A flicker of light drew her gaze to the buttons over the elevator. Someone was moving through the hotel—perhaps Martí. Fear convinced her to knock firmly on Mitch’s door. Her heart thudded as she waited. A glance at the elevator showed that it was climbing.
What if Mitch and his friends had left already? Who could blame them? With no more time to deliberate, Katrina pushed the master key into the lock and shoved the door open.
Powerful hands hauled her into a pitch-black room, flung her around, and shoved her face-first into the wall. Something metal gouged her shoulder blade. The door clicked shut, and the light came on. Her assailant took one look at her and sprang away.
“Jesus!” The pistol he was holding disappeared behind his back.
Katrina calmed her racing heart as she took in Mitch’s appearance. He was dressed entirely in black.
His blue eyes blazed with concern. “What the hell are you doing? I could have killed you!”
His two companions edged into the light, both dressed as he was—like special operators working a nighttime op. Recalling the way they’d handled that day’s crisis, it came to her with sudden clarity that they weren’t your average, everyday sailors.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. Martí is after me,” she admitted in a rush.
Urgency tightened Mitch’s expression. “Does he know you’re here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
He snapped off the lights. “We need to move out now,” he said to his friends. “Grab your stuff.”
“Where are you going?” Katrina asked, assuming they meant to leave her on her own.
“Anywhere but here,” Mitch said, moving away to collect his possessions.
“But the curfew,” she protested. “You don’t want to tangle with the Benemérita, trust me.”
“I’m open to suggestions. You got any ideas?”
Returning to her side, he curled a hand around her arm.
“Am I coming with you?” Relief made her question breathless.
“I’m sure as hell not leaving you here,” he replied.
“Thank you!” She hugged him then—hard—and an idea came to mind. “I know a room here in the hotel where no one ever goes. And I have the only key,” she added, realizing she still clutched it. “We can stay there until dawn. No one will bother us.”
Mitch briefly considered the offer. “Better there than here,” he decided.
A minute later, they darted into a deserted hallway. It must have been someone other than Martí moving through the hotel—perhaps Juan Carlos delivering room service. Leading the way to the sixth story, Katrina unlocked the penthouse suite. The curtains had been drawn half a decade earlier and never reopened. The smell of musty carpeting and stale linens made it evident no one used the room.
Using the lights on their cell phones, his teammates swept inside taking stock of the place.
“Woah, this is nice,” Austin called in a soft voice.
Mitch dumped his bag on the couch. “How come no one comes here?”
Katrina’s throat tightened. “My parents lived here when they first got married. After I was born, we all moved to the basement where there’s more space. After my mother died, Pare moved her belongings back up here and closed the suite to visitors.” She didn’t add that every year, on the eve of their anniversary, her father cloistered himself inside for days, mourning her mother’s loss.
The reminder of Pare’s recent passing impaled her suddenly. Sinking onto the sofa, Katrina buried her face in her hands and tried to come to terms with what was happening. She could hear Austin and Chuck murmuring to themselves as they located the second bedroom.
The cushion next to her yielded as Mitch sat beside her and smoothed a large hand up and down her back.
“I heard about your father,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
The warmth of his palm, combined with his sympathy, compelled her to turn to him for comfort and security. His solid presence, the powerful arms encircling her, were a balm to her frazzled nerves.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her nose just inches from his neck. “I should never have involved you.”
“You did the right thing.” With that simple assertion he absolved her of her guilt. His arms tightened around her suddenly. “Will you let me help you?” he asked.
Her heart wrenched. Tears rushed into her eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.
Mitch’s heart thumped beneath her ear. “You can’t stay in this city, Katrina. Members of The Liberation Front confronted us tonight. They’re pretty pissed that we wrecked their little protest.”
She lifted her head with alarm. In the dark, all she could make out was the clean lines of his all-American profile. “The Benemérita questioned you as well,” she recalled.
“Just a formality,” he assured her. “All the same, we’ve drawn a bit too much attention here. Time to move on and leave the populace to sort things out for themselves. You should come with us. We’re going to Seville.”
“Seville?” The historic town lay on the other side of the country, six hours away by high-speed train. Hope relieved the heavy weight on her chest.
“Yeah. And then we’ll figure out what’s next … after that.”
The words “after that” brought her fear right back. Of course, he hadn’t been suggesting that she stay with them indefinitely.
“I was planning to go to Panticosta,” she admitted. “It’s a resort village where we used to take vacations. I have a lot of friends there, though I haven’t been back since my mother’s accident.”
Mitch stiffened beneath her.
“That’s the first place your brothers will look for you,” he pointed out.
“Oh.” Why hadn’t she considered that? “You’re right. I should go with you to Seville then…until I think of a better place.”
“Yes. Good.” He sounded relieved. Pressing a button on his watch, he added as it lit up briefly, “Four hours left until daylight. We should try to sleep.”
Oddly, the thought of him making love to her held way more appeal than sleeping, but she knew he was right. Releasing him reluctantly, she pushed to her feet. Austin and Chuck had helped themselves to the second bedroom. “This way,” she said, picking up her backpack and heading into the dark, adjoining chamber. Her mother’s favorite quilt covered the queen-sized four-poster bed.
Mitch kept the door open and stowed his own bag on the dresser. “Keep the lights out,” he reminded her as she reached for a lamp.
The comment drove home the danger they still faced. She stretched out on the bed, turning onto her side to stroke the material of the quilt beneath her. Memories of her mother drifted through her mind, drawing her gaze to the small picture frame on the stand next to her. She decided to take it with her, perhaps even tear off a portion of the quilt to keep as a memento. Grief tore through her at the thought that she might never return to Barcelona.
The bed dipped at her back as Mitchell reclined next to her. To her relief, he scooted closer, looping an arm around her waist and fitting himself snugly against the lines of her body.
“You’re safe,” he murmured. He had told her much the same thing when they’d left the nightclub together. Dear Lord, was that just twenty-four hours ago? He’d kept his promise then. She was certain he would keep it now.
How fortunate Mitchell Thoreau had come into her life when he had! Without his encouragement, who knew if she’d have had the courage to defy her brother in the first place. Part of her reasoned she should go to the Benemérita and turn him in. What better way to ensure Martí went to jail where he couldn’t get to her? Who was to say, though, that the Civil Guard wouldn’t charge her and Jordi with collusion? After all, they’d known about the threat and failed to act until it was virtually too late. The prospect of facing charges, of having her name linked to the bombing in any way, filled her with aversion.
Better to slip away with Mitch’s help and avoid being associated, in a
ny way, shape, or form to the radical movement.
Mitch resigned himself to lying awake in bed. Unlike most SEALs, he could not sleep anywhere, any time. Stressful situations kept his adrenaline cycling, which kept him alert. The feel of Katrina curled so trustingly against him offered him a welcome distraction.
He let himself ponder her future and whether it had been irrevocably derailed by her oldest brother. The captain of the Civil Guard was no idiot. Del Rey had made a point of examining their cell phones to see whom they might have taken calls from just prior to the explosion. “Merely a routine precaution,” he’d assured them.
One call in particular worried Mitch. He had called Chuck about ten minutes in advance of the explosion, using Katrina’s cell phone. That call would have brought Katrina into del Rey’s pool of suspects. Once the policeman learned her last name, he might well connect her to the radical separatist whose name was bound to come up as del Rey deepened his investigation. When that happened, he would most certainly want to question her.
The obvious solution was for Katrina to go straight to the authorities and tell them what she knew. She could offer to testify in exchange for physical protection. But then Mitch would never see her again. What’s more, he’d traveled enough to know that political prisoners often disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again.
Social responsibility didn’t always yield the best possible outcome, he reasoned. He could do more for Katrina by taking her away from the dangerous elements that threatened her. Not that his intentions were entirely selfless. He had to admit he wanted her to stay with him. He hadn’t been ready to see the last of her—maybe he never would be.
If only he could shake the sneaking suspicion his decision to bring her along was going to cost him.
Chapter Ten
Katrina stared through the train window at the platform in dread of seeing Martí rushing up to the high-speed AVE, with the intent of dragging her off it. He would have to go through Mitch and his two friends first. Having witnessed their response to danger, her brother wouldn’t stand a chance, she reassured herself. As the doors closed for the last time and the train began to creep from the station, she drew her first full breath and sat back.
Mitch, seated across from her, had been watching the platform, too. At one point, he had pressed his face to the glass, his gaze sharply alert. Whatever he’d thought he’d seen had apparently turned out to be nothing, for he’d eventually sat back, settled into his seat, and closed his eyes.
Across the aisle from them, Austin and Chuck had laid out a game of cards on the tabletop between them. As the train pulled away from the station, Katrina watched them for a moment, amused by their competitive natures. Losing interest, she entertained herself by studying a sleeping Mitch. His head lolled. His broad shoulders swayed gently with the rocking motion of the train. He looked younger in his sleep—perhaps no older than she was.
Guilt pressured her as she realized she was the reason for his weariness. He must not have slept as she had in the few hours preceding their flight from the hotel. Thinking back on their tense departure, she marveled that she had handled it as calmly as she had. Now that she could reflect on the fact that she’d left her home, perhaps forever, sorrow ambushed her. Turning her face to the window, she let tears fill her eyes and spill over.
Mitch slept on. Wiping her tears away, Katrina reconsidered him. The sun had risen behind the telephone poles running parallel to the tracks. Their shadows blipped across his countenance like frames in an old movie. Something about him inspired a deep respect and gratitude in her. The man had gone well out of his way, more than once, to help her.
Without warning, his head lifted and his eyes opened, jolting her with the sudden burst of color and with self-consciousness for having been caught staring. She jerked her attention outside again.
Having left Barcelona’s suburbs, the train was streaking along the plateaus of the Central Depression at 125 kilometers per hour, making the backdrop look like a movie playing in fast-forward.
“You okay?”
The softly spoken question invited her into conversation.
“Sure.” She sent him a brave smile, one that faded instantly as thoughts of her father’s death and her present predicament entered her head.
“Ever thought about living in the States?” he asked.
Her pulse picked up. Was he inviting her? “Sometimes I have, yes,” she said. “I have family in Kansas. I’ve used to visit them every summer when my mother was alive.”
“Do you have dual citizenship?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What about a passport?”
“I have it with me. I renewed it last year for my vacation to Italy.”
He guarded his thoughts behind an inscrutable expression. “Maybe you should visit your family in Kansas,” he suggested.
Disappointment pricked her. “But there aren’t many hotels where my cousins live,” she protested. “That’s what I do best—manage hotels.” It had occurred to her there had to be dozens of hotels in a place like Virginia Beach.
“I’m pretty sure you could do anything you set your mind to,” he said.
The affirmation warmed her, though it wasn’t quite the invitation she found herself hoping for. Distracted by a man stepping from the vestibule between the cars into theirs, she glanced up and her heart stopped. Dark eyes intercepted her astonished gaze. Armando froze in the act of reaching for the lavatory door. His gaze cut to Mitch, who looked over his shoulder and stiffened.
Snatching his hand back, Armando turned and exited their car at a near run.
Katrina met Mitch’s grim gaze, her stomach churning.
“What’s he doing here?” His tension had returned, making him seem suddenly years older.
Inwardly cursing their misfortune, Katrina moistened her dry lips. “He works for a franchise with offices in Zaragoza,” she recalled.
“He’s getting off at the next station, then,” Mitch inferred, having obviously paid attention to their route.
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’ll tell anyone he saw you just now…with me?”
She wanted so badly to reassure him—to reassure herself—but knowing Armando, he would take serious pleasure in bad-mouthing her to her older brothers. “I’m afraid so.”
To convey her sincere regret, she reached for Mitch’s hand where it rested on the table between them and covered it. “I can get off too, if you prefer, and go back,” she offered. “I’ll turn myself in to the Benemérita.”
One moment, her hand was on top of his; the next, it was firmly and gently trapped beneath it. “No,” he said, calmly. “You’re better off coming with us.”
He sounded so certain, she didn’t bother to argue with him. Besides, she had no desire to part company with Mitch. From the moment she’d first kissed him, she had felt like she belonged with him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His small smile assured her he had heard her. Still, she noticed he couldn’t bring himself to say, You’re welcome.
Four hours later, they neared their destination with only one more stop—in Cadiz—before arriving in Seville. Mitch surveyed the dry, arid landscape of Andalusia, absorbing details as he’d been trained to, but his thoughts remained on the reflection he had glimpsed in a pane of glass covering a large, mounted advertisement at the station in Barcelona.
Could Capitán Rodrigo del Rey be following them?
One moment a dark pair of eyes had been staring at him out of the glass. Then people walked by, obscuring Mitch’s view. When he could see the ad again, del Rey’s reflection had disappeared.
Mitch tried telling himself he’d imagined it.
Something told him, though, that the man had traced the incoming number on Chuck’s sat phone to Katrina Ferrer’s cell phone. Subsequent research could have brought some very significant information to del Rey’s attention, making him curious to know more.
Not for the first time, Mitch aske
d himself if bringing her along was a big mistake. It was one thing to remove her from the threat Martí presented. It was something else to associate himself with a person linked, albeit indirectly, to a terrorist act.
Yet on a personal level, he enjoyed her company immensely. Quiet and easygoing, she had napped for a portion of the journey, awakening in time to share the lunch he’d bought them from the food car. After thanking him, she had dug into her overstuffed backpack, produced a book, and lost herself in its pages.
As she read, she nibbled on her lower lip. The memory of the kisses they’d shared awakened the hope that he’d soon be kissing her again.
But what if del Rey was following them? Mitch’s disquiet refused to leave him. Running into Armando at the outset of their trip had struck him as a seriously bad sign.
When they arrived in Seville, a day earlier than scheduled, he’d be smart to offer up a different credit card than the one he’d used to make all three of their reservations. That way, del Rey would have a harder time tracking them down.
As Katrina adjusted her posture, Mitch caught a glimpse of the cover of the book she was reading. “Wait.” Astonishment rooted him.
She glanced up inquiringly.
“Are you reading Walden?”
She blinked in confusion then showed him the cover.
A smile of incredulity overtook him. “Did you notice the author’s name?”
She flipped to the cover to read it. “Henry David Thoreau.”
“Yeah, that’s my last name. He was my great, great uncle.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you teasing me?”
Her skeptical expression drew a robust laugh out of him. At the same time, he welcomed the sign that everything would be okay.
“Not this time,” he assured her. “But I reserve the right to tease you in the very near future.”
His response brought a blush to her cheeks.
“Don’t move,” he said, finding his cell phone.
She eyed him mistrustfully “What are you doing?”
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