The need, at least for her, to cling to someone.
To know she wasn’t alone.
Perhaps she’d clung a little too hard because he looked almost angry when he marched them back to the metro.
Hadn’t really looked at her since.
The man needed to lighten up. It wasn’t like she wanted a proposal. Just help her find out who was trying to kill the general, get her on a plane, and he could wash his hands of her.
She’d chalk up her crazy behavior—and the wild outfit York made her wear—to being on the lam in a former communist country. That felt fair.
Coco had given her clothes that felt more her speed—a pair of yoga pants, an oversized shirt, and socks. Now RJ got up and headed to the bathroom down the hall. She spotted York leaning against the windowsill in the kitchen holding a cup in his hands. He looked up, and she caught his gaze on her as she slipped into the bathroom.
Oh, the hair. She found a pick in Coco’s closet and fought it for a while, then gave up and pulled it back into a ponytail. Coco had given her a toothbrush last night, and she used it to feel human again, washed her face, and finally emerged, mostly herself.
Coco was in the kitchen with York, finishing off a piece of cake, one foot drawn up and nudged next to the table, watching her computer run a program.
“Hey, sis,” she said as if she and RJ might be back in Montana hanging out on a Saturday morning. “I made a batch of your mom’s applesauce cake. There’s coffee on the stove. Bad habit I can’t seem to break.”
Coco wore a pair of runners and a sleeveless shirt, a wrap in her short red hair that only accentuated her high cheekbones, the freckles across her nose, and her often too-perceptive gray-green eyes. “I think York and I have pinned down the source of your email hijacker.”
RJ sliced a piece of cake from the pan on the stove, poured herself a cup of coffee, and brought them both over to the table, sitting down beside Coco.
York hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, and she glanced at him.
He wore a frown, his lips pursed.
“What’s his problem?” she said to Coco. Finally, maybe she had an ally.
“Oh, that’s just York. He’s been grumpy his entire life.”
York made a noise, drained his cup, and set it on the counter. “Are you done with the sofa? I need some shut-eye.”
Yeah, she hadn’t thought about the fact that in this one room flat, she’d taken the only place to sleep. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” he mumbled and headed down the hall.
Coco reached out with her foot and closed the kitchen door behind him. Turned to her. “Everything. I need to know everything.”
RJ laughed. “Wow, I missed you. Where have you been? What—I mean, you just vanished. And now you’re a super hacker in Moscow?”
“I didn’t just vanish. I had…have…family here. My, um…my dad’s family lives in Moscow, and after the Wyatt thing—”
“You mean the part where Wyatt fell completely in love with you?”
Coco drew a breath at that, as if RJ’s words stung. Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Wyatt wasn’t in love with me.”
“Then what was the make-out session in the barn all about?”
“The one where your brother caught us and completely freaked out?”
RJ made a face. “So, there might have been a slight overreaction there.”
“Wyatt wasn’t my real brother.”
“I know. But Ma considered you her daughter. Still does.”
Coco broke off a piece of cake. “I know. How is she?”
“She’s okay. Dating, actually—a guy named Hardwin. He’s nice, I guess. It’s just…you know, the ranch isn’t the same without Dad. Knox is doing a great job running it, and I guess Reuben is going to move home and help him, but—oh, Reuben got married, finally.”
“That girl from Geraldine—the one that Knox dated too?”
RJ shook her head. “No. He married the pilot with his smokejumping team. But yeah, that fight between Knox and Reuben was rough.”
“First time I’d ever seen a real family brawl. I think every one of the brothers got in on it.”
“That’s the Marshall men—they don’t know the word for slow down, be careful, stop and think…you know, prudence.”
Although, with her words came the sharp, swift memory of diving into York’s arms. A blush pressed her face.
Coco saw it, frowned. Looked past her to the room down the hall. “You know, York was acting really strange when you arrived. He went to check on you a few times when you were sleeping and once just stood there at the door, watching you. Did something happen between you two?”
Oh. Uh. “If you don’t include him saving my life, trapping me in his safe house for a week, and dressing me like a hooker, then…no.”
“Really?”
“He doesn’t like me, I promise. He was probably standing there trying to figure out if he could dump me off at a train station.”
“He wouldn’t do that. York might seem armor-plated with all sharp edges, but under all that is a good man. At least he was when he was dating my friend Tasha. He changed after she was killed, but I know he’s still in there.”
Tasha?
Coco got up and poured herself more coffee. “Tasha was a videocaster and ran a site called the October Review. She uncovered and debunked conspiracy theories, raised a few scenarios of her own, and basically gave political commentary on current government policies. She had the audacity to believe in a truly free Russia.”
Coco turned, leaning against the sill. “I helped her set up an encrypted email box so that she could get tips without having the government watching over her shoulder. We became friends—she liked to quiz me about American policies and culture. And she liked American food. I’m not sure how she met York, but he was at her flat once when I went over to teach her how to make pizza. Maybe that’s why she wanted to learn—to cook for him, but he never stuck around long. I’m not sure their relationship was public knowledge. I know he used to work at the embassy in some capacity.”
“Security.”
Coco nodded, looked at her coffee. “He’d left by the time he met Tasha. I think he had something terrible happen to him, but Tasha never got it out of him. He’s pretty private.”
Huh.
“Tasha was killed while crossing the street to her flat one January night. They said it was an accident—a car skidded out of control and hit her, but they never found the car. And York thinks…well…”
“That she was murdered.”
“Assassinated. She was looking into a scandal involving a Russian politician who had an American mistress, with the theory that he gave her state secrets in exchange for…well, you know.”
“You think the politician had her killed?”
“I don’t know. York brought me her computer, and I swept it for information, dug through her emails, and all I came up with was a reoccurring name—Pavel Tsarnaev. He’s some sort of Russian-Chechen boss and we couldn’t connect the dots. York got a call from some guy who lives off the grid in Europe, a black-ops type who said he’d picked up news about a contract on Tasha’s life. Said the contract was tagged by an operator who worked in Moscow. A guy named Damien Gustov. He’s got a laundry list of kills and horrific acts. Wanted in seven countries.”
Silhouetted against the pane, she looked alone but fierce, an older version of the girl who knew how to stand up to Wyatt and his cocky shenanigans. She’d been the only one, that RJ knew of, who’d gotten under Wyatt’s skin, diverted his attention away from his first love, hockey.
Of course he’d loved Coco. RJ had a gut feeling he’d never gotten over losing her.
Funny that Coco hadn’t figured that out.
“York became obsessed with finding him. He’s still here under an embassy visa, but I’m not sure what he does.” Coco came back to her computer, sat down. “All I know is that he isn’t leaving Russia until he finds him.”
Transportation.
RJ had joked about his definition of his profession, but yeah.
She’d seen the darkness in his eyes.
Tasted the deep wounds evidenced in his hungry kiss.
He’s pretty private.
“He saved my life. And he’s helping me figure out who took a shot at General Stanislov, so he’s still a hero underneath all that darkness.”
“No, actually, I’m not.”
She stiffened, then turned. Of course York stood at the door, his hands in his pockets, his mouth in a tight line of annoyance.
Sorry, but, “Yes, you are.”
“The minute you start thinking that is the minute you find yourself trusting me. And you shouldn’t trust anyone right now, honey. First rule of spy craft.”
“I’m not a spy. I’m an analyst, Sugar Pie.”
His eyes narrowed around the edges, just a smidgen. Then he walked over behind Coco and leaned down. “Tell me something good.”
“Okay.” Coco was typing and now pulled up the results of the search. “The emails to RJ were sent from a server here in Moscow. They came from a blind user, but I’ve tracked the account to a secure email box, not unlike the one I set up for Tash.”
RJ glanced at him, and the name didn’t even register a flicker on his face.
“I was able to get into the logs, and I’ve been running a search on other emails sent by this server in the past three years.” She leaned back. “Look familiar?”
RJ leaned over and a plain text email popped up.
I will find you.
Chilling, but she frowned, not sure—
York took a deep breath, stood up, went to the window, and stared out, an unmoving fortress.
“I don’t understand,” RJ said.
Coco looked up at her. “York sent that letter to Damien two years ago. To this IP address.”
“And that’s the same IP address that sourced the emails that I received?”
“Yeah. The same person who set you up.”
“Damien—what was his name?”
“Gustov,” York said. He turned, his eyes fierce. “So now we’ve discovered who set you up.”
“And who was trying to kill General Stanislov.”
He nodded. “Now it’s time to get you out of the country.”
“But—” She got up. “Listen, this guy is still out there, still hunting the general—”
“And what are you going to do about it, Miss Analyst? Hunt him down with your savvy Sydney Bristow skills? You’d be dead in an hour.”
“What? No I wouldn’t. I can speak Russian just as well as you can. And sure, I don’t have ninja skills, but I’m not inept. I thought pretty fast on my feet last night, didn’t I?”
A flicker in his eyes, and he swallowed. Then he looked past her. “Kat, can you send a message to David? Tell him I’m coming in—with Miss Marshall.”
Coco gave a quick glance at RJ, then back to York. Nodded.
“York—” RJ started.
“We leave in an hour. I’m getting a shower.” He met her eyes then, something lethal and cold enough in his gaze to root her to the spot. “Don’t get any wild ideas about leaving.”
He headed to the bathroom.
“Wow.”
“Ignore him,” Coco said.
“What about the general? He needs to know he’s still in danger.”
“I can get a message to him.”
She could? Okay, but, “Can you get a message to my family? I doubt they’ve heard anything—it’s not like my mug shot made international news, but I don’t want them to worry, in case it did.”
Coco gave her a look. “I have news for you, Rubes. Your picture is on Interpol. You’re wanted worldwide.”
RJ reached for her chair.
“I think you need to do what York says and get out of the country ASAP. And don’t listen to him about not trusting anyone. You can trust me. And York.” She got up. “I think I can figure out a way to get a message to your family without alerting suspicion. In the meantime, go riffle through my closet and find a change of clothes. Something a little more…Russian.”
“I’m not wearing leather.”
Coco laughed. “How about a miniskirt and a cutoff sweater?”
“Now you’re just mocking our high school closet.”
Coco grinned, but she looked away, out the window. “So, how is he?”
He. Oh. Wyatt.
“He’s playing professional hockey for the Minnesota Blue Ox.”
“I know. I sorta…I watch the games, sometimes on YouTube.” She gave a wry smile. “But…does he…is he…” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”
Oh, Coco. Because she’d never been able to hide how she felt about Wyatt. “Is he dating anyone?” RJ filled in for her. “No. Not that I know of.”
Coco lifted a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. We had that…moment. And then…” She glanced at her. “Actually, that wasn’t the end of it.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I saw him in Russia, two years ago. He was playing in the International Ice Hockey Federation national championship here in Moscow.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. He was having a party. We…caught up, but…it would never work out between us. He has a big life. I live in a one room flat. He has fans around the world. I wear the same clothes for a week. I don’t fit in to his life.”
“Coco—”
“No, it is what it is. And I know that. I just want him to be happy.”
But a tear cut down her cheek. She wiped it away. “If you see him, tell him…” She offered a smile. “Tell him that I wish him well.”
Oh, her sister wished for more than that, so RJ reached out and drew Coco to herself.
“Tell your mother that I think of her every time I make applesauce cake.”
“And good cake it is.”
York picked right then to emerge from the bathroom. He was bare-chested, his dark blond hair spiked up, still wet, water glistening on the dark hairs of his chest, his jeans low on his hips. A towel hung around his neck. He stood there a moment, watching the women embrace, then turned and walked down the hall, lifting the towel to dry his hair.
RJ let her go.
“Oh my,” Coco said. “Those shoulders.”
Mmmhmm. Except—she turned to Coco. “Is there something between—”
“No. Definitely not.” Coco held up her hands in surrender. “He’s all yours, sis. Have fun.”
Oh yes, this was going to be a blast.
All her life Scarlett had dreamed of adventure. And sure, sailing the ocean blue, disembarking in places like Bahrain, Spain, and even Norfolk sounded exciting, but all of that had been spent testing radio communications, getting supplies from the base, and maybe finding a place to eat off base that didn’t give her food poisoning.
Her best adventures she lived vicariously through Ford, experienced through his ops, all of which she’d only been privy to through the drone screen.
Which meant that none of those ever included seeing a castle outside her hotel window.
A castle.
It sat on a hill above the city of Prague, with medieval, Gothic spires that should probably have a dragon clutching one of the black-hatted turrets. Below the castle, the hill was dotted with red-roofed buildings all the way to a wide, glistening river. And over that river arched ancient cobblestone bridges clogged with watercolorists and photographers and flower vendors and…
The place felt like romance.
It didn’t help that Ford had changed into a very unobtrusive black T-shirt, faded jeans, and hiking boots, trying to blend as they walked the city this morning to stave off jet lag.
As if. The man walked with a confidence that radiated military if not spec ops, and just being around him made her wonder why he’d needed her.
Maybe she didn’t want to know. It was enough to savor his words, let them settle deep with the memory of his eyes searching hers as he delivered his deliciously lethal sentence.
S
carlett, I…I need you.
Yeah, she was a goner, right there. So, yes, when he put it that way, of course she’d drop everything and dash over the ocean with him. Why not?
Frankly, what else was she going to do? She still had two weeks of personal emergency leave, and her separation papers were sitting on her table at home, and this might be her last real adventure before…well, she hadn’t a clue what she might do in the civilian world.
Wait tables, maybe.
Scarlett turned away from the window where it looked out over a cobblestone square. The gorgeous cathedral sat on a hill a stone’s throw away, and in the square below, a carriage drawn by a horse waited for her as if she might be Cinderella.
She felt like it.
Wake up, girl, and come to your senses. They were meeting Roy, Ford’s contact, in less than an hour. And Hamilton Jones, the operator whom Ford had hired to help them secret his sister out of Russia, was due shortly after that. He’d emailed that his flight was delayed.
Which meant that they were on their own for this super-secret-007 meeting.
Cool.
A knock came at the door of her room. “Red?”
The historic room hosted a tiny double bed, a bathroom as big as a closet, and a wooden floor that had to be centuries old, given the moans and creaks it uttered as she walked across it.
She opened the door.
Ford had donned a jean jacket for their clandestine meet and greet. And he hadn’t shaved, his face deliciously rustic. “You ready?”
She wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, her running shoes. “Yep. How far is it?”
“A café a few blocks away. I figure we’ll get there early, get the lay of the place, figure out exits…” He lifted a shoulder. “I hate not having a weapon.”
She closed the door behind her as she left the room. “You think this guy will know where RJ is?”
He’d filled her in on the story he’d gotten from Senator White, as well as pieced together information from his brief Skype meeting with RJ a couple weeks ago. His sister had called him to relay information about a suspect Tate was trying to track down, someone wanted in connection to a bombing that had nearly killed Tate’s girlfriend. A bombing Scarlett had helped thwart. During the call, Ford had noticed the café, which he now pinpointed as European.
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