. Physically. "Correction. You suspected it. I'm guessing whatever you had at the time on the senior chief wasn't solid enough to pull NCIS in."
Ironic really, since NCIS was precisely what Riyad had gotten out of the teams to become—solely so that he'd have the legal authority to track his nemesis down.
John took another step toward the spook. "She's right, isn't she?"
Riyad's nod was stiff. "He's been sighted. In Islamabad. Three hours ago."
John's laugh was short, and anything but amused. "And you really thought I'd be holed up here at the Serena with that bastard?"
The black stare narrowed. "Not here. But you haven't been here all day, have you? Much less on the grid, since you gave my guy the slip in Abbottabad."
"Well, I hate to be the bearer of unwelcome news, but I haven't seen hide nor hair of Webber for fourteen months—since the day I left Fort Bragg as a matter of fact. Don't believe me? Head down a few floors. Tulle's crashing here tonight too. He can vouch for today, at least. But for two personal stops, the staff sergeant's been with me since we boarded that bird at Islamabad International. And, hell, come to think of it, Tulle was watching the storefronts and guarding my back while I was inside during those personal stops, so I'm guessing he can account for those minutes too."
John took another step toward the spook, using his looming, gray-suited bulk to underscore what his voice hadn't. "How about you, Riyad?"
"What the fuck? I just told you where I was. I was in Pesh—"
John shook his head. "Not today. Sixteen months ago. September the second. Roughly zero three hundred in the morning. I was standing in the CID parking lot on Hohenfels, having a private conversation with Special Agent Chase. Where were you?"
"Stateside."
John glanced at her. "He telling the truth?"
As flattered as she was with his faith in her skills—not to mention his willingness to use them operationally—it wasn't that simple.
Like John and her, blood was still clipping through the spook's veins at an elevated pace, the man's adrenaline still surging. There were too many conflicting micro-expressions flitting through those dusky, pretty-boy features, the majority of which were still feeding off, and complicated by, emotions and thoughts left over from when Riyad had entered the room.
Fortunately, Jelly and his digital sleuthing skills were already on the job. Because there was also the reality that no investigator ever wanted to accept.
If someone truly believed what they were saying—suspected burglar or outright jihadi terrorist alike—it threw the whole game into the suspect's favor.
It was why she was even better at spinning bald-faced lies than she was at discerning them. All the shit she'd been through as a kid had merged with the fantasy escapes that had kept her sane, training her exceptionally well. In short, she was usually able to believe what she said. For as long as it took to say it, anyway.
As for Riyad?
She shrugged, and gave both men the unvarnished truth. "I don't know."
The satisfaction that curved those full lips gave her pause. John, too. Because he refused to back down, much less away from the spook.
"Don't look so smug, asshole. I'll check."
"Feel free. Meanwhile, speaking of locations, where'd you go in Abbottabad? Because I'm still not convinced you weren't hooking up with Webber. Hell, Tulle might have been there, too. The staff sergeant's usually glued to your ass when you're doing something off the books. Why were you both so deter
mined to evade your tail?"
"Gee, I don't know. Think about it. What's in Abbottabad?"
"You've got a source in their army?"
"I do. And, no, I am not trusting you with his name. And I sure as hell wasn't about to let your bumbling associate crash our meeting."
"Then how do I know you're not lying about who you met?"
"As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I was doing in Abbottabad. Lying. Mostly about the fact that I'm not German, much less in their army. So, unless that incompetent shadow of yours is fluent or could've faked a damned good accent like Tulle—"
The spook brandished a conciliatory palm. "Okay. I get it. Did you learn anything from your contact?"
"Yeah, I did. And I already gave the intel to your partner. Now I want to know why you're so convinced I'm tight with that salt-water-soaked bastard. Because I didn't even hang out with Webber at Bragg. Hell, I was only there for eight weeks before I pinned on major and was sent to Campbell, most of which, he wasn't."
The conciliatory palm had curled into a fist; it pulsed with rage. "He asked for you."
"You're saying he officially requested that I work with him? That's why you've been so determined to believe I switched sides? Because of a request—and what we worked on together at Bragg?"
"Yes."
John glanced at her. "At the time, Webber and I were tasked with reviewing security contingencies and red teaming several that were already in place."
Oh, Jesus. She did not like where this was headed.
John nodded at the expression that he didn't need his new Rae-reading skills to discern, because she wasn't hiding it. "Yep. The contingencies we red teamed involved Embassy Islamabad." John pushed his focus back to Riyad. "Webber's sandbox-playmate preferences are news to me. I never met the man before I walked into that office, and we definitely weren't buddies after. You've been tracking the son of a bitch for a while now. Do you know where he was on September the second?"
"On leave."
That earned Riyad a sigh. One devoid of even John's extended patience. "Where?"
Riyad shrugged. "No idea. He was off the grid then, too. You really think Webber was in that parking lot, listening to the two of you go at it?"
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