Max grunted. “That sounds like the Russians being very Russian. If we or counterintelligence uncover any hint of SVR or GRU involvement, then we’ll dig further. If we find proof, then the shit will hit the fan.”
The Russians would deny everything and probably accuse her. If they were involved, they were more than capable of making the girls disappear without a trace. And Lucy was expected to update them? How was she going to manage that without actually feeding them anything valuable?
How much would their other source be able to give them? Who was the other source?—that’s what she really wanted to know.
She let Max finish his meal in peace. A man in the corner of the room began playing on the piano. It meant the dancing would begin soon. She wanted Max to see a professional couple perform this dance that was important enough to be considered a UNESCO treasure.
She let thoughts of the case go. It was impossible to worry 24/7. Her life was already a balancing act, and she didn’t have the energy to add more anguish to her plate.
If she discovered the Russians had taken the girls, she would make sure the US acted on that information. Until then, she had to figure out what to feed them and what to hold back while still performing her primary duties.
A man with a bandoneon joined in with the music and a well-dressed couple came through from the back of the restaurant and struck a pose. Lucy sat up straight in anticipation. The man had slicked-back, dark hair and wore a black suit with a black shirt and black tie with silver threads that caught the light. The woman wore a skintight, strappy, burgundy top and a tight, purple-sequined skirt with a slit all the way up to her thigh. Her heels were three inches of lethal spikes. The couple stared intensely at one another as the dance began in front of the restaurant.
Lucy was glad she’d brought Max somewhere good, where he could get a feel for the true nature of Buenos Aires. The people here were warm and friendly. Like most big cities there was always some crime, but it still felt safe to walk most of the streets alone at night.
Max obviously worked hard, and she doubted he did much sightseeing on his travels to various kidnap hotspots around the world. She wanted to give him this.
The dancers began the intricate steps and movements that Lucy always found mesmerizing and sexy to watch.
Lucy found herself observing Max’s face as he watched the dancers. His eyes were dark and intense, brooding almost.
Was he wishing he wasn’t here with her, but rather with the pint-sized police officer with her imperious confidence and impressive rack? Or maybe he’d enjoy himself more if Lucy was her old perky, blonde self, the one Raminsky had all but destroyed? Bitterness rose through her mind at the memory of how hard she’d fallen for the man and how violently she’d crashed to earth. She wanted her old self back in the mirror, but she’d never be that naive again. Or that foolish.
And she didn’t know how she’d ever find the courage to sleep with a man again. And maybe that’s why she’d been so eager to adopt this new Lucy persona who hid in the shadows. So she could avoid men and their advances and not have to worry about her shattered heart getting obliterated.
She finished her wine and tried to banish Sergio from her mind, but that damned black and white photo told her exactly how much he’d cared about her. He’d cared enough to get a blowjob even though he knew their encounters were being filmed and would end up destroying her well-planned career.
A win-win from his point of view.
Misery welled up inside. She looked around in confusion when the man in the black suit took her hands gently in his and pulled her to the floor.
“What? No. I don’t want to dance.” She shook her head, but the guy was smiling and coaxing her. It was a thing they did with the tourists. The pity fuck in dance form.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. She should be used to them by now.
The woman dancer had pulled a bald, chubby guy out of the audience.
Her wannabe partner put his arms around Lucy and began the steps as the musician started playing the music again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Max watching her with concern. Suddenly Lucy didn’t want to be Frumpy Lucy Aston anymore—the wallflower, the ugly suit, the person who opened doors and made coffee.
The male dancer was patiently showing her the moves. He didn’t need to. She’d been taking lessons once a week since she’d arrived in Argentina—as a workout, but also as a harmless act of rebellion against her need to be constantly in disguise.
“Stop. Wait a second.” She took off her glasses and shook out her hair. Then she faced her dance partner with her head held high.
The male dancer held out his hands with a curious look. Lucy nodded her acquiescence, then began following her partner’s lead. Her instructor at her dance studio was demanding and always pushed for more and better.
She held this man’s gaze as if he were the love of her damn life, and the steps came naturally, drilled into her after weeks and months of hard work in the dance studio. The dancer’s palm felt hot through the cotton of her blouse. He twirled her and leaned her back over his arm, smoothing his hand sensuously down the front of her body and along her thigh and then pulling her upright again and sliding his hands down her back.
People were starting to clap when they realized she wasn’t the total newb the man had presumed her to be and that she could hold her own on the dance floor.
It was nice to surprise people in a good way for a change. Apparently, the words of the gorgeous Agente Ramon had stoked some of the smoldering anger trapped inside her. Maybe Lucy didn’t care what the woman said about her clothes because they were Lucy’s disguise, but she did care that the woman had been staring at Max like she wanted to lick ice cream off his naked, flawless skin.
Which had nothing at all to do with Lucy.
A sudden change in tempo had her and her partner increasing the intensity of their footwork, pushing all thought aside as they did the high steps and entangled their feet around each other’s legs as if they’d danced the tango together a thousand times. Lucy kept her expression serious but inside she was grinning, laughing even. They spun counterclockwise around the small plaza in a closed embrace. She wrapped her leg around his hip, and he pushed her away, only to snap her sharply back again.
It was sexy. It was electric.
Euphoria buzzed along her veins. Lucy felt exhilarated and alive for the first time in more than a year.
She dipped to the floor, looking up adoringly at this complete stranger. They ended with a dramatic pose, her knee between his legs, their lips almost touching. The music stopped, and the crowd went crazy.
She looked around, and Max was whistling between two fingers then clapping loudly. Warmth filled her, and she couldn’t stop the grin that split her face. Then she caught sight of a familiar visage in the crowd. Tall, skinny. He had a sharp nose and wore a flat cap.
Lucy stumbled, and her partner caught her.
“Perdoname.” He made sure she was steady on her feet before taking her hands in his and kissing them. He slid a note into her palm, slick as a magician. She grasped it tightly, realizing that Felix had set up this whole scene, and she’d once again been stupid enough to let her guard down.
She fixed a frozen smile on her face and stumbled back to her seat.
“That was incredible.” Max’s smile was vibrant, and his eyes glinted with what could have been attraction in any other situation.
She nodded quickly and searched through her bag under the table, sneaking a quick glance at the note.
We are waiting.
She stuffed it deep into her purse and pulled out enough pesos to cover their meal even though Max objected.
“No,” she said sharply. “This is my treat, remember.”
And now, all that mattered was getting the hell out of there before humiliation swallowed her whole.
* * *
“Lucy,” Max shouted. “Wait up.” He had to jog to catch up she was walking so fast.
She slowed
when he reached her.
“Where d’you learn to dance like that, or is that a dumb question?”
Flames flashed in her eyes. “The Agency did not teach me to dance.”
He jolted because she’d gone from insanely sexy on the dance floor, to fiercely grim in the space of thirty seconds.
“I didn’t mean the Agency. I meant Buenos Aires.” But it was a pertinent reminder of who Lucy had been, or rather what she’d been, and how much he didn’t trust spooks.
Her lips parted as her expression was filled with remorse. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I needed to get out of there.”
“It’s not a problem.” Max rested a hand on her shoulder, hoping to get her to relax again.
She reached up to touch his hand and then cast a glance over her shoulder and moved away from him. Was she looking for someone?
He looked down the street, but it was largely empty of anyone except tourists.
What had happened?
She’d relaxed around him earlier. Then, after that eye-popping dance, he’d expected the walls to be fully demolished, but she’d immediately resurrected them again. Why?
They began walking down a cobbled street to where she’d parked.
He let the silence rest for a minute then said, “That was very cool. The tangoing. The look on the guy’s face when he realized you were a pro.”
She snorted. “I’m not a pro.”
“You looked like a pro. I take it you had lessons?”
Lucy drew in a long breath and released it slowly. “Yeah, I had lessons. No one gets any good at the tango without a ton of lessons.”
They were approaching her Mini.
She sighed softly. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you back there.”
It was time to get back to work, but Max had questions. “Why did you? Freak out?”
She pinched her lips together and crossed her arms. “I really don’t like being the center of attention.”
Max watched the way her eyes flickered to him and away as if searching for his reaction. She wasn’t telling him the whole truth.
The woman he’d watched dancing had been confident and sensual. She’d wanted to prove to the man who’d chosen her out of the dozens of people sitting near the café that he’d been wrong to assume she wouldn’t know what she was doing. And she’d nailed every single sexy frickin’ move. Then, at the end, something had made her regret her actions.
He opened his mouth to deliberately mislabel some emotion and prompt her to say more, but his work cell rang.
He answered and listened intently. “Be there in twenty minutes.” He hung up.
“Did something happen?” Lucy asked, climbing behind the wheel of her car and removing the steering lock.
“The ambassador called a meeting. Diplomatic Security brought Kristen’s belongings back to the embassy.”
“They found something?”
Max nodded. “A tracking device in one of the packages.”
Lucy started the engine, her lips compressed into a tight line. “That means these kidnappers are pretty sophisticated, right?”
Max nodded thoughtfully. “More sophisticated than most. It also means Kristen was absolutely the target of this abduction.”
“I don’t like this, Max.”
It was the first time she’d called him by his first name, but he didn’t have time to examine the feeling of warmth that invaded him as a result.
“I don’t like it either.”
Chapter Eighteen
Irene leaned against the radiator, grateful the day hadn’t been as scorching hot as the one before. She’d pushed the hood up onto her head so she could breathe more easily. The cushion she sat on made her situation much more comfortable despite the unrelenting cast iron at her back.
All day she’d drifted in and out of a medicated stupor, but something was bothering her. She was supposed to be doing something. She went to scratch her nose, and the heavy chains reminded her what it was.
Handcuffs.
She was supposed to be trying to figure out how to escape the handcuffs. She tried making her hand as small as possible and tugging and twisting the steel bracelet, but it jammed tight on her wrist bones. Her skin was sore and already showing signs of chafing. If she wasn’t careful, the wounds could get infected.
Well, that would suck.
Dark humor almost made her smile.
Her breakfast tray sat nearby. They’d given her a plastic knife and fork. She sat up and tried the tine of the fork in the small hole in the cuffs, but it was too big and too brittle. She didn’t want to risk it breaking in there and make them suspicious that she was trying to escape. She planned to be a perfect hostage, unless she had a real shot of getting out of here.
She sighed and leaned her head back and stared at the water-damaged ceiling. How the hell had her life become this awful battle for survival?
And how was she going to get out of these cuffs?
Her eyes caught on a nail in the shutter above her. She blinked and tried to stand, but her hands couldn’t reach high enough to pull at that nail. She glanced around the floor. There was a wide skirting board. The joint where the wall recessed behind the radiator looked loose though. She reached around the side of the radiator and was able to grasp the edge of the wood. It was difficult to find purchase, but she dug her short nails in the gap and tried to work it free. She pulled until her fingers ached, unable to exact any real leverage. Her fingernail broke down to the quick and she swore and stuffed her sore finger into her mouth to soothe the sting.
She stared at the offending piece of wood. Then she tried again. She put all the force she could muster into another effort and shot backward, yanked up short by the chains when the board came free.
Ouch.
She winced at the noise and sat there panting for a few anxious breaths. Her hood had fallen off, and she grabbed it with her feet and hugged it close to her chest. Even though she despised the thing, it was also a refuge. Wearing it provided a form of safety. If she couldn’t identify the men who’d taken her, then they didn’t need to kill her. She couldn’t afford to lose this stupid hood.
She placed it on top of the dog bed and went back to the piece of wood that had come loose. It was about twelve inches long, and there was one nail sticking out of the middle. Carefully, she pushed the nail out by pressing the strip against the floor. Then she placed the broken baseboard back against the wall, grateful when it stayed upright.
She arranged herself back on the padded cushion, spine against the unyielding cast iron. Then she pulled the hood onto her head like a hat that she could easily roll down if someone came in. Tiredness was dragging at her, and she didn’t want to risk falling asleep without remembering to put the heavy cloth over her face.
She picked up the old-fashioned nail. Rolled it between her finger and thumb. It was rusty and left an orange stain.
She poked the nail awkwardly at the keyhole in the cuffs. She didn’t have the first clue how to pop the lock, but she wriggled the metal in the tiny space for what seemed like hours.
Nothing happened. She needed a bobby-pin or a paperclip or a freaking miracle.
Suddenly, she heard someone down in the kitchen. The scrape of a chair. Proving, despite the silence, they’d been there all along. She looked down at her fingers, all brown with rust.
She quickly took the hood and slipped the nail into the opening for the drawstring. Then she washed her fingers with the little water that remained in her bottle, hiding the drips beneath her precious cushion. Her hands still smelled of iron, but it was diluted. She rubbed them quickly over her dirty jeans to get rid of the last of it.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she pulled the hood over her head and lay down, pretending to be asleep.
Someone came into the room, but she didn’t stir. She felt them watching her and forced the breath slowly in and out of her lungs.
Finally, they picked up the wooden tray and retreated. She heard them head
back down the stairs.
Had they given Kristen food? It sure hadn’t sounded like it if she was being held on this floor. It was weird to treat them differently.
Irene wasn’t convinced it was a good sign that they’d fed her a good breakfast.
She was too tired to try to figure it out. She let the drowsiness deepen into slumber. Let her worries dissolve for a brief window of peace. Tonight, Kristen would be getting out of here, but Irene knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Not unless she could get out of these damn cuffs.
* * *
“Where have you been all day, SSA Hawthorne?” The ambassador was seated behind her massive desk in her imposing office with her fingers steepled together. It was a power position. “We’ve been trying to reach you.”
Her eyes held a dangerous combination of desperation and anger.
Max regarded her coolly. He was here at her pleasure, but she was not his boss. If she tried to take over the investigation, he’d report her to his acting Unit Chief at CNU. Having an ambassador who wanted to be closely involved in an investigation wasn’t a unique situation, having one related to a victim was. Maybe he’d get replaced. Maybe she would. It was not an issue for him. Under the circumstances, she definitely had the most to lose.
Lucy closed the door behind them and went to stand over by the wall. She hadn’t said much since they’d received the phone call telling them to get back here. Why did she distance herself that way? Miranda certainly didn’t. She was standing at the ambassador’s shoulder like a hungry pilot fish shadowing her favorite shark.
All the gang were here.
The Legat sat in one of the armchairs and Iain Bartlett from Diplomatic Security Service sat in another. Phillip sat on a couch off to one side. He looked like shit.
Max decided to stay standing. “What’s happened?”
“We found this.” Iain Bartlett held out a small electronic transmitter inside a clear plastic evidence bag.
Max picked it up and examined it. “Is it active?” Could they track it back to its owner by following the signal?
Iain shook his head.
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