“When you find work you love, I imagine it’s hard to give it up.”
“You imagine?”
“I haven’t found mine yet. Clearly it’s not auditing pension funds or managing a rock group’s money.”
“You’d be good at restaurant management,” he said impulsively.
“Oh, I don’t know anything about that,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve never even been a waitress.”
He didn’t argue with her. But he was starting to entertain this fantasy of Lucy working at Une Nuit. She’d be there for him whenever he returned from a mission. Someone he could talk to about his work—at least in general terms. Someone who understood that his work was important and who wouldn’t begrudge him the traveling.
But that was a selfish fantasy. He couldn’t expect Lucy just to sit at home waiting patiently for him to return, never knowing where he was or what he was doing or whether he was in danger. All of the reasons he’d had for staying unattached still applied.
Once they got away from the city, it was easier for Bryan to determine that no one was following them. He did some basic evasive driving, taking exits at the last minute, pulling U-turns, zig-zagging through residential streets. But no one was tailing them. He stopped to buy gas, casually sweeping the car for tracking devices while the tank filled. Of course he didn’t find any; his unseen enemy would have had to anticipate Bryan borrowing Stash’s car. But at this point, there was no such thing as paranoia. The bad guys could figure out at any time what car Bryan was driving; by then he wanted to be well away from New York City.
He could take Lucy to a hotel, but hotels required credit cards, of which he had dozens in different names—none of them safe to use. And any hotel that operated on a cash-only basis wasn’t some place he wanted Lucy to stay.
Bryan’s satellite phone rang. His nerves already on edge, he jumped at the sound of it. He’d always been told that his location could not be traced using this phone, but he suddenly didn’t trust anything he’d ever been told by anyone.
“You aren’t going to get that?” Lucy asked.
“No.” The Caller ID screen was blank—not a good sign.
“So we’re totally on our own?”
Bryan didn’t know how to answer that. He had the might of the United States Government behind him. But he had to use a certain chain of command, and if he trusted the wrong link in the chain, they were likely both dead.
He decided, though, that he had to trust someone. And if he had to pick only one person, it would be the man currently calling himself Siberia—the man who’d trained him when he’d first moved over to Homeland Security, the man who’d been his mentor. Siberia was not a particularly likable man—his nickname wasn’t random. He was cold. But he was smart and capable, and right now, he was the only choice Bryan had.
He dialed the number. “Casanova?” the familiar voice answered on the other end of the line.
“Did you try to call me just now?”
“No. Why?”
“There’ve been some new developments.” He explained to his superior about the photograph, likely published on the Internet, and the kidnapping attempt. “I have to take her someplace safe. But the safe houses that are available aren’t safe from our own people—and unfortunately I’m more sure than ever that’s where the threat lies.”
Siberia was silent for a long time, so long that Bryan feared they’d lost their connection. Finally he spoke again. “There is a place, a new safe house that’s just come available. No one in the agency knows of it but me.”
“Where is it?”
“In the Catskills. Very isolated. Put Lucy there. Then you and I will put an end to this thing. I have some new intelligence. I believe I know now who our turncoat is. And I know how to catch her and Vargov. But it will require us working together.”
Her. So Siberia believed the traitor was Orchid. He didn’t know what to say. He’d always thought Orchid was solid. She was middle-aged, plain, unremarkable—all the things that made for a forgettable person, which was good for an agent.
“I think someone got to her with romance,” Siberia said. “She probably never had a lot of boyfriends. Women are vulnerable that way.”
Privately Bryan didn’t think women were any more vulnerable than men, whose brains started to misfire the moment a beautiful women entered the room. But he didn’t want to argue about it. Presumably Siberia had more to go on than Orchid’s gender.
He had a hard time believing Orchid would fall prey to some Romeo terrorist sympathizer. But by the nature of their work, he didn’t know her that well, so he couldn’t say for sure.
“So where is this little safe house in the woods?” He didn’t like it, but he felt he had no choice. He would have to leave Lucy alone, unprotected. But if they could end this thing once and for all, Lucy would finally be safe. And maybe his stomach, which had been twisted in knots for days, could return to normal.
Siberia gave him directions to the cabin in the Catskills, which he memorized. One of his strengths as an agent was his perfect recall. He seldom had to write anything down.
He told Lucy the plan. She didn’t seem easy with it, either, but she didn’t object. She probably thought he knew best. He wished he thought that was true.
“It’ll take two or three hours to get there,” he said. He wanted to avoid the toll roads, because often there were cameras at toll plazas. There wasn’t much chance their enemy would know what direction they’d gone, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
The countryside was beautiful, lush and green and dotted with small lakes that shimmered in the setting sun, but Bryan hardly saw it. He kept thinking of the confrontation ahead, and wondering if he would have to kill one of his comrades. And whether he would return to Lucy—or someone else would come for her, breaking the news of his demise.
Now that the shock of Lucy’s almost-kidnapping had worn off, she looked tired. A bruise had formed on her cheekbone, and he noticed her reaching up to touch it, to test the soreness. She probably hadn’t even known she had the injury until the adrenaline had worn off.
They stopped long before they neared their destination to buy provisions, choosing a crowded chain grocery store in the town of Monticello, where they weren’t likely to be noticed or remembered. Bryan included a deli sandwich Lucy could eat in the car. He wasn’t hungry, but he’d had the stew earlier. She hadn’t eaten since God knew when.
She claimed not to be hungry, either, but she did nibble at the sandwich and sip at a bottle of juice to make him happy.
It was almost nightfall by the time they reached the cabin. Bryan was glad he hadn’t had to find it in total darkness. It was up a twisty, narrow mountain road where one false turn could land a car in a ditch—or worse. He’d been relieved to see the cabin when it finally appeared around a bend. It was larger than he expected, well maintained, but old. Probably no air-conditioning or heat.
“It looks nice,” Lucy said optimistically. “I’ve never stayed in a mountain cabin. It’ll be like a vacation.”
“You should be working on your book.”
She grimaced. “Ah, yes. Scarlet offered to put me in touch with a literary agent. What are they going to think when I never write anything? Then again, I won’t be here to explain. You’ll have to tell them we broke up.”
Bryan was sad to say he hadn’t even thought that far ahead. “I dread telling the family that almost as much as telling them I’m a spy.”
“Why’s that? I’m sure women have come and gone from your life before.”
He shook his head. “My family is absolutely nuts about you. Gram is already planning the wedding. And Cullen—Ever since he found love, he thinks everyone should be matched up, married and having kids.”
“Unfortunately, not everyone has a happy ending. C’mon, let’s check this place out,” she said brightly, clearly wanting to drop the subject.
The cabin was quaint, and it had been aired and cleaned recently. They carried the groceries into the kitchen
, which was small with outdated appliances.
“I think you’ll be comfortable enough here for a few days.”
“You aren’t going to stay with me.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I have work to do.”
“Couldn’t Siberia do it?”
“This is my case. I owe it to Stungun to see it through. It’s my fault the man is dead.”
“Don’t say that. Of course it’s not your fault. You’re doing the best you can. We all are.” She slid her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck. “For that matter, it’s my fault, too. I obviously did something that gave me away to Mr. Vargov.”
“No. He was already suspicious of you. You’d come to him with the problem first, remember.”
“Well, there’s no sense in rehashing. Let’s move forward.”
“To move forward, I have to catch the person responsible.”
She sighed. “I know. I just wish we could have more time…” She sounded as if she wanted to say more, but she censored herself.
“More time for what?”
“For this.” She kissed his neck, then opened two buttons on his shirt and kissed his chest.
“Ah, Lucy. What you do to me.” He needed to leave. The sooner he took care of business, the sooner he could get back to her—and maybe figure out a way to be with her. But he couldn’t bear just dumping her here and taking off.
He wanted—no, he needed—to be with her one last time, like he needed air to breathe.
Lucy thrilled at the way he responded to her touch. She’d never known she could have such a profound effect on a man, but his smooth skin quivered as she raked her palm down the muscles of his back, and his breathing came in ragged gasps as she touched her tongue to first one of his nipples, then the other.
There was no playful banter, no teasing. Bryan took her hand and led her up a flight of stairs, where she presumed bedrooms could be found. They entered one randomly. It was tucked up under the eaves with a window facing a breathtaking sunset. The old-fashioned iron bed had an antique quilt and half a dozen pillows covered in crisp, white cases.
Bryan undressed her slowly, paying special attention to each part of her he bared. Nothing escaped his attention—not her collarbone or the inside of her elbow or her ankle. Every place he touched her or kissed became an erogenous zone. Her senses were magnified so that she discerned the texture of his lips, the warmth of his breath against her skin, the sound of her own blood pounding in her ears.
She couldn’t remember undressing him—maybe she was too engrossed in her own sensations to do it. But he ended up naked somehow, and he gently urged her onto the soft, much-washed cotton sheets, which smelled fresh, as if they’d just been pulled from the line, dried by wind and sunshine and put on the bed awaiting their arrival.
It was like making love on a cloud. The pillows were feather, and as they maneuvered on the bed, rolling this way and that, first Bryan on top, then Lucy, the pillows ended up surrounding them.
When he finally parted her legs and entered her, Lucy wanted to weep, she was so overwhelmed with the joyous sense of completion, the sense of rightness that this was where she belonged, with Bryan, in some dimension apart from embezzlers, terrorists and murderers. She wanted that more than she wanted her next breath. And as Bryan’s strokes grew faster and harder, and warm rivers of sensation coursed through her limbs, coalescing into a cyclone deep in her center, she did cry.
Because this was goodbye.
He hadn’t said it, but he didn’t need to. He was leaving. And whatever happened, they wouldn’t be together again. If he caught the traitors, they would no longer be a threat to her. She would return to her normal identity, get another job. She would cease to be Lindsay Morgan, Bryan’s hot new girlfriend. And if the unthinkable happened, if he wasn’t successful with his mission…
That alternative was too horrible to think about.
“Are you crying?” he asked a few minutes later, when their breathing had returned to something close to normal.
“No.” But the tears were evident in her voice.
“Lucy, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Oh, I’m just being silly. I know you’re leaving. I know you have to. And I’m just scared of the future, that’s all.”
“Don’t be scared. Siberia said he had a lead. We’ll catch these guys, and I’ll be fine, and I’ll come back to get you and you’ll be safe.”
“Of course everything will work out,” she said, feeling braver now that she heard the confidence in his voice. “I told you it was silly.”
“I do have to go, though.” His voice was tinged with regret.
“I know. But could you…could you just hold me until I fall asleep? And then slip away? I don’t want to watch you leave.”
“You are in a state, aren’t you?” He laughed, but it was a soft, gentle laugh, filled with fondness. He slipped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, drawing the sheet up over their naked bodies.
Lucy willed herself to relax, knowing if she didn’t, Bryan would be waiting all night for her to fall asleep. As her muscles softened, one by one, tension turned to fatigue and she managed to drop off.
When next she woke, it was dark outside, the room slightly chilly. And she was alone, the space beside her cold. She turned on a lamp and checked her watch. It was after midnight. She saw then that Bryan had taken her little superspy phone from her purse and left it on a pillow with a note. The note instructed her to keep the phone with her, and what number to call if she had an emergency.
She shivered at the thought of that. Surely no one could find her all the way up here. All that was left for her to do was wait.
She thought she remembered Bryan leaving, putting on his clothes, lightly kissing her cheek. But maybe she’d only dreamed it. Because she also remembered him saying in a hoarse whisper, “I love you, Lucy.”
Eleven
It was one of the few face-to-face meetings Bryan had had with Siberia. They met at a sidewalk café in D.C. the morning after he’d left Lucy. Each time his mind tried to wander to thoughts of her, to the way she looked when she slept, like a sexy fallen angel, he had to herd his attention back to the current time and place. If he and Siberia could solve this case, then he could think about Lucy all he wanted. Be with her, hold her, make love to her.
That was all the motivation he needed to stay focused.
“Vargov left a paper trail,” Siberia said. He was an overweight man in his fifties who hadn’t worked in the field in years due to an accident that had left him blind in one eye. His function was solely to coordinate intelligence. He wore a full, bushy beard, aviator sunglasses and a French beret, looking today more like an eccentric movie producer than a spy.
“He’s in France,” Siberia continued. “Tarantula is there now, coordinating with French intelligence agents. There’s a very good chance Vargov will be apprehended. If you want to go there as insurance, it might be a good idea.”
Bryan hesitated. He wanted to be where the action was. But the idea of going so far from Lucy made him uneasy. “I feel it’s more important to protect our witness,” he said.
“I could send a man—”
“No,” Bryan said immediately. “I don’t want another soul to know the location of that house. These guys—these terrorists, whoever they are—they’re connected. The fact that they found Lucy the first time is nothing short of amazing. I still don’t know where the picture was published.”
“It was on a Britney fan site,” Siberia said with a grimace. “I found it. Good disguise, by the way, but Ms. Miller’s face was clear.”
“So what’s left?”
“Orchid.”
Bryan was sick, thinking about his fellow agent-gone-bad. “I still can’t believe it.”
“I pray we’re wrong. We won’t know until we find her. I’m coordinating with the homicide investigators here. They think I’m CIA. I’ll know more about the time and cause of Stungun’s death soon.”
“Who was he?” Bryan asked suddenly. “Surely it doesn’t matter now.” He couldn’t stand the anonymity. He needed to put a real name to the man he’d known, a hometown, a family.
“I honestly don’t know,” Siberia said. “He was using one of the identities provided by the agency. I’m working through the chain of command to get more information. I’d like to be able to tell his family that he died defending his country—provided that’s true. We still don’t know. If he was dealing with terrorists, they’ve been known to turn on their own kind.”
The thought sickened Bryan. Was this what he had to look forward to the rest of his life? Dealing every day with the scum of the earth, perhaps the worst of the scum his own supposed allies? Unable to trust anyone, not even his fellow agents?
Bryan knew then that he wanted out of this game. What had seemed exciting years ago was less than appealing now—the lying, the danger, the betrayals, the paranoia.
This was all Lucy’s fault, he thought with a faint smile. She’d made him realize what was missing from his life—and what he very much wanted.
Lucy hadn’t yet been at the cabin twenty-four hours and she was going stir-crazy. She’d explored every nook and cranny of the old house. There was a porch out back with a hammock, and she’d already had one nap. There was no TV, no radio, no way to keep in touch with the outside world. The highlights of her day so far had been a bowl of cereal for breakfast and a ham sandwich for lunch.
The scenery was breathtaking, and at any other time she’d have delighted in the views and the cool mountain breezes, a welcome respite from the heat of the city in the dead of summer. But she couldn’t enjoy anything until she saw Bryan again, safe and sound. What had seemed an exciting lark when it started was now wearing on her nerves; she wanted it to be over. Now.
Mostly she wanted everyone out of danger. What if Vargov went after her family? But she also needed to know if what she and Bryan had shared was real, or merely a product of enforced proximity and too much adrenaline running through their veins.
Dynasties:The Elliots, Books 7-12 Page 13