by Rachel Grant
She grabbed at the rush of anger and held it, massaged it, used it to squelch the river of pain that ran through her, threatening to sweep her overboard, beat her against the rocks, then spit out her lifeless body.
She didn’t think she could survive another betrayal.
They arrived in Bethesda and in silence walked down Wisconsin Avenue to their high-rise office building, going straight to the lobby-level workout room, which was empty as usual at six thirty in the morning.
“Do you want to spar?” he asked.
She’d opened her body and mind to him and had been falling for him from the first moment she saw him in this very room. Her heart cracked a bit, and she said, “Yes.”
She wanted to kick his ass.
With her first kick, she let him know this was no friendly sparring match. He barely blocked her follow-up punch in time. But then his eyes took on a steely glint that told her he knew exactly what she was doing.
In her haze of anger, she recognized he held back; he blocked and defended but never attacked. If he did fight back, she’d remain standing maybe ten seconds—if she were lucky.
Instead, he let her have her one-sided brawl, but finally, when she was winded, he took her down and pinned her to the mat. “What the fuck are you doing?” His face was red, furious.
“Did Jake hire you to screw me?” She hated the hurt in her voice.
His eyes narrowed. “Honey, I’m screwing you for free. Hell, I should pay you.”
She punched him in the jaw and cursed the glove that softened the blow. It was the first hit to make it past his razor-sharp reflexes, and she had a feeling he’d allowed the punch, even goaded her into it.
“Care to tell me why you think I’m working for Novak?”
“You were looking at a picture I found in Jake’s cabin on his boat. That photo is the reason I quit working for him.”
Relief entered his eyes; then his whole demeanor changed. He sat up, pulling her upright along with him. “You’re sure the photo is Jake’s? I’ve been trying to figure out who took it. Why did that picture make you quit?”
She wanted to ask him a dozen questions, but knew she’d get more information if she answered his first. “He didn’t take the photo; he received it—in hard copy. I found it in Jake’s cabin and realized he was a high-end dealer in black market antiquities, so I fled his boat in the middle of the night.”
He smiled a blinding, dazzling smile that had the power to alter the rotation of the earth. Her piece of it, anyway. “Shortcake, I wish you’d told me that before.” He kissed her with an urgency, a passion that would have flattened her if she didn’t have so many questions of her own.
Dammit, his kiss felt real. His fervor felt real. His intensity couldn’t be feigned.
Could it?
Her lock on her emotions shattered and she kissed him back. She needed him to be real. If another person took a chunk from her soul without giving anything back, she’d cease to exist.
She ended the kiss. “Your turn. Why do you have a copy of Jake’s photo?”
“He wants to team with Talon & Drake but could be bad for the company. I hacked into his cell phone to see if I could find something to show JT that would convince him to stop Drake from teaming with Novak. But his phone was empty. So I hacked into the phone he’s received several text messages from.”
She gasped. He’d been protecting her? She felt a painful ache in her chest. “I’m not surprised his phone was blank. Jake’s very careful with technology. We weren’t allowed Internet or smartphones on his boat.” She studied him. “How did you hack his phone?” Her mind began to race. This could be a very good lie to win back her trust. “Prove it. Show me.”
“No.”
The hope that had been building deflated. “Why not?”
“When I hacked into his phone, I was committing a crime. I won’t have you party to that, and I won’t do it here, using Talon & Drake’s network.”
She was about to argue the first point, but his second stopped her cold. The only thing she knew for certain about Lee was he had strong ties to JT and the senator; he wasn’t likely to risk a lawsuit against the company. But he could help me prove Riversong bought the artifacts. The photos were probably taken by Riversong. “You did it from JT’s condo.”
His mouth hardened. “No.”
“If you won’t show me, how can I believe you?”
“You’re just going to have to trust me.”
“I ran out of trust a long time ago.”
“I refuse to be held accountable for mistakes you made in the past.” He paused. “Dammit, Erica. I love you. I want you to give me the benefit of the doubt.” He turned and walked away from her, slamming the door to the men’s locker room.
LEE WAS IN A FOUL MOOD by the time he sat at his desk a half hour later. He wanted to go back to the workout room and beat on the bag, but he had work to do.
Last night, he’d looked into her eyes after hot, hard sex and felt a rush of pride and possession. She was everything he’d ever wanted, and he knew she was falling for him too. The apology burst from him, unbidden. Unwelcome. But he was sincere; the words came from the depths of his heart. Impetuous words that she accepted. Then, today he’d lied to her and demanded her trust in the same breath. When she learned who he was tomorrow, she’d feel betrayed in a way that could—would—make reconciliation impossible.
Jesus, she messed with his mind. He’d fallen hard and fast, but she could be the very person he was spying and hacking to find. He wanted to believe she was innocent, but she hadn’t told him everything—and he couldn’t trust her until she did. Was he in love with a beautiful, sexy criminal?
She sat five feet away at her own desk, staring at him as if she searched for what to say, on the defensive now, thanks to his prudent lie. But if she were truly innocent, then every apology from her now would be another nail in his coffin when she learned the truth.
His cell phone rang. It was JT. “SARAC arrived in Norfolk early this morning on an aircraft carrier. I was notified in time to contact the FBI, who sent out a team to search the crane as soon as the carrier made port.”
“And?” Lee said, feeling his stomach clench, knowing from JT’s tone he wouldn’t like what was coming.
“They didn’t find a damn thing.”
He swore. They were back to square one. “How is that possible?”
Erica, his alluring, lying supervisor, glanced up from her computer.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” JT said.
He got up and left the room. He’d only had three hours of sleep before he got up to comb through the phone’s data, and his brain wasn’t capable of maintaining his cover in front of Erica while talking to JT. He found an empty conference room and closed the door. “Okay, I’m alone now. What happened?”
“Exactly nothing. They searched the crane top to bottom. It was clean.”
“Fuck. So where is the Bassetki statue?” He’d sent JT an e-mail to let him know they might be looking for an extremely heavy statue base, which thieves had dragged across the marble steps at the Iraq Museum, breaking every one.
“The statue could have arrived in an earlier shipment. The photo was taken a year ago—which could be when the smuggling started.” JT paused. “Erica worked for Novak a year ago and got a job at Talon & Drake not long after. She’s the link.”
He wanted to defend her. When she’d told him about the photo this morning, he’d seized on her story as a sign of her innocence and had kissed her in relief. In hope. But she knew more than she’d told him, a damning omission.
To hell with his feelings; he had a job to do. He reflected on their night together. The first crack in his cover had come when she saw the photo on his computer at four a.m. “What time was the search?”
“Six a.m.”
Christ. She could have tipped off an accomplice. Another thought chilled him. “Does Drake know the crane was searched? Does he know you’re aware of the smuggling?”
; “The FBI kept it quiet. The search happened with only a few naval officers present. But if someone leaks, we’re screwed.”
Lee hung up and returned to the office he shared with Erica, more disturbed than before, but he needed to make peace with her. He needed her back in his bed, bringing with her whatever feeble trust she could muster. He closed the door behind him.
She studied him warily.
Best go with offense. “You owe me an apology.” He was driving in the coffin nails himself. Later he’d ask himself if it was worth it.
She flinched and bit her lip but said nothing.
He crossed the room and stood directly in front of her, then pulled her to her feet. “I’ve given you my home, my body, and my heart. What more do you want from me?” He winced at his mistake in referring to his home.
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders drooped. She leaned her forehead against his chest. “Every time I trust, I get burned. I’m afraid.”
If he were a better man, he’d goad her into hitting him again. Instead, he crushed his guilty conscience with the weight of her lies.
She lifted her head. Her slate eyes were liquid. Tracing her lips with his thumb, he said, “I’m afraid too. I’m terrified every time I admit I’m falling in love with you. But I still say the words because I know you need to hear them.”
He saw a brief flash of pain before she closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lee. So sorry.”
She was weakening, and so he used the one thing between them that was real and kissed her, long and hard. When he let her go, she was unsteady on her feet. She dropped back into her chair, definitely dazed, probably confused. But his again.
Mission accomplished. And he felt like a total shit.
But he had a job to do and settled back in front of his laptop. He needed to finish going through the phone’s data.
An hour later, his laptop let out a soft pinging sound. His heart rate kicked up. The sound he’d been waiting for, alerting him Novak was using his phone. He ran a program, which allowed him to see Novak’s touch screen.
A series of text messages arrived. One after the other. They’d been sent hours before but only now had Novak turned on his phone to receive them.
The first one said: a. 18 440703. The second one: a. 4091209.
After viewing several texts, it appeared the messages were paired by letter. He opened a blank spreadsheet and organized the data. Fifty text messages, twenty-five pairs. Each pair started with the number eighteen followed by a six-digit number. The second number of the pair was always seven digits. The six-digit numbers ranged from 440703 to 462956 and the seven-digit numbers ranged from 4091209 to 4092208.
But what did the numbers mean?
He checked the sender. A new number, one he hadn’t come across before. It would take some hacking to determine where the texts originated from.
Jake replied to the last text message: 729 / 0300 / dwarf. Then the signal was lost. Lee tapped a few keys and determined Jake hadn’t just shut off his phone; he’d pulled the battery. Yes, Jake Novak was very careful with technology. Suspiciously so. Fortunately, at least one of his accomplices hadn’t been as careful—the person had used the same disposable phone for over a year and probably felt secure having deleted incriminating photos. Whoever it was had no idea they were under suspicion or they’d have ditched that phone months ago.
Had that accomplice finally changed phones, or was this a new conspirator?
He stared at the list of numbers and reread Jake’s text. Searching for a pattern, for an explanation. The text looked easy. Today was July twenty-seventh. Could 729 mean July twenty-ninth, and 0300 mean three a.m.? Could it really be that simple? Was Novak giving his accomplice the meeting time and place for the exchange of artifacts for cash? Was dwarf the location? An autocorrect error on wharf?
Why use a fancy code when you had no reason to believe anyone was on to you?
Jake’s text reply didn’t clear Erica. She knew the old number was compromised and could have another phone he didn’t know about. But in that situation, surely Jake would have used a more complex code.
Who was giving artifacts and who was receiving? The Aztec Room was set to open tomorrow, on the twenty-eighth, meaning the Aztec artifacts Erica didn’t want to admit existed had to be in place at the casino already. Was Novak brokering a sale of Iraqi artifacts at three a.m. Sunday morning, just hours after the casino room opened?
Lee’s gut told him one thing: something had arrived on SARAC and had somehow made it past the inspection and into Novak’s possession.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ERICA WOKE EARLY ON SATURDAY, feeling anxious. She looked at Lee, lying next to her, still asleep. She’d been determined to keep her distance, to remain detached and rational. But last night they’d cooked dinner together, then eaten by candlelight as he seduced her again with words, laughter, and an intense masculine charm she found irresistible. He then offered her the one thing she needed above all else: tenderness.
In short, the sonofabitch had breached her mental barriers and made love to her. She feared she’d never be the same.
Tonight she’d see the artifacts again, and tomorrow life as she knew it would be over. Her actions would harm the senator’s campaign, and Lee would probably never speak to her again. She already felt the pain of the coming heartache. But revealing—and proving—the artifacts were stolen was the only way to protect herself from Jake.
She wanted to linger in bed but forced herself to take a shower. She would not rely on him, on his comfort or companionship. Hot water poured over her, clearing her mind as she closed her eyes and tried to focus on what she would do when she saw the artifacts tonight. She felt a draft and opened her eyes to see him stepping inside the shower.
She reached for him. He didn’t work for Jake. He couldn’t. And they still had today. Twelve hours until the party. Twelve hours she could hold forever in her heart. After they showered, he made breakfast and insisted on serving the meal in bed. But once they were in bed again, he distracted her until the food was cold and she needed another shower.
All in all, it was a damn good morning.
In the early afternoon, she settled in front of Lee’s computer to check e-mail, hoping the DNA results had been sent early. A spreadsheet was open on the desktop. “Lee?” she called to him in the other room, “Can I close this file?”
“What is it?”
“It looks like a list of UTMs.”
He was by her side in seconds. “What are UTMs?”
“Universal Transverse Mercators—they’re coordinates, the metric version of latitude and longitude. Maryland is in Zone 18, which is the first number in every column. The six-digit number is the Easting—coordinates on the east/west line—and the seven digit number is the Northing.”
“So those are Maryland coordinates?”
“Zone 18 is bigger than Maryland. Why do you have this file open if you didn’t know what it is?”
“It’s something I was trying to figure out for JT. So, where are those coordinates?”
“It’s easy to look up.” She went to a mapping website she used for projects and pasted the top set of numbers in the search boxes. In seconds, a map appeared. She zoomed out to see the full area. “These coordinates are in the Atlantic Ocean, eighteen miles east of Virginia Beach.”
She could see a sudden intensity in Lee’s gaze as he stared at the computer screen. “Near Norfolk but in the water,” he murmured. “Try the next set.”
The next set of coordinates came up with a location slightly east of the first.
“Now try the last set.”
The last coordinates were a location nearly ten miles east of the first set. He kissed her hard on the lips. “Thanks for your help.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“You’ve just given me the last piece of a puzzle.” He pulled her from the chair. “I feel the need to celebrate.”
She pushed him away and laughed. “You’re insatiable.”
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“You make me insatiable. I’ve never been this way before.”
She felt a flutter and told herself not to give in to the emotions he stirred. “That’s because you spent your high school years with cyberwomen. Real women are more fun.”
He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder with a gentle smack on her butt. “Woman, I’ll make you pay for taunting me with my geek past.”
She laughed as he carried her down the hall. “Past? Honey, I hate to break it to you, but your geek days aren’t behind you.”
In the master bedroom, he tossed her on the bed. “Then this geek is about to ruin you for cool guys forever.”
She reached for his belt buckle, wondering if his words were pure bravado, but discovered he wasn’t boasting. And she knew he spoke the truth: he had ruined her for other men.
ERICA TUCKED TWO SETS of the Aztec artifact photographs into her evening bag along with the doubloons. Her fingers shook. This was it.
She checked her appearance in the floor-length mirror in the master bedroom, then took a deep breath before stepping out to meet Lee in the living room. The silk skirt of the dress brushed against her thighs and ankles in a soft, sensuous sway. She had never in her life felt more feminine, more sexy, more beautiful. More terrified.
Lee looked her up and down, his eyes showing pure carnal approval. “Stunning. Perfectly, absolutely, breathlessly stunning.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips.
“You look pretty damn good too,” she said. It was true. He looked heartachingly handsome in his single-breasted black tuxedo.
“Nobody will notice me with you by my side.” He touched the silver and red beads she’d threaded through her hair before pulling it back in a loose twist at the nape of her neck. “I suppose you put the beads in so I’d leave your hair alone?”
She laughed. “Will it work?”
“Tonight? Yes. When we’re alone? Never.” He kissed the inside of her wrist. “JT will be here any second.”
