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

  Fyodor blinks slowly. “If you think this will work, you are mistaken.”

  “You know what I think?” Elliott pushes off the corner and levels Fyodor with a cool scowl. “I think you guys didn’t think this through very well.”

  Fyodor steps closer to the glass — but not in front of Elliott. In front of me. Fyodor leans in, the menace all over his face. “You are the ones who did not think this through very well. Or you would not have ended up here, da?”

  I can’t really argue with his logic.

  “Who do you work for?” He punctuates each syllable of his dangerous growl by tapping the shower door with the gun barrel.

  “Parliament,” I grind out.

  “I do not believe you.”

  “Your loss.”

  He presses the gun against the glass level with Danny’s chest. That doesn’t seem safe for anybody. The air in this tiny room grows thicker. Fyodor’s voice oozes with immaculate patience. “We’ll try this one last time. Who do you work for?”

  “If I tell you, will you let us go? At least him?” I point to Danny with my eyes. “He’s not involved.” That’s so true that saying it almost burns.

  Danny holds up a hand to object, but I keep my eyes on the Russian.

  “That is all you ask?” Fyodor steps back and raises his eyebrows to look down his nose at us. “If only you knew what is really going on.”

  The realization pours over me and my heart hits the accelerator. There is something more going on here, and if we can find it — and better yet, stop it — this wouldn’t all be a waste. “Okay, here’s an idea. How about an information exchange? You tell us what’s really going on, and we’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  He thinks about it a little longer than I’d like. “You will tell me everything I want to know?”

  I nod solemnly, hoping my silent “yeah right” stays that way. “If you let him go.”

  “We may discuss terms after you have answered my questions.” Fyodor approaches the shower door again. “Tell me this: did you ever have feelings for me, or was that all an act?”

  Seriously? That’s his first question? Man, now I feel bad.

  But not quite bad enough to spare his pride. I shrug with an expression of you already know the answer and you do not want to hear it.

  “Then why?”

  Yeah, I was hoping he wouldn’t go there.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Elliott pipes up. I think we’re all very interested to hear his answer. “She’s a player.”

  I cannot look at Danny. I can’t feel his presence behind me anymore and I don’t dare turn to look for him. I just can’t. Painting on puppy-like penance like pancake makeup, I turn to Fyodor. “Are you going to believe this guy?”

  “I’m starting to.” Danny’s murmur cuts deeper than anything Fyodor could say.

  “See?” Elliott does a better job playing it off than I do. “This is all a ploy. She likes stringing you along, and that’s it.”

  “Oh, like you know me that well.” I hope Elliott gets the subtext: you’re not helping!

  He doesn’t. “Are you kidding? I was your first victim.”

  A chill creeps over my scalp. He can’t mean what I think he means. That night I’ve spent a year trying to forget, that hallway my panicked brain leaps to for the second time tonight, that idiot Elliott leaning in —

  He promised me. He promised me it didn’t mean anything. He promised me it was a cover, that kiss.

  I flick my eyes to his. He’s not even looking at me, smirking at Fyodor through the glass.

  It’s a cover. Only a cover. And I’ll play mine, too. “Fyodor, I was really hoping there would be some chemistry between us.” I dip my chin and widen my eyes in what I hope Danny can (and Fyodor can’t) tell is a blatant ploy of innocence. “That’s the truth,” I lie.

  He stares back for a long time, but I hold my expression. “I do not like competition.” His voice is low, menacing. “And I will eliminate it.”

  I barely flick my eyes to Danny and try to keep my face neutral. “Who, this guy? It doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

  Fyodor scrutinizes me a minute longer.

  “Come on.” I slip into classic hostage negotiation and a pouty-flirty-coaxing girl voice that Danny and Elliott have never heard from me before. I’m not sure I’ve ever used it, so I hope I’m doing it right. “Look. I know you got carried away earlier tonight. That’s all that’s going on here, too. We’re a little keyed up, but you can stop this insanity now. Just let us off and this can all be over.”

  Fyodor’s eyes slide to the side, like he’s considering it. He folds his shooting arm across his chest, propping up his free hand to stroke his beard. (I manage not to look at Elliott. It’s not time for laughter.) “You would not involve the authorities?”

  A little late for that. “Of course not.” Not until we can find a person with a cell phone or a police constable, that is. “A little misunderstanding.”

  “Then who do you work for?”

  If it means we might get out of here, especially if Danny will be safe, I have to give him something. I have to do this. I have to say it.

  My gaze falters and falls. This is what it feels like to give up. I sigh, letting the pain show. “We work for NRC.”

  I don’t dare turn to Danny, praying he can hide his surprise or skepticism. Fyodor doesn’t look away from me, lifting his chin. “Now we are getting somewhere. What do you do?”

  “We’re in a special security division. We vet visiting officials.”

  “‘We’?”

  I glance toward Elliott.

  “Tak i znal,” Fyodor breathes, flushed with triumph. I knew it. “And Fluker is with you, or is he really an aerospace engineer?”

  “He’s not involved with us. At all.”

  “So this attempt to seduce me is all part of the plot to . . . make sure I am who I am?”

  Attempt to seduce him? Yeah, no. But I roll with it, slipping into Russian to minimize what Danny has to hear. “I was supposed to get back to your hotel so I could make sure you weren’t foreign intelligence or stealing any classified info.”

  I keep my eyes on the shower floor, but sneak a look at Elliott. He gives me an almost invisible shrug, mostly with his eyebrows. Neither of us knows if they found anything in his room, but at our last report, the results didn’t sound so good.

  The silence stretches on too long and I dare to look up. Fyodor levels me with a cool stare. “If that was your goal, why did you object in the park?”

  “Um, it wasn’t your room?” I say it like that’s obvious.

  He looks at Elliott. “And why did he intrude?”

  I groan. “What can I say? I work with a bunch of chauvinists who don’t know how to let a woman do her job.” I think that concept might have sailed over Fyodor’s head, but that’s not why I can’t take a full breath. English again. “Now, can we discuss terms?”

  Fyodor doesn’t answer directly, his face guarded. “Who is Fluker to you?”

  “I just know him from work.”

  Could be my imagination, but I swear Danny steps up behind me, close enough to sense, but not touching. Don’t know if that’s for Fyodor or me, but I try not to read too much into it.

  Then again, I hardly have the extra processing capacity to handle any more Danny-related input with the mental gymnastics I’m doing to trick Fyodor while being honest with Danny, or at least so blatantly dishonest Danny knows everything I’m telling Fyodor is a front.

  Fyodor’s intent gaze hasn’t softened a bit. He’s not buying the act.

  “We used to date, okay? It didn’t work out.” And that time, it does burn.

  “Someone has changed his mind.” Fyodor gestures to the sink.

  “Believe me, a lot bigger surprise for me.” And Danny takes a step away, if he was there.

  “If you chase two rabbits, you won’t catch either.”

  I pin him with a look of thanks a lot. “Enough? That’s what you want to k
now, right?”

  Fyodor runs his tongue over his teeth and I have to fight back a wave of memories and revulsion. I shoot for a level-with-me tone. “Now you tell me something. What’s got you gloating about how we’re missing something big?”

  His eyebrows jump. Yeah, it’s a gamble to go for the big question, but we have a history — and I want to put it behind me, fast. He sucks his teeth. “No, I cannot tell you.”

  Cannot? Is that a lost in translation thing, or is something keeping him from telling me? I choose my next verb more carefully. “Well, then, will you let them go? At least Danny?”

  Fyodor taps his fingers on his mouth, still contemplating. “Sorry, no,” he says abruptly. “I hope you all feel very comfortable here. It is quite a while to international waters.”

  “What?” we all shout together.

  There is no way this little boat — okay, medium-sized boat — could make it all the way to Russia. Right?

  The cramped little room turns chill. Fyodor leaves us with triumph in his eyes.

  I dig through my hair with one hand and hold out the other to Elliott. “Shoelaces.”

  Danny steps between us to cut off the exchange. “NRC?” He’s smart enough to keep his voice down, but the stakes are too high.

  I fix him with a serious look and make a cutting motion across my throat. “And he said you know why he wants us.”

  “No idea what he’s talking about.”

  “Great.” I’m not sure whether to believe him. Fyodor could’ve been bluffing. No time to debate now. I backhand Danny’s arm. Danny scoffs but moves so Elliott and I can trade tools.

  Before we huddle down to work on the padlock again, though, I can’t treat Danny like that. I have to say one thing, regardless of any monitoring. I turn to Danny. “I’m not playing you. I mean, I wasn’t.”

  “And I really don’t know why we’re here.”

  The truth for the truth. Danny leans against the glass wall. Elliott, kneeling in position by the door already, tugs on the hem of my dress, and I join him on the floor.

  “Danny?” I glance over my shoulder. “Can this boat really get us to Russia?”

  He takes a minute, but whether he’s thinking about the question or the situation between us, I don’t know. “Not without refueling, I’m guessing. If it were a plane, I’d know for sure. Mind telling me what’s going on?”

  I lean forward like holding the shoelaces takes a lot of concentration. “If I knew.”

  “You know you could tell him.” I know Elliott’s undertone doesn’t mean striking up a conversation about whatever Fyodor’s cooking up. “You could’ve told him a long time ago.”

  That’s not what the rules say. The rules we live and die by. “No, I couldn’t. I got this far as the world’s most paranoid — ” I stop myself before spy, stumbling onto “non-agoraphobe.”

  The torsion wrench bobby pin moves. For a split second, we both think it’s open, but the too-narrow bobby pin only slipped. Elliott grunts. “Yeah, locked in a shower. That’s working out really well for you.”

  “Right, and telling him now is a better plan.” I point to the wall and tug my ear.

  Danny’s shadow falls over us. “What are — are you picking the lock?”

  “Trying to.” Elliott adjusts the bobby pin, offsetting the bent ends to make it wider. “You’re in our light.”

  “They teach you this in law school?” His sarcasm shows his disbelief. I focus on the lock.

  “They had some really progressive thoughts on the discovery process.”

  I shoot an elbow and a be-nice expression at Elliott. He returns a why-should-I? raised eyebrow, and I answer with a capital-L Look every woman knows: because I said so.

  Our silent conversation is cut short when Elliott pitches sideways, away from me. I fall with him until the chain jerks us all to a stop, lying instead of leaning against the door. Outside the shower?

  “Whoa.” Danny’s halfway out through the doorway, holding up . . . the door? With one hand. Have I entered the Twilight Zone?

  “Wait, what?” Elliott jumps up to hold the door for Danny, who drops to his knees and pops the bottom hinge loose from the floor.

  Danny taps on the spring-loaded pin, now free. “Telescoping pivot hinges.” He pauses like he’s about to say more, then realizes it’s totally lost on us. (Thanks.)

  I grab his hand and flip it over. His Swiss Army knife. “Where did you get that?”

  “Put it in my shoe in the car. You think I trust Timofeyev?”

  I can’t stop my smile, and for half a second, he starts to smile back. Sitting in a glass prison he’s just freed us from, holding onto his hand, I feel like there might be a chance I could get Danny back.

  And then he pulls away, smile gone, to help Elliott swing the door free. We’re out, but it’s not quite as sweet as it felt three seconds ago.

  “Man, I wish you’d gotten here sooner.” I step out of the shower and try another smile. But he gives me a look I can’t decipher, and I’m not sure I should’ve said it. I try to brush it off. “Here I thought the most useful tool on your knife was the USB drive.”

  “Yeah, pretty glad I left that at work.”

  “We need a plan,” Elliott whispers, pulling us back to the topic. And he’s right.

  I hold up five fingers. Five guys out there, Fyodor, Kozyrev and at least three others.

  Elliott holds up three fingers, representing us, but glances at Danny. Though I try not to follow his eyes, I can’t help but read Elliott’s expression: more like two and a half.

  “Cut it out.” I try a patented I’m-serious face, but it doesn’t faze him.

  “Tell him.”

  Danny sighs through his teeth, and I’m pretty sure that’s disgust I hear. “Just tell me.”

  “Fine.” I look him in the eyes, and I can’t help but think of everything I love about him, most of all his smile. His genuine, unreserved, he-is-who-he-is-all-the-time smile.

  And I’m not. I can’t tell him. He’ll think — he’ll know everything I’ve ever said is a lie. I open my mouth, but only come up with “Stay behind me.”

  “Great plan.” Thanks a lot, Elliott.

  But before we get any further in our plotting, we all sway the same direction, my stomach taking a minute to catch up. The yacht’s speeding up. A lot.

  The river. We’re in trouble. Deep. We’re hundreds of miles from the ocean or whatever the Ottawa River empties into, and hours from a point where our captors can feel safe, but every inch we get farther from where we’re supposed to be, the harder it will be to find us.

  Maybe we should recommend those GPS implants.

  “Inventory,” I say, trying to keep us focused. Danny props the shower door up in place. Elliott and I go to the sink and the mirrored medicine cabinet with a hinge in the middle. We each pry open a side. As the halves swings open, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrors. I expect to look crazy, and to some extent I do: hair half tumbled down, eye shadow gone and lipstick smeared, but the black eyeliner and mascara are still firmly shellacked in place. It’ll probably take turpentine to get that stuff off. Okay, alcohol, since shellac isn’t turpentine-soluble.

  “VapoRub.” Elliott pockets the mentholated petroleum jelly.

  I point to the door and more importantly, the hum of voices beyond. The unspoken message is clear: keep it down. “Cigarettes. No lighter.”

  Danny reaches around Elliott to snag the ring box. I pretend not to notice. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about that anyway.

  Elliott scrutinizes Danny in my side of the mirror. “Hope you kept the receipt.”

  “Whose side are you on?” I hiss to Elliott.

  He closes his side of the cabinet. “We’re all on the same side. Right?” He shoots Danny a pointed look. Danny dips his chin in a single nod. They look to me.

  “Duh.”

  Elliott moves on, holding up his other find. “Tweezers.”

  “Awesome. We’ll hold them at bay with tin
y little puncture wounds.”

  But it’s better than all I have: Q-tips. I shut the medicine cabinet and catch a glimpse of Danny over our shoulders, eyeing us warily.

  I hate to feel like I’m excluding him, but let’s face it: he’s not an operative, and even if he were, I have no idea how to treat him right now. He has no training, no info — wait. He’s spent the most time above deck. I turn around. “How many men did you see onboard?”

  “Fyodor, his friend, and . . .” His eyes move back and forth as if he’s searching his memory. “Four other guys. Six total.”

  I’ve only seen five. For the second time, I’m actually glad to have Danny here.

  “One of them has a broken finger,” Elliott supplies.

  “I got one in the throat and one in the nose. And Kozyrev’s left knee is hurt.” I claim the tweezers and we turn to the bedroom door.

  I take a second to psych myself up, and Elliott’s whispered advice to Danny picks up on the rhythm of my rising pulse. “If we’re outnumbered, yell as loud as you can. Make them think you are crazy and you’re more likely to walk away from this fight. It might not stop them, but at least you’ll make them think twice.”

  “Got it.” There’s something off in Danny’s tone. I mean, he is taking fistfight tips from a “lawyer,” about to burst into hostile territory for the first time, and . . . you know, the whole thing with me. But we don’t have time for doubt.

  I look to Danny. “Keep a good hold on your knife. And promise you’ll stay behind me.”

  “We’ll see” is all he says.

  Great. But I can’t press him harder now. They could be back any minute, and unless our objective is to hold the bathroom, surprise is our only advantage. Three deep breaths. Focus on the low murmur of conversation from the next room. Five fingers to count down to the attack.

  Four. Three. The adrenaline in my arteries ramps up with each heartbeat.

  Two. One. Go.

  Elliott yanks the door open and rushes into the bedroom. I barely manage to maneuver in front of Danny, ready to yell, ready to scream, ready to fight with every ounce of my strength.

  Ready for battle.

  We rush into the room. At first, what I see doesn’t register, my heart’s sprinting so fast.