by Gennita Low
“Besides, I suddenly have in my possession a laptop that contains something bigger than mere information. It is technological advancement, and I’ve found certain countries will pay a high price for this, more so than mere information.”
“Let me guess,” Marlena drawled. Her elbow rested on the table, and with her chin nestled in her hand, she looked absurdly like a child raptly listening to a fairy tale. “China. Certain Middle Eastern countries. I think I understand now. You needed somebody who had contacts with arms dealers. Pierre couldn’t do it because the laptop came from the Naval Research Lab, where his association would be made known. You couldn’t do it because arms dealers just didn’t trust any director for the DOD, unlike a foreign embassy. So you found me.”
Gorman felt his heart beating faster as she gave him a slow, dazzling smile. She was so quick-minded. He wanted to have her as much as he wanted to break her. “You were doing fine until you became involved with someone you shouldn’t. Now you have to do this the hard way, Marlena, dear. If you care for this Steve McMillan, you’ll still broker this deal for me, on my own terms, out of sight of anyone for whom you might work, out of reach of anyone set up by the admiral. I no longer trust you, you see, and must therefore treat you like the rest of them.”
“Like you treated Cunningham?” Marlena asked boldly. “I’m curious. William Cunningham must have been a relative—you both look similar, same speech patterns, in fact.”
Gorman waved his hand dismissively. “He isn’t important.”
“He was important enough for you to kill,” she pointed out, leaning forward confidentially. “That night at Pierre’s house. It was set up in such a way to cause a lot of problems for many people, wasn’t it? First you wanted to get me to open Pierre’s safe, but after you rid yourself of Cunningham. You wanted Pierre to find him dead in his room for some reason. Why?”
He didn’t answer immediately as he lit a cigarette. His eyes were sharp and amused as he sucked in a breath and exhaled. “No need to bother your beautiful head with so much,” he said softly. “The less you know, the more reasons not to kill your Steve, don’t you agree? But I’ll tell you one little thing because I know what a curious and smart woman you are, my dear. I like to hold things over people’s heads. Like now, for instance. Your obedience is predicated on my goodwill because I have something over you—someone you care about.”
Ahhh yes, he was a lot more like Cunningham than he cared to admit. He, too, liked to boast. Marlena wondered what he held over Harden’s head. She understood Cunningham’s death placed Pierre in a difficult position since he was affiliated with the research of X-S-BOT. If word got out, there might be too many inconvenient investigations into his activities. Thus his cooperation was ensured.
She was tempted to retort not to be so sure of her “obedience” yet, but of course that wouldn’t be prudent. Stash’s safety came first, no matter what. No matter how. She shrugged, allowing boredom to seep into her expression. Sliding back into her chair, she exhaled slowly, deliberately relaxing her shoulders visibly. “I don’t digest threats well for dessert. I asked you earlier what you wanted and I think I just heard the answer. But first—” She turned to Pierre. “Pierre, I don’t trust him, either. Is he lying about Steve? Do you know where Steve is?”
Pierre, who had kept silent during the exchange, also appeared slightly bored. Marlena knew he heard every word because that was how he was. He was always the third party in any negotiation, and was used to playing the part of disinterested observer, one who just made sure things went smoothly. She hoped he would be able to reassure her that Stash wasn’t hurt. That he was safe. At the moment she had no idea how to rescue him, and it took a lot of willpower to quell the panic that surged into her consciousness now and then.
“Mr. McMillan is fine,” Pierre replied serenely. “I wouldn’t worry about him at all. His injury isn’t serious, and I’m sure he’s now wondering the same things you are. You should focus on getting this deal done, chérie.”
His endearment tipped her off that he was warning her about something, but it was difficult to read between the lines. He was being very careful because Gorman was looking to see whether he could use Marlena as a way to get to him. She realized how much he was at risk here. Gorman could make Pierre do a number of things, if he suspected Pierre cared for her.
“Now that we have some sort of understanding,” her captor interrupted her thoughts, “you’ll have to return to your cabin for a while. I have a few phone calls to make. I’m sure by now Harden would be after your Steve with a warrant, and I want to hear all about it.”
Marlena frowned. “A warrant?”
“Yes. I forgot to mention—Steve McMillan will be facing charges of being a traitor to this country, and even if the charges are never brought up, I’ll make damn sure they remain on his file. He would end up like Harden, always fighting against his past mistake.”
“The admiral will never allow it,” Marlena quickly countered.
“Oh, if the charges are brought up, it’s out of his hands. I’ve had all the evidence nicely arranged for months—offshore bank accounts, not to mention his connection to you. A court-martial can be downright nasty. Take your pick, Marlena Maxwell. Do you want your lover’s career destroyed, or would you rather have him dead? A shot above the ear. A clean suicide, let’s say. I can arrange either way.”
Marlena looked across the table at the man threatening her. Once upon a time, she had allowed love to get in the way of her job. It was happening all over again, except this time she could get the man she loved killed, or at the very least, everything he valued could be destroyed. She wasn’t going to let this happen.
She didn’t have the time to work this through. First, she was going to make sure Gorman got his comeuppance. Second, she would have to find the courage to walk away from Stash.
***
“You got to eat, man. I know you think pacing in and out of your room and consuming pages of print would sustain you, being a warrior and all, but you’re making me hungry.”
Steve turned and studied Cam, sitting at the dining table. He had been there for quite some time, since Steve couldn’t remember when he saw him anywhere else but at said table. “Looks like you’re eating my share,” he pointed out. “Filet mignon, French pizza, Mexican tacos, cheese sticks, Chinese food, Italian ice cream, Irish coffee, apple pie...What is this, the United Nations food convention?”
Cam put down a piece of pizza, swayed his fingers over the different dishes, then went for the chopsticks. “Free food,” he answered with a full mouth, “excellent free food, is hard to come by, my friend. You should really try this stuff. Man, I’m totally pissed off by your good luck.”
“Good luck?” Steve approached the table and pulled out a chair.
“You know, slinky, gorgeous, James Bond lady, a big bed with a real down blanket, and room service like this. And this place has a freaking butler, for God’s sakes.” Cam dug into his food and munched enthusiastically. “Life is good.”
“I gather you like being my insurance,” Steve commented dryly. He didn’t feel like eating. Worry gnawed at his insides, and he felt listless from his headache and impatience.
“Only bad thing,” Cam said, chewing and waving a bread stick, “is I have to look at your mug. Now if I can just get you to stay in your room, yeah, and then call the love goddess Patty to spend an evening here with me and all this...wow, paradise, man, pa-ra-dise.”
Steve shook his head, smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm. How come he and Marlena were always fighting over who controlled what, when Cam would just willingly let his Patty be queen and that was fine by him? Maybe he ought to steal a page or two from Cam’s book.
The cell phone rang and he pounced on it. “Yeah?” he barked. “Oh, okay, no, it’s fine. Let her come up.” He put down the phone and looked at Cam, “Your love goddess has arrived.”
It was comical to watch Cam choking on the bread stick. “What? When? How? Why is she here?”
he sputtered as he started pushing away the dishes and stood up. He brushed his pants and looked around frantically.
“You forgot where,” Steve added with a grin as he sat back and watched the pandemonium. “Journalism 101, wasn’t it? Who, what, where, when, why?”
“Come on, man, help me find my jacket!”
“It’s on the floor by the TV.”
“Oh yeah.” Cam walked quickly to where the new suit was lying, picked it up, and started flapping it out wildly. “Man, shit, damn, and fuck.”
“In that order?” Steve started laughing, welcoming the break from tension.
Cam gave him a dark glare. “I suppose I don’t have time to iron out the wrinkles.” He shrugged into the suit, trying to smooth out the telltale creases.
“You’re supposed to hang the thing in the closet immediately after taking it off,” suggested Steve, tongue-in-cheek. “Lena taught me that.” His amusement decreased somewhat as he recalled a particular night not too long ago, when Marlena had dressed him up in some fancy suit. As a matter of fact he hadn’t hung up that particular item of clothing that night.
“Oh shut up. Now, that food on the table? It’s not mine, you hear? All yours, all yours. You’re eating because you’re worried and miserable.”
The hotel suite bell rang solemnly. Cam rushed toward the door and tripped. Steve looked downward and laughed again. The man had tripped over his discarded shoes. Indeed, he’d made himself very comfortable the last few hours. He took pity on his friend as he struggled to put his shoes on while hopping on one foot toward the door, and got out of his chair.
He signaled for Cam to sit down and went to open the door for Patty Ostler. She stood outside, her eyes big as saucers behind her glasses as she studied the lavish surroundings. Steve didn’t blame her. He’d done the same thing the first time, too, and that was before he saw the inside. Again he felt a sharp punch to the gut as he was reminded that he didn’t actually “see” all the luxury till the day after that; he’d been too busy getting rug burns on his back and ass. He forced a smile to his face and stepped back.
“Hey, Patty.”
Patty peered up at him, clutching some kind of vinyl zip folder to her chest. “That cut looks painful,” she said as she walked through the entrance. “Bet you have a headache. Did the doctors give you any medication? I heard you bashed through the windshield...oh!”
She stopped mid-step, taking in every detail of what she could see, her head swiveling from left to right. It had to have been designed by a woman, Steve decided, because all those flowery panels and dainty china just didn’t do a thing for him. Now the media room was pretty cool, with that remote screen that could control all the things in the suite—that made him feel like a king, when he was zapping on the electronic equipment, calling up channels on the giant video screen, opening and closing the doors to the liquor closet. He could even adjust every light in the room that way.
“I’m okay,” he said, making his way to the dining table. She followed, eyes still wide, mouth still agape. “I hit the rearview mirror, so it could have been worse. And I’m not taking the meds because I want to stay alert in case a call comes through about Marlena.”
Patty looked at the table, decked with all the dishes, then cast a knowing eye at Cam, who smiled and waved nonchalantly. “Been busy, I see, Agent Candeloro.”
Cam’s eyes rounded with innocence. “Not me, my love. That’s Stevie boy. He won’t eat so I’ve been trying to tempt him with all sorts of stuff from the menu.”
“Uh-huh. You need to wipe that red stuff off your lips, unless you’re now wearing lipstick,” she said caustically. “And stop calling me that.”
“Call you what, my love?”
“That! Call me that!” She gestured at nothing in particular.
“I would never call you such a thing!” Cam said, hand on his heart.
Patty swirled to meet Steve’s eyes, and he fought to keep the grin off his face. “How can you stand him doing that to you all day? He’s...impossible!”
Steve pulled out a chair for her, trying to think of a diplomatic answer. He couldn’t tell her she was Cam’s object of lust and devotion. Besides, from the kiss he’d witnessed, she really didn’t harbor as intense a dislike as she was affecting. “Cam needs help,” he finally agreed, a small smile forming. “Maybe you can give him some hints.”
Patty muttered something under her breath and sat down. She looked at the food again and shook her head. “I can’t believe the two of you can eat all of this.”
“Three, my love, three. You, me, and unfortunately, Scarface.” Cam looked at Steve and then at the door to his bedroom meaningfully.
Steve sighed inwardly. That was all he needed, these two playing lovey-dovey while he paced up and down the floor.
“Well, eat, then.” Patty surprised them both as she carefully unfolded one of the fan-shaped napkins and delicately arranged it on her lap, pulling the corners here and there, as if the napkin needed to be centered just so, or the food would taste bad.
Cam was on his feet within seconds. Food and his woman, Steve thought with wry amusement. The man was indeed in heaven. He watched him sit next to Patty, and watched her blush at the heated look in his friend’s eyes. Oh man. Did he really need to see this?
He coughed. “I think I’ll eat in my room. I have stuff to look through.”
Cam’s face brightened at the suggestion. “Yes, um...I’ll stay out here, out of your way.”
Patty frowned, laying down her fork. “Are you sure?” When Steve nodded, she picked up the vinyl folio she had brought and handed it to him. “Okay. I’ve got what you asked for here. I pulled it out manually so there wouldn’t be any electronic records.”
“Thanks, Patty.” Steve took the folio and a plate of food Cam had helpfully piled on for him. “Enjoy the meal,” he added, tongue-in-cheek.
He went into his room, shutting out the sight of Cam leaning toward Patty, and rolling his eyes when he caught the words, “You look good enough to eat...”
Steve shook his head. That woman didn’t stand a chance. He sat down where he’d been all day, among the files and sheaves of papers, and started reading what Patty had put together. He picked up the black marker and chewed the cap off it. With the other hand he groped for and picked up something from the plate he’d brought in. Patty had a point. He did need to eat.
After a while he was surprised that his plate was empty when he reached out and found nothing. He hadn’t even tasted anything while reading and diagramming. Damn it, why hadn’t T called yet? As if on cue, the cell phone by his side started ringing.
Steve grabbed it, knocking the folders over. “Yeah? What took you so long?”
“She’s being moved away from here. We couldn’t pinpoint the exact location till the motion stopped.”
“Where is she?”
“Got a pen?”
“Yeah.”
He asked several terse questions for the next minute or two. Tess for once didn’t mess around with his mind. She was, he discovered, very knowledgeable about tactical coordination, as if she’d run a team before. Which brought up a problem.
“You’re in New York,” he said. “It’s going to take too long for you to get down here and gather men for me.”
“I called you immediately, Steve; give me more time.”
He couldn’t. Not with Marlena’s life at stake. “T, you come after me, okay? I’m going to get her now.”
“How are you getting to the ocean by yourself?” Tess paused, then answered herself, “A sea mammal will find a way, I suppose. Okay, do what you have to do, but make sure they are still on international waters when you strike.”
“Why?”
“Fewer questions, darling.”
“Okay.”
“Good luck. And bring M back safely, hmm?”
When she rang off, Steve punched the buttons and dialed another number. A sleepy, raspy voice answered on the fifth ring, “This better be worth your life.”
“Hawk. It’s Steve.”
“I repeat, this better be worth your life.”
“I need you here with some gear and a few men you can trust.”
“I see.” Hawk sounded more alert now. “Is this kosher stuff?”
“No, it’s on international waters.”
“Tell me what you need.”
When Steve finished, he jumped up from his seat and strode to the door. Cam better not be having Patty for dinner, because he didn’t have time to wait. He knocked and yelled, I’m coming in now,” and counting to three, he opened the door.
Cam was adjusting his tie. Patty was nowhere to be seen. He had the most satisfied look on his face, though. “Um, Patty is in the master bathroom,” he told Steve, his eyes overly bright. “Was that who I think it was?”
Steve nodded. “I’m ready to kick some ass. My way.” Boy, did it feel good to finally say those words.
Chapter Twenty-two
The ocean breeze was wet and cold. Marlena zipped up the light jacket she’d found in her cabin, wishing for her own leather one. They had been standing out on deck for ten minutes, and already her hair was damp from the sea spray. The first crack of dawn streaked the horizon, and soon there should be noise signaling the arrival of a boat with Maximilian Shoggi, known in the arms dealing world as Mad Max, on board. Dawn on international waters, Pierre had whispered to her earlier. She never did like conducting business off land. Less control.
It was just she and Pierre on deck, guarded by two of the bodyguards. She had found out they worked for Gorman, not Pierre, which told her how much the TIARA director had infiltrated Pierre’s network. That reinforced the fact that the director was a very dangerous enemy.
Gorman was keeping out of sight, standing somewhere above with his captain at the helm, where he could view the proceedings. A bright spotlight shone on them, blinding those in its glare to the observers. Very smart, she thought. No one during this meeting could turn and shoot at Gorman.