by Tracy Brody
“Wanted to check on her. Been a crazy few days.”
Carswell took another step toward the bed.
Tony’s nerves jangled. He repressed the urge to take hold of Angela’s hand. Instead, he rose and joined Jarrod at her bedside. “Anything on al-Shehri?”
“Nothing. Guy’s a damn ghost. He’s gotta be pissed, but if he’s planning another attack, he could still be in the States. We have an alert out at all major transportation centers here and Canada. Nice work locating the bomb by the way,” Carswell added.
“Couldn’t have done it without her.” He glanced down at Angela, oblivious to the conscious world. The remnant of rage over her being put in such a dangerous position had waned. Though it was in line with Jarrod’s typical MO to send her back in, he hadn’t been the one who’d asked. From what Tony knew about Angela’s psyche, she would have volunteered to go, regardless. It drew him to her—even if it scared him, too.
“True. She’s headstrong but good. Especially with using her assets to get what she wants from a guy.”
A grumble elicited from Tony’s throat at Carswell’s statement.
“Grochowski said it’s a miracle she pulled through. That they kept her in an induced coma, and there could be permanent impairment—if she woke up. Buzz at the office is she’s out of the coma.” In the dim light, Carswell’s gaze fixed on Angela.
“She’s more alert each time she wakes up. Doc said brain function looked normal. She made sense talking.” Especially the last time when she’d been awake long enough to eat something. He never thought watching her eat a few cups of Jell-O in a hospital bed would be foreplay, but when she offered him a taste, he nearly went in search of a cold shower. Or a hot shower with—
“Like I said, she’s headstrong enough to survive this.” Carswell’s hard-edged tone and statement interrupted Tony’s trip down fantasy lane. “Hey, you need a ride to your hotel?”
“Naw. I’m staying here.”
“For how long?”
“Don’t know. Couple of days.”
“If you need a place to stay, we can get you a reasonable rate through the Bureau.”
“I’ve slept in way worse places than this.”
“You can say that again.” Carswell hesitated, focused on Angela. “Guess I’ll try to come by when she might be awake.”
“I can give her any message. Save you the trouble of another trip down.” Angela needed rest, not stress from dealing with Jarrod.
“No message. She may not want to hear from me right now anyway.”
Or ever.
Maybe Carswell had the decency to feel bad for treating Angela like shit now that she nearly died. Maybe he had lingering feelings and wanted to check on her himself. Maybe it was his own jealousy that Carswell had a past with Angela, but his interest kept Tony’s nerves on edge when Jarrod ducked out of the room after one last glance at her still form.
Twenty-Four
Angela grimaced as the doctor secured a fresh dressing after examining her abdominal incision. It was going to leave a nasty scar. Tony winked when she met his gaze, reducing her self-consciousness from the wound’s appearance. Maybe when it healed, she’d finally get the dragonfly tattoo she wanted and position it to camouflage the scar.
“When can I get out of here?” she asked.
Dr. Saba shook her head. “You’re doing well—all things considered. I’d say two more days.”
“I was hoping tomorrow,” Angela persisted.
“You getting tired of our hospitality and fine cuisine?” The doctor looked to the Chinese-takeout containers and pizza box leaning against the trashcan.
“I can sleep better at home. Your nurses keep coming in to check him out.” She nodded to Tony, who turned up his hands helplessly.
Dr. Saba laughed. “I overheard something about a shower and a scar on his arm, and there’s been speculation behind how he got it.”
Tony gave a sheepish grin and tugged down the left sleeve of his T-shirt to conceal the bullet wound on his bicep that hadn’t been there when he and Angela worked together in Texas. “Can’t say. It’s classified.”
“That’s only going to increase the frenzy of inquiring minds,” the doctor said with an eye roll.
The man wasn’t shy about his toned body, but he appeared to blush at the stir he’d caused since he emerged from Angela’s hospital bathroom in only a towel after taking a run yesterday. Not that the physical therapist minded based on the way she’d checked him out.
He’d grabbed his clothes and dressed in the bathroom, depriving Angela of a peek as well. That Tony hadn’t reacted to the therapist’s obvious interest elicited a needy hunger in Angela. A hunger that could lead to starvation if she weren’t careful.
“So, Doc, any chance …?” she pressed.
“You’re recovering nicely—but—I don’t want you overdoing it. Do you have someone who’ll help you for at least a week or two?” Doctor Saba asked.
“I’ve got home health care lined up in D.C.” Angela didn’t waver under the doctor’s dubious scrutiny.
“I’m taking her back there, and I’ll stay to make sure she doesn’t try to say she doesn’t need them.”
He hadn’t mentioned that, but one glance told Angela he was serious, not just covering for her. Part of her melted at the idea of time together. Another part wanted to protest the idea of him sacrificing more of his leave time sitting at her bedside.
Other than a daily run, trips to get food, and going to her apartment here to pack up her clothes, Tony had been at her side every minute the past few days. She felt terrible that he missed his dad’s birthday celebration. He hadn’t told her about it in advance because going to Buffalo meant an overnight trip. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned spending time with him.
“We’ll see tomorrow. No promises. Especially with you planning to travel,” Dr. Saba said.
Close enough. If Tony was going to be with her, she was making flight reservations and heading home tomorrow whether the doctor officially released her or not. The Bureau said she could stay at the apartment here, but she wanted to get home. Snuggled up to Tony in her bed in D.C. would aid her recovery more than anything the hospital offered.
Twenty-Five
“Take your time.” Tony paused on the step next to Angela.
With her left arm in the sling, she couldn’t hold the handrail, so she rested more of her weight on his supportive arm. She acquiesced to using a wheelchair at the airports because of the size and crowds, but in a minute, she’d be home and could collapse in her queen-size bed with her dignity intact. That propelled her upward to the landing of her condo.
Tony waited while she unlocked the deadbolt. Inside, sunlight streamed in to flood the living area. Through the window, she glimpsed the leaves of the maple tree dancing in the breeze. She turned to the security-system panel and punched in her code. Tony edged past her.
“Wait!” Adrenaline surged through her body. “Don’t move!”
Tony turned back toward her. “What?”
She couldn’t breathe as she stared at the keypad display. “Someone’s been in here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe the Bureau sent someone to stock the fridge.”
“They still think I’m being discharged tomorrow. They wouldn’t have the code, either.”
“A break-in?”
Nothing she saw in her condo appeared out of place. Her finger left a trail through the layer of dust that coated the glass-top entry table. She couldn’t bend to the floor in her physical state, so she dragged the tip of her shoe across the smooth, hardwood surface.
As still as a marble statue, Tony watched her every move.
She stepped back, angling her head. No dust to show the path her foot had traced. An icy chill gripped her. “No. Someone disarmed it.” Someone who didn’t want her to know they’d been there. And not just ‘someone.’ An average intruder wouldn’t have the skills to bypass her top-of-the-line syste
m.
“We’re outta here.” Tony’s voice dropped to an ominous level. He lifted her up and out and pulled the door closed. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and with their suitcases banging the wall, dragged them both with his one free hand.
“There another exit out of the building?”
“Behind the stairs. Out into the alley. I have a key.”
It was one of the reasons she’d bought the condo. Being on the second story added a layer of security over being on street level, yet she could go out a window if needed without breaking a bone. The private entrance to the upper-level residential units also had a secondary exit that led into the alley behind the boutique and coffee shop occupying the first floor of the building. She’d hoped she’d never need to utilize any of the alternate routes.
“No security camera?” He maneuvered them around the bottom banister.
“No.”
He let go of her to unlock the back door, then peered down the alley. “Cab?”
God, she loved the way he thought the same way she did and didn’t act like she’d lost her mind. “Go left.”
They went down the alley to the street, not stopping until they were another block away. Scanning the traffic, he let out a shrill whistle, then waved.
A light-blue cab cut over and stopped at the curb. The cabbie popped the trunk, then got out.
Tony gave her a hand inside while the driver stowed their luggage in the trunk.
“Where to?” the driver asked once he got in.
Tony looked behind them, then down the street. “Reagan National.”
“Don’t you think we should go to my office?” She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, but he didn’t answer. “It might not be anything.”
Tony studied her. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have reacted like that.”
So much for her false bravado. The cabbie was on the phone, speaking in what sounded like Romanian. “Was there news coverage when I was shot? My name or picture?”
“No. And trust me, I looked.”
“Then I don’t see how Hakim’s people or al-Shehri could have found out who I was, much less where I live.”
There were other possibilities. She’d been damn good at her job. There were others that if they knew who she was—where she was … It’s why she remained vigilant—even four years after leaving the Agency—and would be for the rest of her life.
Her body sagged against the seatback. Had her past caught up with her? She’d made plans for that contingency. But with barely the stamina to make it up a flight of stairs …
No. She wasn’t going anywhere.
At least not yet.
Twenty-Six
Tony took in the pallor of Angela’s skin. Damn, he should have insisted she stay in the hospital another day.
Am I overreacting? Or did her near-death experience have him in overprotective mode?
Spending the past few days together, he’d gotten to know her on a deeper level. Growing up abroad made her unfamiliar with the iconic television shows of their youth. She preferred reading over television. He gathered it was her mother using her looks to get what she wanted in life that skewed Angela in the opposite direction—using her brains and work ethic to take care of herself.
And while he’d picked up on how independent she was when working together in Texas, he witnessed how hard it was for her to rely on others for help, even in the hospital after nearly dying.
He’d gained her trust based on the bits and pieces she’d told him about her family. He couldn’t let her down now.
He rubbed his temple. Think. Think. Think!
Screw it. He needed time and information. It was better to overreact than not do enough.
He had a plan roughed out by the time the taxi took the exit for the airport. “You have something you can, uh, camouflage with after you’re inside?”
“Yes,” she said after a few seconds, not questioning him.
“Can you make it down to arrivals on your own?”
She nodded with her gaze fixed on his face.
“Have him circle once after you drop me off on the lower level. I’ll text you when I’m coming around. You got me?”
Her head bobbed in the same near-silent communication they’d established in Texas. It’d worked then. Been on the verge of eerie how easily they read each other. It felt right in a comforting way.
The tension in Tony’s muscles stepped down from DEFCON 2 when he saw the text back from Angela. He pulled the car to the curb where she’d instructed—even though he didn’t see her. Not that he expected to spot her immediately.
Opening the trunk, he felt the electric charge she created before he saw her. She moved slowly, bent over like an old woman. A dark scarf covered her hair like a hijab. He took her suitcase, then moved swiftly to help her slide into the passenger seat.
After he closed his door, Angela handed him a cold bottle of water. A pained wince escaped when she shifted in her seat.
“Time for more pain meds.”
“Half an hour ago,” she admitted, pulling the orange prescription bottle from her purse. “Wanted to wait until we were back together, though.”
“Sorry. The first agency didn’t have any cars with it being the holiday.” He hadn’t cared if he’d pissed off the tourists waiting when he skipped the line at the next agency to inquire if they had available cars. That saved him time since the summer holiday tourist travel tapped out that place, too. He’d finally gotten a car before resorting to hotwiring one. “Did you call your office to let them know what you found?”
“Not yet. It sounded like you had a plan, and I didn’t want to get ahead of you.”
“Thanks.” He hadn’t been able to tell her the details in front of the cabbie, yet she’d shown him the amount of respect due a general by waiting instead of moving forward with her own plan. It reaffirmed their connection went beyond their similar training and work experience. “Is there someone high up you trust—implicitly?”
“With my life? Special Agent in Charge Barnsley.”
“She was in NY, right? Call her. The fewer people who know, the better right now.” The car in front of them pulled away, but he waited while she dialed.
“Kathryn, it’s Angela.”
She greeted the agent by her first name. That meant she’d called either her personal number or direct line rather than go through a receptionist. Good girl.
“They let me leave this morning. However, we have a—situation.”
Ahead of them, he watched an airport police officer signal a stopped vehicle to move along.
“When I disarmed my alarm system, the code showed whoever reactivated it last was not me. I’m sure,” she continued after a brief silence. “There were other signs. The floor had been swept. Can you quietly send a security team over to check it out?”
Tony nodded his support and pulled the car away from the curb before the cop got to them.
“Thanks. It may be nothing—but tell them to be careful.”
Once past the cop, he pulled back over to keep their position fixed at the airport for the duration of the call—in case anyone tried tracking it.
Angela sighed. “You’re right. We can’t rule out that possibility.”
Possibility of what? He didn’t interrupt her to ask.
“Yeah, I’m someplace safe.” She met his eyes.
She hadn’t asked where he was taking her, showing Tony she trusted him. Now, saying she was safe—because she was with him—did something to his insides.
Once Angela disconnected, he edged the car into the slow-moving airport traffic to the exit.
“She have any thoughts on if this is connected to Hakim’s death?”
“Too soon to tell. Thing is, I, uh, made a few enemies while I was with the Agency. One put a price on my head.”
“You’re serious?” One glance confirmed she was. “Who?”
“One of my early assignments was to get close enough to track Tito Vasquez.”
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“As in cartel leader Tito Vasquez?” He clenched his jaw, thinking how the Agency sent her in after one of the biggest names in the gun and drug trade.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve heard stories. No one could get close to him.” He stopped at the crosswalk for people dragging suitcases to the terminal. “How?”
“I got hired as a nanny for a friend of his sister, Elena, who offered me more money to work for her.”
“Smart.”
“Elena’s husband, Jorge, ran the semi-legit import and export part of the family business. It took a while, but the plan was to nab Tito when he came to their estate in Venezuela. Only Tito brought his daughter. Then Elena decided to stay home with the kids.”
“It got ugly?”
“Turned into a huge firefight. Two of our guys were shot by Tito’s bodyguards. Those guards were killed. So was Elena. And Tito’s daughter, Abi-Maria.”
Tony knew from experience you could never anticipate all contingencies. “It’s not your fault.”
“Tell that to Jorge. He figured out I leaked the information about Tito, and they offered a sizable bounty. For me dead—or alive.”
Alive so they could torture the hell out of her. They wouldn’t care that she’s a woman.
“Only the contract is for Raquel Decaino from Venezuela. The threat was credible enough that the Agency pulled me from South America to work in the Middle East after that. It’s been over seven years, though. The timing that they would find me now—when I haven’t been in D.C. in months? No. It’s too remote.”
She downplayed the threat. Her modus operandi.
Even though it was a long time ago, cartels had long memories, and vengeance was their brand. But she had a point, and she didn’t need more stress right now.
“You’re right. Let’s wait and see what the Bureau’s team turns up. Maybe they’ll figure out the glitch with your alarm. But you’re going to be stuck with me for a while longer.”