Undercover with a SEAL

by Cindy Dees

  Not that he was complaining that she’d stayed calm and focused, remaining fully functional under extreme duress, but that sort of behavior was just weird for a civilian. Even macho soldiers often froze up during their first firefight with bullets flying overhead.

  Ashe caught up to the present, finishing up with a brief description of the gunfight at his parents’ house, running away with Hank and driving over here.

  Hank surprised him by interjecting, “Could someone remove the stuff from the back of the van and put it somewhere safe for Ashe? It’s a collection of memorabilia from his family. And given that the house was on fire when we left, they’re likely to be the only articles he retains from his past.”

  Commander Perriman picked up a telephone and relayed her request to someone at the other end of the line.

  Ashe appreciated her concern over the items she’d collected for him. And he got that her family had been all about preserving the past. But frankly, he’d been a whole lot more concerned with getting her out of the house alive than a suitcase full of junk.

  Perriman opened the folder he’d brought in here with him. Aww, crud. Jennie Finch had already briefed his boss, after all. And the guy was obviously armed with a pile of background material. Which meant there would now be a crap-ton of questions.

  Ashe took a mental deep breath and prepared for an intense interrogation.

  Except his boss didn’t speak to him. Perriman turned, instead, to Hank. “So, Miss Kuznetsova. How much do you know about the car accident you and your mother had when you were thirteen?”

  She looked as startled as Ashe felt. What did that have to do with anything?

  “Since I was there, I know a fair bit about it,” she replied a shade defensively.

  “Do you know who hit you?”

  “The police never found the hit-and-run driver.”

  “Who told you that?” Perriman asked.

  Alarm bells went off in Ashe’s head. Perriman knew more about the accident than he was saying. But his boss wanted to find out how much Hank knew before he showed his cards.

  Hank frowned. “I spent all my waking hours at my mom’s side in the hospital for the first few weeks after the crash. She was touch and go for a while, and then we were waiting to find out how bad her paralysis was as the swelling around her spine went down. My father was the one who told us the police never caught the guy who hit us.”

  “Did you see the vehicle that struck you?” Perriman asked.

  “Sort of. It was big and dark. Tried to pass us, but a car came from the other direction and the guy swerved into us. We went off the road and hit a huge tree.” She added drily, “The tree won.”

  “How fast were you going at the time of the impact?”

  “Pretty fast. When the SUV came up behind us initially, it tailgated us, and my mom sped up to try to get it out of her backseat. I remember she complained about the guy’s headlights shining in her rearview mirror.”

  Ashe leaned forward, worried. Worse, he saw where Perriman was going with this line of questioning. Sure enough, his boss’s next words were, “Did your mother say anything or did you see anything that might give you reason to believe that the SUV intentionally ran you off the road?”

  “Who would do something like that?” Hank demanded.

  Ashe sat back in his chair, shocked. That was evasion in Hank’s voice. What wasn’t she telling Perriman? He laid his hand on top of hers where it lay on the table. “Hank, you’re among friends. We want only to help you. Anything you have to say won’t go beyond these walls. It’s safe to be candid with us.”

  Her eyes were a deep, turbulent shade of blue, and she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “If we’re going to find your brother, you have to tell us everything.”

  She made a sound of distress and pulled her right hand out from under his to wring her left hand with it.

  He sent a subtle hand signal to Perriman that he should leave the room. But his boss did an odd thing. He studied Hank a moment more and then shook his head in the negative. Ashe trusted his boss’s judgment completely. The guy could read body language like nobody else he’d ever met. Now why did Frosty think she would be more inclined to talk with both men present?

  Although, it wasn’t like she’d been forthcoming with him from the start. Hell, she hadn’t even admitted that Max was her brother at first.

  Perriman picked a piece of paper off the stack in front of him. “The police report indicates that you and your mother were run off the road by a skilled driver at a carefully chosen location that would ensure maximum harm to the occupants of your car and minimum chance of your vehicle being discovered in a timely fashion.”

  “You’re saying someone tried to kill us?” Hank exclaimed.

  Ashe stared first at his boss and then at Hank.

  “Let’s talk about your father,” Perriman said briskly.

  That was an abrupt change of subject. Ashe knew the technique—give your subjects mental whiplash and maybe they slip up and say something they shouldn’t.

  “What about him?” Hank leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms as if she knew the technique, too. What the heck?

  “Who did he work for?”

  “Himself. He found and bought art and antiques—”

  Perriman cut her off. “Yes. I’m familiar with the party line about his job, and your brother’s, for that matter. But that’s not what I asked. Who did he work for?”

  “Do you mean which auction houses? Or are you asking about specific clients?”

  “Both.”

  “My brother would know those. But I don’t. My father and I weren’t close.”

  “How about your mother? Would she have known the names?”

  “I guess so. At least until my folks divorced. But again, I wouldn’t be privy to any of that.” Hank shoved a hand through her hair and frowned. “To be perfectly honest, Commander Perriman, I don’t see why you’re asking me all these questions. How is this supposed to help you figure out who tried to kill us just now?”

  “I’m trying to understand who you and your missing brother are. Who would want to harm one or both of you, and why. What aren’t you telling me? Both of you are keeping secrets that could get you killed. Why is that?”

  Ashe couldn’t stand by any longer and let his boss browbeat Hank without coming to her defense. “Sir, her brother disappeared and she’s worried about him. Trying to find him. What’s so secretive about that?”

  “She’s lying to you, too,” Perriman snapped. “And if you hadn’t fallen for her like I told you not to, you’d see it, too.”

  “Can we step out into the hall for a moment, sir?” Ashe asked quietly.

  His boss pressed his lips together tightly but rose to his feet. Ashe moved down the hallway, well away from the door, before turning around to face Perriman. “With all due respect, sir, what the hell is going on?”

  “I have reason to believe her father was much more than a simple art dealer. If I’m right, that casts serious doubt on just how innocent a player her brother is. For that matter, I think the mother was in on it before she got in that accident—which wasn’t an accident, by the way.”

  Ashe stared at him, shocked. Perriman was hardly the kind of man to fling around accusations lightly. “What do you think her father was involved in? Who was he?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. And while I’m at it, I’m trying to figure out if your girlfriend was in on the family business, too.”

  Dread lodged in Ashe’s throat and refused to let go. Exactly what family business did Perriman think Hank’s family was in? Not that it took a rocket scientist to answer that one.

  His boss spun on his heel and marched back into the conference room, leaving Ashe no choice but to follow. He’d had his own suspicions about Max’s involvement in the Russian mob. Did Perriman think the connection went back further than just the brother?

  Perriman started in on the questions again without preamble. “Did your pa
rents ever have Russian-speaking visitors?”

  “Yes. All the time. They were immigrants from Russia and knew most of the Russians in this area.”

  “Did your father have a special room in the house that you kids weren’t allowed to go into?”

  “His office. He said we messed up his paperwork. And goodness knows, he used to leave huge piles of papers sitting around everywhere in there. It drove my mother crazy.”

  “Was there a big radio in your house?”

  “You mean like a shortwave radio?” Hank asked. “My brother and my dad built a ham radio when Max was about ten. It was out in the garage, though.”

  A chill ran through Ashe. God almighty. Perriman didn’t think her father was a mobster. He thought the man was a spy.

  “...speak Russian or English in your home when other people weren’t around?” Perriman was asking.

  “Some of each. My parents spoke Ukrainian or Polish when they wanted to talk without us kids understanding them.” She laughed a little. “Not that it helped. Max and I are both pretty good at picking up languages, and Polish and Ukrainian are very close to Russian as languages go.”

  “Did you ever overhear anything that would lead you to believe your father had some other job or employer besides the ones he worked with in the art and antiques business?”

  Perriman asked the question casually, but Hank’s reaction to it was anything but. Her entire body went still, her face closed, the expression in her eyes grew stubborn.

  He leaned toward her. “Hank, you’re not in trouble, and no one in your family is in trouble. If we’re going to find Max, though, we have to know where to look. Anything you say in this room will go no further.”

  She smiled sadly at him. “You can’t guarantee that, Ashe. Not when you don’t know everything.”

  So. There were secrets in her family’s past that she was not divulging. And Commander Perriman was apparently on the right track with his line of questioning. Ashe swore under his breath. He glanced at his boss, silently asking permission to dive in. Perriman nodded slightly.

  “Kitten, your parents are dead. Anything you say about what they did in the past cannot hurt them. And if we’re going to be brutally honest here, your brother may also be dead. If he’s not already, he could be soon if we don’t find him.” Taking her hand in his again, he stared intently into her eyes. “So if you know anything about what he’s involved in that might tell us where to find him, now’s the time to share.”

  The set of her shoulders remained stubborn. Mentally wincing at what he was going to have to say to get through to her in front of his boss, he dove in.

  “I know it’s hard for you to trust people. But can’t you trust me at least a little? After all we’ve shared and all we’ve been through together? Have I ever given you reason to believe that I would abandon you or give up on finding Max with you?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “No,” she answered in a small voice.

  “Please, Hank. Let me help you. I care about you too much to stand by doing nothing while you lose the only family you have left.”

  It was a low blow. But she had to talk if they were going to find Max, and furthermore, figure out who was now trying to kill her, too.

  She let out one of those big sighs of hers that presaged a confession. Praise the Lord. “My family was always secretive. It was the nature of my father’s work. Some of the art pieces he was commissioned to find were, well, stolen. And he worked in large amounts of cash. We weren’t supposed to tell anyone how much money he kept in the house. He was terrified that someone would rob him.”

  “He worked out of your home, then?” Ashe asked.

  She nodded.

  “What can you remember about his clients?”

  “They tended to be old and rich. And...furtive.”

  Ashe smiled. If they were dealing in stolen art, they had good reason to be furtive. He pressed a little harder. “Was there any one client who came to the house often? Maybe over a period of years?”

  She frowned, thinking back. “Yes. His name was Romulus. I always thought that was such a silly name. He used to call my father Remus. It was some sort of inside joke between them.”

  Or a code name. Was it possible that Perriman’s intel was right? That her father had been a spy?

  “What language did Romulus and your dad speak?”

  “They whispered with each other a lot. But always in Russian. And always when they thought my brother and I couldn’t hear.”

  “What about your mother? Did they whisper when she was around?”

  “Oh, no. She always sat at the kitchen table with them into the wee hours of the night.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  She shrugged. “I recall them griping a lot about how nobody respected Russia anymore and how all of their friends had lost their jobs and their homes and their pensions.”

  Ashe traded looks with his boss. Those might be the sorts of things Russian spies would talk about.

  “What did Romulus look like?” Perriman asked.

  Hank spent the next few minutes describing the guy in detail. Then she surprised Ashe by saying, “If you’ll get me a pencil and a sketch pad, I’ll draw you a picture of him.”

  “You can draw?” Ashe blurted.

  “My college degree is in art restoration. I’ve studied painting and drawing techniques extensively. Of course I can draw.”

  Perriman made a phone call, and as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket, announced, “The guys are going to scare you up a proper sketch pad and some charcoals. And while they’re at it, they’re bringing us food. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  Now that he mentioned it, Ashe was famished. Sandwiches arrived in a few minutes, and the three of them ate companionably. They chatted about nothing in particular—the weather, what it was like to be back in New Orleans after being gone for a while, the latest movie that depicted SEALs inaccurately.

  The art supplies finally arrived, and Hank pulled them in front of her eagerly. “This is going to take a while, gentlemen. And I’ll work better if the two of you aren’t hovering over me watching every stroke that goes onto paper.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Perriman said.

  Ashe rose to his feet and Hank did the same. He gathered her in his arms and buried his nose in her hair. “Look. I know this is hard for you. But we’ll do everything we can to help you. Just trust me, okay?”

  Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob slipped out of her throat. Poor kid. She was wrung out. He kissed her forehead gently. “I have to go talk with my boss, but I’ll be back in a little while.”

  Reluctantly, he released her and strode down the hall to the ready room. Normally this was a security police unit populated entirely by marines. But Ashe recognized several of the men lounging casually around the big, open space. They were SEALs. Why had Perriman called them here like this?

  He turned to his boss and muttered, “What the hell’s going on that you’re not telling me?”

  “Both of your girlfriend’s parents were spies for Mother Russia. And I have reason to believe her brother followed in the family tradition. All that’s left is to determine whether or not Hank’s one of them, too.”

  Hank? A spy? That was crazy!

  Or was it?

  Chapter 16

  Hank worked quickly, capturing the general outline of Romulus’s features. She would fill in the details later. But first, the basic bone structure—

  She started when her cell phone buzzed. Why was Ashe bugging her? He knew she was working... She glanced at the face of the phone. She didn’t recognize the name on the caller ID, but it was Russian.

  Crap.

  Cautiously she answered it. “Hello? Who is this?”

  The male voice at the other end spoke in hushed Russian. “If you want to see your brother alive, come to the Jefferson Pier. Tell no one and come alone.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”


  “I have no idea where the Jefferson Pier is or how to get there.”

  The man sounded exasperated. “It’s on Bayou Rigolettes. Drive south to Lafitte and take a boat from there. Hurry.”

  She was only vaguely familiar with the area south of New Orleans. It was isolated, and she would be far from help. Not to mention it was a great location for a secret meeting. Or a murder. Was she walking into a trap? For there was no question about her going. It was the first actual lead she’d gotten on Max since he disappeared, not to mention the first suggestion whatsoever that he might still be alive. She had to take the chance and check it out.

  The first order of business, of course, was to get out of here and ditch Ashe and his scary boss. This room wasn’t any good. It had no windows and only the one exit. She poked her head out into the hallway and asked the first person she saw—a nearly bald young man with an insanely fit physique—where the ladies’ room was. He pointed further down the hall. She headed for it.

  When she stepped into the small room, she was relieved to see a window. She locked the bathroom door behind herself, opened the window and hopped out into the night. Now to get a car and get off this base.

  She headed for the big paved area behind the building she’d just exited. It looked like some sort of parking lot for all kinds of utility vehicles. Everything from staff cars to dump trucks was parked there. It took her longer than she would have liked to find a vehicle that was unlocked, a heavy-duty pickup truck with dual rear wheels, a diesel engine and a gooseneck hitch in the rear truck bed. Whatever. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  It had been a long time since her brother showed her how to hot-wire a car, and she didn’t know if a diesel vehicle worked differently from a regular one or not. But she had to try. Sitting awkwardly on the truck’s floor and working in the dark, she pried off the panel covering the ignition wiring and stared at the jumble of electrical wires. She needed ignition wires. Working as much by feel as by sight, she traced the wires coming off the back of the ignition switch. She yanked two random wires loose and touched the ends to one another.