Spy Another Day Box Set: Three full-length novels: I, Spy; Spy for a Spy; and Tomorrow We Spy (Spy Another Day clean romantic suspense trilogy)

by Jordan McCollum

  I school my features to say Can I stop you?

  “I don’t know yet.” He places a hand on the glass where my arm rests. I jerk away from the indirect contact.

  “Then why bring me here? What difference does it make to you?”

  Kozyrev steps back from the shower, business again. “I owe my good friend very much. You know him? Fyodor Timofeyev?”

  I feign surprise, splaying my fingers at the neckline of my dress. “This is about Fyodor? Seriously?”

  He explains to his henchman, “Poigralas′ i brosila.” The Russian equivalent of She played him. Does he not know I speak Russian? He turns back to me. “You cannot treat a man that way, you know.”

  “I guess I’m supposed to force him to the ground in a public park and assault him. That’s the right way to act, isn’t it?”

  A mix of confusion and disbelief darts across Kozyrev’s face, and he glances at his henchman to confer again. Big surprise Fyodor didn’t brag about his failed conquest. But Kozyrev shakes off any seeds of doubt. “Clearly, you do not understand your situation.”

  “Um, duh. I asked you why I’m here.”

  “I will ask the questions now. Perhaps you will understand then. If you can keep up.”

  I fold my arms and square up to the glass. “Try me.”

  “How do you know this man?” He holds up the phone, showing the picture of Danny and me on the locks. Exactly how I want to remember him.

  “Casual acquaintance. I barely know the guy. Obviously things didn’t work out.” Flat-out lies, but at this point, I hardly think it matters if he catches me.

  “Casual acquaintance,” Kozyrev repeats. He scrolls back to the shot of us arguing — well, I’m doing the arguing — on the Plaza Bridge. “This is how you act with casual acquaintances?”

  “When they’re being totally unreasonable. Like a couple other people I’ve met recently.”

  “And you protect casual acquaintances with your life?” He lifts an eyebrow to take in my current accommodations.

  I smirk. “Call it a savior complex.”

  He doesn’t get the joke. “I do not believe you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Am I acting cavalier? Of course. If I can downplay how much their target means to me, maybe they’ll forget him, leave him alone.

  But I’ve already undermined that tactic by coming along with his safety as ransom.

  “So, Fluker is a casual acquaintance.”

  I can’t breathe for a second. Following him home is one thing. But how did they get Danny’s name? This could be worse than I anticipated, and Danny could be more of a mark than I imagined.

  The only weapon I’ve got at my disposal right now is information. Or, rather, dezinformatsiya: disinformation.

  “It’s not Fluker. It’s Anderson.”

  Kozyrev examines the picture on his phone again. “Is that so?”

  “Or maybe it’s Jones. I have such a hard time keeping up with all my acquaintances.”

  “Did you meet Fluker through your work?”

  My work? What was my cover again?

  House of Commons Standing Committee on Industry, Science and Technology. “Maybe. One meets so many people these days. Hard to keep track of them all.”

  “You do not recall where he works?”

  “Parliament?”

  Confusion flits over Kozyrev. Now I’m getting somewhere. But he tries again. “What were you doing together tonight?”

  I hope my makeup is intact enough to pull off the sultry effect. “What can I say? I’m a heartbreaker.”

  “Ya uveren.” Kozyrev curls his top lip. I’m sure. “I will ask one more time: what were you doing together tonight?”

  “He asked me out last week.”

  He pulls up the picture of us on the bridge yet again. “And this?”

  “I didn’t feel the same way. Didn’t end well. I’m sure your friend Fyodor can relate.”

  The corners of his mouth pull down almost imperceptibly.

  “Though I’ve gotta say, that guy—” I angle my head at Kozyrev’s cell — “was a lot better about it than your friend. He didn’t attack me because I’m not interested.”

  Kozyrev lifts his phone again, then taps on the screen. After a minute, he holds it to his ear. He speaks in Russian, as if it’s some mystic code I couldn’t possibly understand. “Are you sure about what you saw?” he begins.

  I strain to hear the other end of the conversation, but it’s no use with the sealed glass door. Even if I lean on it to force it that half inch open, the phone’s sound won’t carry. The acoustics in this little bathroom aren’t quite good enough.

  And then I remember the soundproofing. I’m not getting out of here even if I scream.

  “She says she doesn’t know him well. I don’t know. Her attitude makes it hard to gauge.”

  Well, at least that much is working. I pretend to be bored, my gaze wandering around the bathroom while I try to catch a glimpse of the bedroom through the open door. Where are the rest of the henchmen?

  “Well, what do you want me to do?” Kozyrev asks.

  I force myself not to perk up, but I can’t resist leaning against the shower door, although it’s pointless.

  “Fine.” Kozyrev’s edging on huffy now. “I will decide.” He hangs up and glares at me. “Soon you will be more inclined to talk.”

  “Oh, I’d love to talk. Let’s talk about why you’ve got me here and when you’ll let me go and who’s pulling your strings. I can talk all night.”

  The man doesn’t even crack a smile. “Glad you are so eager.” And he turns and marches out, followed by his henchman.

  I slump harder against the glass, and the chain holding the door shut chinks. I give it a closer look: not that heavyweight. My sparkly earrings aren’t set with diamonds (no need to quadruple our budget when imitation bling does just as well), but the edges might be rough enough to help.

  Three fingers in the middle of the pointed hoops, I can barely reach the chain through the crack in the door.

  Pointless? Maybe. But it’s something.

  I start sawing. Soundproofing cuts two ways. I hope.

  Fifteen minutes and one earring wasted sawing. And we’re moving again. Into the locks. Or maybe into the second lock, if the first was open when we pulled up. Odds are against it, but pardon me for being a pessimist.

  I refocus on my sawing. Pressing my knuckles against the door jamb to get to the chain is rubbing my fingers raw, but I still don’t have a better strategy.

  I try not to think about how I’ll exact my revenge on Fyodor. Aside from the whole best-served-cold thing, in the CIA, it’s usually served by someone else and we’re lucky to hear. For now I’ll keep my mind off the monotonous sawing with formulating a contingency plan.

  I know there are at least four guys on deck, including Kozyrev. Winning a four-on-one fight looks awesome and almost easy on television, but let me tell you: I’ve never seen it happen in real life. Maybe if I can outmaneuver the guards in the cabin, I’ll be able to make it on deck. Once I’m there, I can make a leap for the water. If I can get to the railing in one piece.

  After five more minutes, the bathroom door swings open. The chain is only scratched. I drop my tools behind my back before Kozyrev saunters in.

  “Whatever you are doing,” he says as a greeting, “you will stop.”

  I look around as if asking an imaginary audience what the guy’s talking about.

  “You will not escape, so there is no point in trying.”

  I toss off a suuure face.

  “Are you ready to talk now?”

  “I told you, I was ready to talk before. You start. Why am I here?”

  Kozyrev’s eyebrow twitches higher. “You do not learn well? I told you, you cannot treat a man as you have my friend.”

  “Remind me, is that Fyodor or Jones? Fluker, whatever you call him. Davy.”

  “I believe his name is Daniel.” He says it the Russian way, Dan-EEL.

>   It’s actually not: Danny is his full name. But I’m obviously not about to volunteer that information. “Whatever. So he’s your friend?”

  Kozyrev just smiles, and there’s something I really don’t like about that. The hairs at the back of my neck prick up again. I resist the urge to rub them down. I can’t afford weakness.

  “You do like to talk,” Kozyrev says.

  “I’m a good listener, too.”

  “Who are you working for?”

  Right. Like I’m giving in this easily. “Parliament.”

  His grin veers closer to a smirk. He waves for someone behind him to come in. “I feel you will be more inclined to speak when you see what we have.”

  That sounds good. I wipe a sweaty palm on my dress. They could have a hundred things, from Danny (I quickly pray not) to something incriminating, if they somehow discovered the outlet slick in my apartment and my emergency escape papers.

  But I’m definitely not expecting what they bring in — and now I know I’m in real trouble.

  I pitch sideways, but catch myself before I realize my balance issues are because we’re moving again, and not the new prisoner. His short dark hair is still fashionably tousled, though I hadn’t noticed how weary his patchy five o’clock shadow made him look earlier.

  Elliott.

  I have to play this off. I shake my head with a little frown, like a shrug of the lips. “Sorry, I don’t know this guy.”

  A glower flickers across Kozyrev’s face, but he recoups quickly. “Then you will get to know him now. Step back from the door.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “We will take care of him.”

  I sigh as if moving two feet to save a stranger’s life is a major inconvenience and go lean against the fiberglass wall. With one finger on the shower button. Maximum strength, maximum heat. The adrenaline curls up in my stomach like a cobra poised to strike.

  Kozyrev undoes the padlock and chain. The door swings open. I hit the button.

  A stream shooting out of the showerhead straight for Kozyrev. The steaming water hits him full in the chest. He shouts and falters back a step.

  Elliott’s no idiot. The second the stream starts, he seizes the opportunity of the distraction, turning on the guy behind him. I skirt the edge of the spray into the already overcrowded bathroom. I can’t see what Elliott’s doing in the chaos, but I hear a pop and a scream.

  Kozyrev is recovering from the surprise, but my kick to the side of his knee brings him down with another cry. He catches himself on the sink.

  Elliott grabs my arm and we start for the door back to the bedroom. But we make it one step before I jerk back, a hot jolt of pain shoots through my scalp. Kozyrev’s got a handful of my hair. I slip on the slick tile and fall on my hip, pulling Elliott backward. He carries his momentum into a punch to Kozyrev’s face, and the screeching pain through my hair stops.

  I scramble up, but a hand in my back pushes me toward the shower again. My wet feet can’t get traction and I plow into Elliott.

  He only stumbles a second, but with the showerhead still streaming onto the floor, that’s enough. We hit the standing water and a final shove throws us both through the scalding flow and into the shower.

  I slide as far as the fiberglass wall before I can regain my balance. I slam the button to cut off the shower and rush the door. Reading my mind, Elliott does the same, running after me.

  But we’re half a second too late. The lock hasp clicks into place right before I skid to a stop at the door. Elliott crashes into me, flattening me against the glass. He knocks the wind out of me and I can’t even groan. Elliott pushes off. “Sorry.”

  He’s sorry? I blow my cover and I get him dragged into it, the one night he needs to be with his wife, and he’s sorry? I finally draw in a breath and turn to Kozyrev. “Come on. You don’t have to involve this guy. I’ll talk.” Though I have no idea what they want me to talk about beyond where I work. (Not happening.)

  “Yes, let us talk now.” Kozyrev leans his weight against the sink. I hope he’s hurt.

  I slap the glass a foot from his head. He doesn’t flinch. “Let him go first.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He saved me in the park today when your little friend tackled me.”

  Kozyrev laughs. He cackles.

  I don’t like the sound of that.

  “Oh, Natalia, what is it about you that so captivates every man you meet?”

  I snort in derision, trying to push aside the sinking feeling in my stomach. “What are you talking about? Don’t tell me you’re falling for me, too.”

  “I do appreciate your attitude, but no. This one has.” He nods at Elliott. “He followed you all over the city. Did you not?”

  Yeah, I really don’t like the sound of that. Elliott levels him with a blank stare. “I told you, I only wanted to use the pool. I’m pretty sure you’re not the hotel police.”

  “No. We are not.” Kozyrev’s demented jack-o’-lantern look is back. I’d love to smack it off his face.

  I try not to glance at Elliott. Kozyrev or whoever spotted us has us dead to rights, and I won’t try to deny that. But neither of us are going to admit it, either.

  “So.” Kozyrev shifts more of his weight onto the sink. I’m shocked it supports him. “Let us get to know one another then. What is your name?” he asks Elliott.

  “Noah Albertson.” His cover had a name? I didn’t even know. Which is appropriate, since we might not have exchanged names if our scene at the park was real.

  “Noah, how long have you known Natalia?”

  Elliott folds his arms across his white T-shirt spattered with water and slumps into the corner at a defiant angle. “I dunno. What time is it?”

  Again, Kozyrev doesn’t get the joke. “Time to tell the truth.”

  “Yeah, you seem very well acquainted with that concept.” Elliott doesn’t hold back on the sarcasm.

  The Russian examines his nails. Apparently two can play at the I’m-nonchalanter-than-you game.

  “Whatever, guy.” Elliott maintains the same tone. “Believe what you want.”

  Kozyrev plasters on another I-can-do-this-all-night smile. I’m beginning to hate those smiles.

  I want him out of here, now. I want time to regroup with Elliott, to figure out how we got here in the first place. “I want food,” I demand.

  “What?”

  “I’m hungry. Your cheap little friend wouldn’t buy me a full dinner. He made me share his.” Again, I don’t care if Kozyrev could easily disprove the lie. I just need him to leave to do it. And if he believes it for a split second, it’s another little seed of dissention. No good Russian man would treat a woman that way. “I’m not talking until I eat.”

  Kozyrev eases himself to his feet. (Good, I did hurt him.) “Fine. I’m sure we have something for you.” And he saunters out of the room with only a slight limp.

  I didn’t have room to get a good shot in, but I wish I’d kickd harder. A lot harder.

  He doesn’t shut the door all the way, and the sounds of a Russian movie filter through. I pitch my voice for anyone sitting in the bedroom and address Elliott. “Sorry about this, dude.”

  “What’s even going on?” He matches my volume and widens his eyes to add for real.

  “I have no idea.” I hold out my arms and shake my head in an exaggerated I don’t know to reemphasize the point.

  A grunt comes from the bedroom. We both turn to watch the door. It swings shut the rest of the way. There’s still a chance they’re listening somehow, so we have to be careful.

  Elliott slams a fist against the glass. Yep. Careful.

  “Bulletproof.” I pick my way across the wet floor to the corner where Elliott stands. It’s a little more challenging as the boat cruises forward for a minute, then stops. I lean my back against the glass and drop to the barest whisper. “So really, how’d you get here?”

  He pulls a hand down over his mouth, then brings his volume down to the same as m
ine again. “Did you hear anything I said?”

  “When?”

  “Over the earpiece, after you had us ping Danny’s phone. Which I thought you don’t do.”

  “I made an exception.” My shoulders fall. “A mistake.” It’s not a big deal he used Danny’s name, since they obviously know it, but we have to be watch what else we say. “OPSEC,” I remind him.

  Elliott pauses half a beat before he presses on. “Anyway, when CASTLETON got me his location,” (that’s Will’s code name — hooray, operational security) “it took him ten seconds to figure out it was you requesting it, and then he told me Timofeyev is staying at the Château.”

  That ice cube is trickling down my spine again, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “How did we not know this?”

  “Need-to-know. PINION took the room raid. CASTLETON didn’t know until tonight.”

  Right, because PINION — CSIS — got all the good jobs, and we got stuck with this. Could Fyodor have made it back to the Château before I did? Before, after, it doesn’t matter. He’d just have to be in the lobby to see me and Danny arguing on our way out.

  That doesn’t explain how they know so much about Danny. Unless — unless someone told them. The goose bumps spread across my back. I turn to Elliott. “What have you said?”

  “Nothing. Noah Albertson. U of O student.”

  “What about Danny?” I step closer, backing Elliott into a corner of the shower. “Did you tell them his name? Where he lives?”

  He gives me a come-on expression. “Don’t tell me he’s involved.”

  “They’ve got pictures at his place and they know his name, first and last.”

  Desperation flashes in his eyes, searching the fiberglass floor. “What else do they know?” He grabs my shoulders. “Is she safe?” I don’t have to ask who he means with that kind of urgency.

  “Hey, hey.” I hold up my hands to help with talking him down. “If they knew about her, they would’ve already threatened her.”

  He lets me go to rake his fingers through his hair, stare at the floor, pace. Every step falls on my heart. “I need to be there.” He doubles back on his short path. “What am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to keep it together.” I tip his chin up to force him to look at me. “Focus. I need you here.”