by Brynn Kelly
“If I stay here,” she continued, “there won’t be enough time for you to get back with the fob before the password expires.”
She inhaled. God, was she really about to say this?
“I’ll have to come with you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DARKNESS FELL EARLY, cranking the nerves in Samira’s chest, like her body knew what nightfall would bring. It was less of a transition from daylight to sunset to night than a gradual dimming from gray to black. The temperature, which hadn’t moved off cold and damp all day, sank along with the light.
Shortly after midday, Laura had posted photos from the West End boutique where she’d bought a dress and coat for the book signing. While Holly bleached her hair and Samira studied YouTube tutorials to figure out how to cut it into something resembling Laura’s style, Rafe went shopping for the same dress and coat, and a long list of makeup, to Holly’s specifications. He returned grumbling about the price tags and the women he’d had to fight for the clothes.
“Don’t worry, capitaine,” Jamie had said. “You can sell them on eBay for a profit. Unless something happens in the next few hours to, I don’t know, ruin Laura Hyland’s reputation.”
“And don’t forget,” added Holly, holding the slinky red dress against her. “We’re basically using Hyland’s money.”
“How so?” Jamie said.
“Rafe forced him to pay me hush money after I, uh, quit my job, but I always felt too sick about everything to spend it.” She gave Samira a sideways look. “I also know some secrets that wouldn’t look good for Laura or the senator—but no one would believe them. I’d love to get some dirt on them today.”
“Me, too,” Samira said, pulling several magnets off the fridge to wipe a keycard Holly had somehow pickpocketed from a hotel guest in a café that morning. Crime #453.
Still grumbling, Rafe had left again to hire a car the same model and color as Laura’s Prius. At least they weren’t stealing it. Jamie, meanwhile, visited a suit hire shop and an office supplies store, where he bought a printer and laminator with the last of Samira’s savings.
When he returned and pulled on his suit, Samira couldn’t help stealing glances. Nothing sexier than a well-cut man in a well-cut suit. Except a well-cut man stripped from his well-cut suit...
With Rafe still out and Holly in the bathroom, Jamie sauntered to the table, where Samira was designing fake security credentials on the laptop, having zoomed in on photos of Laura’s bodyguards on the web and enhanced their swing tags, which wasn’t easy because they usually kept them flipped over. He stood behind her, his warm presence quickening her breath. On her phone, which he’d set to play loops of her playlist—to give her courage, no doubt—Dionne Warwick was lost in a husky fog. “I’ll Never Love This Way Again.”
Maybe not, Dionne. But he’s not the guy for me.
After a minute he leaned down and gently pushed her hair away from her ear. The skin on her neck tingled and she glanced at the bathroom, her stomach clenching. The back of Holly’s newly blond hair was just visible, as she leaned toward the mirror, applying more makeup than Samira would use in a year.
Jamie whispered, “You have a thing for a guy in a suit.”
She had a thing for one particular commando doctor in a suit, yeah. Who wouldn’t? She zipped up her spine, which only brought Jamie’s lips closer to her neck. “Because men in suits don’t tend to risk their lives on a daily basis.”
He nuzzled her neck. “So, so dull.”
She pushed away from the table, forcing him to skip sideways to avoid her. “I came up blank on getting into the hotel’s systems, though I found a recent video interview in an online industry magazine with their head of security.”
“How does that help us?” he said, all business again.
She set the video to play. “He’s sitting in front of a bank of hotel security monitors. The interview’s ten minutes long, and in that time it cycles through all the camera positions a couple of times. With the help of the photos on their website and internet reviews, and floor plans I found in a heritage architecture magazine online, I’ve been able to map them.”
“Genius.”
“Not as cool as rerouting them, but... I also found a little more dirt on Fitz, and I’ve managed to get into Laura’s email, thanks to the virus we planted earlier.” She closed the laptop and took a knife to the printer box, sitting on the kitchen island. “It’s the password recovery email account for all her social media, which means I can lock her out so she can’t post while we’re at the hotel, in case anyone there is following her feed. And seeing as she has seven million followers on Twitter alone, that’s a high probability. To her, it should just look like a glitch.”
“I love it when you talk techie.”
As she held the box open, Jamie coaxed the printer out. His arm didn’t seem to be hindering him.
“I hoped we might find something revealing in her email,” Samira continued, “but she’s just like her father—permanently deletes everything.”
“Maybe she’s more closely involved than we think.”
Holly called out from the bathroom. “She’s with her father almost all the time, so she’d have to be aware of the shit he’s dealing in.”
“Isn’t she, like, thirty?” Jamie said. “Is this him being overprotective or her being clingy?”
Holly’s voice mumbled as she applied something to her lips. “They live in this insular world where they’re pretty much all each other has. Works for both of them. She boosts his popularity, he keeps her in the spotlight, which promotes her books and TV programs and things. She’s a bit like him—you can’t help liking her but you get this nagging sense that there’s a hidden agenda to everything she does and says.”
“You like this guy?”
“I did once,” Holly said, standing back and assessing her work. “Everyone does, Doc. You’d get an instant boner, I swear. He’s one of these people who connects with everyone—old, young, male, female, rich, poor. He makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room—until you look around and realize everyone in the room is under the same spell.”
Samira hooked up the printer. A bit like Jamie.
“But I’ve seen what happens when people get on his bad side,” Holly continued, “away from the cameras. It ain’t pretty.”
“Indeed,” Samira said, thinking back to the sat phone conversation in the forest. Truth and lies are whatever I say they are. Weird to think that Holly had a personal history with the man who’d for so long been the distant bogeyman in Samira’s life.
“These look great,” Jamie said a few minutes later as the first of the IDs came off the printer. Holly ducked into the bedroom to dress, closing the door.
Samira stood beside him, watching the next three whir out. “They might not pass scrutiny from someone who knows the system, but I’m hoping it’s not those people we’ll need to fool, that with ‘Laura’ with us we’ll pass right by the police and hotel staff.” She picked up a sheet and scrutinized it. “That’s the thing with the VIP life—you don’t open doors, doors are opened for you. You don’t drive a car, cars are driven for you. You don’t carry keys or even a wallet. You just follow the path laid out for you, like a permanent red carpet.” She set the paper down. “And, in our case, hope like hell.”
Jamie lifted the laminator onto the counter. “Have faith, Samira. It’s a good plan and we’ve done everything we can to ensure it works. We know there will be variables—there always are—but we can handle them. It’s what we do, what we’re trained to do.”
She tore the tape from the top of the laminator box. “Stop making me feel bad about being worried. It’s a perfectly reasonable reaction.”
“I know it is.”
She stopped. He was studying her with a serious face. No wry grin, no twinkling eyes. “You do?”
“I’m not sayi
ng you shouldn’t be worried. It’s a very worrying situation. And I’m certainly not trying to make you feel bad—quite the opposite. I’m saying you need to believe in yourself—and the rest of us. You need to back yourself so you don’t end up paralyzed by your anxiety. Yes, you can be worried, you can feel fear. We all do. But don’t let that stop you from thinking and acting rationally.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
He smiled. “You do.”
“Jamie, I’m terrified right now. Look.” She held her right hand straight out, palm down. It trembled.
He folded her hand into both of his, coaxing her to face him. His eyes had faded to gray-blue in the gloomy light. “Despite my failures, I have confidence in the skills I’ve spent much of my adult life working at. Medicine, the military. And so should you. You blow me away with your knowledge and ideas and talents, in things I couldn’t begin to understand. Play to those strengths.”
Something kicked in her chest. What would it be like to have him around permanently—that reassurance, that smile, that sexy body...
That option wasn’t on the table.
He pulled her closer, his chest inches from hers. Why did she always get a flush of guilt over what was happening between them? She was no longer anyone’s fiancée.
“You wouldn’t expect me to hack into a computer system, and I wouldn’t expect you to take someone down in hand-to-hand combat or perform an emergency tracheotomy.” With one fingertip, he circled her ear, leaving a trail of goose bumps. “Your strengths are different from mine, and that’s a good thing. You don’t give yourself enough credit. And, anyway, it’s incredibly valuable to know your vulnerabilities and how to manage them. If you’re blind to your weaknesses, like a lot of people, you’re powerless against them.”
“I don’t know how to manage them. You’ve seen what happens when I give in to them.”
“Well, don’t give in.”
“It’s not that easy. It’s not like it’s a choice.”
“I know it’s not easy—but I have immense faith in you. Like you wouldn’t believe.”
His quiet sincerity was killing her. He traced a finger down her jawline, forcing her to inhale. She should step away. How did they so often end up back here, a breath away from kissing? He leaned in, his open suit jacket brushing her chest. The skin on her face prickled.
She pulled away, a sudden tempest churning in her chest, a storm of emotions she couldn’t even define. “Says the man who’s too scared to confront his own weakness.” She flung up her hands. “You’re always trying to fix me. Why don’t you fix your damn self?”
The color flushed from his face, leaving an expression she’d seen only once before, on that horrible morning in France.
Hurt.
“Oh God, I’m sorry, Jamie. I just... I can’t... I’m too... This is all...”
The doorbell buzzed and the bedroom door flung open. “Rafe’s back,” said Holly, hopping as she tugged on a stiletto.
“I’ll go down and let him in,” Jamie said, touching his fist to his mouth as he turned his back.
Shit. What an idiot. Here was Jamie trying to build her confidence, and she went and slayed his, punching him in his weak spot because she was so wrapped up in her own fears. A drowning woman pulling down her rescuer.
“Are you okay, Samira?” Holly said.
“Dehnanay,” Samira said, sitting down hard on a dining chair. “Er, fine.”
“Is something going on between you and Doc?”
Samira blinked. Holly wore Laura’s trademark sooty eye makeup—a few smudges short of two black eyes—but still somehow managed to not look like a zombie. Her irises stood out so bright blue they were difficult to tear focus from. And even harder to lie to.
“It’s...got a little complicated, yes. But, no, there’s nothing...”
“He’s a good guy.”
“I know. But he’s not available, so...”
“Neither was Rafe when I met him. When this is over, when you can breathe easy again, give him a chance. He deserves a second chance. Everyone does.”
Jamie returned, followed by Rafe. Holly smiled at Samira then turned to Rafe, swishing her dress like a flamenco dancer, a matching scarf trailing from her neck, her lips a glossy scarlet. “What do you think?” She clutched a handful of her newly cut hair. “We’re waiting for Laura to post a photo so we can style my hair to match. I’m hoping she’s going for messy tonight and not sleek.”
Samira cringed. Cutting someone’s hair had been another first in a long few days of firsts.
“You look amazing, of course.” The look in Rafe’s eyes, the creak in his voice, made Samira feel like an intruder. Her belly hollowed. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel loneliness in so long, but seeing two people so obviously in love... After coming so close yet so far with Jamie...
“There’s one problem,” Rafe said. “You don’t look like Holly anymore.”
Holly playfully swatted his shoulder and he grabbed her arm and spun her in a faux fighting move. But he finished by pulling her close, his chest against her back, his hand resting lightly on her belly. She laughed, covering his hand with hers. Samira glanced at Jamie. He was watching them, too, frowning.
“I’m not showing, am I?” Holly said, looking down at their hands. “This dress isn’t forgiving.”
“Oh my God,” Samira said, standing. “You’re pregnant?”
Holly fixed her with a tough-girl look that was about as far from Laura as it was possible to get. “I’ve survived much worse. I can defend myself.”
Rafe spun her again, gently, to face him. “You won’t be doing anything risky. No ninja moves. I’ll be right there the whole time.”
“I’m pregnant, not disabled. Tell him, Doc.”
“How many weeks?” Jamie said, a happy disbelief in his tone.
“Hardly enough to count. I found out last week.”
“Then the baby’s well protected,” Jamie said. “Still a jelly baby inside a pumpkin.”
“I need a nervous pee,” Holly said, heading for the bathroom. “Can I blame that on the jelly baby?”
Samira didn’t know whether to be relieved that someone else was admitting to nerves, or worried that a woman with Holly’s evident confidence was nervous.
I wish I had your confidence.
You do.
“Congrats,” Jamie said, holding out his hand to Rafe.
Rafe looked grim—when did he not?—but shook Jamie’s hand. He lowered his voice. “I don’t care what she says—we’re protecting her.”
Jamie nodded. “Oui, capitaine.”
“And don’t you dare tell her I said that.”
“Oui, capitaine.”
* * *
AS THE H-HOUR grew nearer, Jamie tried to prop up his energy levels—to fool both Samira and his own brain—but a head-to-toe ache settled into his muscles like he was fighting the flu. He’d spent all the time he was supposed to be napping in a fog of dark temptation and self-loathing. Samira was right—he was a fraud. You’re always trying to fix me. Why don’t you fix your damn self?
In the bad old days, he’d be taking uppers about now—and how good would that feel? He needed to be at his best tonight and he was far from it.
Hyland’s convoy left, the senator wearing a thick coat unbuttoned over a tux, talking on a phone. No gadget visible but they couldn’t get a clear look. Fitz stayed behind. Merde. He was one of a handful of goons who might ID Jamie. Then again, all Fitz would have seen in the forest before he conked out was a disheveled wild man leaping at him in the dark. And he’d have an almighty hangover from the concussion.
Samira fitted and taped covert earpieces, mics and mic packs on each of them, bought by Jamie from an electronics store that morning, after Samira had researched them online. As Holly pulled her hair over her ears to hide hers, Samira
taped fake plastic-coated coiled wire onto Rafe’s and Jamie’s necks, to match Hyland’s security agents. Even just having her feathery fingers touching his neck like that...
“I feel like I’m wired up with a bomb,” Jamie said, moving away quickly, buttoning his suit jacket.
“Don’t even joke about that, after last year,” Rafe said.
Jamie shut himself into the bedroom. “Testing, testing,” he said, pushing the press-to-talk button disguised as a cuff link.
Three replies, loud and clear, in his ear. Too loud. His head felt stuck in a vise, in danger of caving any second.
“We’ll get a little interference,” said Samira, her voice clear but distant, “especially when we’re on different floors, but it’s a powerful and sensitive system, so you should only need to whisper.”
Jamie adjusted his earpiece so it sat more comfortably. “Have you used these before, Samira?”
“We used to play around with them at university.”
“Of course you did.”
“We were fantasists. Never thought I’d be doing something like this for real.”
“Heads up,” Holly said. “Prius on the move.”
Jamie crossed the bedroom, knocking over the rucksack. Through the net curtains he made out the passing car. “Was she in it?”
“Blonde in the back,” Holly said.
“She’s just posted on social media that she’s on her way.” Sharp tapping filtered into Jamie’s ear—Samira on the keyboard. “With a selfie in the car.”
“With a messy hairdo,” Holly said, triumphantly. “No need to stake this woman out, is there? She does it all herself.”
Jamie exhaled, fluttering the netting. He crouched, stuffing the rucksack’s spilled contents back in. He picked up the first-aid kit. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d unclipped the lid. If ever he needed a little help...
“Jamie?”
Feedback squealed in his earpiece. He dived for the mic pack in his pocket. The kit went flying. His fingers fumbled. “How the fuck do you turn this thing off?” Any second his skull would crack.
He ripped the earpiece out, just as Samira burst in. She grabbed the pack from his pocket and flicked a switch. Silence. He squeezed his eyes tight. Thank Christ.
