She ran up the carpeted steps but, in the dim light of the hotel, she missed a step and stumbled.
Strong arms caught her from behind.
“Lucy, are you all right?” Max’s hands braced her hips as she steadied herself.
Desire coiled low and velvety in her abdomen and rushed through her body for the first time in fifteen months. Her mouth went dry, and she pushed out of his grip.
She wasn’t supposed to feel this way ever again. It was dangerous. It led to destruction. Max let her go, a frown creasing his brow.
Lucy was messing everything up again with her seesaw emotions. She wasn’t supposed to run on emotion now. She was supposed to be a machine. Apparently, she needed a lobotomy to achieve that zone again whereas just a few short days ago she’d been so damn good at it.
“Max.” She forced his name over her lips. “I am so sorry. I should never have come back—”
“I invited you for a drink.” He put his hands in his pockets, deceptively casual.
“Ha.” Could she be any more of a rube? “That was before you met Ms. Sexy-Red-Dress back there.”
A small smile touched one side of his mouth, and a line cut into his cheek. “She’s a bored spouse who wants a revenge fuck because her husband cheated on her. I was the first man to cross her path. No more or less involved than that.” He tilted his head to one side. “I told you, I don’t get involved when I’m on a case.”
“Oh…” She swallowed uneasily. She seemed to be endlessly making a fool of herself in this man’s presence, and he showed infinite patience by bothering to explain himself when he didn’t have to. But his kindness wouldn’t survive the truth. He’d already made that clear.
She had the feeling Max Hawthorne was honest to a fault. He wasn’t a professional liar the way she was. Sure, he used words and mind games to get what he wanted when working with kidnappers and killers, but that was different.
She gripped her hands, massaging her fingers together. “I actually came back to apologize about earlier. You were right. I do stay in the background at work and try to make sure no one notices me.”
His dark eyes watched her intently. Was he suspicious of her?
“Ironically, most people don’t notice that about me but, apparently, you do.” She quirked a brow, hoping to make him smile and release her from the intensity of his gaze.
He didn’t. “Why?”
She shook her head and took another step toward the entrance. She didn’t want to lie but couldn’t tell the truth. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
Well, that was certainly true.
“Why join the Foreign Service, why learn to tango, for that matter, if you don’t want anyone to notice you exist?”
She stopped moving. His words ensnared her. His dark eyes held her in place.
She opened her mouth but couldn’t utter an answer that wouldn’t be a complete lie. Her ego had made her eager to show herself in a good light…after all the training she’d done. All the warnings she’d received. Now he needed an answer or else his suspicions might rise even further.
She hugged herself and gave him some of the truth. “I was involved with a man who turned out to be not very nice. It affected me badly.”
Max’s expression slowly morphed from probing inquisition to subdued rage.
She opened her mouth, releasing an unexpected sound of anguish. She couldn’t hold his gaze and looked down at the thick carpet, noticing a swirl of gold amongst the red. She wished she could disappear into that carpet like a ghost—which was exactly what she’d been trying to do since she’d arrived in Argentina in May. “He didn’t hit me or anything like that.” Her voice shook. “But he damaged me emotionally. He damaged me a lot.”
Sergio Raminsky had unmade the Lucy she’d been.
“So I’m sorry if my actions don’t always seem to make sense.” She swallowed noisily. “All I can say is I’m doing the best I can.”
When she looked up, Max’s expression had turned into regret. He opened his arms wide, and she stepped into his embrace without even thinking. She rested her forehead against the warm cotton of his shirt. The heat of his body immediately began melting the ice that encased her heart and fresh pain throbbed along her veins.
He hugged her closer and she found her arms unlocking from her sides and going around his back, gripping him hard, this almost-stranger who’d managed to destroy all her defenses with his observant nature and compassionate manner.
She inhaled him. The remnants of some sort of citrusy cologne and healthy male pheromones. He felt even better than he looked, the sculpted muscles of his back rock hard beneath her fingers.
She swallowed to loosen the stone wedged in her throat. She needed to let go. They were in a public place. An elegant lobby where anyone could be watching them. Anyone could be recording this interaction to use against one of them in the future. Even so her fingers clenched tighter and she couldn’t let him go.
“Lucy,” he whispered into her hair. He squeezed her and rocked her gently. “I’m sorry.”
She was sorry too. So damn sorry.
Lucy would not see Max hurt. She could not sacrifice someone with such bone-deep integrity. She would not. She pulled back and caught sight of the woman in the red dress walking arm-in-arm with a bald man toward the elevators.
Lucy froze as she stared after them.
Max twisted to follow her gaze. Amusement curved his beautiful lips. “See? I told you she was searching for a good time. Unless that’s the rat-bastard husband.”
There was something nigglingly familiar about the man. As he and the woman in the red dress turned toward the elevator, Lucy caught a glance of the man’s profile. The breath was sucked right out of her chest.
Holy shit. It was the Russian. Felix.
If she confessed that she recognized the man as Russian intelligence, all Max’s red flags would go up. She was a nobody in the Foreign Service. She wasn’t supposed to know the identity of a spymaster, but she had to do something.
“Max,” she said urgently. “Please don’t turn around or react.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled him down so she could whisper in his ear. She couldn’t risk anyone overhearing this conversation. “Any chance she could have been a plant?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like a honeytrap?”
He pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck in a way that allowed him to glance at the woman as she and Felix climbed into the elevator.
Lucy stood on tiptoe so she could reach his ear. “That man…he looks vaguely familiar. I think I saw him at the Russian embassy when I visited with the ambassador in the summer.” It wasn’t true, but it was a definite possibility, and Lucy was not letting Max stroll unaware into a cage of bears.
His expression went from easy-going to scary in a heartbeat. He gave a small laugh. “Holy shit. Her accent was flawless…”
Was the woman in the red dress a setup or a potential victim? Was the woman’s life in danger? Were the Russians planning to kill her and pin it on Max? Felix was on the hotel cameras with her…unless he somehow controlled hotel security.
Max appeared to be grinding his teeth.
“Maybe it’s coincidence,” Lucy suggested lamely. “Or my old Agency training kicking into high gear.” Fifteen months too late.
“I don’t believe in coincidences.” His expression narrowed.
Lucy shivered. “You better check your room for bugs.”
“The fuckers might have been through my room already.” Thoughts were running through his eyes. Violent thoughts. “They wouldn’t have found anything useful, but even so…”
“You can’t stay here.” What if he was in danger for some reason? Felix seemed particularly eager to know what the FBI were working on. “You should get your stuff and check out.”
It was almost midnight and they both had to get to work early tomorrow.
Max rolled his shoulders. “I can take care of myself.”
Bile rose
in her throat at the thought of him doing something reckless. “That’s your Y-Chromosome talking.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did he see you spot him?”
Lucy shook her head and glanced around, although no one appeared to be watching them. “He’s bound to know who we both are though.”
Max was obviously running various scenarios through his head. “I don’t want them to know we suspect they’re spying on me. If I check out of here, they’ll know they’re busted. Maybe one of the techs at Quantico can trace where any surveillance feed is going to. Get some proof of what the fuckers are up to and maybe we can use it against them.” The muscles in his jaw clenched. “But the idea of sleeping in a room where someone is spying on me makes my skin crawl.”
Lucy shuddered in reaction.
“Do you have a couch?” he asked.
Duh. “Of course, I have a couch.”
“Can I sleep on it?”
She frowned. “How would that be any different than you checking out? What possible reason would you have for coming home with me?”
Max took a step toward her and cupped the back of her head with one hand.
What was he doing?
His other arm caught her around the waist, pulling her tight against him even as he eased her backwards, off balance—like they were dance partners and he was doing a low dip.
Then he was leaning toward her, slowly, staring at her lips as if he were going to kiss her—which was ridiculous. She blinked up at him in bemusement until his lips actually touched hers, softly, gently. Her mouth parted on a gasp as her body went lax with sensual overload.
It felt so good.
He felt so good.
He kissed her, closed mouthed, with a slow determination that made something inside her unfurl, like a tightly bound rosebud finally flaring open. Like Sleeping Beauty waking after a hundred years. The slight scent of whiskey on his breath was earthy and hot, like flames on a log fire. The urge to sample more of him ripped through her. She opened her mouth and touched the tip of her tongue to the seam of his lips. Felt him groan in reaction.
Her fingers clenched desperate handfuls of his suit jacket. His heat seared her body like the energy of a solar flare. She felt his lungs expand as he inhaled. Then he pulled slowly away and smiled down at her.
“Because of this.” Warm eyes met her befuddled brain. “Because lonely Supervisory Special Agent Max Hawthorne is infatuated with Lucy Aston and plans to have his wicked way with her.”
He pulled her upright as her body rejoiced “Yes” then sent her crashing back down to earth when he added, “Of course, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I have a spare room with an en suite. You’ll be completely separate from me. I won’t intrude on your privacy at all.” It came out in a rush, as though reassuring him he’d be safe. From her.
But she also knew if she didn’t stay far away from the temptation of this man, she was going to wander naked into his room and accidentally stumble into his bed.
Lucy Argentina was desperate, after all.
One side of his lips curled up and Lucy couldn’t stop thinking about his lips smiling against her skin.
Her pulse skittered. Dear God. Fifteen months ago, her libido had been obliterated. Even the thought of intimacy had repelled her. Max Hawthorne had walked into her orbit and everything had started to realign.
It was dangerous. It was delusional. And even though she was doing everything she could think of to keep him safe and not to compromise him the way Raminsky had compromised her, it could still happen if she wasn’t careful.
Associating with her was a risk. Kissing her in public was skydiving from the edge of the atmosphere. She couldn’t let it happen again, but she also couldn’t let him be in danger when the Russians were more than willing to hurt people to get what they wanted.
“Let’s hurry.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Kristen didn’t know what time it was or how much time had passed since her abductors had last visited. It had been hours since she’d heard any noise in the house, although the thick wood of the wardrobe tended to muffle sound. Which was probably why they’d stuffed her in here. At least it hadn’t been so suffocatingly hot today, although she definitely stank of sweat.
They’d let her out briefly that morning for her ablutions and had given her more water and an apple to eat. The scent of fried food had wafted up the stairs at some point, sending her stomach into lustful spasms, but they hadn’t given her any.
Deliberate torture or callous disregard?
What did it matter?
Her food from last night was long gone, and she was so desperately in need of the toilet, she was doing everything she could not to think about it.
She had been tempted to sneak out and use the bathroom, but she had to hold it. Based on the pattern so far, she expected someone to turn up and let her out soon.
What if they didn’t? How did she even know if it was night or day? How would she know when the best time to escape would be?
But if she timed it right, the kidnappers might not know she and Irene were missing for hours. And, depending on where they were, they might need that time to find help. If she timed it wrong, she risked walking straight into one of her captors as they came into her room, along with all the unintended consequences that would bring.
Finally, the bedroom door banged open and she jolted.
As the catch rattled, she made sure the hood was pulled down low over her face.
“¡Levántate!”
Ugh. She braced herself. It was the nasty guy. Even though the older guy scared the shit out of her with his knife and gruff demeanor, she preferred dealing with him. This guy was unstable. She was pretty sure he was on drugs. Hopefully, he’d be more interested in his next fix than doing anything bad to her.
She climbed to her feet and immediately fell against the doorframe because her limbs were so weak. She was shaking from lack of food.
He grabbed her arm, pinching the skin hard enough that she cried out.
“¡Rápido!”
Was she keeping him from a previous engagement? So sorry to inconvenience you, motherfucker.
“Sorry.” Of course, she was sorry. She was scared out of her freaking wits because these people were assholes.
He dragged her to the bathroom and then yelled at her to pee.
Fresh fear stole over her in a wave. She knew she needed to be very careful not to provoke him in any way.
It was dark outside. She pulled down her jeans, trying to cover herself with her shirt at the same time.
She could hear him scratching around in the other room and reveled in the knowledge he wasn’t watching her. She finished up and took time washing her hands. The rope swelled when it was wet, but it was worth that added discomfort to have clean fingers for even a short time.
She felt her way to the door and stood uncertainly on the threshold.
He grabbed her arm, and she tripped as he pulled her along. Jesus.
She got to the wardrobe almost out of breath when he shoved her inside. She sank to the floor and he tossed a water bottle into her lap along with another apple. Then he closed the door with a vicious bang.
Kristen lay there in stunned silence.
Obviously, he was pissed about something.
She gathered up the water bottle and apple and placed them neatly beside her. She couldn’t wait to get out of this place, but what if Irene couldn’t get out of the cuffs?
Kristen didn’t want to leave her friend but maybe the best solution was her escaping out the window and leading the cops back here. She swallowed. Did that make her a coward? She didn’t know.
She was terrified so she probably was a coward.
She ate her apple slowly. Savoring the sweet flesh. When she got out of here, she might never eat another apple again. She wiped her sticky mouth on the damp rope, then reached for the ledge where she’d hidden the knife.
And found nothing.
She sat up on her
knees and ran her hands frantically along the ledge. Had it fallen off? She searched every inch of the entire wardrobe. After five minutes of frantic activity, she sagged against the unyielding wood. That bastard had found her plastic knife. He’d taken it. And with it he’d taken her only hope of escaping and of rescuing her friend.
* * *
Max walked into Lucy’s modern apartment and looked around with interest. It was almost blindingly white with framed black and white Ansel Adams prints hanging on the walls.
He’d collected an overnight bag from his room and made sure everything left behind was impersonal and unimportant. He hoped the Russians hadn’t read Kristen’s diaries which had been in his safe, but if they were watching him then the chances were, they had. He’d called Brian Powell on the drive over to Lucy’s, but the guy hadn’t picked up. Max had contacted Eban instead, and the other agent was going to confer with counterintelligence agents in DC. Eban promised to send Lucy some photographs in the morning to see if she could identify the man she thought she’d seen with Teresa from Texas. Max hadn’t seen his face.
Lucy had nodded listlessly when he’d passed that on, but she hadn’t complained. She looked utterly exhausted and her features were drawn tight.
Max couldn’t believe he’d kissed her. At the time it had seemed like the most perfect ruse, but the kiss had blown his mind. That one slight touch of her tongue had shot his blood temperature to boiling and it had taken every degree of self-control that he possessed not to push it further.
She had a sweet mouth and a passionate heart, and he hated that someone had hurt her. He couldn’t afford to kiss her again or risk anything else happening between them. The idea of taking Lucy to bed was beginning to invade his thoughts. He found her crazy-attractive with her messy hair and baggy clothes.
He had the impression she wasn’t that experienced with men. He did not want to hurt her when he left, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted from the case when the situation here was ramping up.
He needed sleep so that tomorrow he could persuade the kidnappers they’d reached the families’ limits in terms of cash. Maybe they could throw in some jewelry or a stereo system to really drive the message home. If the kidnappers proved intractable when it came to the money, then maybe they were working for Russian intelligence. Maybe there never had been any hope of getting Irene or Kristen released.
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