An Uncommon Honeymoon

by Susan Mann

  “Yeah. A teenage girl and boy get flown around to do domestic work for rich people. This time, it’s Gibson.” She withdrew her Baby Glock from its holster and set it on the nightstand. “Their primary function, though, is as drug mules.”

  James’s eyebrows rose. “That’s an unexpected twist.”

  “The girl, Mila, is around fourteen.” She slid the holster off and tossed it on the bed. “My guess is Pyotr is about thirteen.” Staring down at the holster but not really seeing it, she said, “He has cigarette burns all over his arms. Mila said he ran away from an abusive father.”

  Quinn shook the images of the round scars from her mind, turned, and slid open a drawer. She took out a pair of shorts and pulled them on. Her anger was ramping up again.

  After pulling a shirt on over her head, she rammed the drawer closed with such force, the dresser back slammed against the wall.

  “They’re just kids!” Whirling around, she stalked over to her nightstand and grabbed her book. “Scumbags like Rhys Townsend and Gibson Honeycutt use them like slaves so they can snort coke!” She opened it to the page Rhys Townsend had autographed, ripped it out, and crumpled it into a wad. “Narcissistic bastard,” she growled and hurled it like a fastball across the room. The novel was next to go flying. It made a spectacular racket when it smashed against the wall and clattered to the floor.

  The next thing she knew, James’s arms were around her, crushing her to him. They stood there, motionless, until she heaved a sigh when her anger subsided. He led her to the bed and said, “Sit.”

  She perched on the edge of it, her temples throbbing.

  James retrieved a bottle of water from the mini fridge and held it out. “Drink.”

  She cracked it open and gulped down several swallows. The cold water soothed her parched throat, but couldn’t extinguish the embers of anger still smoldering in her chest.

  James walked on his knees across the mattress and arranged the pillows against the headboard. Once they were sufficiently plumped, he propped himself against them. Legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, he patted the spot next to him.

  “You’re so sweet,” she said. She set the water on the nightstand and bounced across the bed. Stretching out, she mirrored his posture.

  “It’s what any CIA operative husband would do for his CIA librarian spy wife. Get used to it.”

  She chuckled.

  “Tell me more about the kids you found,” James said. “You said their names are Mila and Pyotr. I take it they’re Russian.”

  “They are, although Mila told me she’s American. I tend to believe her. She spoke perfect English.”

  “Really? American? Did she tell you how she got to be a drug mule?”

  She deflated a little. “No. I did find out her full name is Ludmila Semenov. Her parents are Russian immigrants. She said she’s from Washington state. She didn’t say which city.”

  “Semenov? Not Semenova?”

  “That’s what she said. My guess is her parents went with the American style of last name. Less confusing.”

  James nodded. “Nice work. That’s some great intel. We should be able to track down her parents without too much trouble.” He paused for a moment, as if ordering his thoughts. He dipped his head and looked into her face. “You tried to get them to come with you, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t care about bringing down human traffickers.” She snorted a mirthless laugh. “And now drug traffickers, too. I just wanted to get them out of there.”

  “I don’t blame you. It sounds like a harsh life.” He entwined his fingers with hers. “Why didn’t they go with you?”

  “Mila has a younger sister and brother still in Russia trapped in the same ring. The threat of their being beaten is plenty of incentive for her to stay compliant.”

  “Anatoly and Viktor came with them from Russia?”

  “Mm-hmm. Both muscle and pilots. And there’s a woman with them, too. Mother Olga. Almost had a run-in with her. I had to hide in the closet.”

  James’s head clunked back against the headboard. “I know it’s part of the job, but when you tell me things like that, it takes days off my life.”

  “Sorry.” Her thumb drifted back and forth over his.

  James lifted his head and looked down at his feet. “Where in Russia are they?”

  “Saint Petersburg, but she didn’t know where. They keep them locked up in a building where they process the drugs for distribution.” When James groaned, she said, “It’s okay. I gave Mila my phone.”

  “That’s brilliant. The tracker will tell us exactly where they are.”

  “That’s the idea anyway. And don’t worry. I nuked it before I handed it off.”

  “Good. I took photos of Anatoly and Viktor while they were unconscious, so getting last names shouldn’t be too hard. From there, we should be able to find some known associates.” James took his phone from his pocket. “You okay with us meeting Dave sometime tomorrow?” he asked, his thumbs ready to type.

  With exhaustion pressing in on her, she only could muster a quiet hum of assent in response. She scooted down the bed until she lay flat. Her eyelids drifted closed as her head sank deeper into the pillow.

  A minute later, James’s phone chimed. “Dave will be here tomorrow morning at eleven. He’s excited we have actionable intel. It’s the first real step in busting this open.” He set his phone on his nightstand and switched off the lamp.

  The mattress jostled as James slid down and turned onto his side. Facing her, he curled an arm over her and pulled her toward him. She rolled onto her side and shimmied back into him.

  As she lay there in the dark, lulled by the steady rise and fall of her husband’s chest against her shoulders, Quinn was never more grateful for her truly charmed life. As drowsiness descended, her thoughts turned to Mila, Pyotr, and all people forced to work against their will. Her hope was that one day soon, they would feel a similar sense of love, freedom, and security. For Mila and Pyotr and the kids trapped in Saint Petersburg, she would do everything she could to make it to happen.

  * * *

  Quinn sat slouched in a padded chair with her bare feet propped against the metal railing surrounding their private veranda. Squeals of children’s laughter floated on the breeze from the direction of the hotel’s swimming pool. In her mind, she pictured Bailey, Wyatt, and Hunter splashing in the warm, sparkling water. Maybe someday she and James, her parents, grandparents, brothers, and their families could invade Provo for an Ellington family vacation.

  She made a mental note to broach the subject with her mom sometime before returning her attention to her book.

  It, and the crumpled page she’d ripped out of it the night before, had languished on the floor overnight and well into that morning. Every time she’d looked at them, they’d reminded her of that piece of human debris Rhys Townsend. A fresh wave of disgust and ire would wash over her.

  When she couldn’t ignore them any longer, she considered chucking both in the trash. The Leopard’s Claw would be forever connected to Rhys. She’d stood over the trash can with the novel in one hand and the crumpled page in the other. The paper was a no-brainer. It went in the bin where it belonged.

  The book was another matter. Edward Walker was a fictional mentor. He was suave, sophisticated, brave, and above all, resourceful. It had been Edward Walker who had inspired her to once use one of the hefty volumes of her Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary as a weapon. She’d knocked two men out cold.

  In the end, she’d kept the novel. She was determined not to allow Rhys Townsend to ruin Edward Walker for her. Of course, there was no way she’d ever watch another Edward Walker movie with him in it. It did give her an immense amount of pleasure to think when justice was served, Rhys Townsend’s sorry ass would be in jail for trafficking both humans and drugs and the role of Edward Walker would be recast.

  She returned her attention to the page. Villain Takudzwa Marufu had just locked Edward Walker in a cage with�
�unsurprisingly, given the title of the book—a leopard, when from inside their suite, she heard James say, “Quinn, Meyers is calling to video chat.”

  “Be right there.” She stuck the bookmark between the pages, closed the book, and rolled to her feet. She slipped through the door and dropped The Leopard’s Claw and her sunglasses on a nearby end table.

  Dave Flores and James already sat on the couch in front of James’s open laptop. Aldous Meyers’s angular face filled the screen.

  Quinn took her seat next to James. Meyers acknowledged her arrival with a dip of his chin. As was his usual modus operandi, he dispensed with pleasantries and got down to business.

  “We verified the information you provided to us regarding Ludmila Semenov,” Meyers said. “Her parents are Vasily and Ekaterina Semenov. They immigrated to the United States twenty years ago and reside in Peaceful Valley, Washington.” Meyers shuffled some papers on his desk and picked up one piece in particular. “According to a State report, Ludmila, and her younger sister, Sasha and little brother, Ilya, traveled to Slavnoye, a small town in the Tver Oblast, two years ago to visit their maternal grandmother. According to said grandmother, an older cousin and the cousin’s boyfriend took the three siblings on a day trip to Tver. They never returned to Slavnoye. None of them, including the cousin and boyfriend, have been seen or heard from since.”

  “I assume the grandmother reported all of them missing,” James said.

  “She did. She contacted the local authorities and the parents went to Russia to look for them. After an initial investigation, the whole thing was dropped. The parents reported their children’s disappearances to authorities here in the US. The information eventually made its way to State. At this point, everything has stalled.”

  “What a nightmare,” Quinn said. “Those poor parents. After all this time, they must think their kids are dead.”

  “A team has been dispatched to advise them of these recent developments.”

  “It’s a real good news/bad news kind of thing,” James said.

  Meyers nodded. “Indeed.”

  “What about Quinn’s phone?” Dave asked. “Is it still transmitting?”

  James fielded that question. “Yes. It’s still here on Providenciales.”

  That wasn’t a huge surprise. The party had most likely continued until sunrise. She pictured an epically hungover Gibson only now prying open a gritty eye and cursing the brilliant sunlight.

  “Have you got any hits on facial recognition for Anatoly and Viktor?” James asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Dave rubbed his cheek. “So now what? How will all this work?”

  Meyers folded his hands and set them on the desk in front of him. “Since the Semenov children are American citizens, the agency is in a position to assist in securing them. I’ve met with my superiors. They’ve given approval to use agency assets.”

  “What about my team? Are we sidelined?” From Dave’s tone, he wasn’t pleased at the prospect.

  “No. This will be a joint operation.”

  Quinn looked at James. His nod was nearly imperceptible. “James and I request to be members of the task force,” she said to Meyers. “The contacts he cultivated during his time in Russia might prove useful. And I promised Mila I’d see them again.” Her eyes sharpened with a hint of defiance. “I keep my promises.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Meyers said. “I assumed you and James would make this request. I’ve already attached you to what we’ve dubbed Operation Bear Trap. You will work with Dave and his organization to rescue and repatriate our citizens. You are also directed to assist him and his team in gathering evidence that will convict any and all individuals involved in this human trafficking ring. Disrupting the flow of cocaine and other drugs into Russia will be an added bonus.”

  “If we end up in Russia, that won’t be easy,” Quinn said. “Russia wasn’t happy when the State Department’s annual Trafficking in Persons Report listed them as a Tier Three country. The government’s not even trying to comply with the Trafficking Victims Protection Act. We might not get much help.” When Dave shot her a surprised look, she said, “What? I read it in the CIA World Factbook. The library produces it. It’s a pretty great resource, if I do say so myself.”

  Meyers ignored her aside to Dave and plunged ahead. “It’s true the Russians could do a lot more. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like that is going to happen anytime soon. Given the circumstances and the current political climate, we’ll do the best we can.”

  “But at the very least, we get the Semenov kids home,” James said.

  “Absolutely. They are priority one,” Meyers answered.

  “What’s next? Do we need to cut our honeymoon short?” Quinn asked. “Because we will if we need to, right, James?”

  “For sure. We want all those kids safe as soon as possible.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but that won’t be necessary,” Dave said. “We don’t know exactly where they’ll be in Saint Petersburg or when they’ll be back. We’ll know more as we track Quinn’s phone.”

  “Agreed. Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon and report back to Langley as previously scheduled. We will hopefully know more by then.” Meyers paused. “Questions?”

  The three on the sofa looked at each other.

  “Andersons, see you Monday. Flores, I’ll be in touch.” The screen went black.

  Quinn frowned. “I hate that we can’t do something right now.”

  “I know it’s frustrating,” Dave replied, “but it takes time to do it right.”

  “I understand. It just sucks.” Her ire flared. “What about Gibson Honeycutt and Rhys Townsend? Are they just going to go free?”

  “Yup. For now.” Dave’s features hardened in resolve. “But now that we know what they’re up to, we’ll bust them eventually.” He leapt to his feet as if solid rocket boosters had ignited in his back pockets. “I’ve invaded your honeymoon long enough. Adios.” And he was gone.

  “I guess we don’t have to wonder what our next op will be,” Quinn said.

  “We don’t.” James stretched out his legs and laced his fingers behind his head. “And now we’re just a couple of newlyweds on our honeymoon again.”

  “Who can’t leave the hotel grounds because two very large, very angry Russians are looking to throttle us,” she reminded him. She nestled into his side and tucked her feet up under her.

  James dropped his arm behind her shoulders. “I’m not too worried about us finding ways to pass the time.”

  With two fingers on his jaw, she turned his face toward hers and rolled into him. She pressed her lips to his in a kiss that started off soft and easy. It didn’t stay that way for long. As things heated up, Quinn broke the kiss and breathed, “Me neither.”

  He waited for her, with eyes closed and lips slightly parted.

  She traced the tip of her tongue over his soft lips. He shuddered and strained to kiss her, but she backed away. When he relented and relaxed back, she caressed his face with a hand and feathered his lips with hers.

  Desire for her radiated from him, sparking in her an urgent need. She crushed her mouth onto his in a smoldering kiss.

  They had no trouble at all in passing the time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Quinn slid the last piece of leftover chicken Parmesan off the spatula and into a plastic container. She snapped on the lid and set it on the shelf inside the refrigerator. “That’ll make for some mean chicken Parm sandwiches for lunch tomorrow. I can hardly wait.” The refrigerator door swung closed with a soft thump.

  Next, she set the empty baking dish on the counter next to the sink. James rinsed off a dinner plate and placed it in the lower rack of the dishwasher. He shot her a playful smirk over his shoulder. “What makes you think you get any leftovers? I made it.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the edge of the counter. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

  “When it comes to chicken Parmesan, I’m afraid so.”
James picked up the dish Quinn had set on the counter and stuck it under the faucet’s stream of hot water.

  Mesmerized, she watched the residual tomato sauce swirl down the drain. “I’m afraid the law doesn’t back you up on that. Virginia is an equitable property state. Everything acquired in the marriage is divided equally.”

  “Should I be worried that you know that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, because me spewing bits of trivia is a completely new thing.”

  He chuckled, turned off the water, and set the dish in the dishwasher.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t ask you to sign a prenup before we got married,” she said. “I mean, look at all the fabulous assets I brought into this marriage: my ancient and completely gross couch, my twenty-year-old car, my savings account bursting with a grand total of two thousand dollars.” She glanced over at Rasputin, crouched over his food dish, chowing down on his dinner. “My cat.”

  “Yes, all are treasures,” James said. “Although we’ve already ditched the couch.” For Quinn, doing so had been bittersweet. Its better days had long past. But it was a part of Ellington family lore, having been used by each sibling and passed down the line until it came to her. As the youngest, she had no one to give it to when she and James combined households and moved into a new apartment. James had made a persuasive case to keep his sofa, pointing out he had been its sole owner and it wasn’t stained as if it had been used in the performance of ritual sacrifices.

  James rolled the rack into the dishwasher, squirted liquid detergent into the dispenser, and lifted the door. After shutting it tight and pressing the start button, he hooked his fingers through the belt loops at the front of her jeans and yanked her to him. “To be honest, I’m more interested in your other assets.”

  She grinned, looped an arm around his neck, and pulled him into a kiss. “My assets and I appreciate it.”

  “And I promise to share my chicken Parmesan with you. Not because it appears I’m legally bound, but because I love you.”

  “You’re sweet. And I love you too.” They shared another kiss, this one longer and a little more heated. When it ended, she said, “And thank you for making dinner.”