Troubleshooters 08 Flashpoint

by Suzanne Brockmann

  The truth is, Tess, I don’t want to sleep with you.

  Yeah. Right. He didn’t want to sleep with her, the world was flat, and Elvis was his father.

  Although, considering his cheekbones and the fact that the King had surely visited New York City in 1968, the Elvis thing actually might’ve been true.

  “Bashir essentially pimped her out,” Tess told them, “but it wasn’t just for sex. If they wanted to, any one of his esteemed guests could have killed her—and the only person who would’ve cared was the woman who came in to mop the blood off the floor. Imagine living like that. Never knowing, day to day, if you were going to be killed for sport—or just merely forced to . . . She told me Sayid didn’t touch her, that he was deeply religious. A fanatic, sure, but . . . He did order her death, though. But even then, she said it had shades of a mercy killing. It was only because he and Bashir had a falling out that she wasn’t executed. God. Can you imagine?”

  It was truly sick and twisted, but Jimmy could imagine. The world he lived in was harsh and dark. People like Tess didn’t belong in it.

  He turned away, because damn it, she was starting to cry.

  “Most of Bashir’s guests didn’t beat the shit out of her.” She spoke in fits and gasps. “Although some of them did. Most of them were satisfied with just . . . God, Deck, with just carving their initials into her skin.”

  Damn it. Jimmy closed his eyes. He didn’t dare look at her. Didn’t dare turn back to her.

  “I’m so sorry,” Decker whispered.

  Jimmy could tell from Tess’s breathing that she was trying to keep from crying too loudly.

  “Honey, it’s okay to cry,” Deck murmured.

  Honey?

  He turned around, and sure enough, the son of a bitch bastard had Tess securely in his arms.

  Which was exactly what Jimmy had wanted, wasn’t it?

  Yes.

  No.

  Shit.

  Tess lifted her head and looked up at Deck, her face wet with tears.

  Her expression was heartbreaking, but it was her eyes that got him. Her eyes actually held hope.

  “I promised her that we were going to keep her safe,” Tess told Decker. “But we need to get her out of Kazbekistan. We’ll need help from the Agency to do that.”

  Decker shook his head. “We’re on our own for this,” he admitted, stepping back from her, the team leader once again. “We’ve already contacted both the Agency and the CIA. They say they can’t have anything to do with an extraction—you know, pulling Sophia out. And it’s not going to be easy smuggling her over the border.”

  Goddamn idiot. Jimmy would’ve lied to her. Anything would’ve been better than that brutal honesty shit.

  She was, of course, aghast. “After all the information she gave them as Miles Farrell . . . ?” She wiped her face with her shirtsleeve.

  “Yeah, Dave’s pretty steamed, too,” Decker told her. “But they’re afraid that any falsified documents they send over here might be intercepted. Or traced. As for providing financial help . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck, sighed, and continued to shovel the bad news directly onto her head. “We’re not hopeful. The current administration at the Agency has a policy that other groups are trying out. It’s meant to discourage people from staying behind in dangerous countries postevacuation. It’s a bottom-line decision—rescue attempts cost big bucks. And failed rescue attempts . . .” He shook his head. “The policy says ‘Get out when we tell you to get out or good luck—you’re on your own.’ And they told Sophia to get out years ago.”

  Tess got even more mad. “What?”

  “Yeah, well, even though I’m loath to say I agree with Doug Brendon, on this one I do agree,” Decker said. “Sophia and her husband stayed in Kazbekistan too long. Probably out of greed—it was a chance to make a fast buck. No one’s perfect, Tess,” he added, when she started to interrupt. “It doesn’t mean the price they ended up paying was fair or just. Because it’s not. But the fact remains that Sophia took a gamble and lost.”

  “Well, I’m not going to leave her here.” Tess was pissed.

  “Yeah, I’m not either,” Decker said. “I never said that.”

  “She could use my passport,” Tess suggested. “We could put a cast on her arm, pretend she’s me and she’s hurt and has to go back home.”

  “No way,” Jimmy said. They both looked over at him as if they’d forgotten he was there. “Bad idea.”

  “Yeah. Bashir’s men are going to be watching for that,” Decker said.

  “But if she pretended to be zoned out on painkillers, or sick—yeah, sitting in a wheelchair, yuking her guts out—and Jimmy went, too, you know, as Mr. James Nash and his vomiting wife—”

  “And how do you get out of the country without a passport?” Jimmy couldn’t believe she’d think for a minute that he would be willing to leave her here. Even with Decker, who, with his special tear-absorbent T-shirts, would clearly take very good care of her.

  “I’ll wait a few days, then report mine stolen.” She had an answer for everything.

  Except, “I’m supposed to be doing a job here,” Jimmy pointed out. “Not babysitting an ex-pat who’s changed her mind and wants to go home.”

  But Tess even had a solution for that. “Then we’ll wait until we’re done here, and Sophia can go with you then.”

  Which would mean leaving Tess here, in Terrorist Central, all by her lonesome. “No way,” Jimmy said again.

  “But—”

  “No fucking way. I veto that idea.”

  Tess laughed in derision. “Like you have the power to veto—”

  Decker stepped between them. “Look, we’re all tired.”

  “I’m not,” Jimmy said. “I slept all day.”

  “Which is my fault, too, right?” It came out of Tess sounding defeated instead of challenging. Damn it, she was going to start to cry again.

  “Maybe you should go, Nash,” Decker suggested.

  Jimmy felt awful. “It’s not your fault,” he told Tess.

  Decker practically pushed him toward the door. “Go.”

  It was an order this time.

  And suddenly the last thing Jimmy felt like doing was leaving Tess here to cry out her frustration and grief in Decker’s capable arms.

  As he went out the door, he couldn’t keep himself from giving Deck a hard look.

  Like he had any right at all to be proprietary.

  As he stepped into the yard, he heard Decker’s laughter, soft and faintly mocking, then his voice, saying gently, “Come here, honey. It’s okay.”

  Honey.

  Motherfucker.

  Gritting his teeth, Jimmy didn’t look back.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  Lawrence Decker was obviously determined never to spend even a single second alone with her.

  It was almost amusing, the way he choreographed it. When he was around, Sophia had a continuous tag team of chaperones.

  When she first woke up, it was Murphy. She had breakfast with him and Decker.

  Murphy fed an artfully believable story about why she was in their kitchen to Rivka and Guldana, their K-stani hosts.

  She was Julie Erdman, an old friend of Dave’s from his days at World Relief. She’d been staying north of the city in a tent that hadn’t been properly anchored. A strong wind pushed it over. Not only had it knocked her down, making her look as if she’d gone a round or two with the local heavyweight champ, but it landed right in the middle of the camp’s dinner. Which was cooking on an open fire. When it came to tent fabric, flame resistant and flame retardant were, apparently, two very different things. Particularly when water was in low supply.

  Not only did the tent burn, but so did Julie’s sleeping bag and all of her clothing and other belongings.

  Murphy managed to tell the tale with a hint of an amused wink aimed at their hosts. Like, “Can you belie
ve how silly we Americans can be?”

  He was a masterful liar. He didn’t spend a whole lot of time on her story. He just explained why she was going to be sleeping in their pantry, and then moved on to a funny account of his fiancée’s attempt to find the perfect wedding dress.

  Sophia was tempted to pull him aside and ask him if his Angelina was pure fabrication, too.

  After breakfast, Tess appeared exactly when Murphy went outside to pump water from the well in the yard—one of the small chores they did to help their hosts. Tess looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept much last night.

  With Decker, she walked Sophia out to the barn. This morning Tess was going with Khalid to help with the relief effort. Someone had to—it was, after all, the alleged reason they were in Kazabek.

  James Nash was already in the barn, tall and handsome and charming and well-groomed—like Dimitri, he was one of those men who managed even to sweat with style. He was another alleged, as far as Sophia was concerned. It was hard to imagine him married to Tess. Men like him just weren’t that smart.

  He was with the K-stani boy who worked with them.

  There was a lot of eye contact, but nobody said much of anything until the boy, Khalid, led the world’s ugliest gelding out into the yard.

  It was then Tess turned to Decker, who was flipping through a stack of papers—reading some kind of computer printed report—his mug of coffee in his other hand.

  “This is a total waste of manpower,” she said.

  “No, it’s not.” Nash stepped closer.

  Decker only glanced up very briefly as she turned to do battle with Nash.

  “Yes, it is,” Tess countered. “If Murphy’s coming, too—”

  “There’s no if,” Nash told her.

  “Excuse me, are you team leader?”

  “You’re not going to win this one,” Nash said. “You’re just not, so—”

  Tess pointedly turned away from her husband—Sophia was starting to believe they really were married—and toward Decker. “I can guarantee that before we go two blocks, Will Schroeder will be sitting in that wagon with me. Sir, I don’t need Murphy. He’s got other things to do.”

  Nash didn’t give up. “Oh, Will Schroeder’s going to keep you safe. That makes me feel so much better.”

  Who was Will Schroeder?

  Tess ignored him. “We might as well make use of Will,” she told Decker. “And yes, between him and Khalid, I’m sure I’ll be very safe.”

  “Yeah,” Nash said. “Because if you run into any trouble, Schroeder can give everyone paper cuts.”

  Decker looked up from the documents he’d been trying to read, and directly at Sophia. It was probably quite by accident, since along with avoiding being alone with her, he’d also made a point never to meet her gaze.

  “Does this sound as childish to you as it does to me?” he asked her, amused resignation pushing the edges of his mouth up into what almost could be called a smile.

  Sophia froze. It was stupid. She’d never been shy, but here she was, suddenly tongue-tied as she looked into this man’s eyes.

  For the second time in two days, Dave saved her. “Sorry I’m late, sir.” He breezed in, filling the sudden, uncomfortable silence.

  Murphy, too, stuck his head in the barn. “Excuse me, boss. Almost ready to go,” he called.

  Everyone addressed Lawrence Decker as sir or boss.

  Everyone but James Nash. “I’m not the one being unreasonable here, Deck.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Tess backed off. “We’ll handle this, of course.” She raised her voice. “Murph, you don’t need to come with me.”

  “You get into that wagon, Murphy,” Nash called, “and you stay there. Or I will make you sorry you were born.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” Tess looked at Nash as if he were scum.

  “Do you have plans to meet Will?” Decker asked Tess.

  The answer was no. Sophia could see it clearly in Tess’s eyes, but she obviously didn’t want to say it. “I’m sure he’s nearby, waiting—”

  “No specific time and place?” Decker interrupted Tess.

  “No, but he made it quite clear—”

  “Take Murphy,” Deck ordered.

  “Hah!” Nash said.

  “This time,” Decker continued, with an exasperated look at Nash. “And set something up with Schroeder for tomorrow. Using him and freeing up Murph is a good idea.”

  Tess looked at Nash. She didn’t say, “Hah!” But Sophia knew she was thinking it.

  “Is there coffee?” Dave asked, eyeing Decker’s still nearly full mug. He was wearing a Pink Floyd concert T-shirt with his jeans.

  “Inside,” Tess told him.

  Decker had already returned his attention to that printout, but now he glanced up. At Sophia. And then at Dave. “Be quick.”

  “You want some?” Dave asked Sophia.

  She shook her head as she watched Tess put bottles of water into her backpack. “No, thanks.”

  “Do you have your scarf?” Nash asked Tess.

  “Yes, I do.” She shouldered the pack, and as she straightened up, she looked hard at him, as if taking inventory of all of his bandages and scratches. “How’s your arm?”

  “Better,” he told her.

  “Your head?”

  “Fine.”

  Tess nodded. “Good.”

  She turned to go, but he caught her arm. “Tess, I’m, um, sorry about being late.”

  “I was just worried about you,” she said. “It’s frustrating, Jimmy, because I can’t insist that Murphy goes along whenever you leave. And if you don’t check in . . .”

  “I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Loud and clear.” She looked over, as if she felt Sophia watching, and smiled. It was forced. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Right.”

  Nash watched her as she went toward the door without looking back.

  Decker cleared his throat. “What did you find out last night?”

  Nash didn’t look over until Tess closed the barn door behind her. “Fifty K’ll do it.”

  Decker swore. “That much?”

  Nash looked from Decker to Sophia and back. “It’s going to be a match pot situation,” he said, and she realized they were talking about money. Fifty thousand dollars, U.S.

  Same as the reward Bashir had put on her head.

  Bashir, not his nephews, as she’d believed. She hadn’t managed to kill the bastard. Tess had broken that news to her last night.

  Which meant that if Sophia was caught, Padsha Bashir would hand-deliver her punishment.

  And it was going to cost fifty thousand dollars to smuggle her out of the country.

  She sat down heavily on the nearest bale of hay.

  She looked up to find Decker gazing at her.

  Not only would it cost fifty thousand dollars, but she would have to trust whomever she paid that fifty thousand dollars not to turn around and sell her to Bashir for an additional fifty thousand dollars.

  Assuming, of course, that she’d be able to get her hands on fifty thousand dollars.

  Decker knew what she was thinking. “I guess there’s no Swiss bank account,” he said.

  Sophia shook her head. “No.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  “Is that actually lamb stew that Guldana’s cooking?” Dave asked, coming back into the barn.

  “Yup,” Nash said.

  “What’s the occasion?” Dave asked. “I mean, is there an occasion?”

  “I got married,” Nash said flatly. “Rivka and Guldana wanted to throw a party to celebrate.”

  “Oh, that’s tonight?” Dave turned to Sophia. “You better plan to stay out of sight. Frankly, the dyed hair isn’t that good of a disguise. Rivka and Guldana used to run with the university crowd, and I don’t know who all’s likely to attend their party, but God forbid someone comes who used to know you.
If they see you, they’ll definitely recognize you.”