“And Mr. CIA?” Julie asked.
“Don’t go there,” Alex said with a smile. “Javier’s a nice guy. But he’s in Italy; I’m in Cleveland. The two worlds could not be farther apart.”
“Just wondering. Texas, you say? Like, a cowboy?”
“Julie, you stay out of this,” Rick said. “Don’t cause any trouble now.”
“Me? Never.”
“Thanks, Julie,” Alex said. “Yes, Texas. And he is cute. More handsome than most men I know, especially these two.” She pointed at her brothers and smiled.
“I knew it—go for it.”
“Julie!” Rick said. “This is my sister you’re talking about.”
“She deserves a better life than all the crap she’s been handed the last year,” Julie said. “And besides, Sunday dinners would be so much more interesting than they’ve been for the last year. Conversations that didn’t have the name Ralph inserted in every other sentence. Personally, I say the son of a bitch can go straight to hell.”
“I appreciate that,” Alex said. Her phone started to vibrate. The caller ID read 007.
“You aren’t going to answer that?” Julie said, looking at the screen. “007? Is that Mr. CIA?”
“Julie—” Rick said.
“No way I’m staying out of this. Someone has to look out for her.”
Alex patted the back of Julie’s hand. “Thanks, but I’m a big girl. I think I can handle this. If you’ll excuse me, I have to return a call.”
A glass of chardonnay in hand, Alex wandered through the house toward her old room, a refuge more than once during the last year. Sitting on her bed, she took a deep breath and called Javier Castillo, the man she’d fallen head over heels for in Venice in less than two days.
Now, why the hell are my hands shaking?
“How’s Cleveland?” a voice rich with the sound of Texas asked.
“Cold, snowing, and just plain miserable. But I’m staying warm at my folks’ and having a delightful Sunday dinner of roasted chicken and potatoes, a fine chardonnay, and the promise of a Cavaliers win against Chicago. I miss you. Where are you?”
“I’m still in Milan, where it’s also cold, raining, and miserable. How are you?”
“Jave, it’s all gone to hell. They’re trying to put me in the center of the fiasco here with Ralph and all the crap he’s left in his wake. I’m the target, and they suspended me.”
“They had no right to.”
“When did rights ever enter situations like this? You work for the Central Intelligence Agency—you know how it goes. All bureaucracies are the same.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“On another note, my sister-in-law is pestering me about some Texan I know.”
“Is this guy cute?”
“Shut up. You think I would like a guy who isn’t?”
She waited. She could almost hear him smile over the phone.
“You like me? You really like me?”
“Shut up. I said cute. Let’s leave it there. I have a few weeks to make a decision.”
“What’s that decision?”
“Whether my days as a Cleveland cop are over. Every nearby jurisdiction is looking for experience—I have that. Maybe a spot on a smaller force would be something I could do. The change would be good.”
“You’d be bored—you like the jazz.”
Alex was silent for a long moment.
“Alex?”
“I’m here. Just a lot to think about. Enough about me. How are you doing?”
“The proverbial shit-meet-fan stupidity. It seems that our little Venice adventure solved a whole bunch of political problems. Some in the State Department are breathing easier, but they are bureaucrats. Everything fits neatly in the box for them. My boss understands, but he has to cover his butt as well. After all, they were the ones that said they wouldn’t defend the journalist’s assertions about that Croatian thug—an embarrassment there. Such is politics. I’ve been called back to Washington, DC, for a sit-down with the State Department, the CIA chief for Europe, and a few others who have some interest in what’s happening with Bosnian terrorism. Seems that Ehsan and the other two Bosnian terrorists left an odd trail behind them in the weeks before they died. The current opinion is that they were lone wolves, and that the attack was directed at the Croatian presidential candidate, Kozak, for his part in the Balkan genocide twenty years ago. But Saudi Islamists, most likely Wahhabi fanatics, used the three Bosnians for their own ends. Such is vengeance and retribution when mixed with terror.”
“For those poor people on the ferry, they didn’t deserve to die,” Alex said. “I still can’t believe what happened.”
“I agree.”
“You’re going to Washington?” she asked.
“Yes, Wednesday. I called wondering if you might like to have dinner with me. I know a place.”
“You always know a place. In Washington?”
“Of course. So, you interested?” he asked.
“I have all the time in the world. But let me see about tickets, hotel, and—”
“I’ll cover the hotel,” Javier said. “That is, if you don’t mind?”
“Presumptuous, aren’t we?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll make separate reservations. But we can—”
“Discuss the details later. I’ll email you. Besides, it’s a short flight. You’ll be the one with jet lag.”
“I’ll manage. See you Wednesday night.”
Alex clicked off her phone and stared at the old Metallica poster still hung on her bedroom wall.
“You okay?” Julie said from the doorway. “The man didn’t just break your heart?”
She smiled. “No. On the contrary, he’s asked me out to dinner.”
“That’s nice.”
“In Washington, DC. Seems he’ll be in town.”
“You said yes, right?”
“Of course. A girl should never pass up a free dinner with a cute international spy from Texas in Washington, DC.”
“And who uses the caller ID 007.”
CHAPTER 4
Washington, DC
Alex gazed out the window of the Metro train car and into the blackness of the tunnel. The crowded car clattered and screeched as she traveled into downtown Washington, DC, from Reagan National Airport. Sitting among the press of the late-afternoon commuters, she felt alone, really alone, for the first time in almost a year. The din from the train and the anonymity of a crowd allowed her to lose herself in the noise. It was impossible to believe that two weeks earlier she’d been standing on a dock in Venice starting the vacation of her dreams. The past fourteen days were now nothing but their own train of coincidences, confusion, terror, and the arrival of an enigmatic Texan.
The two-block walk from the Metro station invigorated her. Javier had booked their rooms at the Fairmont hotel, a few blocks from George Washington University and Pennsylvania Avenue. Surprisingly for the first day of March, the day was crisp and bright, a welcome change from the dreary weather she left in Cleveland.
She’d been to Washington once to meet with the FBI over a joint task force. It’d come to nothing, but that trip had been memorable because she’d toured the usual sights and lingered at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, her father had been in the army. He’d had one tour in Vietnam, but talked little about his deployment. The memorial’s wall of black granite was larger than she had imagined, and afterward she felt a new bond with her father. That night, standing in the rain and running her fingers over the wall, had forever changed her understanding of her father’s part in the Vietnam War. If his name were on that wall, she would never have existed.
After a shower, makeup, and donning a little black dress with a short, glossy leather jacket, she now felt ready to take on the CIA spook from Waco, Texas. Javier, perched on a stool at the hotel bar, was staring at a half glass of dark beer. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. He spun on the barstool and returned the kiss, this time on he
r lips.
“Now, that is a proper Texas welcome,” Alex said, and slid onto a stool. She smiled at the bartender. “Belvedere on the rocks.”
“You look both absolutely scrumptious and utterly sinister,” Javier said.
“A girl should dress to impress. And you, in an Italian suit and a very classy tie. I do not take you for a polka-dot guy. Maybe bold military stripes, but dots?”
“From a small shop in Milan. The suit’s from there as well. The second time I’ve worn it. My neck feels raw from the shirt. Just not used to this style of living. You, on the other hand, were made to wear that getup.”
She kissed his cheek again. “All right then. Are we all done with the gushiness? Me? I’m thrilled to be here. Thank you for the dinner date.” She tapped her tumbler against his glass.
“You are most welcome.”
They took a table, ordered Italian, and updated each other on their trials and tribulations since leaving each other in Venice.
“How long are you in Washington?” Alex asked.
“At least three more days. I’m at Langley tomorrow for follow-ups. I might be reassigned. Milan again, but connected to something with NATO. That’s all I know and can say. Never a dull moment in the spy business. So, maybe another dinner or two—maybe even breakfast?”
“Or two? Well, Mr. Castillo, this all must be negotiated. I want no assumptions on either of our parts.”
“If I remember, your parts are very negotiable.”
She dipped her finger in the water glass and flicked a few drops at him. “It takes two to negotiate.”
After dinner, the waiter brought them glasses of brandy.
“So, you’re not sure what you want to do,” Javier said.
“I’m still as up in the air as I was when I walked out of the station house. Maybe I’ll go with the flow and see what pops up in the Cleveland area. Experienced cops are in demand on every police force in the county, so there’s that. I’m basically broke. I’ll be working until I’m dead. At least Ralph could have paid off the mortgage or the joint credit cards before he was arrested. Damn, that’s the first time I’ve even thought about that asshole, since maybe . . . yesterday.”
“My therapy is working,” Javier said.
“And what therapy is that, cowboy?”
“Texas charm and an Italian suit—always a winner.”
“Doesn’t change my situation.”
“Have you thought about the FBI or the CIA? I know people.”
“I’m forty-two years old—ancient in this young man’s game. And my degree in public safety management may not make their cut. Plus, no army or military experience—just chasing bad guys in Cleveland’s barrios.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Fifteen years a cop is worth a lot.”
“Sometimes I wonder what it’s worth. The CIA and FBI could use a woman’s touch, though. After what I’ve seen recently, it’s a little too testosterone heavy.”
“Perhaps.” Javier waved to the waiter, held up two fingers, and pointed to the glasses.
“I’m good,” Alex said. “Vodka, wine, and brandy—I’ve reached my limit.”
Javier waved off the order. “I have an idea, if you’re interested. I know a guy who has a private security firm that works for us sometimes—Christopher Campbell. His firm is called Teton Security and Defense. Can I drop your name?”
“I’m not rent-a-cop material.”
“TSD is the real thing. He doesn’t do warehouse security—unless it’s full of high-grade military equipment or other valuable stuff. His clients are governments, international businesses, and very rich individuals. He’s ex-CIA and employs only the best. It’s a growing field, especially these days. Check out their website, the promotion video especially.”
“Teton Security and Defense?”
“Yes. I’ll tell Chris about you. However, right now—sadly, my love—I’ve hit the wall. Can I dial back the charm and try not to seduce you tonight? Will you be disappointed? Better this than falling asleep in your arms like I did in Venice.”
“I enjoyed that, actually, but I do prefer the more wide-awake version. You owe me, though.”
“My greatest wish.”
The two walked through the hotel lobby to the elevator bank. Alex kissed Javier, and they lingered there a moment. She teased him with a whisper; he put both hands up and almost surrendered. The door opened and he backed in. She followed. He punched three and looked at her.
“Five, sir.”
He pushed the button. Seconds later he kissed her cheek and walked out onto his floor, the door closing behind him.
She retrieved her phone from her bag. Other than Javier’s earlier text about meeting in the bar, there was nothing. Maybe all the crap in Cleveland hadn’t followed her to Washington. She hoped that this was true.
CHAPTER 5
Alex’s phone vibrated, and 007 glowed on the screen. The time was nine o’clock.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Javier said.
“How the hell did I sleep so late?” Alex asked as she walked across the room and dropped a pod into the coffee maker. “What was in that last drink?”
“A peaceful and quiet mind will help you. Last night I could tell you needed a good night’s rest. Sorry again about ducking out. Can I make it up to you tonight?”
“Definitely. Do you have a full day?”
“My first meeting was over two hours ago. I’ve been a busy boy. I’ve set up a lunch date for you with Chris Campbell. He’d like to meet you. He’s heard about you and Venice.”
“Why would Venice mean anything to him? We just got in the way of some terrorists.”
“It was our coolness under fire.”
“Your coolness—I was looking for a place to hide.”
“That’s not the way I remember it. I’ll text you his info. He’s not far from the Fairmont. You decide. If nothing else, it’s a free lunch, and his chef is great. Besides, in this town, it’s who you know as much as what you know.”
“Let me wake up, and I’ll think about it. Dinner tonight?”
“There’s an osteria like the one in Venice. I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven. Think about Chris. Text me when you make up your mind.” He clicked off before she could answer.
As she drank her coffee, Javier, Venice, Cleveland, and that ultimate asshole—her ex, Ralph—tumbled around in her head. All she wanted to do was push the bad stuff away and hold tight to the good. After her shower, she toweled off and dried her hair. Standing in front of the mirror, she looked damn good for a broad her age, she thought. Javier liked her in that dress last night. She liked herself in that dress too. Her age and heritage presented a constant battle, but she watched what she ate and hadn’t yet taken up drinking alone—or not that often, at least.
Her phone rang: Caller Unknown. Now what?
“Alex Polonia,” she said.
“Ms. Polonia, I’m Chris Campbell. Javier suggested I give you a call. He may have mentioned lunch. I’m calling to confirm. I was impressed by what I heard about Venice, as well as by how you’ve handled the difficulties in Cleveland.”
“Thanks, I guess. You’ve already checked me out? Once a spook, always a spook. Impressive—though intimidating.” She moved her iPad to one side, the Teton Security and Defense website on its screen.
“Touché. It is in my blood, and that’s what our clients expect. Do you have dietary restrictions?”
“Excuse me?”
“For lunch—my chef would like to make sure there are no problems. Shellfish, peanuts, that kind of stuff.”
Alex paused and thought about what was happening. “No problems, I guess. What time?”
“One o’clock? I’ll send a car.”
She looked out the window. It looked chilly but sunny. “I’ll walk. Javier said your office wasn’t far away and gave me your address. I need the exercise anyway.”
“See you at one. I look forward to meeting you,” Campbell said, and clicked off.
&nb
sp; In the land of strange phone calls, Alex listed this one near the top. She dressed in gray wool slacks, a white silk shirt, a wine-red pullover sweater, and comfortable yet stylish walking shoes. She had a few hours before the meeting and was starving. The café in the lobby made her a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, which cut the edge. The coffee helped too. She idled away an hour reading the newspaper and watched the business of Washington pass back and forth through the lobby.
She slipped on her leather jacket and began the comfortable stroll east down M Street. She crossed New Hampshire Avenue and continued to Connecticut Avenue, then up Rhode Island Avenue. At Scott Circle, with its General Winfield Scott statue, she looked down Sixteenth Street, the roof of the White House visible through the bare winter trees. Teton Security and Defense had a modern glass facade, as unremarkable as the other buildings on Rhode Island. A simple bronze sign read “Teton Security and Defense, Ltd.” The lobby was open, clean, and bright. The three outsize, sports-coated guards, the two uniformed women at the front desk, and the NFL-tackle-sized man near the bank of elevators made it clear the building was well defended.
Alex stopped at the desk. A woman with a headset in her ear looked up.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Campbell.”
“Of course. May I say who is visiting?”
“Alexandra Polonia.” She almost said Cleveland police and detective. Breaking old habits was tough.
“One moment, please.” The woman typed on a keyboard, waited a moment, and looked back at Alex. “Mr. Campbell will be right down. Would you care to have a seat?” The woman nodded toward a bank of modern-looking chairs in chrome and black leather, lining a red shag carpet.
“Thank you, I’ll stand.”
The midday traffic filled Rhode Island Avenue. People hurried by, all seemingly intent on some aspect of the government’s business. She tried to believe it was all for good, but her cynical heart told her that most were here for themselves.
“Ms. Polonia, I’m Chris Campbell.”
She turned and was pleasantly surprised. Campbell was about her height, athletically built, tan, dark-brown eyes. His thick, prematurely white hair was cut in a look that suited a man of about fifty. The dark-gray suit looked English, the tie and shoes conservatively expensive. No beard or mustache. When he extended his hand to shake, she noticed the knotted string friendship bracelet that a child might secure to the wrist of a parent. She smiled.
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