Undercover Nightingale

by Rosnau, Wendy

  “Another visit from the Boy Scout. Are you always this unselfish?”

  “I’m not unselfish. I just don’t want you looking back on this with any regrets.”

  She leaned in and kissed him. “If you want me, then we’re on common ground. Does that help?”

  She must have said the right words because suddenly his hands were moving up her back, urging her closer. Her breasts touched his chest, and the warm water and steam moved around them. And for now it was only the two of them in the whirlpool, no past and no Cyrus.

  When he kissed her long and deep, she knew what had started days ago had begun again. Only this time the outcome would be very different, and she answered his kiss with one of her own—a kiss that sent her on a new journey.

  One Bonnie would have warned her was the death of all women who believed there was such a thing as common ground between a man and a woman.

  Chapter 12

  When the Chameleon heard Filip Petrov’s voice on the phone, he knew something was wrong.

  “What is it? What’s gone wrong, Filip?”

  “There was a shooting at Ballvaro tonight. Allegra’s disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  The Chameleon listened to Filip while he relayed what had happened. All the while his blood pressure began to rise as he puffed on his Cuban cigar.

  Nightingale missing? “Did she run, or was she taken?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” The Chameleon puffed harder, the blue smoke settling around him like a dark omen. “You disappoint me, Filip. I would expect a man in your vulnerable position to be concerned with proving his worth. You were scheduled to deliver the data tomorrow for decoding, and now—”

  “I still can. I thought you had a tracker on her.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But what if she’s already out of the country—”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “From now on, I’ll do the thinking, Filip. So you will wait to hear from me, and you had better hope that she’s close by. Without Nightingale all is lost, and if that is the case, so are you.”

  “Then I’ll wait for your call.”

  “Yes, you will. I’ll call back with her location within the hour. You see, Filip, unlike you, I never make a mistake. I’ve learned over the years to double my odds. You should try it some time.”

  When the Chameleon hung up he headed into the bowels of Minare to locate Barinski. When he reached the corridor, he heard laughter.

  He followed the laughter, and when he opened the door into the regeneration room he found Melita sitting on a table with her legs crossed eating an apple. Barinski was seated three feet away. They both looked up in surprise on hearing the door open, and when the good doctor saw who had interrupted his late-night party, he jerked to his feet, tipping over the chair.

  “This is cozy,” the Chameleon said.

  Melita continued to munch on her apple, while Barinski fumbled for his glasses, forgetting for a moment that they were riding his forehead.

  Jerking them into place, he said, “We were just talking, and—”

  “Melita, go to your room.”

  She uncrossed her legs and slid off the table. “I didn’t know I had a curfew.”

  “Go now, before I decide to give you one.”

  She walked past him, then turned. “Don’t let your imagination run wild, Father. Nigel was just telling me some stories about his years in Nuremberg. I haven’t forgotten what you’re capable of, so don’t do something irreversible. Like hang him from the rafters and flog him to death.”

  The suggestion sent Barinski’s hand to his neck, his pale skin turning blue with the suggestion—death by suffocation.

  She gave Nigel a playful wink. “I enjoyed the stories, Nigel. Thank you. If you’re still alive in the morning, I’ll see you in the laboratory.”

  When she left, the Chameleon said, “Nightingale is missing and you need to locate her for me.”

  “That shouldn’t be difficult. I’ve planned for any obstacle that should arise.”

  Somehow that wasn’t very reassuring, the Chameleon thought. He’d had nothing but setbacks since some damn fool had blown up Nescosto. He was just damn lucky that Nightingale had survived.

  The Chameleon followed Barinski out the door and into the soundproof cubicle. There, Dr. Frankenstein turned on the high-frequency tracking monitor. It took only a matter of minutes for the transmitter to lock on its target and pinpoint her location.

  The good news was, Nightingale was still in Budapest. The bad news was, her progesterone levels were over the roof.

  “It seems you didn’t plan for every obstacle, Barinski. Whoever she’s with is getting the ride of his life.”

  She stripped off his shorts, and then she was back, straddling him and turning him inside out with her warm body.

  “Maybe we should slow down.”

  It wasn’t something Marco Toriago would have said. But then again, Toriago had never had a problem finishing what he’d started.

  Ash was turned on, stone hard and hungry, but the question still remained, could he deliver the goods and bring it home?

  “It’s been a while for me,” she whispered against his lips, then raised up, slid forward, and slowly swallowed him up as she settled in his lap again. “If I’m rushing you, I’m sorry.”

  It’s been a while.

  More common ground.

  “Have you ever watched a thunderstorm?” she asked.

  “I suppose I have.”

  She was smiling down at him. “Most of the thunderstorms I’ve watched start out with a lightning show. You know, fast and quick. Explosive.”

  “Explosive, yeah. I can relate to collateral damage.”

  She sat up, then slowly fed him back inside her.

  “And how does a thunderstorm relate to us?” he asked.

  “Maybe if we’re lucky lightning will strike twice. You know, since I’m in such a rush this time.”

  Hell, he was praying that he could pull off one explosion. And she was already planning for the next rain cloud.

  “Are you going to be all right? I mean those bruises are—”

  “Waterlogged, and I feel fine. Better than fine. I’m not as fragile as I look. And I’m with the Boy Scout, remember? I think I’m in good hands.”

  Toriago was the one with good hands. They might have the same tools, but they used them differently. Hell, he hadn’t used them at all in a year.

  Ash slid his hands over her ass and began to move, setting the rhythm in long, swift motions that sent her moaning and arching her hips.

  The pace established, she set the tone, kissing him and touching him, and setting him on fire—lighting the fuse for the explosion that would surely take his head off one way or the other.

  Her lips were parted, her eyes focused on him. Her hands were on his shoulders, her long legs hugging him so tight.

  God, she was beautiful, and he had never wanted any woman as much as he wanted her right now.

  Her warm breasts were teasing his chest as they rose in and out of the water with her rapid hip action. He closed his eyes a moment, moaned with the pleasure she was giving him. He felt her body begin to spasm and it sucked him deeper inside her.

  The pressure built, dragging him down that familiar road. He let go at that moment, and a guttural groan followed him into the frenzy of two bodies engaged in the dance of life. He was right about the rush going to his head.

  He rode it out, that moment when life and death has no meaning, just the euphoria of feeling immortal if only for a matter of minutes.

  She was clinging to him as he spilled into her, and when he felt her climax his body went into overdrive as her heat swelled him and milked him like a gentle machine propelled by nothing more than mutual need.

  But it wouldn’t end there. The storm had just begun to settle when she raised her head. Rotating her hips on him, she said, “Anything that feels this good should become a habit, or maybe it
has to do with the perfect fit. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re in the driver’s seat.”

  She smiled, touched his cheek, then bent and kissed him. “Care to take another spin around the block? By the feel of things, you’re up for it. Objections?”

  “I can’t think of any.”

  She was right, they were a perfect fit in more ways than one. And she was right about something else, too. Lightning did strike twice, and this time the storm raged for an hour.

  Jaz wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bed and tucked her in. She had partied hard, as they say, only it hadn’t been on too much wine. The truth was she’d gorged herself on too much of a good thing, and Ash Kelly was that good thing.

  She wasn’t going to get all starry-eyed and crazy. They’d had sex. Great, thunderstorm sex, and she was grateful to Ash for that, and so much more.

  She was beginning to feel that if there was a way to fix this, he would find it.

  “Need anything?” he asked as he covered her with the sheet.

  “No.”

  “Okay. You rest, and I’ll be back soon.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out for a smoke. I won’t be gone long. When I get back, if you’re still awake, we’ll talk.”

  “Want to give me a hint about what so I can start preparing? My memory isn’t too reliable, remember?”

  He bent and kissed her. “I think you know more than you realize. It’s up to me to ask the right questions. Trust me.”

  Trust me.

  A few days ago she would have rejected that offer. No, a few hours ago. But now it was something she wanted, as much as she wanted to believe that there was some way for her to repair the damage she’d done to the SDECE.

  She fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, and with it came a number of disjointed dreams—beginnings with no ends, and ends that had no foundation.

  She was in a chair, her wrists strapped down, and her ankles manacled with iron. The room was bright, and the voice…it kept badgering her.

  “No more,” she pleaded, then moaned because the bright light hurt her eyes. She wanted the voice to go away and leave her alone. But it was always there, like a record being replayed over and over again.

  She fought the dream, then succumbed to the face behind the voice—a face of an animal with unnatural eyes. The face, the voice, the parroting phrases.

  “No more, Cyrus. Stop it, please, you’re killing me. No more. Please, no more. Not again. No, don’t do that again. Not that… Oh, God, please!”

  “Jaz? Jaz, wake up.”

  She jerked awake, and when she saw Ash seated beside her she sat up quickly. She felt as if she’d just run a mile, and her chest was heaving with each breath she took.

  “I fell asleep.”

  “Understandable. You’re exhausted. I take it you were dreaming about Cyrus. You mentioned his name.”

  “He was doing it again.”

  He stroked her hair away from her face. “Doing what?”

  “He keeps saying the same thing over and over. Making me repeat it.” She grabbed her head. “If I get it wrong…”

  “What happens if you get it wrong?”

  “He hurts me.”

  “How does he hurt you?”

  “I’m strapped in a chair, and there are all these wires. They’re taped all over me. If I don’t repeat the letters in the right order the wires hurt.”

  “Electric shock.” He swore, then stood and walked away. When he turned around, he said, “Tell me about the letters.”

  “I don’t remember them, but that’s crazy. I know them. I know I do.”

  Jaz shivered and Ash sat back down and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She looked up at him. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

  “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  “Cyrus called it ‘antiterrorist conditioning’.”

  “There’s been some studies done on regenerating agents. It’s a process of pulling old data out and replacing it with new information. In order for us to know if that’s what we’re dealing with here, I’m going to have to get you back to the agency as soon as possible.”

  She pushed away from him. “I can’t go back to the SDECE.”

  “Then I’ll take you to Onyxx.”

  “Onyxx is NSA.”

  “I know.”

  “I thought you said you were working for the SDECE.”

  “I am now, but I was NSA a week ago.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s not important. The important thing is to get you into the hands of someone who knows how this regeneration works.”

  She shook her head. “No. I won’t be a guinea pig in some laboratory again.”

  “I understand how you feel, but—”

  “How could you? You have no idea what I went through. Hell, I don’t even remember half of it.”

  “Once I find the disk, we’ll—”

  “The one I can’t remember stealing.” Jaz felt like her entire world was coming apart. “I would never commit treason.”

  He stood. “But you did, honey. You just don’t remember doing it.”

  Jaz buried her face in her hands. Suddenly, she realized something, and she brought her head up slowly. “That’s your mission? Recover the disk I stole, and then what?”

  He hesitated and that’s when she knew what his answer was going to be.

  “Recover the disk data, and…you.”

  “Then that’s why I’m here. You need me to find the disk.”

  “The disk isn’t intact anymore. The minute you stole it it started to self destruct. On top of that it was encrypted. The SDECE thinks it vaporized before it could be decoded. It could be the case. There hasn’t been any terrorist activity directed at them. But Stillman thinks it’s still out there. Is it?”

  “How do I know? I can’t even remember stealing it.”

  “Salavich is a decoder. You’re here with Filip. Those odds are hard to refute.”

  “Is Stillman your commander now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then call him and let me talk to him,” Jaz suggested.

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s written you off as a traitor, and he’ll send someone after you if I refuse to bring you in.”

  “And you’re refusing?”

  “At the moment, yes.”

  All of her trust in Ash Kelly suddenly died. “You’ve been playing me from the beginning.”

  “No.” He came back and sat on the edge of the bed. “In the beginning I thought you were Allegra Nightingale.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I never lied.”

  “You think I’m a traitor just like Stillman does. And Chanler.”

  “You don’t believe that. You know what I think. I just can’t prove it at the moment. I’m not going to sell you out, or turn you over until I have all the facts.” He reached out to touch her, but she backed away.

  “You’re going to have to trust me, Jaz. I’m all you’ve got.”

  “And what if you don’t find the data on that disk?”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “Not if I can’t remember what I did with it.” She was so frustrated she wanted to scream. Softly, she said, “Either way, I’ll still be a traitor in the eyes of the SDECE. If you bring me back, the best I can hope for is that they’ll kill me quick, but they won’t. They’ll lock me away.”

  He was back on his feet again, this time pacing the room. He was becoming as frustrated as her now. “It’s a mess, but like I said, I’m working on it.”

  “I can’t live in a cell.”

  That stopped him in his tracks. He was looking at her now, but his thoughts were somewhere else, and she knew where. He’d spent time in prison and he knew what it was like.

  “You’ve been in a cage. I don’t know why you were there, or how you b
ecame an agent, but you know what prison life feels like, and you know what happens to agents who are branded a traitor and locked up. I’m twenty-eight years old.” Her heart was racing. “My bones will be picked daily, as well as my brain.”

  “What are you asking?”

  “Promise me that you won’t let that happen. Promise me that if this can’t be fixed you’ll do what needs to be done.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Promise me that you’ll kill me.”

  Merrick landed in Washington, and drove past his apartment building on his way to Sarah Finny’s flower shop. It was past midnight, but he didn’t care, he needed to see her.

  When he’d phoned her from Paris and found out she was alive and unharmed, he’d felt such relief that he had collapsed in a chair. It had taken him several seconds to regain his voice, and when he had, he was sure that Sarah had sensed his fears.

  She’d told him that she’d taken Cleo, the cat, home with her because she thought she was lonely. That she’d heard about the apartment fire, and that she was sorry.

  Merrick parked his car and crossed the street. He saw no lights on above the flower shop. She was probably asleep. He rang the doorbell anyway.

  The intercom light came on several minutes later, then he heard her voice.

  “Yes, who is it?”

  “Adolf. Can I come up, Sarah?”

  “Adolf? Ah…of course. Come up.”

  The safety door made a click. Merrick swung it open and took the steps two at a time. He didn’t have to knock. She had the door open when he reached the landing, standing there barefoot wearing a sexy pale yellow robe over a flimsy nightgown.

  “I know it’s late, but I just got in from the airport.”

  “It’s all right. Come in.”

  He stepped inside. It was the second time he’d been in her apartment. She’d cooked him dinner one night months ago.

  He took off his coat, and she took it from him and hung it on the coat tree. She headed into the kitchen and turned on the light.

  “Would you like something to drink, or maybe you’re hungry?” She turned around and that’s when he knew he’d made a mistake coming up.

  “Sarah, I…I shouldn’t have stopped by so late. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”