Vaughn’s heart leaped out of his mouth and hit the floor at his feet. All eyes in the room turned to focus on him, and once again, he imagined that they could all read the guilt scrawled across his face. Vaughn glanced at Marianna, whose eyes were wide. Suddenly he realized that his breathing was unusually loud.
“I . . . I’m sorry. . . . What was the question?” Vaughn asked, taking a couple of shaky steps toward the family. He fought for his good old CIA composure but found it curiously lacking in the face of disapproving parents.
“I believe what my wife is trying to ask is how would you feel about spending this last day with Marianna?” President Toscana explained. He stood up from his chair and went over to the wet bar, where he poured himself a tall glass of water from a silver pitcher. “Her mother and I have meetings to attend all day, and since it is Marianna’s last day in New York, we were hoping you wouldn’t mind escorting her around the city. I’m sure there are still a few sights she would like to see.”
Vaughn knew he couldn’t turn the president down. It was his assignment, after all—he was to stick by Marianna’s side. But after what had happened between them the night before, he’d spent hours berating himself for his behavior and promising himself nothing more would happen. He had believed that the day would be spent with her family and thought he would be safe from temptation. This new development was not good.
Marianna and her mother and father all stared at Vaughn as if he were an escaped lunatic, waiting for the answer they knew he was obligated to give.
“Agent Vaughn?” President Toscana prompted.
Vaughn snapped back to attention. Well, if they were going to force him . . . He took a deep breath, looked at Marianna, and gave her a lopsided smile. Her features instantly relaxed and she smiled back.
“Of course,” Vaughn said. “I would be happy to take Marianna wherever she’d like to go.”
* * *
”I can’t believe of all the restaurants in this city, you want to eat here,” Vaughn said with a laugh. He stepped away from the door at the Second Avenue Deli to let an elderly couple pass. The small deli was bustling with people clamoring for attention at the counter and crowding around the chrome tables that seemed to be right on top of one another. The acrid scents of frying grease, strong coffee, and sour pickles mingled in the air to create a unique aroma.
“They’re supposed to have the best pastrami in the world,” Marianna said as the hostess snapped her fingers in the air to get their attention. Marianna followed the woman to a table smack in the center of the restaurant. Vaughn had to walk on tiptoe and turn to the side to maneuver past the men at the next table.
“I don’t take you as a pastrami type of girl,” Vaughn said as he sat. He pulled his arms in close to his body to avoid bumping into the hulking guy to his left and the diminutive woman to his right. Quarters were so tight he didn’t even bother to attempt coat removal.
“I’m not as predictable as you seem to think,” Marianna said, raising one eyebrow at him. She effortlessly slipped out of her black jacket, letting it fall over the back of her chair.
Vaughn’s pulse skittered under her flirtatious gaze, and he smiled. If she wanted to pretend she was mysterious, he would play along, but the more time he spent with Marianna, the more he felt he already knew her. She was a fun-loving, risk-taking, spoiled rich girl who was used to getting what she wanted. But she also cared about her family and her country and had a vulnerable side that showed itself every so often—a side he was grateful to have seen.
“What’ll ya have?” a harried-looking waitress asked, pulling a pencil from behind her ear as she approached the table.
“Two pastrami sandwiches with extra pickles,” Marianna said before Vaughn could open his mouth.
“You got it, toots,” the waitress said, grabbing their grease-spotted menus.
“Oh, so now you’re ordering for me?” Vaughn asked.
Marianna sat forward, resting both elbows on the table. “Like I said, I’m unpredictable,” she told him.
“You don’t even know if I like pastrami,” Vaughn said.
“Don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had it,” Vaughn admitted, leaning back in his chair.
“What? Are you insane?” Marianna blurted out, earning a few irritated glances from their neighbors. “Well, you are going to thank me.”
Vaughn smiled at her indignation and realized he hadn’t stopped smiling for more than five seconds all morning. Playing Marianna’s body guard was getting to be more like a vacation than a mission.
“Sheesh, Michael, you only live once,” Marianna said, fiddling with her napkin. “And only for so long.”
Vaughn’s heart thumped and his face fell. He reached across the table and took Marianna’s hand, this time not allowing himself the internal debate that had preceded all earlier touching. Marianna glanced up at him but then quickly looked away.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he told her, squeezing her palm. “We got the bad guys, remember? You’re safe.”
As far as Vaughn knew, no one had told Marianna about the bodyguards’ claim that the assassin assigned to take out her father was still at large. It was a fact everyone agreed she didn’t need to know.
“For now,” Marianna said quietly as the waitress deposited two heaping platters of food on their table.
Vaughn realized for the first time exactly how profound an effect the last few days had had on Marianna. When he had first graduated from the Farm, the danger he faced every day had affected his dreams for weeks. It had been difficult to sleep and eat and think like a normal human being. All that had faded for him now, but it wasn’t so easy for a regular person to get over.
“Hey, we’re supposed to be having fun today, remember?” Vaughn said, looking down at the hulking sandwich on his plate. “Although I might need you to rush me to the hospital for a bypass after this.”
Marianna laughed. “Come on, try it,” she said.
“That’s a lot of meat,” Vaughn said, picking up the huge sandwich with both hands.
“If you finish it, I’ll let you pick our next activity,” Marianna told him, her eyes dancing.
“Really?” Vaughn said teasingly. “You sure about that?”
“Absolutely,” Marianna shot back. Her expression told him that there was nothing he could suggest that could intimidate her.
We’ll see about that, Vaughn thought. He took a huge bite of his sandwich and his mouth exploded with the tangy, smoky taste.
“Oh . . . wow,” he said, his mouth full.
“See? I told you,” Marianna said, lifting her hand toward him. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted pastrami.”
* * *
There was no sound in the world that Vaughn loved more than sharpened blades slicing against freshly Zambonied ice. He tipped his head back, letting the breeze created by his speed whip past his face as he took another lap around the perimeter of the ice at Wollman Rink. The skating facility in Central Park was packed, as always, with kids and tourists and packs of teenagers, many of them amateurs who lost their footing every five feet and hit the ground in tangles of limbs and scarves and cameras. They all recognized the odd expert when they saw him, and many of them were watching Vaughn, slipping out of his way whenever he zipped by.
While most of the skaters were keeping an eye on their feet, Vaughn was keeping an eye on Marianna. She was standing at the edge of the rink, clinging to the railing while trying to look nonchalant. Every time he passed her, she swore she was going to get on the ice the next time he came around. So far he’d done five laps.
“All right, that’s it,” Vaughn said, kicking up a sprinkling of snowy dust as he stopped in front of her. “Are you really telling me that you’ve never ice-skated before?”
“Not never,” Marianna said, her ankles wobbling as she stood up straight. “Just not since I was six years old.”
“It’ll come back to you,” Vaughn said, hol
ding out his arms. “Come on.”
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Marianna said with a smile. She stepped toward him and clutched his elbows.
“Hey, you said if I finished my sandwich—”
“How was I supposed to know you could eat something that size?” Marianna asked. “Your waist is smaller than mine.”
“Yeah. Not quite,” Vaughn replied, checking out her tiny midsection. “Okay. Are you ready?”
“I suppose.”
Vaughn skated back a few feet, pulling Marianna across the ice. She leaned all her weight on him, bending forward at the waist, staring at her feet. As she inched forward, she tried to stand up straight, but Vaughn felt her pulling back, falling backward. Every time she lost her balance slightly, her grip on him tightened a bit more.
“I feel like a complete incompetent,” Marianna said to the ice.
“You’re doing fine,” Vaughn said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t about to skate them both into a wall. “Try to look up. Look where you’re going instead of concentrating on your feet.”
Marianna did as she was told and rolled her shoulders back, staring into Vaughn’s eyes. For a moment, Vaughn let himself gaze back at her. All the screeching, laughing, flailing skaters around them grew muted and dull. Vaughn’s heart raced.
Then she fell.
“Ah!” Marianna shouted, her feet going out from under her.
Vaughn grasped her arms and caught her before she could hit the ice. He bent at the knees, gripping her awkwardly, suspending her a few inches from the cold, grainy surface.
“Don’t let go!” Marianna said through her laughter. “If you let me go I’ll have to kill you.”
“I gotcha,” Vaughn said, laughing as well. He pulled her up awkwardly, his skates sliding around while her feet flailed crazily, trying to find solid footing.
“Okay, that was embarrassing,” Marianna said, straightening her jacket as she stood, one arm still gripping Vaughn.
“You know, you were right. You really are bad at this,” Vaughn told her.
Marianna squinted at him. “Maybe you’re just a bad teacher.”
“Is that a challenge?” Vaughn retorted.
“I don’t know,” Marianna said, lifting her shoulders. “I just think that if I had the proper instruction I wouldn’t be falling on my butt.”
“All right, that’s it.” Vaughn said, turning so he was standing next to her. “By the end of this day, you will be an expert.”
Marianna grinned and hooked her arm through his. For the next half hour, Vaughn gave her every instruction and tip he had ever received when he was a boy first learning how to skate. He taught her how to keep her feet under her, how to lean forward only slightly to keep her balance, how to push off with her toe. Marianna almost hit the deck a couple more times, but Vaughn always caught her. By the time the ice closed down for its scheduled Zamboni break, Marianna was able to skate halfway around the perimeter without clinging to Vaughn.
“Maybe you are a good teacher,” Marianna said as they stepped off the ice.
“You’re a quick study,” Vaughn told her.
“So, what do we do next?” Marianna asked, wobbling inside to the crowded locker area.
Vaughn checked his watch and was surprised to see how late it had gotten. “We should actually head back,” he said. “You need to get ready for the event tonight, and I need to be debriefed.”
Marianna leaned back against the end of a row of lockers. She sighed and cast her gaze to the ground. “It’s almost over,” she said. She caught Vaughn’s quizzical glance. “My trip to the States.”
Vaughn knew Marianna was going home tomorrow, but with everything else that had been going on in the past few days, he hadn’t had time to think about what that actually meant. She was going home—and he would probably never see her again.
“Well, this is a fun moment,” Marianna said, breaking the morose silence. “I’m going to go to the ladies’ room.”
“I’ll come with,” he said.
“Of course you will,” Marianna replied with a smile.
She sat down on the bench, took off her skates, and changed back into her boots. Vaughn changed quickly as well and followed her to the end of the hallway that led to the bathrooms. Keeping an eye on the door, he waited by the corner while she went inside.
There was a heaviness in Vaughn’s chest that he couldn’t explain away. The idea of Marianna’s departure had hit him harder than he could have imagined. How had this happened in two short days?
Vaughn stood up straight when Marianna emerged from the ladies’ room. At the same moment a tall man with brown, close-cropped hair came out of the men’s room across the way. He was wearing a red parka and jeans and looked just like every other father roaming around the place, but something about him felt familiar to Vaughn, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. As Marianna pushed her arms into her jacket, she dropped her scarf, and the tall man bent to pick it up for her. Vaughn instantly started forward, but a group of toddling kids blocked his way. Marianna smiled and thanked the man, and the two exchanged a few words—from what Vaughn could see, it looked like standard pleasantries, but he could hear nothing over the din in the locker room. Finally the man stepped away from Marianna, getting lost in the crowd just as Vaughn arrived at her side. He attempted to get a good look at the tall man’s face, but he turned away before Vaughn could study his features.
“Everything okay?” Vaughn asked, watching the man’s back as he retreated.
“Fine,” Marianna said. She looped the scarf around her neck and smiled. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah. Let’s get you back to your parents,” Vaughn said. Only when the man was well out of sight did Vaughn’s muscles start to relax. The goose bumps that had formed along his arms began to subside.
“Oh, yay,” Marianna said sarcastically.
Vaughn forced a smile and started for the door. Something about that man had set him off, and now all he wanted was to get Marianna back to the hotel, where there would be dozens of people watching over her. He would never admit it aloud, but considering the way he’d been feeling all day, the way his thoughts had constantly strayed from his purpose, he was no longer sure he was the best person to be protecting Marianna. In that respect, it was a good thing this mission was almost over.
Marianna reached down and entwined her fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze that was echoed in his chest.
In every other respect, he wished this mission would never end.
* * *
“We have a new lead,” Chloe told Vaughn the moment he stepped into HQ at the hotel. She crossed the room holding a slim stack of eight-by-ten photos and handed them to him. Elena and Barry both swiveled around in their chairs to catch his reaction to the breakthrough.
Vaughn shrugged out of his jacket, transferring the pictures from one hand to another. They were photos of a car lot taken from an overhead angle—probably a security camera positioned on the dealership building. Multicolored flags lined the parking lot, and each car windshield was emblazoned with a special offer in neon paint: DRIVE ME HOME TODAY! ONLY $500 DOWN!
“Okay, what’s the lead?” Vaughn asked.
“We traced the vans the kidnappers used back to this car lot in Edison, New Jersey,” Chloe explained, tapping the photo with the eraser end of her pencil. “Look at the next one.”
Vaughn flipped the top picture to the back. The next shot featured two men standing in the lot near a black van—definitely one of the vehicles used in the kidnapping. The shorter man wore a tie under his jacket and was clearly the salesman. The other wore a black leather jacket and was partially turned away from the camera. A frizzy ponytail hovered just above the back of his collar.
Vaughn went to the next photo. In this one, the man’s face was more visible. He was wearing sunglasses, but there was no doubt in his mind of who the man was. He’d seen him just two nights ago, standing at the bar at Trick, right next to the blon
d arms dealer and his mystery woman.
“Do you have these on the computer?” Vaughn asked, glancing at Elena.
“Yep.” She popped open a window on her screen, and the three photos appeared in thumbnail size.
“Enhance this one for me,” Vaughn said, pointing at the last photo.
“Vaughn, have you seen this guy?” Chloe asked as they hovered over Elena’s shoulders. Barry stood up as well, jockeying for a view as Elena enlarged the photo.
“Can you zoom in on his chin?” Vaughn asked, reaching around Elena to tap the screen.
“You got it,” she said.
Before Vaughn’s eyes the photo blurred and widened, then slowly grew more and more crisp. As the image focused, Vaughn’s blood ran cold. It was there, just as he had known it would be—a small, X-shaped scar right on the left side of the man’s chin.
And now that he was staring at the man’s face, Vaughn realized something even more horrifying: That night at the club was not the only time he had seen this man. The very same guy had been right in front of him that afternoon, just inches from Marianna. He’d cut his hair and changed his clothes, but this was definitely the man that had retrieved Marianna’s scarf for her at the rink just an hour ago. Vaughn had stood there and watched while one of Marianna’s kidnappers had brushed fingertips with her.
Vaughn threw the photographs down on the table and turned away from the computer, unable to look at the evidence of his failure.
“Vaughn! What is it?” Chloe demanded.
“This guy was at the club two nights ago,” Vaughn told her, shame seeping into his veins. “And today . . . today he actually spoke to Marianna, right in front of me.”
Vaughn clenched his jaw as he watched Chloe’s face fall. He knew what she was thinking, because he was thinking the exact same thing. He’d failed on one of the simplest missions he could have ever asked for.
He took a deep breath and looked his partner in the eye, calling up every ounce of effort to admit the truth to her and to himself.
“This man has been stalking Marianna and me for two days . . . and I didn’t even notice.”
Close Quarters Page 9