by mike Evans
There were many things he wasn’t telling her, but none of it seemed to matter. These would be their last hours together and he wasn’t about to sleep them away. He rose from the chair where he’d been sitting and crossed the room toward her.
As Tejada leaned against the armrest of the couch and watched the sunrise through the window, he was struck with a sadness he had not known he could feel. But then the night had brought him one new emotion after another until he could neither speak nor sleep.
“You’re awake early,” Maria whispered.
He reached with his arm and folded her to himself. “I’ve been here since you abandoned me,” he said into her hair.
“Abandoned you? We talked until three in the morning. I gave you my dessert and fifteen inches of the couch. What more did you want?”
Tejada tilted her face up to his. “There was a great deal more that I wanted from you.”
“But you didn’t ask.”
“What would you have said?”
“I would have said no.”
“That is why I did not ask.”
“Are you sure you’re for real?” she asked playfully.
Tejada pulled her against his chest and ran his fingers through her hair—hair he had wanted to touch since the day she marched into his office and demanded that he remove his bodyguard. He didn’t want to see fear in her eyes. He couldn’t bear to see that replace the affection that had warmed them as they told each other of their childhoods—their longings—their quirks. Like two normal people who had every right to fall in love.
Maria wriggled free to look at him. “Did I say something wrong?”
He shook his head.
“I mean, you’ve treated me with respect and I appreciate that about you.”
The problem wasn’t with what she said, but with the things he now knew to be fact. Whether she was working for her father or not—and there was no evidence that she had even been in touch with him since before she first came to Spain—he had had to risk having that one night, that one chance to experience what his commitment to the Brotherhood and Abaddon couldn’t give. But now it was over and there could be no others.
“You look so sad, Tejada,” Maria said.
“I am. I must leave—on business—and that means I will not be with you. And that—makes—me—sad.” He punctuated each pause with a kiss, although the last one fell on smiling lips.
“And I must go back to my apartment today,” she said. “Because I have things to do to get ready for the week.”
“Do them here. I will not leave until tomorrow.”
“I’ve run out of clothes.”
“I will buy you new ones.” He stopped, because she stiffened in his arms. “I have said something wrong.”
“Not wrong for you,” she said. “Just wrong for me. We said we would take this slowly. Remember?”
He kissed her forehead to avoid having to look into her doubting eyes. It had to stop here. Before Tejada swept her away from Spain and all he had dedicated his life to.
“I will have a car ready for you,” he said. “But take your time. Enjoy a swim—have breakfast with me. Please.”
“Breakfast,” she said. “And then I’ll go.”
She turned but he caught her arm. “Once more,” he whispered. He gathered her up and kissed her, then she turned again in a swirl of hair.
But the righteous one will oppose him and vanquish our enemies forever.
—Christopher Columbus
The car that Jacob Hirsch had arranged to meet Winters and Sophia at the Málaga airport wound through the Alpujarras to an ancient town on the southern slopes of Spain’s highest mountain, Mulhacén. By midmorning the sun was blazing bright and hot. Sophia pulled her sunglasses from her bag and put them on. She looked even more beautiful, more mysterious than before.
Winters looked away from her. He couldn’t keep doing this. He had to start steeling himself to walk away from her.
“John?”
He closed his eyes and pretended not to hear her. Until she put that warm hand on his arm. No matter how terrified she had been in the last twenty-four hours, she had always been warm. “Yeah?” he said.
She put her fingers to his chin and nudged his face toward her. “I want to know that you will be safe.”
He wanted to lie to her but he knew she wouldn’t buy it. “I can’t guarantee it,” he said. “Not unless we find out who these people are. Then I’ll know what I’m working with.”
“They are Russians,” she said.
His eyes widened, but she shook her head at him. “You did not think I would be listening?”
Winters rubbed his forehead. “I should have known, I guess. And no, I’m not sure the Russians are the ones behind this. Those guys didn’t look Russian to me—”
“What did they do to you?”
“Sophia—”
“I have to know how to pray for you.” Her eyes were misty. “I am not a fool, John. I know when you leave me at Casa Aloe I may never see you again. But at least let me pray for you.”
“Hey,” he said. “Come on—of course you can pray for me.”
“Then how?”
Winters groped for something, anything that would take the fear from her face. “I’d like to know who got into my house and hacked into my laptop,” he said. “That’ll get us on the track of at least one of the groups of the people who want to . . . That much would help.”
Sophia slipped her hand in his. “You can probably think that out yourself, Agent Winters. I have seen you do it before.” She gave him a wan smile. “You need only to be asked the right questions.”
“So start asking,” he said.
“Perhaps this person was not an intruder,” she said. “He could have been someone you allowed into your home. Do you have a housekeeper?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“People who repair things.”
“The place is in a state of total disrepair.”
“Anyone who has come to visit since—how long?”
“Four months. I don’t do much entertaining,” he said drily. “Donleavy comes over every couple of weeks for beer and pizza. He was there more often when my brother, Ben, was in town. Probably to keep me from killing him.” Winters pressed her hands. “I’m kidding. The kid drives me nuts, but I’d never actually do him in—” He noticed the look on her face. “Sophia, what?”
She moved her hand from his and turned away. Winters reached for her and leaned close. “Hey. Say it. What’s wrong?”
“No,” she said. “If it is to be said, you have to be the one.”
He stared at her a moment before the realization dawned on him. His first impulse was to tell her she was out of her mind. Except that he couldn’t.
Ben had been at the house.
Ben could be talked into anything if he thought it meant a chance to have the life of intrigue he thought Winters had. If someone told him it was a test for getting into the Secret Service, he would have sold Winters to the Russians without a second thought. He wanted to be a Secret Agent Man.
“SAM,” he said. “Secret Agent Man.”
Sophia looked puzzled. “I’m sorry?”
“SAM. Secret Agent Man. That’s what my brother, Ben, used to call me. I need to borrow that phone again.”
“I’m sorry,” she said as she pressed it into his hand. “But it seemed obvious when you were talking. He was the only one unaccounted for.”
“We don’t know for sure it was him,” Winters said. But even as the words left his mouth he knew. He knew.
Maria kept her expression serene and her eyes hidden behind sunglasses until she was inside the apartment—at which point she leaned against the door, slid to the floor, and sobbed.
She had promised Austin she would be careful. She’d sworn to Taylor Donleavy that she would protect herself from Carlos Molina. But she hadn’t guarded her heart and now Emilio Tejada wanted to take it from her.
If she was honest, she wanted to g
ive it to him. Ignore the possibility that he knew what Molina had done to Elena—that he was aware of Molina’s secret dealings with the CIA and his suspicious meetings with men in alleys and restaurant kitchens. Aware of them . . . or behind them.
Maria crawled to the couch and sank her face in the cushions. How could that possibly be, after what she’d felt with him last night? But there was no way she could ever suggest to him that Carlos Molina couldn’t be trusted. Or tell him that she hadn’t trusted him.
Because she was afraid to be right.
Even now, she was terrified to listen to what might have transpired in Tejada’s office yesterday, or in his study after she’d left. The study where she had let herself dream for a few hours that loving Tejada could be a possibility.
Maria stared across the room at the briefcase that held the laptop that held the answers. If she erased it all, called Austin, and told him to make her a plane reservation, maybe she could go home and get back to her life.
Except for Elena.
Maria had promised her that justice would be done. This wasn’t the way she’d imagined it when she made that vow—but now it was the only way.
Reluctantly, she retrieved the briefcase and set up the computer on the kitchen table. While it came on, she made a cup of tea, then slipped in the earbuds and clicked on the eavesdropping program.
Just as before, the banter between Tejada and Molina was in Spanish—though this time that was less a frustration than a relief. Maybe it would be better if she never knew whether Tejada was involved . . .
Suddenly the voices stopped and all she heard was static. Loud static. Maria yanked out one earbud, but before she could pull the other one loose the line cleared and Molina’s voice came through, growling in English.
“Farsoun’s attack was unsuccessful.”
“Completely?” Tejada said. His voice was taut but controlled.
“He and the Conte woman are still at large.”
Maria sank into the chair and pressed the earbud back in. She had no idea who they were talking about. They finally speak English, she thought, just to go on about people who have nothing to do with Elena. She’d give it five minutes.
“And they still have possession of the documents?” Tejada asked.
“They do,” Molina answered. “It might help us track them if I knew what these documents are.”
A pause ensued for so long Maria checked to make sure she was still connected. When Tejada finally spoke, she could hear the reservation in his voice. The thought that she knew him that well stabbed at her.
“They have stolen the personal journal kept by Christopher Columbus,” Tejada said.
“And this is important to us how?”
For once Maria was thinking along the same line as Molina. What was with everyone and the sudden interest in Christopher Columbus? First Uncle David, then Abuela, and now Tejada. Maria took a sip of tea. She might as well get comfortable if they were going to entertain her.
“It could reveal the plan to those who should not see it,” Tejada said. Each word was measured and precise. “You know what that means for us. My orders still stand. You must personally locate Agent Winters and the Conte woman and do what you have to do to get that journal.”
The teacup fell from Maria’s hands and shattered on the floor.
“Whatever it takes,” Molina repeated.
“But hear me on this.” Tejada’s voice dropped, as if he were whispering into her face. “Bring Maria to me.”
With that, Maria yanked the earbuds from her ears and threw them aside. She stared down at the shards of the cup and thought of what she’d just heard. Tejada was after her father. Her father. Winters. Agent Winters. Her father was with a woman. The Conte woman—whoever she was.
Her father and this woman had an ancient document that Molina would kill for. Something about Columbus.
Tejada was going to deal with Maria himself, but somehow that seemed less urgent than the need to alert her father—who had apparently managed to survive one attack already. She had to tell him before Tejada knew that she knew.
Maria reached for her phone to call him when she realized—Tejada and Molina had been talking in Spanish for hours. They only switched to English when they began talking about her father. And that was after she heard the loud static.
“They knew,” she gasped.
Tejada and Molina had carried on that conversation in English because Tejada knew she would be listening. One of them had found the bug.
Heart slamming in her chest, Maria went for her phone again. Her fingers were already sweating as she tapped Donleavy’s number. The call went to voice mail after two rings and Maria didn’t leave a message.
As she flipped through the contacts list for her dad’s number, she heard a sound at the door. Then the handle wiggled ever so slightly. Someone was unlocking it. She had no doubt it was Molina. Maria stuffed the phone inside her bra and leapt across the room to the door. The dead bolt was set but she had not put the security bar against the door. She slid it into place and looked around frantically as if a plan would present itself from some corner of the room. She needed to get out of the apartment or she didn’t stand a chance. No plan stepped forward, so she went with what came into her head.
Maria pulled an umbrella out of the stand by the door and hurled it toward the French door that opened to the balcony. She heard it smack against the glass as she slipped into the closet a few steps from the front door. Forcing herself not to breathe, Maria flattened against the back wall and pulled the door almost closed. Through the crack she watched the business end of a pistol enter the room first.
Molina stepped forward and, just as she’d hoped, headed straight toward the balcony exit. Still not breathing, Maria slid from the closet and scooted out the front door he had left open. No doubt, he already knew what she’d done and he meant to kill her.
She reached the elevator and banged on the call button. Miraculously the doors opened. Maria reached inside, punched Uno on the control panel, and threw herself toward the stairs. She heard the elevator close again just as she yanked open the door to the stairway and hurried down the metal steps. It would be only seconds before Molina realized what had happened and started after her. The only thing she had going for her was speed—and a head start.
Just as she reached the second-floor landing Maria heard the trouncing of footfalls above. She pulled open the heavy door and let it bang against the wall. While it slowly closed Maria crept down the final flight and waited by the ground-floor exit. She once more willed herself not to breathe and stood as still as possible. Please, please, please, she said in her mind. Go through that door. Please, please, please.
The footsteps pounded overhead and Maria squeezed her eyes closed, her mind spinning. Then she heard the door bang open on the second floor and, without waiting to see if he was playing her, Maria bolted from the shadows and into the blazing sunlight near the back of the building. She knew this spot well. Although the maid had insisted more than once that she would take out the trash, Maria had always come to the Dumpster herself, just to feel as though she had some kind of control—even if it was just over her garbage. Now she squeezed between it and the alley wall and waited until she saw Molina crawl past in that hearse of a car that was supposed to take her to Tejada.
When it appeared that Molina wasn’t coming back, she took the alley at a dead run. Away from all things Catalonia.
An error message said, “The voice mailbox is full.” Winters cut her off with a jab of his finger.
“Still no answer?” Sophia asked from the kitchen, where she was brewing after-dinner coffee.
Winters shook his head. “I can’t even leave a message now. Mailbox is full. Not that my brother has paid any attention to the four I already left him.” He dropped the cell phone into his shirt pocket as he moved toward the kitchen. “I finally have service and it does me no good.” He took Sophia’s hand and brought it to his cheek. “Look, Sophia, I have to—”
“Of course you do. You always do. But how about letting me say it?”
Sophia closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his chest just as his phone rang. Perfect timing. Maybe he’d been better off without cell service.
“It’s probably Donleavy,” he said. “I can put him off for a minute.”
But Sophia motioned for him to answer it and Winters took the phone from his pocket.
“Hey,” Winters said, without checking the number.
“Dad?” Maria gasped. “Is it you?”
“Maria?” He had never known his daughter to be hysterical, but her voice was teetering on the edge.
“It’s me,” she said. “Dad, I’m in trouble—and so are you.”
He could actually understand her now and his anxiety level was at an all-time high.
“Are you safe?” he said.
“For the moment, but they won’t stop until they find me—and you.”
“Who are ‘they’?”
“Tejada’s people. Emilio Tejada. I don’t think he’ll let them kill me—yet—but they’ll do anything to get that journal or whatever it is you have.”
Winters pushed the name “Tejada” aside to come back to later. “Where are you?” he asked.
“Put her on speakerphone,” Sophia whispered. Winters pressed the button.
“Who’s with you?” Maria’s voice ratcheted up a notch.
“Sophia Conte,” she said.
“He’s after you too. Carlos Molina. He works for Emilio Tejada. He’s looking for both of you. You have to get to a safe place.”
“We’re in a safe place,” Winters said, fighting to keep his emotions under control. “You need to be here with us. Tell us where you are.”
“Daddy, I’m scared.”
Winters felt a lump in his throat. “I know, honey. Just give me your location and I’ll come for you.”
“No! It’s too dangerous.”
Sophia put her mouth close to the phone and spoke in the voice that had more than once talked Winters back from the edge. “He will not come himself, Maria. I will send a car for you. The driver will know the password—refugio seguro.”