“And erase the memory of us having great sex? I don’t think so.” His eyes burned with intensity.
“It was great sex, wasn’t it?” She looked at him and grinned. The idea they might do it again sometime hovered unspoken in the air between them.
“Damn right.”
The sharp tap of metal on glass had her sucking back a scream.
A masked man dressed entirely in black stood outside the driver’s side window pointing a lethal-looking pistol straight at Matt’s chest. They’d made a mistake. A deadly one.
* * *
As a soldier, Sergio Raminski had killed people. He’d lined Scarlett Stone up in his sights and pulled the trigger, more than willing to end her life. But seeing Angel LeMay spread out like a piece of meat had torn apart his soul. He’d thought he could handle it. Killing someone should be worse than violation. But it wasn’t.
He hadn’t really expected Dorokhov to rape the girl. But he’d done nothing to stop it.
Because he’d kill you.
Didn’t matter. Raminski was going to burn in hell for this. He’d done it. He’d kidnapped a woman who knew nothing about what was going on, who’d only wanted to attend a pretty party and meet an attractive man. They could have made love. Instead, she’d been tied up, beaten, drugged and raped all because her so-called friend had wanted to get the dirt on his boss. Foolish amateur. Ruining carefully laid plans with a single stroke of ignorance.
Scarlett Stone should be dead. She should be hurting.
His FBI contact had approached him on a street only days after he’d arrived in DC. Said he’d seen through the shine of the cleaned-up image the powers-that-be had created for their new ambassador. This stranger had understood the man was merciless and brutal. It was as if he’d read Sergio’s mind and knew exactly how desperate he was to escape the dangerous treadmill of Russian politics and diplomacy. He’d fed the guy some basic information. Small stuff. Minor stuff. Schedule details. Personnel details. Nothing that mattered. Then he’d copied some files.
That had crossed the line.
They’d both known it.
He saw the white, stone house on the canal and turned into Fletcher’s Cove. It was quiet. Doubly so, in the early hours of Christmas morning.
A nondescript, burgundy sedan was parked there and Raminski pulled up beside it in one of the embassy’s official Cadillacs.
The window of the sedan rolled slowly down. “Any trouble?”
“Nyet.”
“You have the girl?”
Raminski nodded to the trunk. She was dressed and warm and safer in there than anywhere else.
“Where does he think you are right now?”
“Driving her back to the warehouse.” He kept his face expressionless. The fact he’d taken her to Dorokhov in the first place made his gut ache.
“You have GPS on this vehicle?”
“I disabled it.” He shrugged. “I want to defect. Now. Tonight.” His fingers gripped the wheel. The idea of going back…of putting this woman back in her cell, was abhorrent. He couldn’t do it.
“Sure, sure.” The man nodded. The mist from his breath floated out of the window. “There is an alternative…you could kill Dorokhov.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean take a rifle and blow his brains out. You’re a sniper. You know where he’s going to be at seven AM. He’s too egotistical and arrogant not to show up. There’s a direct line of sight from the top of the National Art Gallery, East Building. I can get you on that roof. The FBI will leave you alone and let you escape. You return to your embassy full of woe and no one will suspect you. Give it a few weeks and you can meet some girl. Fall in love. I guarantee I can get you a green card.”
Raminski stared at the dark reflections on the canal. It was tempting. He wouldn’t need to defect. He wouldn’t need to change his identity or never talk to his family members back home again. They’d expect him to spy for them, of course, but he’d make sure he fed them nothing of value or disinformation. He’d make himself so useless they wouldn’t care if he spied or not. And the idea of putting a bullet through that fat bastard’s head… “Why don’t you do it?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’m not that good a shot, and we can’t be seen to take direct action unless we want to start a war. We need plausible deniability. You have your rifle?”
Raminski nodded. He’d stashed his long gun in this car after the shooting in the park. Diplomatic plates meant it was virtually impossible for the Americans to search.
“What about the girl?” Raminski nodded toward the trunk.
“We’ll transfer her to my car. I’ll take her back to her parents as soon as I can.”
Sadness and regret enveloped him. “She’ll sleep for a few more hours.” His throat was suddenly gritty. Alive, Dorokhov would always be a threat to him, and to Angel LeMay. Dead, it would be over. He nodded and stuck out his hand across the narrow gap. “You have a deal.”
* * *
“Fuck.” Matt couldn’t believe he’d made such a rookie error. Regan—it had to be Regan—had spotted the tail and circled around behind them. He raised both his hands and spread them over the wheel. “Distracted by great sex.”
The dark figure rapped the glass again and pointed to Scarlett.
“Put your hands where he can see them.”
Slowly she raised her hands and laid them against the dash.
He’d let his guard down. Gotten cocky.
“Are we dead, Matt?”
The fear in her voice drove spikes through his heart.
“Depends,” he muttered. “Don’t do anything rash. He’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
The man eased open the driver’s side door and then stood back, out of range. After a few tense seconds the figure swore and raised his stocking mask. “Lazlo?” It was Regan, looking pissed. “Nice to see you aren’t dead. But what the hell are doing following me, and,” his voice dropped to low vibrating fury as he took in Scarlett, “bringing a suspected criminal with you?”
“I’m not a suspected criminal—”
“I saw the video, princess, which was Merry Christmas to me on account of the heels and the lace panties, but it doesn’t change the fact you were snooping illegally on what is technically foreign soil.”
“If it’s foreign soil why do you care so much?” Scarlett retorted.
“Stop.” Matt didn’t know whether or not this man was the traitor. His instincts said not, but he wasn’t leaving Scarlett’s survival up to chance.
Regan had been a newly minted agent fourteen years ago, landing a plumb first assignment. He certainly didn’t fit the profile of a classic spy. The guy wasn’t narcissistic and he sure as hell wasn’t an underachiever. He’d gone from the military to the FBI and, despite his acerbic wit, everybody Matt knew liked him. “Frazer just called you?”
“How the hell do you know that?” Regan’s eyes narrowed.
“He told you the target for surveillance is Andrei Dorokhov? And that you need to be in position within the next hour.”
Regan’s eyes flicked between them. He kept his mouth shut, the way a good agent should when questioned about an open case.
“Show me your phone and I can clear this mess up right now.” Matt eased out of the car, and Jon Regan took a step back.
Regan took out his cell but didn’t hand it over.
“Fine. Call Frazer and ask him what’s going on,” Matt urged. Regan looked down, and it was all the distraction Matt needed. He kicked the gun out of the man’s hand and had him down on the ground, face pressed into the asphalt. He grabbed both wrists and held them firmly behind his back. “Grab the phone, Scarlett. Check the call history.”
Matt started rifling through the man’s pockets, searching for another cell phone.
“I don’t know what the fuck you think you are doing, Lazlo, but I am going to kick your ass and report you for this. And then I’m going to kick your ass again.”
Matt could
feel the fury locking the muscles in the other man’s body. He was going to get his ass kicked, but that was the least of his worries.
There was no second phone. No burner. Good news.
“Nothing on the outgoing call log except for one…” She reeled off a number that Matt knew belonged to TacOps.
“My boys are going to be here any minute, Lazlo. You really going to throw your career away over a piece of ass you won’t ever see again from the inside of a jail cell?”
“Is it him?” Scarlett ignored Regan’s rant. Good for her.
Regan’s attention shifted as he seemed to hear Scarlett’s words and register the fact that his taunts had no effect.
“I don’t think so but if I’m wrong we’re both dead. Get in the car. Driver’s side and start her up. If he comes after me I want you out of here. Got it?” She hesitated, so he repeated louder, “Got it?”
She nodded and hurried to the Lexus.
Regan stiffened beneath him as Matt let him go and took a big step back. It was a leap of faith. “Talk to Frazer. Do it fast so you know what we’re telling you isn’t some crazy bullshit, because trust me, it sounds like it’s coming from someone who’s been mainlining LSD while smoking a joint.”
Regan stood slowly, and went over and picked up the gun Matt had kicked out of his hand. Matt didn’t try to stop him. No agent liked losing their weapon so there would be reparation. Regan’s eyes told him that.
Matt dialed Frazer and tossed the cell back to Regan who caught it one-handed.
He snapped the phone to his ear. “I got Lazlo and the Stone girl sitting outside my office and unless you give me a reason not to I’m going to smack the crap out of the one and lock up the other.” His eyes widened and his head went up. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
He tossed the phone back. Matt caught it but didn’t drop his weapon or lower his aim. He put the cell to his ear. “Boss?”
“This wasn’t the plan, Lazlo.”
“I fucked up. Is he clean?”
“I think so.”
Think was faint praise. Regan was watching him carefully.
“Tell him everything about the case, but nothing about the evidence leads we’re following. Frankly anyone who has remained hidden for this long is smart enough to fake all the right responses at all the right times. Let him carry on setting up the surveillance on the meet. I want to see how this plays out,” said Frazer. “Watch your back. I’ll see you in DC.”
Matt stared at the phone and then his head snapped back as Regan hit him square in the nose. Blood gushed. Scarlett squealed. Matt didn’t even see the guy move. Fuck.
“That’s payback for getting my clothes dirty.” Regan shook out his fist, which probably hurt as bad as Matt’s face. “The rest will come after we sort out this shitfest you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Matt spat onto the tarmac but said nothing. Regan wanted to go toe-to-toe with him, he was more than willing and able.
“We’re wasting time,” Scarlett said irritably from the driver’s seat.
Jon Regan’s smile was sharp. “Just drive the car into the compound, sweetheart.” He held up his finger. “One question. Black or red panties today?”
Scarlett gave him the bird. The car door swung closed as she pulled away.
They started walking toward the TacOps building. “Her dad might really be innocent?”
“Definite possibility.”
Regan blew out a breath and shook his head, staring down at the ground. “God. I had my doubts back then. But I was just the FNG and Stone confessed. Shit.”
“One thing,” Matt said quietly. “She doesn’t know that the LeMay girl hasn’t been found yet.”
“Great.” Regan’s eyes shot to his.
They hit the gates and Scarlett stood beside the Lexus, arms crossed, clearly unsure what she should do next.
“She’s a feisty little thing. Let me know when you’re done with her, I might give her a—”
Matt smacked him on the side of the head. Regan laughed as he rubbed the sore spot. “Yeah, I figured that was the lay of the land. Lay being the operative word.”
Matt shook his head. Bringing Scarlett into the lions’ den was a big mistake, but he couldn’t afford to let her out of his sight, and he now needed to keep a close eye on Regan. Good thing she didn’t carry a weapon.
“Stand there while I get the wand,” said Regan.
Yeah. Not.
Matt followed the guy inside with Scarlett on his heels, grabbing onto the back of his t-shirt as if she was scared he was going to disappear on her. His vest chaffed against his skin. Regan ran the wand over their bodies. Scarlett grinned when he nodded reluctantly for them to enter.
She put her hand in her jacket pocket and pulled out a small, flat gizmo. “You’re going to have to update your technology.”
“Gimme,” Regan demanded. He held it up and examined it in the light. He peered down his nose at her as he ran the wand directly over it and got nothing. “This really works?”
“Transmission radius of three hundred feet. Will jump on any cell signal and piggyback a ride home. It’s not activated, which is why you didn’t pick it up.”
Regan looked impressed. “You know I have to strip-search you now, right?”
Scarlett backed up three steps and hit Matt in full retreat.
Regan’s grin flashed. Oh, he was definitely enjoying his revenge.
“Trust me,” Matt said. “I checked her for bugs.”
“All over?”
“All over.” He put his hand on Scarlett’s shoulder and squeezed.
Her cheeks went bright enough to match her name. She straightened away from him, going all prim and proper. “I can wait in the car if that makes you all feel safer.”
“No.” He and Regan said together, probably for different reasons.
Scarlett held out her hand for the bug. “I’ll leave it in my jacket in the car.” Regan reluctantly handed it back.
Matt held the door wide while she ran back and put her jacket in the car. The yoga pants molded her skin and left nothing to the imagination.
Regan watched her move. “Nice ass.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Oh, you’re going to want to.” The man grinned unrepentantly. He passed Matt a paper towel to mop up the blood on his face.
Scarlett came back looking at them both warily. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Regan led them through to another room at the back just as two other men walked in the door. “What’s up, boss?” Both sets of eyes went to Scarlett and though it took a moment to get past the hat and the vest, all four pupils flared as they recognized her.
She shook her head.
“We need surveillance on the Capitol Building steps, ASAP,” Regan told them.
Matt checked his watch. “Meet is set for seven AM.”
Everyone started bitching and complaining. “Enough.” Regan said. “White van’s already loaded. Grab your weapons and vests and let’s move it. We’ll discuss on the way. Complete radio silence on this one. Let’s go.”
“We’ll follow in Frazer’s car. He’s meeting us there,” Matt told him.
Scarlett started shivering and the look Regan gave her was not unkind. “Park behind the American Indian Museum on Maryland. Keep out of sight of the Capitol Building.”
“Roger that.” Matt nodded, took Scarlett’s hand as they strode out of there. They had to move fast, and he wanted to check the location of all players. See if Rooney had eyes on Branson yet. End this thing.
Chapter Eighteen
Raminski lowered his FBI ball cap as he was led to the top of the NAG’s East Building by a security guard who talked constantly and kept stopping to catch his breath and hitch up his pants.
Raminski wore shades, a windbreaker with FBI on the back, black shirt, black boots. He kept his mouth firmly shut. The guard led him where he needed to go, exactly as the FBI agent had promised. Up the stairs into a tower that was e
mpty of artwork, then unlocking a secure door onto the roof.
“This is it.” The guard turned and looked at him. Excitement lit his eyes then dimmed when Raminski didn’t respond. “I, er, guess I better get back to my post,” the man said nervously.
Raminski gave him a curt nod and waited for him to leave. Then he walked out onto the modern-looking structure, all sharp lines and acute angles, grateful it was still dark. He stared at the Capitol Building approximately fifteen hundred feet away. The breeze was a light, four knots, coming from the north. He laid out flat on the concrete and lined up the shot. It was a tough one. Not the distance so much as the swaying tree branches that might deflect a bullet. He stood and shifted position. Found a better angle. He checked his watch and prepared to wait.
* * *
The surveillance van was cold with the engine off. They were parked up snug beside the American Indian Museum with a clear view of the Capitol Building through the windshield. Scarlett shivered despite her layers, watching the laptop screen which sat on her lap. She’d put the battery back in her phone because they wanted Dorokhov to believe she was genuinely going to show up and knew the Russians were tracking the signal.
They’d followed the van as it had sped most of the way here using red lights and sirens, turning them off just as they hit the 14th Street Bridge. In less than five minutes, Jon Regan’s team had seamlessly planted listening devices under some of the benches and on lampposts at the bottom of the steps of the Capitol Building. Parabolic microphones were aimed in that direction, as were video cameras.
The scene itself was utterly transfixing. Deep navy sky, cold, white spotlights making the dome of the Capitol Building shine. A Christmas tree glittered on the grass below the steps, all beautifully rendered in the reflecting pool. As iconic images of America went, it was pretty soul inspiring.
There was a homeless guy asleep beneath a bench on the south side, but apart from that the streets were empty. The Mall quiet. In most homes across the country children were getting up, eager to see what Santa had brought them. Scarlett had been eleven the last time she’d done that. She’d been a late developer, happy to cling to the fantasy until her bubble had been shattered with nuclear force, and her father had been taken from her.
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