Afterglow

by Cherry Adair

  All very logical.

  The jobs she’d been on involved finding people or things. The search usually lasted a day, maybe a week; then she was on to finding the next wandering Alzheimer’s patient or the next missing artifact. She had to tell her boss his agents needed espionage training when they went into the field from now on. Tactical training? She smiled for a moment, picturing some of the other Lodestone “agents” throwing karate kicks and shimmying down black ropes in the dead of night. Nope. Not gonna happen.

  Although, there was that one Lodestone guy—too bad he and his skill weren’t here right now.

  Discovering that she lacked the abilities necessary for survival or, say, optimal health at this stage of the game was scary as hell. Her brain was only going to get her so far. After that, she might need brute strength.

  Hell’s bells. After the running, chasing, wild monkey sex on a hotel-room floor, and more hours clocked in a car than she ever wanted to spend again, she’d hardly been capable of opening a stuck bathroom door.

  As if just thinking it summoned him, the door opened, and Rand came back into the room wearing just his jeans, his chest bare.

  He was created to go shirtless. His broad shoulders gleamed bronze in the lamplight. Water droplets sparkled in the mat of crisp dark hair on his chest, which tapered down to an arrow that disappeared into his open waistband. She knew every curve and ridge of those rock-hard abs. Everywhere his nerves and tendons ran beneath his hot, satin-smooth skin …

  She dragged her eyes up to his face, and just like that, she changed her mind. “I’m coming with you.”

  One eyebrow rose as he saw the clothes she’d put out for him, but all he said was, “Fine.”

  His capitulation shocked the hell out of her. Rand was a man who took his job as a protector seriously. True, he didn’t love her anymore. He had no obligation to watch her back, but that was just the kind of man he was. “Seriously?”

  “You’re a big girl, Dakota. I can’t tell you what you can and can’t do. If you want to go down there with us, I certainly can’t stop you.” He sat on the side of the bed and reached for the socks. She knew he was commando because she could see his underwear on the bathroom floor.

  “There are at least sixty or seventy miles of subterranean tunnels, seven stories under Paris’s streets. A maze of tunnels and unused mine shafts that rarely, if ever, see a visitor.” He put on one shoe and paused, she felt, for maximum effect. “If you think you can handle the possibility of getting trapped down there, if you think that your claustrophobia won’t kick in, be my guest.”

  She rubbed her bare arms, where goose bumps of the claustrophobic kind pebbled her skin. “Will you tell him I have the formula he needs so we can go up the chain of command?”

  He didn’t bat an eyelash. “Sure.”

  “Don’t say sure. Be sure,” she insisted. “Because I will go with you if you don’t swear on your father’s life that you’ll tell him that, and come back to get me.”

  Rand glanced up, his glare icy hot, the muscles in his neck and back rigid.

  She’d stepped on a line. Too far.

  “Don’t you mention my father, Dakota, unless you have a serious death wish,” he said, much, much softer than the menace in his tone should have allowed. “You did what you set out to do. Have you thought about the consequences of what you’re proposing? This is going to be dangerous. Seriously, crap-your-pants dangerous. This guy has nothing to lose—”

  “And everything to gain if he believes I have something to offer that he can’t get anywhere else,” she told him. “Instead of attempting to hold a desperate man hostage, why not offer him something he wants? It’s a win-win.”

  “God, you haven’t changed at all, have you?” Rand put on his other shoe and got to his feet. His wet hair dripped unnoticed onto his bare, gleaming shoulders. A droplet of water slid slowly and enticingly over his collarbone. “You jump in without knowing how fucking deep the water is. Or who you’ll land on when you take your swan dive.” The bitterness in his voice stung, and she could see the anger in his eyes, despite the distraction of his spiky black lashes.

  Dakota struggled to slow her racing heartbeat and held tightly to the towel, wet hair forgotten. She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin. “That’s not only untrue, it’s not fair.”

  Rand was across the room and in her face faster than she could blink, the intensity and pent-up anger vibrating around him like a warning siren. “Explain that to my father if he’s convicted and spends the rest of his fucking life in prison, thanks to you. Explain that to the investors, and the millions of patients with severe depression who were deprived of a viable drug. Explain that to a man who loved you beyond reason. Explain your lies and betrayal to all of those people, and then try to rationalize your behavior to yourself.”

  Her jaw hurt from gritting her teeth at the unjust accusation. “My God. You’re giving me credit for having a hell of a lot more power than I actually had! Destroying the formula wasn’t up to me. Rydell knew what we had wasn’t viable. It was a corporate decision to stop production and move on.”

  Rand turned away from her, stalking back to the T-shirt she’d put out for him. “What did you think you’d do on your own? Apprehend a determined drug dealer by yourself?” It was as if she hadn’t spoken as he pulled the fabric over his head. “No, of course not. Someone would have to ride in and rescue your ass. That someone would be me. Don’t fucking think I don’t know that you haven’t told me everything. I’ve gotten used to that little game of yours by now. You’re the tip of a giant iceberg, sweetheart, and I don’t have the time or inclination to find out what the hell you’re really up to.” He didn’t even stop to take a breath. “So, here’s the plan. You stay put, you walk Ham and me through the catacombs—from here. Or from wherever the fuck you want to be. I don’t give a shit. I don’t want you with me.”

  Tears burned behind her eyes. She held them back with a force of will she didn’t think she had the energy for. “Wow,” she said softly. “You can’t be any plainer than that. Thank you for your honesty.” She felt as though a slow-acting, extremely painful parasite invaded her body. She’d thought she’d experienced all the unendurable pain a body could bear, but she’d been dead wrong.

  Afraid she might splinter and disintegrate right before his eyes, she pulled back the covers and crawled into bed, tugging the covers over her bare shoulders, her back to him. With the ragged remains of self-control, she kept her breathing even and swallowed the howls of pain tearing through her. “Wake me when you need m—when you need my services.”

  THERE WAS A HARD rap on the door. Rand got to his feet. They were both dressed, finishing the breakfast he’d ordered from room service. Early-morning sunlight shone through the window beside her, but Dakota didn’t feel the warmth. She finally slept, badly, for about three hours. She knew Rand had slept for a while, because the covers on his side of the bed were rumpled. He hadn’t touched her, even by accident, and she’d woken to find herself clinging to the very edge of the mattress as she listened to him in the shower again.

  Even in their sleep, they did everything they could to stay away from each other. Like she needed that reminder.

  The numbers in her head were stationary, so their target was still where he’d been for the last several hours. At least someone was getting a full night’s sleep.

  The second string of numbers halted in Switzerland. Rand had texted his people with the information she’d given him over breakfast. All was right in Rand’s world.

  Everything was wrong in hers.

  “I won’t promise to do what you want because I have no idea what we’ll find when we get there,” he told her. He crossed the room and opened the door. “You’ll have to be satisfied with whatever the outcome—hey, Ham.”

  Dakota didn’t like Mark Stratham. She wasn’t sure what it was about him, but she trusted her instincts, and her instincts told her he was still a jerk. Rand had sicced him on her after his father was arres
ted. He’d been in Italy organizing Paul’s legal defense.

  Detective Stratham was a thorough bulldog. He’d interrogated her as if she were on the witness stand, and was a hostile witness to boot. He’d been rude and verbally abusive, and had made up his mind about her guilt before she’d so much as opened her mouth.

  The entire thing had been … unpleasant.

  No, she didn’t like good old Ham. He brought the stink of a three-pack-a-day cigarette habit into the room with him.

  “Hey, Red.” He barely glanced her way as he shook Rand’s hand.

  “Detective.” The irony that the overweight ex-cop’s nickname was Ham wasn’t lost on her. She wasn’t particularly fond of nicknames. Especially “Red.” But his suited him to a T.

  “Ready to rock?” he asked Rand. Pleasantries exchanged, duty discharged.

  She was just fine with that.

  “Yeah, good to go. We have a map of the catacombs, spare batteries for the Maglite, and extra ammo.”

  Spare batteries, Maglite, map, fresh clothes. And, oh yeah, destination. Thanks to her. Sit. Stay. “You’re welcome,” she said mildly.

  Ham looked at her, the briefest glance that dismissed her just as quickly, then turned back to Rand. “What’s the plan?”

  “Since our target is approximately two miles from an official entrance, we won’t waste time searching for a manhole or hidden entrance,” he explained. “That will just eat up time, and have us risk him moving. We’ll join a tour and split off. The actual mines aren’t open to the public. Dakota’s staying here to talk us through.”

  “No place for a woman,” Ham said, with too much satisfaction for her taste. As if she’d insisted on accompanying them.

  Dakota smiled sweetly. “Small, extremely tight places are no place for anyone with claustrophobia.” She only stressed tight a little. He got her point, paling slightly.

  He was a chauvinist and a womanizer, and she didn’t know how he did his job because she’d bet dollars to doughnuts the man couldn’t run, considering he was overweight and smoked like a factory stack. But he and Rand had been friends since Paul’s arrest, and Rand clearly liked him, since he was now part of Maguire Security.

  Maybe she and Rand had the same reason for the way they felt about the man. Ham had been assigned to Rand’s father’s case just after his arrest, and sided with Rand and Paul after the hearing.

  He’d opposed everything Dakota had told them.

  Okay, so it was personal. She didn’t like being called a liar. Especially flat-out to her face.

  By either man.

  PEOPLE, MONK THOUGHT, OBSERVING Szik’s valiant effort not to cry out, were a necessary evil. One needed them to fulfill tasks that one couldn’t do oneself. But they were weak. Disobedient. Always a disappointment.

  It was a rare occurrence that Szik screwed up. But he wasn’t immune to Monk’s lessons, and even a perfect record required careful handling. “Tell me again how you lost the woman.” He took a puff of his cigar to get the tip red-hot, then brought the glowing ember down on the man’s forearm. He enjoyed the sweet smell of burning flesh and the tiny flares of smoldering hair, mildly intrigued with the way the various muscles in the arm contracted as the pain registered.

  “He—he took her from the hotel—”

  “In Barcelona,” Monk coached.

  “He took her from the hotel in Barcelona, Fath—”

  The cigar flared, then bit again. A little longer this time. There was no excuse for omitting details.

  Szik couldn’t contain his whimper, and his face contorted comically as he tried to breathe through the pain. His lip was bloodied from gnawing on it like a rat to maintain his silence for the past fifteen minutes.

  Truly, some men needed harder lessons. Monk wasn’t holding Szik’s arm. He wasn’t restrained in any way. It was the man’s allegiance and devotion holding him immobile. His arms were braced on the table in front of him, palms up. Livid red marks marched in neat, symmetrical lines up his inner arms. Some old, some new.

  Tears of gratitude trickled down Szik’s smooth cheeks. He was appreciative that Monk took the time to school him. He knew he needed discipline, knew that losing the woman warranted his death. He was grateful that Monk was merciful, and welcomed the pain so that he could learn and grow.

  Monk knew this because he willed it so, and Szik was a fine student.

  Monk took a puff of the fine Cuban. “Continue.”

  A drop of sweat mingled with the leaking tears to roll off Szik’s chin and plop on the polished wood surface of the table. Szik would spend the next few hours scrubbing the table with disinfectant for the infraction.

  Monk eyed the man with distaste before glancing at the red tip. “There is no point,” he told Szik without inflection, “in doing a job if one does not do it well, don’t you agree?”

  The man was rendered speechless as Monk gently touched the burning tip to the inside bend of his left elbow. “You were saying?”

  “They switched vehicles just—just o-over the border into France.”

  “Excellent. Then you took her, and she’s waiting for me—where?”

  “No! I mean, no, Father. She somehow got away and we haven’t been able to find her,” he said in a pained rush. “Yet! Yet.”

  “Belphegor.”

  “No, Father. Not sloth! I did my best to—”

  “Be quiet, my son.” Such children. Annoying that he had to guide and chastise, and always he had to think for them. “Dr. North is in Paris.”

  Szik almost passed out with relief. “Thank you, Father. I will go immediately—”

  “Go where ?”

  “Ah—”

  Monk saw the wheels turning in Szik’s small, reptilian brain. “How do you propose to find one small woman in a city with eleven million people?” he asked gently. Dear God, must he do everything himself? “Because I want to help you achieve your full potential, Szik, I’ll tell you. Dr. North is at the Hotel Édith on Avenue du Maine.” Cornered like a lab rat, exactly as planned.

  Monk leaned back in his chair to sip his fine Glenmorangie Pride whiskey, rolling the hint of nutmeg around on his tongue with the sweet taste of success. Simple pleasures. The endgame was within his grasp. Aside from the small glitch in Barcelona, everything was back on track and going according to plan. No thanks to his subordinate’s bumbling.

  “I w-will take care of this delicate s-situation personally, Father.” Szik gritted his teeth, loudly enough for Monk to hear and be annoyed by the intrusive noise.

  Monk leaned forward and placed the round coal again, carefully to compensate for his irritation. The man, of course, was a moron. An idiot. Given that Szik could barely hold his head up right now without puking or doubling over with pain, he wasn’t going anywhere. In any event, Monk wouldn’t tolerate the delay of having Szik travel to Paris. A lot could change in the time it would take.

  “Have Raimi and Branah deal with the situation immediately. There will be no more delays. Kill Rand Maguire—he’s completed his usefulness. Have Dr. North brought to me.” Monk placed tender fingers beneath Szik’s sweaty, tear-dampened chin and looked deeply into his terrified eyes. “Do not disappoint me, my son. I would hate to punish you.”

  WIRED AND EDGY AFTER the men left, Dakota pulled the drapes open, letting in the bright sunlight. She took the tray of stacked dishes and put it outside the door, then went back to the table and spread her map out so she could see where Rand was and how far he had to go. Beside it she placed her GPS and phone, plugging both in to keep them charged.

  Her internal GPS knew where Rand was, but having modern technology made it easier to visualize. After calling room service for more coffee, she settled in to people-watch, making herself comfortable with her feet propped on the chair Rand used when they’d eaten their monosyllabic breakfast. No surprise, since they’d shared a confined space in various vehicles for almost nine hours with hardly a word spoken.

  It was, Dakota realized with a sudden pang, not that dif
ferent from the time they’d been together. With Rand living and working in Los Angeles and her in Seattle, when they did get together the last thing they wanted to do was talk. Back then, their silences had been filled with murmuring and sighs of satisfaction. The silence in the car had been filled with unspoken accusations and regret.

  “Where are you?” she asked when she hadn’t heard any conversation in her Bluetooth for about ten minutes. She just wanted to hear his voice; she knew exactly where he was. She’d stuffed one of the socks he’d dropped on the bathroom floor in her pocket.

  In her head, she saw his coordinates below the coordinates of the Paris bad guy, and the second bad guy, and made two marks on the map in front of her. Two miles didn’t seem like a long way, but the tunnels of the old mines twisted and turned and went up and down. Way down. The thought of being seven stories under the city gave her hives on her hives.

  “Approaching the avenue du Colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy entrance. Let us get in, then direct us.” His voice was quiet and deceptively intimate. There’d never be any more soft murmuring in her ear, she knew. Dakota rubbed the ache between her breasts as she located the tourist center and the entrance to the guided tour on her map.

  Paris Guy’s numbers were still stationary. “He hasn’t budged.” God. What if she was wrong? What if she could still see his location, but he was dead?

  RAND HEARD DAKOTA’S SOFT breathing in his ear as he followed Ham down the extremely confining spiral stone stairs. “You awake, North?”

  “Following your progress. Slow going, huh?”

  The lighting was dim, twenty-watt bulbs, but didn’t necessitate using the small, powerful flashlights they had. “A lot of very narrow stairs.”

  “One hundred and thirty,” Dakota told him. She was good that way, he remembered. Good with details, and she had a knack for remembering trivia. She’d been, his father had told him, excellent at her job at Rydell. Precise and methodical, with an attention to detail that had sometimes driven the other members of the team nuts. She’d loved her job. Didn’t make sense that she was no longer doing a job she was good at and highly qualified for.