Claimed by the Secret Agent

by Lyn Stone

  “It’s okay whatever you’re thinking. You don’t have to say anything back. I just wanted you to know,” he said softly. “I had to tell you.”

  That little mind-movie he had triggered scared her. She wanted all that way too much, and wanting anything so desperately always led to disappointment.

  Marie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She pushed off him and sat up. “So what the hell was that? A bomb?”

  “Gas explosion,” he replied as he sat up, too, and began scrubbing his own face with one of the skimpy wipes, missing several spots.

  She took the wipe out of his hand and finished the job for him. “So, you really are psychic. Sorry I ever doubted you.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, then ruffled it to dislodge the debris that had peppered him. “Well, not in this instance, I wasn’t. I smelled the gas as we approached. The doorbell would have set it off.”

  “But we didn’t ring it, so something else set it off. What?”

  “Shapur must have called it in. A ringing phone would set it off. Guess he saw us coming.”

  “So where is he now?” She looked around, as if she could find him with all the places he could be hiding. No way.

  “He could be anywhere.”

  Marie looked at the ruined building. “What if Rivers was in there?”

  “I searched all the rooms on both floors before I brought Shapur out. If she is here, she has to be in a basement or one of the outbuildings.”

  “Let’s go look.” Marie was already on her feet and headed for the clinic, most of which was still standing with a gaping hole where the front portal had been, windows blown out and huge portions of the roof missing.

  The explosion had triggered fire, and lazy flames were licking out the doorways in the exposed hallway. Marie quickened her steps. “Come on—we need to hurry in case she’s under all that.”

  “Wait.” He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go around back to enter. If there’s a basement, the entrance to it will probably be in or near the kitchen.”

  He was all business now, she noted. Hard-edged, no-nonsense, agent-in-charge. Whispered avowals and heated kisses forgotten already.

  Despite the way she had skirted the personal issue, she obviously wasn’t as nimble as he was when it came to switching mind gears.

  She would never figure him out, never be able to guess what he’d do next or plan how she would react. Total surrender of control was not something she could handle, even if she did happen to fall in love with him. And that was all too likely to happen if she didn’t hurry up and break all ties, physical and emotional.

  Maybe it was too late already.

  The problem was with her and she knew it. No way could she ever fall for a weak-willed, easily led man; yet neither could she abide one who thought he could own her, body and soul.

  Grant already treated her as if he needed to watch her every move and make all the decisions for her.

  “Stay behind me and keep your eyes open,” he ordered, proving her point with alacrity.

  “And if I don’t?” she snapped.

  “Then I won’t have anyone watching my back. What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

  Okay, now she was letting her emotions override her good sense and training. He simply upset all her priorities and threatened every goal she had ever set for herself.

  This was not the time for a personal altercation between the two of them, however. They had work to do and had to do it together with utmost efficiency. A life was at stake.

  “I’ll watch your back,” she agreed.

  Grant knew he had pushed too far too soon. Marie was backing off as if he’d issued a threat instead of admitting he loved her. No wonder, since she must feel they barely knew each other. Well, he knew enough whether she did or not.

  He had made a serious error by telling her this and couldn’t think of any way to fix it.

  A loud groan snagged his attention, and he froze, glancing around the littered back garden. The force of the blast had blown out the back door and windows. Shutters lay scattered and splintered among the flowering plants and bushes. “Over there!” he said, pointing toward a stone bench several yards away.

  Marie was already headed there. “It’s the doctor!” she announced, dropping to her knees beside the prone figure.

  Grant joined her, shining the flashlight on the man to see the extent of his injuries. A long splinter of wood, a good two inches in diameter, protruded from his side and blood seeped out around it.

  Grant fished out his cell phone and quickly called the emergency number for an ambulance.

  “Where is Cynthia Rivers?” Marie demanded. She must realize the old man might not last until the medics arrived and she was taking care of business.

  Grant could almost feel her effort to deny sympathy and comfort. They had to find that woman, and Shapur was their last chance to get the location.

  “I—I don’t know,” Shapur insisted. A trickle of red escaped the corner of his mouth. Punctured lung, Grant thought, and maybe worse.

  “Could she be here in one of the outbuildings?” Marie demanded. “Are you certain she’s not on the premises?”

  Shapur gave a negative shake of his head, barely a recognizable movement. “No, not certain.” He grasped Marie’s wrist. “Saw their auto. I thought you were them.”

  “You caused the explosion,” Grant stated.

  Shapur nodded. “Knew they would come back. They must think the money…” His eyes closed, but he spoke again. “Is in the safe.” His gnarled fingers clawed at his side. “The number…an account. Take it to Bahktar.”

  “A place or a name?” Grant asked.

  “He will be in Paris. Give it to him. Please…save my child. In the name of…goodness.”

  “What child? What do you mean?” Marie asked, her voice going soft with concern Grant knew she couldn’t help but have. The man was dying and he was worried about his child.

  “Daughter.” Shapur sighed out the word. “I was forced out of Iran with my shah.”

  “You were the shah’s physician?”

  Again a shake of the head. “Consulting. I was at the palace when…”

  “Okay, okay, got that,” Marie said quickly. “What about the child?”

  “She is there still. Tehran. Mamud Bahktar will have her killed if…denied the ransoms I collected for him.”

  “So, he set this up through you, using extortion?” Grant asked. “Is he with the current regime in Iran?”

  “An agent for the…Republican Guard. Hates Americans, Brits, Israelis.”

  “And the money is for arms, right?”

  Shapur nodded. “Hezbollah.”

  “They want a bigger foothold on the West Bank, Gaza Strip. You know we can’t allow him to fund that, Shapur,” Grant said. “Not even to save your daughter.”

  “I’m sorry about your child,” Marie murmured, laying her hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “Who is a grown woman, at least thirty-or forty-something,” Grant declared. “The shah was ousted in seventy-nine, Marie. This man is responsible for the death of at least one American woman who was a lot younger than his daughter.”

  “No! Not murder!” Shapur’s shout ended in a gurgle as blood flowed from his mouth. “And not Claude. The other…”

  “His name?” Grant prompted.

  “De Lange. Jarig De Lange,” Shapur gasped.

  “Dutch like Onders? You hired them here?”

  Shapur coughed, fought for breath and lost the battle.

  Marie’s fingertips pressed the doctor’s carotid. “He’s gone.” She sat flat on the ground and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.

  Grant laid his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze of comfort. “Don’t waste your grief on him. He wasn’t worth it. He sent Onders and De Lange after us to kill us. And he set off that explosion to get rid of them when he thought they had come back. Look how he’s dressed.”

  Shapur had changed clothes. He wore slacks,
a shirt, jacket and dress shoes. Grant searched the body and found keys along with a wallet full of Euros and a passport. He handed those to Marie and kept the key ring. “When the cops get here, do not turn those items over to anyone,” he warned.

  “He was leaving,” Marie said, staring at the passport. “There must be another vehicle in one of the outbuildings.”

  “He’d have made it, too, if that sliver of board from the explosion hadn’t impaled him.” Grant had the keys clutched tightly, feeling the energy trapped in them. “He was going to kill this Bahktar he mentioned.” He began searching the garden around them for a travel bag.

  “There it is,” he muttered, hurrying over to a small weekend bag. He flipped it open and found nothing but a change of clothes and toiletries.

  No weapon apparent, but the doctor would use something subtle and easily concealed like drugs or poison. Grant clutched the shaving kit and could feel further determination, hatred and absolute conviction that it could be done. Shapur’s energy, captured in the planning phase of a killing. He would probably get more from the wallet if he had the time, but this would get them started.

  “He planned to off this Mamud Bahktar when he met him in Paris. With Onders and De Lange out of the way and Bahktar dead, all his problems would go away. He could keep the money he’d amassed from the ransoms, and no one would have been the wiser.”

  Marie looked up from the body. “He was trying to save his daughter’s life, Grant. Wouldn’t you have done almost anything if you were him?”

  “Maybe,” Grant admitted with a shrug. “Yeah, probably. But greed played a part. He planned to keep the money.”

  “Maybe he would have used it to get his daughter out of Iran. I hate that he died.” She shifted position, moving as if she were suddenly weary of everything. “Even if he was as evil as Satan, he was our best hope of finding Cynthia Rivers.”

  “We’re not giving up,” Grant stated, tossing the keys up and catching them in his fist. “Let’s go look for her. She must be here somewhere.”

  He heard the singsong of sirens. “Here comes the cavalry. I guess we’ll be tied up for a while answering questions, but at least we’ll have plenty of help looking for Cynthia.”

  “Then what?” Marie asked. “We aren’t done, are we?”

  Grant slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Do you want to be?”

  “No,” she said with a sigh, relaxing against him and then easing out of his grasp. “What I want to do is find our victim and then go to Paris after that terrorist. What did you get from handling Shapur’s things?”

  “Enough.” Grant smiled. She was acting skittish, but that few seconds hesitation before she had pulled away told him she’d had to think about doing it. It hadn’t been an automatic withdrawal. She needed him but didn’t want to seem weak. Or too easily had. Maybe she was stronger in a lot of ways than he was.

  Chapter 15

  “Y ou ever been to Paris?” Grant asked Marie, hoping to lighten the situation and give her a chance to regroup before the cops got there. The last couple of hours had been pretty intense.

  “No. Have you?”

  “First trip. You’ll have to memo another map.”

  “Not a problem,” she said, sounding distracted. “But first we have to help find Cynthia.”

  She stood and turned as the sirens grew loud. The police cars and an ambulance were rolling up the drive from the main road with lights flashing.

  The interrogations were lengthy and tedious, first taking place on-site and then again at the police station. The search, delayed by the necessity of removing rubble, lasted well into the next afternoon. And not a trace of Cynthia Rivers was anywhere to be found, either inside the clinic or on the estate.

  To further complicate matters, Grant and Marie were ordered not to leave Gouda until the investigation was complete. The authorities were keeping the incident out of the papers, but it was only a matter of time before it broke.

  “When this hits the airwaves, Bahktar will disappear while we hang around here doing nothing,” Marie said when they were back in their hotel room.

  “You still have the wallet and passport?”

  She reached inside her jacket pocket and handed them over. There had been no moment of privacy to examine them once the police had arrived.

  Grant carefully removed and studied every paper enclosed in the wallet. “Pay dirt!” he whispered as he grinned at Marie and handed her a slip of paper with a seven-digit number and an abbreviation. The partial name of a bank and a numbered account.

  Grant whipped out his phone. “Bahktar can’t get his ransom money without the number of the account that Shapur put it in. And we have that.”

  “What sort of feeling do you get about this Bahktar guy?” She glanced at the wallet. “From handling that.”

  “Nothing more than Shapur told us. He was straight about that.” Grant felt a further connection to Marie now. She was fully on board with the trust thing, at least when it came to business matters. Personal trust would come soon if he could make himself be patient.

  He reached over and kissed her on the cheek as he waited for Mercier to answer his call. She didn’t seem to mind, even giving him a little half smile that almost showed dimples. But the reticence was still there.

  “Tyndal?” Mercier snapped out his name first thing, probably wondering why he’d gotten only the basic, readily obtainable facts pertaining to the incident. He’d be wanting impressions, whatever details weren’t supported by the available evidence, Marie’s actions and reactions. And definitely Grant’s next plan of action. The locals had been ever present and had kept Grant too busy to give a full report.

  “Hi, boss,” Grant said. “You want to get us permission to leave Holland or wait a few days and ask forgiveness? We’re about to defy the powers that be.”

  “What else is new?” Mercier asked.

  “Hey, I’ve been as cooperative as I could be under the circumstances. Right by the rule book. Your book, anyway.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Mercier said, impatience obvious. “I mean, literally, what else is new?”

  “Oh, well, we’re off to Paris. Driving. I have the account number, and there’s an Iranian there waiting to get the funds. Name’s Mamud Bahktar. Look him up, please, all sources, and give us whatever you find before we set up a meeting. It’s a real long shot, but I’m hoping Shapur mentioned to him where the girl was being held. Because of that, we’ll go in soft and see what we can get before we nail him.”

  “I’ll get everybody on it right away and see what we can find. Stay at the safe house.” He gave an address. “Anything else you need?”

  “I need phone records for the clinic if you could get those. I think the doctor only had the landline, since Onders phoned to one when he called Shapur from Amsterdam, but check for a cell. Bahktar’s number would be helpful. His is almost surely a cell. Also we need an empath to help find Rivers.”

  “Vinland’s already on his way to Amsterdam. He’s the best we’ve got. How’s our new prospect working out?”

  “Marie? She’s been a godsend. Sharp as a tack. Perfect choice for the team.”

  “Why am I sensing a decided lack of objectivity, Tyndal? That’s pretty flowery praise coming from a man who prefers to work alone. You’re not—”

  “Shutting her out? Tried that, but she wouldn’t let me. She’s very involved in the case, sir. Huge help. Give us a buzz when you get that info on Bahktar. Thanks.” Grant clicked off before Mercier could ask anything else.

  There were probably rules somewhere in Mercier’s book about intimate fraternization among the troops, especially highly prized, would-be troops. Couldn’t be helped in this case.

  Grant wanted a solid commitment from Marie before they hit the States. Then, if it came down to the job or the relationship, Grant figured he would find something else to do. His priorities were pretty much set in concrete at this point, and she was right up there at the top.

 
“Thanks for the buildup,” she said. “You really want me to go for it, don’t you?”

  “Perfect for you, just like I said, and the pay’s a lot better.”

  She crossed her arms and tilted her head, looking at him through those long, gold-tipped lashes. “And the benefits?”

  “Definitely better,” he said with a wink.

  She pursed her lips and shrugged. “We’ll see about that.”

  Maybe she was coming around. If she were averse to continuing what they had started, she would have said so, wouldn’t she?

  “We’ll have to keep it platonic, the way we first planned. The way you promised,” she said as she began to pack her things in her bag.

  “Hey, wait a minute…”

  “I know, I know. I was the instigator, but it was a mistake. We both know that.”

  Well, damn. Grant hid his frustration as well as he could. “If you say so. Personally, I don’t see it that way and I don’t regret it at all.”

  “I guess that’s your stab at a compliment,” she replied, “so I’ll take it as one.”

  “You are pretty fantastic, just so you know.”

  “Drop it. We don’t have time for this,” she snapped.

  “Okay. Whatever you say.”

  He didn’t need to remind her that she was the one who initiated things and released him from his promise. She had just taken full responsibility for that, even though he certainly hadn’t discouraged her in any way. He should accept half the blame for it at least, but he had a feeling that would be the wrong thing to say at this point.

  Marie did want him; he knew that. But she didn’t want to want him. She surely wouldn’t want to love him or hear again that he loved her. It was just too soon.

  The woman had some heavy baggage to unload. Maybe he did, too. It seemed to him he was having to constantly reevaluate where they were going and how they were going to get there. Or if they were.

  Their physical destination was a given, though, and it was time they got on the road to Paris.

  As for their emotional direction, he had no available map. Unless Marie had a map of her own in that amazing brain of hers and was just leading him on a merry chase for the hell of it, they were both wandering around in the dark.