As soon as they walked through they were met with the sounds of a heated argument.
“You don’t have the sense of a turnip!” a female snarled.
“I’m the senior person in charge,” a man bit back. “Until Ian or Erik gets here, you’ll take my orders.”
Ian instantly recognized the male voice as belonging to Anders, the first man he and Erik had hired when they opened shop five years ago. The woman was his new hire, Mia. Ian groaned inwardly. Dealing with personnel problems had always been more of Erik’s forte than his, but Erik had suffered a burst appendix the week before and was still at home resting on doctor’s orders, making Ian the default go-to guy for everything.
He’d taken only one step into the room when Anders heard him and whipped his head up from the coffee machine where he was scowling and pouring coffee simultaneously. That, Ian thought, was one of the many reasons they’d hired Anders. At five foot ten, the burly redhead was shorter than both he and Erik, but was built like a bulldog and had the senses of a canine to boot. He was an ex-marinejegerkommandoen operator—which was a maritime special warfare unit of the Norwegian Special Operations Command. Anders’ specialty had been hostage rescue, and he was incredibly skilled at orchestrating direct action missions where the goal was to get in, retrieve, and get out. When Anders had torn his ACL he’d been discharged from the military and Ian had actively recruited him for the position of Mission Coordinator at Northern Wolf Services. Whenever Ian was in the field with an earpiece, it was usually Anders in his head.
Mia, the new hire, stood with her hands on her hips, her dark eyes shooting daggers at Anders. Mia was a military brat of Japanese descent who never graduated high school or attended college. Ian had hired her when she’d hacked into Northern Wolf Services computer system and stolen information about one of their clients. It had taken him two weeks to hunt her down, but when he did he made her an offer that would permanently secure her loyalty—and skills—for Northern Wolf Services.
Mia turned to follow Anders’ gaze. When her eyes fell on Ian she opened her mouth to say something and then she noticed Leah. Her temper momentarily diverted, she gave Leah a good old-fashioned once-over. Ian stifled a smile when Leah bristled under the other woman’s gaze and returned the rude gesture.
“It’s good to see you,” Anders said. There was a note of relief in his voice. He’d also noticed Leah, but his assessment had been much more discreet. “Dag picked up your client’s wife late last night. She got on the plane a few hours ago.”
“Excellent,” Ian said in English, a subtle hint that their guest didn’t understand Norwegian. “Have you heard from Erik?”
Anders replied in perfect English. “Yeah, he’s teleconferencing in and bugging the shit out of us at least twice a day.”
Ian didn’t bother hiding his smile now. Erik hated being out of the loop. He’d been ordered to finish out the week in bed and Ian knew it was killing him.
Mia’s anger had returned during the exchange and she burst in then, unable to contain herself for one more moment. “Anders won’t let me buy a new parabolic mic! He says the one we have is good enough.” She snarled in disgust. “Maybe it’s good enough for grandpa here, but the mic I want is modular, which means money saved when one of the pieces breaks, which it will. And it has vibration isolation technology to eliminate unwanted noise. But he says I can’t make any large purchases without clearing it with you or Erik first.”
“It’s nearly three thousand dollars,” Anders said defensively. Mia glowered at him.
“We’ll meet later to talk about it,” Ian said to Mia. That he didn’t outright blow off her request smoothed her feathers a bit. “Is Svein here?”
The taunting gleam in Anders’ eyes disappeared. “In Conference B.”
Ian hadn’t yet clued him in on the Sokolov crapstorm or Leah’s role in it. He’d only instructed him to raise Northern Wolf’s threat level and increase its security. Anders knew that meant something serious had happened, and Svein’s presence would have only confirmed that.
Ian studied Leah as she openly gawked at the lobby. They were standing behind a curved blonde wood reception desk that was stacked with state-of-the-art electronics, including a wide monitor that displayed a multitude of colored squares from various cameras across the property. Against the opposite wall a fern was propped on a coffee table nestled between two black leather chairs in what was dubbed “the waiting area.” A vibrant abstract canvas hung over the fern. Ian thought the painting was ugly, but Erik had insisted on letting the designer have free reign. Erik’s argument had been that Northern Wolf catered to powerful people with varied tastes, and therefore it had to look the part. Ian didn’t really give a shit what the place looked like; all that mattered to him was that they were the best agency out there. If a client couldn’t look past a beige wall to their reputation, then that client didn’t deserve their services.
This attitude was why Erik was the public face of the enterprise.
An espresso machine stood at attention on a long sideboard behind the desk, and behind that a hallway led to the various offices and conference rooms.
“Leah, this is Anders and Mia,” Ian said. His two employees gave polite nods, but he could tell Mia was dying to ask who she was. “After Leah and I meet with Svein I want the whole team to gather in Conference A. When is Dag expected back?”
“His flight is landing at 1100 hours.”
“Perfect. Contact Erik and make sure he’s ready to teleconference in.”
Anders nodded. “Will do.”
“Ready?” Ian turned to Leah. Her shoulders were tense and her mouth was compressed into a thin line. Despite his reassurances, he could tell she was afraid of how Svein would react when he saw her. She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, grim determination entering her eyes.
“I’m ready.”
“Oooh, American,” he heard Mia whisper in Norwegian. “This is getting more interesting by the minute.”
Ian shot her a quelling look and she shrugged, half-apologetically, half-defiantly. Ian took Leah’s arm and walked her down the hallway. The floor was distressed gray wood, the walls clean white. It was Scandinavian minimalism to the extreme, but it was airy and bright, and he liked that. He’d worked in enough dark places in his lifetime.
Conference Room B was labeled clearly by a metal nameplate affixed to the door, and without preamble he pushed open the heavy wood door and they walked in.
Svein Larson stood at the far end of the conference room staring out the picture window at the bustling city below. At six feet he was average height by Norwegian standards, and had shaved black hair, dark skin, and powerful shoulders. With his profile against the sunlit window, Ian could see that Svein had remained in as good shape as ever. The man wasn’t the type to go soft just because he no longer dodged bullets for a living.
“Hello.” Svein spoke with his back to them. He stood there another moment, perhaps composing himself, before turning to face them. His eyes touched on Ian for a moment, and as always Ian caught a flash of deep gratitude in them. Ian had been hailed a hero—a term he was distinctly uncomfortable with—when he lodged a bullet in Shazada’s brain. The men they rescued should have hated him instead of thanking him. When he’d found them, he’d only been cleaning up his own mess. They’d been there because Sokolov had corrupted his informant. Because he’d fucked up.
Svein’s gaze shifted to Leah. The hardening in his expression was subtle, but it was enough that on an unconscious level Leah noticed and edged closer to Ian.
Ian gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and then walked toward Svein. He clasped his hand and they did the one-armed man-hug thing, slapping each other’s backs before breaking apart. “It’s good to see you man,” Ian said in English. “I wish the circumstances were different.”
“So do I,” Svein said. “You look good, you big bastard.”
“So do you. How’s married life treating you?”
Svein’s face
split into a grin. “My wife is . . . amazing. Do you know that when I told her I had to drive down here she didn’t ask a single question; didn’t even want to know why. She just looked at me and said, ‘you make him pay.’ I don’t know how she knows—that woman reads me like a book.”
Ian felt a twinge of an emotion that it took him several seconds to identify as jealousy. He’d never had that kind of relationship with a woman—probably because none of his relationships had ever lasted long enough. That was his fault; he was frequently deployed and secretive by nature—a repelling combination. When he’d left the FSK things hadn’t changed much. He traveled extensively and could be off the grid for weeks at a time, something he’d discovered most women didn’t like. He’d date a woman for a maximum of a few months and then move on, always choosing partners who felt the same way about short-term relationships. He was thirty-two now, and was surprised to find that for the first time in his life he had a pang of longing for what Svein had.
Ian said, “Svein, this is Leah Parker.”
Leah moved forward a step and then stopped, obviously unsure whether she should shake Svein’s hand or run in the opposite direction. Ian saved her from having to decide by adding, “Let’s take a seat. We have a lot to talk about.”
Svein sat down at one end of the oval conference table and Leah chose the far opposite end. Ian took the mediator’s role midway between them. He started by relaying to Svein the events of the past twenty-four hours. He’d given him minimal information over the phone, and he watched now as his friend’s face drew tighter and harsher when he learned Sokolov was alive and had ambushed Ian. Ian did his best to explain how thoroughly Sokolov had deceived Leah, but Svein appeared unconvinced.
Svein stared at Leah when Ian was finished, his expression so blank that the back of Ian’s neck tingled. “How do you know the woman is telling the truth? How do you know you weren’t meant to capture her?”
That had been Ian’s first thought as well, but his gut—and her micro-expressions—had convinced him otherwise. Very few people were that good at acting. Besides, she would have drowned if he hadn’t dived into the ocean after her, and only true fear could propel someone to take a risk like that. She’d obviously believed Ian was the monster Sokolov had made him out to be.
Leah spoke for the first time, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. “Hold up a second. I’m not here to prove who I am. I’m here so that Ian can prove to me who he is.”
Svein’s brows shot to his hairline.
“I dated Vincente for six months and never saw any indication that he was a crazy rogue Russian terrorist. I mean, he ordered diet Coke at restaurants. Does that sound terrorist-y to you? How do you expect me to trust a man I’ve known less than twenty-four hours over a man I’ve gone antiquing with?”
“You want proof?” Svein stood so abruptly the table rocked. Leah flinched and Ian’s muscles tensed.
Svein grabbed the back of his t-shirt with one hand and hauled it over his head, whirling around to display his back to Leah. She gasped and paled.
The skin on Svein’s back was crisscrossed with thick, ropey scars. He’d been flayed repeatedly while in the Taliban’s hands—just one of the many ways they’d made him suffer. Svein turned back around, pulling the shirt down over his muscled chest. He dropped his hands to the table and leaned forward. “Every night, for sixty nights, those bastards took me out of a hole in the ground and beat and tortured me. For sixty nights I prayed to die, especially when they took out the boiling water. Do you want to see the rest of my body? The melted skin on my thighs? Where my teeth are missing?”
Stunned, she silently shook her head.
“I would have suffered a long, miserable death if Ian and his team hadn’t torn apart that compound looking for us. The man sitting at this table with us, the one you foolishly believe is an ISIS terrorist, carried me out of that hellhole in the middle of a fucking gunfight. He took a bullet for me. I am personally affronted when you accuse him of committing the same atrocities as those ISIS cowards.”
The room vibrated with tension; Ian could practically feel the hostility rolling off Svein. Leah’s breathing was rapid and shallow. He waited, allowing the situation to take its course. The ball was in Leah’s court. Svein had shared all he would with her, and if she didn’t have the sense to accept the facts for what they were, Svein wouldn’t waste any more time trying to convince her.
Ian sincerely hoped it didn’t swing that way because he’d made Leah a promise that she could walk out of there free and clear whether or not she gave them the information they wanted. Svein wouldn’t be happy to discover that.
When Leah finally spoke, her voice was quiet and sincere. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, Svein. I believe you. I believe you both.”
Chapter 14
Svein’s face remained impassive after her apology, but at least he no longer looked like he wanted to jump across the table and strangle her. Leah supposed that was a start.
Ian turned to her. He’d stayed seated during her exchange with Svein, but she’d known he’d been alert and carefully monitoring the situation. “Now are you prepared to share what you know with us?”
From the corner of her eye Leah saw Svein shift his weight in a way that told her he was annoyed by the question. He was impatient to hunt down the man responsible for his Afghani nightmare, and yet Ian still insisted on giving her a choice, as promised. It was Ian’s adherence to his word as much as Svein’s scars that was the final nail in Sokolov’s coffin. Leah was convinced that Vincente—Sokolov—was the cold-blooded traitor they claimed he was, and that she, Leah Parker, was officially an idiot.
She’d actually dated an international terrorist, gone antiquing with a terrorist, flown halfway around the freaking world to help a terrorist abduct and/or murder an innocent man, and never once suspected what he truly was. The whole situation went so far beyond humiliating she didn’t even know what emotional territory it landed in. She felt dirtied by the past six months, soiled by the fact that she’d been an accomplice for the same monster responsible for Svein’s scars. She’d dedicated her life to putting repugnant men like Sokolov away, and then she’d gone and chosen one for a boyfriend.
It was suddenly very clear to her that as the world’s worst judge of character, it was time for her to hang up her girlfriend hat.
Leah swallowed back bile. “Yes. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
Svein straightened, feral satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. Leah wouldn’t want to be Sokolov when Svein got his hands on him.
Ian stood. “So that you don’t have to repeat yourself a hundred times,” he said as he walked her to the door, “I’m going to call in the rest of my team to listen to what you have to say.”
Oh great, an audience to regale with her utter stupidity. She supposed it was only a fraction of the penance she deserved for being a gullible fool.
“You need a minute?” he asked quietly. His mouth was so close to her ear that his warm breath caressed her.
Leah shivered. A minute was exactly what she needed. Or maybe ten minutes. Perhaps a few years. By then the humiliation might have faded a shade.
Ian directed her down the hallway to a ruthlessly organized office she immediately knew belonged to him. The office was quiet except for the soft hum of a sleek desktop computer and the ticking of a chrome clock on the wall. The room smelled musty, as if it hadn’t been used for a few days, and the air was chilled.
Ian shoved open a paned window that looked onto the city and fresh air rushed into the room, ruffling a pad of paper that had been left on the glass-topped desk. The walls were pale gray, the furniture black and chrome. It was sleek and efficient and gave off the same vibe as the rest of the office: we’re professional, but we’re not fussy.
Ian walked behind the desk and turned on the monitor. “The bathroom is over there.” He nodded to a door on the far wall.
When Leah shut the
bathroom door a motion sensor tripped the overhead light. The bathroom was about the same size as her apartment kitchen but shined with the tile one might see in a fancy hotel bathroom. It even had a shower.
Leah quickly used the toilet and washed her hands, studying herself in the mirror over the sink. She didn’t need to see the shadows under her eyes to know she was both physically and emotionally wrecked. Never in her life had she questioned her identity as much as she had over the past few days.
She ran her tongue over fuzzy teeth. She hadn’t had the chance to brush them and her toiletries kit was in her suitcase in Ian’s truck. Hoping to score some mouthwash, she opened a wood cabinet. Inside were neatly folded clothes separated by shelf: t-shirts, jeans, boxers, and a pair of combat boots. Fluffy white towels were stacked at eye level, and on the top shelf sat toilet paper rolls and an assortment of toiletries: shaving cream, aftershave, deodorant, a toothbrush, and . . . jackpot! Toothpaste.
Leah grabbed the tube and squirted a liberal amount of the blue gel onto her index finger and stood over the sink to scrub her teeth the best she could. She cupped her hands and rinsed her mouth with water, replaced the toothpaste, and emerged from the bathroom.
Ian sat behind his desk frowning at the computer screen. He looked up absently when she walked out. “Feeling better?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just scrutinized her as if she were a bug under a magnifying glass. Finally she said, “When can I fly home?”
“Tonight, if you want. You’re upholding your end of the bargain and I’ll uphold mine. I can have you booked on the last flight out.”
She nodded, relieved to go home but dreading another uncomfortable ten-hour flight.
Ian stood and stretched, the hem of his t-shirt riding up with the movement and revealing a strip of taut skin. A trail of blond hair ran vertically down his flat abs and disappeared beneath the band of his jeans. Leah probably should have averted her eyes; after all, she’d just sworn off men. But what woman would turn away from a heart-pounding, mouth-watering sight like Ian Haugen’s happy trail? The man was practically an Adonis: big and lean and muscled, with piercing blue eyes and a sensuous mouth that even the small cut Vincente had given him couldn’t mar. In fact, it only made him look more rakish.
Finding Lies Page 8