“An inside job. One of your own people. That bites.”
“With vampire fangs,” he said on a groan. “DSF vets personnel thoroughly—background checks, financial checks, psychological, the works. Necessary because of the work we do. But we missed something or someone needs money in a bad way.”
“Let it go for now and let me work out the outer soreness.” She positioned herself on her knees and started with the taut muscles of his neck and shoulders with broad, gentle strokes. Often after long hours hunched over a workbench, René had asked her to massage him this way. Better not to mention that.
A low groan. “Damn, that feels good. I didn’t know how much I needed this.”
Rarely had the massages for René been sexual, only therapeutic. The circular motions of her lotion-slick hands over the firm flesh and tensile strength of Thomas’s back both soothed and aroused her. She paused to drink water from the bottle beside the bed.
After a moment, she dug into his thick dorsals with the heels of her hands. “I don’t know much about computers, obviously.” Prime example, posting on Facebook her photo wearing the Cleopatra necklace. “So thank you for explaining in terms I understand. Can DSF do business as usual?”
“Not completely. Most of our records are safe, but Rivera had to shut down credit and explain to all our clients. No new cases until this is solved. Then we’ll notify everyone and put out a press release.”
“I’m sorry. Embarrassing, big time.”
“Zervas knew how to hit me where it hurt. Now more than ever I want his ass.” The sharp vehemence tightened the muscles beneath her hands.
“You’ll get him. I wish I had more of a clue to help find the necklaces.” She moved farther down, straddling his hips for better access to his tight lower back. “What about Del Rio? Did he find the London address?”
“He’s working on it. He found the company name but no information yet. Merlin Entertainment mean anything to you?”
“Niente.”
“Nothing. Even I know that much Italian. Del Rio had to hang up while he went ahead with his assignment. He’ll call back when he has something more.”
“Kind of late at night for him to be working,” she observed.
“A California scientist under government contract was caught dealing with a man associated with Ahmed Yousef. He confessed to selling the highly classified computer chip.”
“Military secrets?”
“Military applications for damn sure. This chip contains compounds that when triggered create an explosion. And nothing as small as you might think. Enough to kill anyone nearby.”
Horrific images flashed in her mind. “I don’t know much about Yousef except he’s Iranian.” She was breathing hard as she kneaded his back with her knuckles.
Small grunts of satisfaction rose from deep inside his chest. “A dissident, a fanatic on keeping Western influence out of the Middle East. He opposes his government’s policies because reformers have eased toward rapprochement with the West. Trade agreements and such. The mullahs tolerate him because he also attacks their adversaries.”
Thomas was relaxing, judging from the slurred sound of his voice. Pleased, she smoothed her palms down the muscles to ease out of the deep massage. In moments he should fall asleep. “An exploding chip like that could be used for an assassination.”
“Mmm, no wonder finding it’s a priority. Too bad it distracts from finding Zervas.”
She conjured the image of a computer chip. Tiny, not just millimeters but smaller. Delicate but easy to hide. She went still. Her pulse pinged with excitement.
“What if the two are connected?” she said. “What if Yousef paid Zervas to steal the Cleopatra necklace? Zervas paid René to make the copy. What if he hid the exploding chip inside one of the necklaces?”
Thomas turned over so fast he flipped her onto her back beside him. He kissed her, a hard, smacking smooch that stole what breath she had left. “Babe, you’re a genius!”
He rolled away from her. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his phone, not calling. Once he took time to think about the idea, doubts? “There has to be a connection.” Seconds later, he was explaining her theory to Del Rio.
Cleo leaned against the headboard while she listened. On speaker, Del Rio’s initial reactions were only grunts and hums. Her cheeks burned. Thomas liked her idea, but exhaustion and pain had him half zonked. Lucas Del Rio and this official Interpol bunch would think her idea dumb.
“A damned handy solution.” Del Rio didn’t sound convinced. “But why such an expensive and elaborate method? Stealing Cleopatra’s necklace and paying Chung three million for the exploding chip?”
Cleo listened intently as they kicked around ideas. Suggestions, challenges, and questions bounced back and forth as the men focused on the problem and examining all the possibilities.
“Suicide bombers are a hell of a lot cheaper,” Del Rio said.
“Cheaper, yes, but ordinary,” Thomas replied. “Maybe Yousef’s target is a government official, one so secure a suicide bomber couldn’t get close.”
Cleo leaned closer to Thomas’s phone. “And high-profile, someone who warrants a high-profile assassination, something public.”
He squeezed her hand. “And witnessed by millions. Finding the chip means finding the stolen necklace. Zervas had a limited role in the scheme, only paid to get the chip implanted in the necklace. That’s probably more millions. I figure the copy was our old friend’s idea so he could keep the real necklace for himself. Still, he might know what assassination was planned. He followed Cleo and me to Venice. He’ll follow us again. We have to work together.”
Del Rio blew out a long whistle. “You may be on to something, Captain.”
Cleo held her breath as Thomas stared at the ceiling. Finally, he said, “Yousef can’t act on his plan without the chip. Let me talk to Agent Hunt.”
* * *
An hour later in the darkened room, Cleo snuggled up to Thomas’s uninjured side. He slept on his back, snoring lightly, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm.
She smiled, warmed by his heat in more ways than one. After he’d ended the phone conversation, he’d drawn her into his arms and they’d made love, as he’d promised earlier.
“Don’t worry about the arm,” he’d said. “My blood will be pumping elsewhere.”
Now she lay replete and sleepy beside him. And proud.
To the task-force boss, a hard-as-nails FBI agent, he had defended her deduction. Apparently Jessica Hunt couldn’t say no to Thomas Devlin any more than she could. Tomorrow the two of them were headed to Paris for a strategy session with the Centaur Task Force. She’d be glad to leave Venice and Marco Zervas behind. Thomas had hinted Zervas would follow but she’d be safer in Paris, with more protection from the CTF.
Was he easing away from her already? He wasn’t tired of sex with her. He seemed to like her company. When they weren’t focused on the hunt for the necklace or evading Marco Zervas, they talked. They teased and laughed and shared. He told her more about his time in the army and she shared stories of her European travels. Whatever they did, whatever they discussed, desire arced between them in a constant flow.
Tonight he could have died defending her. When she’d heard him grappling with the attacker, an oily cauldron of fear for him had churned her stomach. At that moment she’d accepted she was in love with him.
Desperately, deeply, irrevocably. Dangerously.
She sank into her pillow as feverish thoughts swirled in her tired brain. For the past several years, she’d closed her feelings for him in the dark shadows of her heart, but being with him again opened the door and out they burst in multicolor pyrotechnics. Joy and fear and tenderness and pain, mixed with her need to keep her hard-won independence.
She loved him and she didn’t want to love him, didn’t want to need him.
Earlier in the water taxi, he’d allowed her to realize the danger involved in visiting Mimi. Not heavy handed. Reasonable.
Maybe he wasn’t the arrogant alpha male wanting total control. Maybe...
Oh, great, less than twenty-four hours since her resolve to keep it simply sex and here she was totally denying reality, picturing a canvas daubed with bright yellows and blues. Instead the canvas was solid black. No colors. No light. No future. Her stomach hollowed, eddying again with the toxic stew.
She needed a distraction. Like solving René’s puzzle.
“Melon...”Pomp” or maybe “Pope.” So “Pope... Ladder.”
No better. Suddenly her eyelids felt weighted with bricks. She yawned. Somewhere she’d read that if you went to bed with a problem to solve, your brain would work on it while you slept.
Note to brain: You have your orders.
***
Paris
With Cleo at his side late the next afternoon, Thomas entered the CTF headquarters’ outer office. They brought with them the smell of the light rain that had begun as the limousine delivered them from Charles de Gaulle Airport.
The slice in Thomas’s arm barely stung and hadn’t swollen, so this morning he’d persuaded Cleo he didn’t need to see a doctor. For now, she agreed. They intended to arrive by noon but mechanical problems with their Al Italia flight and a French truckers’ strike ruined that plan. He hoped to hell the delays hadn’t given Zervas time to catch up to them.
He slid Cleo’s soft carry-on off his shoulder and handed it to her. He gave their names to the pretty young receptionist who sat at a sleek modern desk before an opaque glass wall.
“Oui, monsieur, mademoiselle, you are expected,” she said. “Have a seat. I shall announce you.” She tapped a button on her ear module and did just that.
“I admit we need the task force’s help,” Cleo whispered as they wandered toward the chairs, “but letting them take over is out of the question.”
She set her bag on a chair. Biting her lower lip, she brushed the raindrops from the jacket she wore over a hot-pink pullover and dark slacks, her own clothing for a change. The reddish tone of the overhead lighting caught the fire in her auburn hair. And the determination in her eyes.
He dumped his backpack beside her bag on the chair. “On that we agree. We have different priorities.” He captured her hand and rubbed the soft skin of her wrist with his thumb. “My highest priority is keeping you safe.”
Her gaze softened. “That and retrieving the necklace. I’ll hold you to your promise not to shut me out or hide me away.”
Before he could reassure her, Lucas Del Rio burst through the inner door, his broad face granite-hard in an exasperated expression. When his gaze landed on Cleo, he stopped like a street mime colliding with an invisible wall. His eyes rounded and his face reddened.
Thomas laughed, looped his arm around her shoulders. “Yes, Lucas, it’s uncanny how similar they are. This is Cleo, not Mimi. Trust me on that.”
Lucas blinked away his stupor, schooling his features in what Thomas recognized as an effort to mitigate his menacing appearance. “Glad to meet you, Ms. Chandler,” he said in the same soothing tone he’d used at Mimi’s bedside.
Cleo slipped from beneath Thomas’s arm and rushed to the other man. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she wrapped both arms around his solid middle and hugged him.
Lucas looked even more stunned. The resemblance to Mimi had whacked him with the stupid stick. And having this beautiful woman give him the long-lost-brother greeting was clearly the last thing he expected. His arms hovered inches away from her as if this female mirage would vanish if he touched her.
Warmth suffused Thomas’s chest as he watched the emotional tableau. He’d said nothing to Cleo of Lucas’s rough appearance or of his insecurity. Respect meant letting his friend deal with people on his own terms. And knowing Cleo meant it wouldn’t matter. Bless her for embracing Lucas without reservation.
She beamed up at the big man. “Lucas, I’ve been dying to meet you. To thank you.”
“Ease up on the poor man, Cleo. Let him breathe.” Thomas clamped his lips together against a grin.
“Oh, sorry.” She released her grip and patted Del Rio’s arm. “Thank you for saving my cousin’s life. I…” She looked away briefly and swallowed. “You protected her. And make it Cleo.”
“Yes, ma’am, uh, Cleo.” Lucas’s gaze still locked on her.
Thomas stepped forward and clapped him on the shoulder. “Agent Hunt said you were the one who got the scientist to talk.”
“Shoved my ugly mug against the camera. Probably scared him into talking. Damn glad to see you.” Two men shook hands. “If we’re working together, maybe we can goose this investigation faster than slo-mo.”
“Right.” Exactly what Thomas had in mind. Keeping Cleo ahead of Zervas had become harder.
Lucas led them through an open-plan office space where about a dozen men and women worked in cluttered cubicles or hunched over banks of computers and other equipment. A few had already cleared desks in preparation for the end of the work day.
As Cleo passed, men glanced over with appreciation. Thomas leveled his gaze their way. They quickly returned to work.
Inside the conference room at the rear, Lucas introduced them to FBI Special Agent Jessica Hunt and three others of the team, a woman and two men.
Holding her gregarious nature in check, Cleo shook hands formally with each before they all took seats around the conference table with members of the CTF. The steady rain clattered on the skylight above. The aroma of dark-roast French coffee drifted from a tray with cups and a carafe in the center. Five cups, no extras for visitors.
Hunt, a pencil nestled in her salt-and-pepper hair, ruled from the head of the table. Judging from her take-no-prisoners manner, no matter where she sat she ruled.
Her gaze flicked from Cleo to Thomas. “Unfortunate you’ve arrived so late. We’ve almost finished our meeting. You think stealing the necklace, copying it, all of that is connected to Ahmed Yousef and the stolen computer chip. Is that correct?”
Hunt’s gaze, as hard and brittle as flint, probably meant she intended to blow them off. Lucas kept his expression carefully neutral. Poor guy was caught between two bosses. Thomas tried not to grind his teeth.
“Not just connected,” he said. “The key to stopping both. If Zervas finds the necklaces, he’ll turn them over to Yousef. Can you risk an assassination?”
She flipped through papers. “We have other means of dealing with that risk.”
“Since Cleo left Venice, he or his thugs have trailed us. I’ve barely managed to elude him, although his hacker couldn’t track me because I’ve paid with untraceable plastic. But this morning I bought our plane tickets with my personal credit card.” Hearing Cleo’s indrawn breath, he closed his hand around her fluttering one. He sensed her vibrating with impatience. “I bought tickets for Amsterdam. Our travel delays may have given Zervas an edge to catch up to us but you might pick them up at the airport or spot them on CCTV.”
“The head of Centaur is no fool,” the gray-suited Scotland Yard man scoffed. “He’ll smell a trap.”
“Perhaps, but he won’t be able to resist. Yousef must be pressuring him because of a deadline we don’t know. Otherwise he’d delegate the search to minions. He’s desperate.”
“Zervas would not know Yousef’s plans. Or reveal them to us.” The French secret service agent’s accent was light, her eyes shrewd.
The representative from the carabinieri, the Italian national police, nodded vigorously in agreement over his half glasses. He continued swiping his index finger across his tablet screen.
Across from Thomas, Lucas passed his right hand across his mouth, two fingers extended, the go-ahead signal from their Delta Force days.
Thomas respected the Italian and French push in this effort. Both nations, like Greece, invested heavily in protecting and recovering their stolen treasures. The U.S. didn’t see art crime as a priority. Foolish and tragic, in his opinion. Jessica Hunt must’ve done some fast talking or politicking to get her plum position.
&nb
sp; He hiked a shoulder in feigned nonchalance. “Zervas has woven a wide network. He probably knows some of Yousef’s machinations. And the CTF’s work. Left dangling out there on his spun thread, he could interfere.” He leveled a gaze at Hunt. “How can we miss a chance to wrap up the head of Centaur in our own web?”
“Not our web, Mr. Devlin,” Hunt said. “If I’m not mistaken, you are a civilian hired by Ms. Chandler’s father to protect her, not to pursue the necklaces or Zervas or Yousef. If you want to protect your charge, I have a safe house ready.”
Beside him, Cleo shifted in her chair. Leaning forward, she beamed the CTF leader her megawatt smile. “Special Agent Hunt, we’re way beyond protecting me. Thomas wants to retrieve the stolen necklace—” she slid him a glance that thawed the ice block building inside since the conference room door closed behind them “—and his company’s reputation. And I have to stop this evil man. He murdered a man I cared about and almost killed my cousin.”
Caught by the emotion in her voice, Thomas closed his hand around hers.
SA Hunt steepled her hands over her papers. Her gaze softened and Thomas could almost believe Lucas’s claim she was a grandmother. “Ms. Chandler—”
“Cleo.”
“Cleo,” Hunt amended, her sharp smile betraying her as the wolf in grandma guise, “you too are a civilian, an amateur and not a professional investigator. I appreciate you sharing your information. Our investigation will proceed. You may remain as our guest in a safe house until you can go home.”
Cheeks pink and eyes blazing, Cleo pushed back her chair and stood. “No safe house. You have no jurisdiction over me. While you follow your professional-investigator path, I’ll go find the necklaces.” Chin high, she turned to walk away.
Thomas shot to his feet, ready to back her up. This meeting was going to hell anyway. Next he’d yank Lucas.
“I wish you luck,” Hunt said to Cleo’s back. “Moreau’s clue is the raving of a dying man. Nonsense. Our search for ‘Melon,’ ‘Pope’ and ‘ladder’ or even ‘Pope’s ladder’ has yielded nothing.”
Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) Page 18