Rand chuckled and leaned back so he could get a better view of the rest of the neighboring table. “What do you think you’re getting?” he asked.
“Mm, I’m thinking.” She tilted her head to the side.
Two of the men just behind her had their heads together, speaking in hushed tones. Rand could hear them, but besides a few very basic words, he was out of his depth.
He used the moment of quiet to pick out his breakfast. The last meal he’d eaten was hours ago and didn’t qualify as a meal. He’d been too frustrated, too anxious to really get much in him. He hoped they didn’t have to pick up and go any time soon, because he could seriously polish off a big plate of food.
The server approached and took their drink and food orders.
Without menus to hide behind, they’d have to actually pull this whole fake relationship off.
He held out his hand and waited.
Sarah studied his palm. Was she reading his mistakes in the lines of his hand? Could she see the future in his veins?
She propped one elbow on the table and leaned forward, fitting her smaller hand in his. There. He smiled, letting himself fall a little more into the ruse.
“They’re going to the restroom,” she said.
He watched the table’s reflection in the tinted windows. Half the table rose and ambled toward the men’s room, leaving the least-interesting people behind. The younger men were aids or assistants, not the major players of the bunch.
“They’re all looking at their phones now.”
“Great. Too bad we can’t see what they’re looking at.” She smiled back, her posture easier, more relaxed. “How’d this morning go?”
“Pretty good. I think I’ve lined up our weekend plans.”
“Oh, really?” She arched a brow at him.
“Sure. Me. You. That big bed. All weekend.”
She chuckled and shook her head. Was it his imagination or were her cheeks a little pink?
He wasn’t lying. Their surveillance suite wasn’t as big as the one booked under her real name. About the only place to sit besides at the desk in that uncomfortable chair was the bed. He figured she’d do the listening and he’d do the transcribing. It wasn’t nearly as sexy as it sounded.
The server reappeared with their drinks and the first course, an assorted fruit plate and toast for them to share. Sarah plucked a strawberry from the mix. His stomach was demanding, but they had more pressing matters to sort out first.
“Let’s talk about us while we’re otherwise indisposed.” He kissed the back of her hand, stroking his fingers over her knuckles.
Sarah’s eyes bulged and her brows drew down.
Yeah, he’d waited for her to eat something. It was about the only way he could get an idea in without her dismissing it. “You’re probably thinking this isn’t the time or place, right? When is?”
She wiped her mouth on a napkin, still glaring at him. “I don’t know.” She tried to pull out of his hold, but he didn’t let her go.
“Let’s talk about last night.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re right. We need to. We’re going to be cooped up together for days, maybe weeks, and we need to be able to trust each other.” He offered her another strawberry as a peace offering.
“We’re fine.”
“No, we aren’t.”
“Sure we are.”
“Then look me in the eye and tell me we’re fine.” He leaned forward.
“Rand, what do you want me to say? That I’m not hurt you picked up and left us? That I’m not angry that you abandoned Matt and me? That I don’t want to strangle you every now and then?”
He nodded. Each question was a direct hit. He’d made a lot of shitty choices over his life, and though a week ago he would have said they couldn’t be fixed, now he wasn’t so sure. For one, Sarah had kissed him. She’d turned to him for…whatever they were calling it. Comfort. Protection. She wanted or trusted him, at this point he’d take either, because where one was, the other could follow.
“I always thought I was doing the right thing, but maybe you’re right. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. I just thought I was the last person you, Matt, or your family would want to see. Then I landed my contractor job and…just kept going.” He let his gaze drift over her shoulder to the table at her back. “They’re back, and looks like they’re placing their order.”
“Right now ?”
“There’s a new guy in the group. He’s talking to the waitress for everyone.”
Sarah tilted her head to the side and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her brow furrowed.
“Is that guy—”
“Shh.” She took the strawberry from him and bit into it.
Rand followed her lead, picking at the food.
“About last night? And before?” Sarah squeezed his hand, then pulled away. Here goes… He wiped his palms off on his jeans. “We wanted to. What that means…I don’t know. I don’t know what I want or where anything is going. I still think making decisions right now, under this much stress, is a bad idea.”
The knot of tension in his stomach eased. That wasn’t the go-fuck-yourself answer he’d halfway expected. She wasn’t writing him off, she wasn’t turning her back on him; she just wanted to wait and see.
He hated those nebulous non-decisions, but he could also appreciate the wisdom of it. Movement in the hall leading toward the restrooms caught his eye. “Seven o’clock,” Rand whispered.
Sarah squinted at him.
“Ms. Collins?” The young Chinese man who’d spoken for the table gently pressed his fingers to Sarah’s arm.
She started, nearly knocking her water glass over. “Oh, my gosh.” She chuckled, hand pressed to her chest.
“I am so sorry.” The young man recoiled.
“No, no. Mister…?”
“Li Qiang.”
She twisted in her seat, smiling and effervescent. The words coming out of her mouth were no longer English. Rand didn’t stand a prayer of keeping up with them, so he busied himself splitting the food, watching the young man’s body language.
His posture was stiff, as though he were making an effort to appear at ease. The smile was at least genuine, so maybe Sarah could use the connection to their benefit. She gestured to Rand, a warm smile on her face, but didn’t change to include him in the conversation.
He’d hoped Sarah would be familiar with the delegation, not be on a first-name basis with them. Still, it was a detail Rand trusted Hector to have factored in. Maybe this was their ticket into the suite and closer to the briefcase.
…
Mitch stalked down the hall.
The damn camp was a warren of hallways and rooms. Where the fuck was he? He’d been here a handful of times and never could tell what direction he was facing in the place.
Charlie was still radio silent. The body of whoever had been killed in that alley would arrive later today. The first thing the medical examiner would do would be to match dental records to those on file. Mitch had to stop that from happening. There was no way the records they had would match the body—much less the real Charlie.
Mitch was beginning to suspect that he’d been played. Why else would Charlie beg him to change the records, then fake his death?
A man stepped out into the hall, a suitcase behind him.
“Hector,” Mitch roared.
The man started and turned. Everyone took Hector for a nice guy, but the slow smile and cheerful disposition were an act. Under all of that, Hector was a heartless bastard who would sacrifice his people in the field if it meant getting ahead. It was why he’d been transferred over to handling their contractors instead of their direct operatives.
In the scheme of things, management wasn’t as concerned about the death of contractors.
“Morning, Mitch.” Hector sipped his coffee.
“Where are they?” Mitch leaned in close enough to see the redness in Hector’s eyes.
“Who?”
“Y
ou know goddamn well who I’m talking about. You sent them out last night, didn’t you?”
“I made a judgment call, is all.” Hector shrugged.
“Without me. I’m the case agent on this.”
“Since Irene is still out, this falls under my purview.” Hector peered into his cup, as though he were surprised it was empty.
“What did you do, Hector?” Sweat dampened Mitch’s collar and down his spine.
“My job, but you wouldn’t know anything about how to do that, now, would you?” Hector’s smile grated on every last one of Mitch’s nerves.
“I will go over your head on this, Hector.”
“Fine.” He shrugged.
“That’s how it’s going to be, huh?”
“The way I see it, the only people on this I can trust are those two.” Hector’s eyes searched Mitch’s face, seeing too much. “Why are you panicking, Mitch?”
“We could lose every fucking agent, asset, and informant on the Asian continent and you’re not even breaking a sweat?” Mitch shook his head. His personal agenda aside, this was a shit situation for the company and those stationed in dangerous countries.
“I can only worry about my people.” Once more, Hector shrugged.
“That’s why you got booted, you know? You’re narrow-sighted and blind to the bigger picture. Your people aren’t the only ones that matter. Your objective isn’t the only one we’re trying to accomplish. You aren’t a team player.”
“Hey, I made the call I did with my guy. You don’t like it? Go to the director.”
“I will. Don’t make lunch plans, because you’re going to get me up to speed.” Mitch wheeled around, heading back to his temporary office.
First, Mitch would attempt to swap out Charlie’s records for the real ones. Then he’d hang nice guy Hector out to dry.
After that, well, he just might figure out world peace or something if he could pull all this off. It’d be a miracle.
…
“We have to get out of here.” Sarah whirled around, watching Rand slide the locks to their honeymoon suite home.
There was no urgency, no sense of alarm to his movements.
“Rand? Did you hear me?” She grabbed the duffel bag of stuff from the company’s camp location and shoved her old clothes into it.
“Sarah?” Rand’s voice was too calm. It was patronizingly calm.
“They know who I am. I’m a sitting duck here.” If they got her for an hour—even a minute—they could get into the case. And then everything would be fucked.
“Sarah? Calm down.” He reached for her.
“Do not tell me to calm down.” She swatted his hands away.
“Okay, then listen to me for half a minute before you pack up and leave.”
“What?”
Rand perched on the end of the bed, hands clasped together, one knee bent. “Where’s Wishing Well’s office?” he asked.
“Here. D.C.”
“Okay, how public is your schedule?”
“Well, I was supposed to be in China to facilitate a meeting and act as a secondary translator. There’s talk of opening a new water treatment plant in one of the poorer areas to give them clean water, get rid of the pollution.”
“Okay, so logically, it could make sense that you would still be here and cutting your arrival for those meetings late, right? You being in D.C. is not an abnormal thing?”
“No,” she said slowly.
“All right. Good. Look at it this way, if this guy—what’s his name?”
“Mr. Qiang?”
“No, the one from the province.”
“Oh. Wang Ping, Henan province.”
“If Mr. Ping knows you, if you’re working in the same area he is, wouldn’t it make sense for you to take advantage of possibly getting in a meeting or talking to him about…water stuff? If this were a normal situation, what would you do?”
She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, massaging her skull. “I’d…try to talk him into looking at the water report again.” She sighed. “He couldn’t have really read it, or else the subpar conditions in the farther reaches would have stuck out. China is such a modern country in some aspects, especially in the cities, but out in the country…” She shrugged. The things she’d seen.
“See my point?”
“But what about you know who?” She couldn’t even bring herself to say his name.
“We haven’t seen him yet. Plus, look at it this way. He didn’t go for you in the beginning when he could have. He went for the case. I’m willing to bet they don’t know how to open it—or they’ve opened it, and everything is useless now.”
Rand stood and closed the distance between him. He slid his hands up and down her arms, his presence comforting. Warm. “Look at me.”
She lifted her gaze from his chest to his face. His hazel eyes had gone an odd blue-green, a shade so unique, so him. She’d forgotten the wide range of colors his eyes could be, how they shifted with his moods and what he was wearing, sometimes even the weather. So many small, insignificant details about him that’d slipped her memory.
“Hey.” He slid his palm over her shoulder, up her neck, and cupped her cheek. “We got this. Besides, where am I going to find someone who speaks these guys’ exact dialect of Mandarin if you leave on me? I know I haven’t given you a lot of reason to trust me, but give me a chance. We can do this. I know it.”
Sarah studied his eyes, the lines the years had left on this familiar face. He’d risked himself to save her before he knew who she was, and after he’d put himself at risk. Time and again, he’d proven to her that where the job was concerned, she could trust him. It was everything else that was still a mystery. She was in over her head, but he wasn’t.
“This is the kind of thing they pay you to do, isn’t it?” She had to wonder how many other damsels in distress he’d helped over the years.
“More or less, yeah. I do the things the company can’t do directly.”
“Like listen in to our not-so-friendly neighbors.”
“Pretty much.”
“I don’t know if I can do this, Rand. I mean…I’m a gopher. I’m not…you.”
“No, but you’re smart, you think fast on your feet, and deep down”—he placed her hand against his heart—“you know you can trust me. I’ll never let anything happen to you, Bitsy.”
Sarah rolled her eyes and snorted. She was never going to live that name down, was she?
“Look, all I need you to do is listen in on what they’re saying and tell me so I can write it down. That’s it. This morning was as dangerous as it gets. From here on out, it’s going to be pretty boring.”
“I’m going to hold you to that promise. I could do with some boring.”
He stroked his fingers over her cheek, his gaze searching her face.
She should put some distance between them. Things got infinitely more complicated when they factored in the intimacy they were toying with. This whole working relationship would be easier if they stuck to what they knew—being friends. Still, she felt safe when he was near, when he was focused entirely on her.
Part of it had to be the fantasy. And part of it was simply the here and now. She was a damsel in distress, and he was the hero, there to keep her safe. She had no illusions about her ability to protect herself. It made for a complicated push-and-pull. She wanted him, but she shouldn’t. When this was over and they went their separate ways, losing him—again—would destroy her.
Rand pressed his lips to hers, startling Sarah out of examining the should she, shouldn’t she, sides of her decision. He clearly didn’t suffer the same kind of misgivings she did.
She needed to push him away. Get some distance. Some perspective. Instead, she curled her hand into a fist, his shirt tangled between her fingers.
He leaned against her, his big body holding her a prisoner against the wall.
Fuck it. She wanted him. When this whole thing was over, she’d worry about the longevity of what they had. Un
til then, she was going to take what comfort and security he offered, no matter what form it came in.
She tipped her chin up, allowing him to deepen the kiss. His tongue teased her lips.
A sharp knock at the door froze them both.
Rand blinked at her, and she him. Who the hell’s that? She barely dared to breathe.
Another knock punctuated her thought. “Room service,” a male voice said.
Neither of them had ordered room service.
“Get in the bathroom, lock the door,” Rand whispered.
She nodded and ducked into the interior room. The flimsy lock wasn’t much protection, though.
“Just a minute,” Rand called out. He dug into his bag, pulling out a gun with a much longer barrel on it than anything Sarah had ever seen. He glanced up. “Close the door.”
“Who is it?” she whispered.
Rand shrugged and gestured again for her to close the door.
Sarah swung it shut. For a second. She pressed her ear to the door, feeling more than hearing his footsteps approaching the suite door. She cracked the bathroom open a bit, the better to hear.
“We didn’t order anything.” Rand’s voice sounded funny, sort of muted.
“Uh, I was told to bring champagne up for the happy couple?”
Rand muttered something.
Sarah peered around the corner, curious now. He opened the door, gun kept out of sight.
“Champagne?” Rand repeated back.
“Ah, yes, sir, I could—”
“I’ll take it. Thanks.” Rand shoved the door shut and watched out of the peephole.
Who the hell was sending them champagne? She tiptoed closer, peering at the bottle. Was it going to explode? Could it be poisoned? “Was it really room service?”
Rand’s head snapped around and he glared at her. “You’re supposed to be in the bathroom.” He shoved the bucket of ice at her. The bottle listed to one side.
It was a neat little bucket, complete with a holder for two glasses on the side. They clinked when the bucket moved, but otherwise were securely held in place.
Rand twisted the locks into place. “Get our stuff together. I want to move to the surveillance suite when the coast is clear.” He ushered her away from the door.
“What about this?” She set the bucket on the dresser. A folded piece of paper was taped to the top of the bottle. She opened it, scanning the words. “It’s from Li Qiang, well, the Chinese delegation, but I bet he’s the one that had it sent to us. What do you think?”
Spy Games (Tarnished Heroes) Page 11
