Fully Loaded

by Samantha Keith

“Dude, what the fuck? Dani’s face is all over the news. They’re saying she’s a terrorist.”

  Brock winced. There was no way to minimize their situation. “I know.” He stretched his hand in the air in front of him as if Milo could see the you-can-calm-down gesture.

  “Tell me you’re with her and this is all a big mistake.”

  Brock paced the room, keeping his focus on the movement of his feet. “Yes . . . and no.” He rolled his shoulders back, preparing for the impact of Milo’s reaction. “I’m with Dani, but there isn’t a mistake. She has something very dangerous in her possession and we believe some of the local cops are involved, as well as at least one Interpol agent. As of right now, we don’t have anyone in Europe we can trust with this.”

  “Sonofafuckingbitch. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t want to say on this line,” he said. “But if we can find out who wanted Dani to steal this data in the first place, it will give us a name to provide to the authorities.”

  “Damn, I wish you were in the States. Rhett would have you both in a safehouse while he figured this shit out.”

  “A lot of things would be different if we were on American soil.” Brock jammed his hand into his pocket. “How’s Serena?”

  “Not great. She had a panic attack when she saw Dani on the news.”

  “I’m really sorry, bro. Is she around? I can wake Dani.”

  “She’s finally in bed for the night. She was throwing up all day. I think the news about Dani made the morning sickness worse.”

  “Send her Dani’s love. I’ve talked to Rhett and he’ll see if he can help on his end. Not sure what he can do from halfway across the world, but I’m holding out hope.”

  “He’ll do as much as he’s capable of. Take care of Dani, Brock. Serena won’t be able to handle it if something happens to her.”

  “I’ll protect her with my life.” The muscles in his throat compressed on the words. Wasn’t that what he’d always done? He felt no bitterness when that realization hit him. Protecting Dani felt even more natural than protecting himself. “I’ll check in when it’s safe.”

  He hung up and turned. Dani stood at the threshold, her hip against the door and the side of her head leaned against the wood frame. She wore his long-sleeved white shirt, which hung almost to her knees. She had the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and her tiny frame looked even smaller in the oversized shirt. Her thick locks were piled over one side of her shoulder. Her face was pale and free of makeup but her lips were a shade pinker than usual thanks to their lovemaking. Clarity sparked her eyes—something rare for Dani first thing in the morning. Part of him ached at the fact that he’d missed her sleepy, heavy-lidded wake-up that he’d witnessed on the train. It was ridiculous the little things that you could miss about a person when they’re out of your life. The light from the stand-up lamp near the door brought the purple hue around her throat to life, making fresh anger boil beneath his skin.

  If he’d arrived at Leland’s ten seconds later, if he hadn’t decided to hop on that plane against his better judgment, they wouldn’t be here right now. She’d have died alone and terrified and he wouldn’t have even fucking known.

  “Everything okay?” she asked. The words rolled out on a purr, and he gravitated to her body like a magnet.

  “No,” he said wryly, tucking the corner of his mouth into his cheek. He circled his hands around her hips and towed her to his chest. A sharp hiccup of surprise gasped from her lips and her eyes widened.

  She moved her gaze over his face and a fist tightened in his chest.

  “I’ve got the name of the cult Sven was involved with.”

  * * *

  Dani typed the Peace Makers into the search engine of Brock’s phone while she waited for him to get ready. She’d showered and dressed after a grumbling Brock allowed her to change the dressing on his shoulder. She’d slept better than she had in years and felt more like herself than she had in days. Even without a drop of caffeine her brain was working at breakneck speed despite the early hour. She clicked on the Images tab and picture after picture of the symbol came up. No doubt the symbol on Sven’s neck linked him with the group. Going back to the search engine, she scanned the web searches. Several articles popped up.

  Random pipeline bombings in Iran and Saudi Arabia appear to be tied to extremist group the Peace Makers. Authorities suspect the cult has over two hundred members across Europe working in clusters. Detective Luis Benoit of Paris’s terrorism unit warns the public that a telltale tattoo could symbolize cult relation.

  “Ready to go?” Brock stood at the bathroom door. Steam billowed into the hall at his back. The long stubble that she’d grown to like over the last couple of days was gone. The short beard, now trim and neat, brought out his golden skin and the bright green streaks in his eyes.

  She stood from the bed and adjusted her pale pink pullover. “You clean up nice,” she said, as she fit her feet into her shoes.

  His eyes danced over her face. “Not as well as you.” He grasped the doorknob and opened the door. “We’ll grab you a new hat today. Better to keep changing our look.”

  He peeked around the corner before motioning her to follow. He shut the door firmly and she fell into sync beside him.

  “I found this,” she said, as they stepped into the elevator. “It’s not much but it gives us an idea about the group.” She passed him the phone, whose screen displayed the article she’d been reading about the Peace Makers.

  “Hmm. Interesting. I wish we could find an individual’s name—that would be our best shot.” Brock pocketed his phone and her face twisted with doubt.

  “I’ll look more later. Hopefully Sven’s place will give us a lead.”

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Four people stood waiting to get on the elevator in the lobby and parted a path as she and Brock exited. Her arm bumped against a black peacoat.

  Dani’s skin bristled. Her heart raced and a warning siren screeched in her head. She turned just as the elevator door closed. The blonde woman’s hard brown eyes stared at her.

  She linked her arm with Brock’s and he closed his hand over her wrist. Her lungs squeezed, and she moved swiftly across the burgundy-and-gold carpet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s here.” Dani clutched his arm tight against her side. “The woman from the train. She just brushed past me.”

  Brock shoved open the hotel’s glass door. Picking up his pace, he whisked her to the curb then lifted an arm in the air and pulled her back against his side. The deep frown line in his forehead and the crush of his arm against her shoulder made panic skid down her spine. A taxi separated from the slew of traffic moving down the road like thick blood through a clogged artery. He yanked open the door and she slid across the leather seat so he could sit next to her. The fact that he hadn’t wasted a second to question her but had gotten her to safety first revealed just how uneasy he was.

  Dani leaned toward the driver and recited Sven’s address in the best French she could speak. The driver said something to confirm and pulled away from the curb.

  “Are you sure it was her?” He swiveled in his seat to look out the back window.

  “Yes. Positive.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I think. Yes, it had to have been.” The sliver of doubt pried at her memory, picking it apart. She shook her head. No, it was her. “She stared me in the eye. I mean, I saw her face for only half a second, but it looked just like her.”

  Some of the angst left Brock’s body. He reached across her, grabbed the seatbelt, and buckled it at her hip. After fastening his in place, he caught her hand. “I’m sure you know what you saw, but I hope to hell you’re wrong.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s weird, though. She followed us at the train station and could have reported us while we were en route, yet she didn’t. And if she’s here again without cops . . . it doesn’t add up.”

  “I know.” She massaged the tender skin next to her ear. “You must think I’m
crazy.” She blew a breath through tight lips. “I might be.”

  “You’re not crazy. Maybe she has a doppelgänger who was pissed you didn’t move out of her way fast enough.” He squeezed her leg. “Look, I trust whatever your gut says.”

  “My gut instinct is entirely unreliable right now.” She dropped her head back to the seat and stared out of the window. Had she imagined the woman? Brock was right. She wouldn’t follow them aimlessly without reporting them. If it was the same woman from the train station, she would’ve sent the cops to the hotel, not been there searching for them. Unless of course she was after the formula. Worry oscillated against her ribcage. But if that were the case, the woman would have been sneakier and approached them without pause.

  The cab slowed in front of a four-story apartment building. Brock paid the driver and they got out. The building was far from something Dani would expect to find in Paris. Chunks of stucco broke away from the wall and rust corroded the wrought-iron balconies. Several other four-story buildings lined the street, all lacking landscaping. Chairs, boxes, bicycles, and dead plants were scattered along some of the patios, making the neighborhood that much uglier.

  “Tell me you’ve never been here before,” Brock whispered, as he opened the door to the vestibule. A young woman in jogging clothes breezed out the door leading to the lobby. Dani caught the handle and Brock followed her inside.

  “No, I haven’t. When I met him a few years ago, I remember seeing pictures of his apartment overlooking the river. It looks like he’d come down in the world.” Her gaze landed on a tattered brown couch with questionable blotches on its cushions. Her stomach clenched. “I hate to think what brought him to this point.” She tilted her weight to one side and peeked down the hall. “I don’t think there’s an elevator, but that must be the stairwell,” she said, pointing to a steel door off the main area of the lobby.

  He grunted. “Fuck, it stinks in here.”

  She’d been breathing through her mouth since they entered the building. The stench of cigarettes, onions, and a bodily fluid she didn’t want to identify forced itself into her nose. She pressed her knuckles to her nose. “God, it’s awful.”

  Once they reached the fireproof cement corridor, Brock climbed the stairs next to her. “I don’t like the sounds of this guy.”

  She curled her fingers into her palm to avoid grabbing the handrail. “This isn’t like him at all. Sven was always high maintenance and liked the best of everything. This is . . . strange.”

  “Is it the right place? How’d you get his address?”

  “He gave it to me when I arrived in Geneva in case of emergency.”

  “Hmm.”

  She opened the door to the third floor and speed-walked down the hall. With every stomp of her foot dust kicked up from the threadbare carpet, which had probably never seen a vacuum. She stopped in front of the unit marked 304 and nodded at the door.

  If she were a little more polite, she would have opened it herself, but if there were ever a moment to latch on to chivalry . . . She had no desire to touch that doorknob coated in god-knows-what germs.

  Instead of grabbing the knob, Brock’s fingers hovered over the door’s wood casing. “This was kicked in.”

  She narrowed her gaze to the tattered wood around where the door met the jamb at the lock. He pressed his forearm to the wood and she leaned into his side as the door buckled.

  Brock’s hand hovered at the small of her back as they crossed the threshold together. Although it was midafternoon, the apartment was dim. Thick blankets hung over the only two windows in the living room, blocking out most of the light. The metallic click of Brock’s gun being removed from behind his back raised her hackles.

  He closed the door. “Lock’s busted. Wait here while I do a sweep.”

  She knotted her fingers at her stomach and studied his back as he moved into the kitchen and flicked on the light. The gun at her spine warmed her skin. A plate of half-eaten food sat by the sink and several flies buzzed around it. Empty takeout cartons sat on the kitchen table, but despite the trash, the area was free of clutter. A navy-blue coat hung over the back of a chair and a lone pair of men’s running shoes sat overturned at her feet. She had the impending sensation that someone was home.

  Brock moved into the darkness of the living room. “Jesus Christ,” he moaned. His rigid shoulder blades bunched even more. “You need to see this, babe.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Brock stood in front of a partial map of Europe. It nearly covered the eight-by-ten-foot wall. Several red bull’s-eyes littered the paper.

  What the fuck?

  Dani’s footsteps shuffled cautiously behind him, but he didn’t tear his eyes away from the map. She stopped next to him, and her sharp intake of breath made him lower his stare to her face. She clamped her hand over her mouth and took a step forward. She turned, hit the light switch on the wall, and the bare bulb overhead flickered, sending eerie shadows over the wall.

  She dragged her fingertips over the red blips. “He was going to release the first one in Paris,” she said. “It says February twenty-second.” She looked over her shoulder at Brock. “That’s soon. What’s the date today?”

  He adjusted his watch and illuminated the screen. “February fifteenth.” His mind worked at warp speed as he studied the other dates. “He planned to hit Zurich on the twenty-fifth, Berlin on March first, and then Amsterdam.” He took out his phone and snapped half a dozen pictures of the map.

  Dani backed away. “I can’t believe Sven was going to carry this out. Who the hell convinced him to do this?”

  “That’s what we need to figure out. I’m going to bet he didn’t have a chemistry background? He wasn’t going to recreate the virus from the formula?”

  She shook her head and gnawed the tip of her thumb. “No. He didn’t.” She rolled her lips back and forth. “But someone killed him for a reason. Maybe he backed out. When he called he said we were in danger.”

  Brock nodded. “That’s possible. They wouldn’t let him live if he knew all these details,” he said, gesturing at the map. “Let’s look around. Be careful. If you find anything that could be used as evidence, don’t touch it.”

  She nodded and moved around the living room. Crap cluttered the coffee table, including a phone book, a bong, and scattered bits of marijuana. Brock tucked the weapon into the back of his pants, squeezed her shoulder, and headed down the hallway past the kitchen. He stopped at the end of the hall, where it split into two bedrooms. He veered into the cleaner of the two, but both were equally disgusting. The stench of body odor and beer hit him, and he pressed his face into the crook of his arm. Damn, some people were nasty. He wasn’t the tidiest guy in the world, but he’d never wallow in this shit.

  A used bath towel hung over the closet door and dirty clothes and rumbled sheets were strewn across the floor. Had Sven or his roommate been this sloppy? Or had someone been here looking for something? He stepped over an empty beer bottle and kicked a pizza box out of the way. A fat cockroach scurried out and he leaped backward. A bark of disgust ripped through his throat followed by a dozen curses. He shook his shoulders and brushed off his arms as if a million of the critters had fallen on him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He turned to the doorway. Hands on her hips, Dani was scowling at the unkempt room.

  “Sven has cockroaches.”

  Her eyes rounded and she gagged. “Ohmigod, this place is disgusting.” She stepped forward and something dangled from her fingers. “I think I found something.”

  He reached out and took the torn piece of a cigarette package from her grip. A name and number had been messily scribbled on the blank side:

  Giles Artis

  06 45 53 91 22

  He studied the writing. The phone-number sequence was similar to the one he’d seen printed on the hotel key card. Definitely a Paris number. “Have you heard that name before?”

  She grimaced. “Giles rings a bell. I feel like Sven mentioned him b
efore, but I can’t say for sure.” She pulled out her phone and leaned toward the paper as she typed the full name into the search engine. “It’s a long shot, but you never know,” she mumbled. He watched as her thumb scrolled over the links.

  “Anything?”

  “What’s this?” She clicked on an article and turned so he could see the screen.

  He squinted at the tiny letters.

  She sucked in her breath and bounced on her toes. “Look.” Excitement bubbled from her lips. “Biochemist Giles Artis suspect in Amsterdam tour-bus bombing,” she read.

  He circled his hand around her much smaller one and lifted the device a few inches higher. “The article was published last year. It doesn’t say anything about him being convicted.”

  Dani sucked on the corner of her lip. “No, but he’s a biochemist. That’s even more important. Let’s pass it on to Rhett and he can look into it. I think this is the strongest lead we’re going to get.” She took the phone back and her fingers hovered over the screen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing if he has a social media page,” she said, her voice distant as she moved through profile pictures. “Here, this could be him.”

  A picture of a guy with cold blue eyes and long blond hair tied back in a bun filled the screen. He was wearing a lab coat. Brock took the phone and scanned the image then flicked through the rest of his profile pictures. Another shot made him stop. Giles was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, leaning back on a balcony, and a black pentagon with curled edges and animal horns in the center took up Giles’s forearm.

  “Bingo.” Brock lowered the phone and Dani grabbed his wrist.

  “Holy shit. This has to be who Sven was working for.”

  Brock fished his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of the paper with Giles’s name and number on it then sent it to Rhett with the link to the article and the photos of the map along with the social media pictures. He returned the phone to his pocket and hooked his arm around her waist.

  “We should get out of here.”