Seducing the Accomplice

by Jennifer Morey

  “I’ve arranged a taxi for you.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.” She was finally going home.

  He let her leave the office before him and she hurried to the front entrance. Outside, an unmarked taxi waited. Glancing back, she didn’t see the duty officer, but the taxi driver had gotten out and smiled as he opened the back door for her.

  “Airport?” he queried in barely understandable English.

  “Yes. Tirana International.” She got in and he shut the door.

  The driver went to the front and Sadie watched as they left the embassy. She didn’t see anything suspicious outside the gates and, as they headed down the street, she began to relax.

  She wasn’t exactly sure where the airport was. They were close to the stadium and the hotel where she and Calan had stayed.

  When the driver turned onto a side street, she knew something was wrong.

  “Where are you going?”

  The driver’s eyes shifted to look into the rearview mirror, but he said nothing.

  Oh, no.

  Someone had gotten to the duty officer. The driver of this car worked for Dervishi. Fear clouded her thoughts. Now what? She looked at the door. Should she open it and jump out?

  The driver sped up and then sent her jerking forward as he turned another corner. Now they were in a weed-infested parking lot and approaching a badly deteriorating building that looked like a warehouse. Two cars were parked in front, but no one was in them. The door to the warehouse began to open…

  Chapter 12

  “Stop.”

  At Calan’s abrupt command, M slowed the car.

  “Turn in there,” Calan said.

  M turned into the gas station where he’d stopped to get gas with Sadie the day they’d gone to the embassy. M must have seen what had caught his attention because he pulled to a stop beside an older Mercedes.

  “Port authority?” Reed suggested.

  Calan got out and looked into the car, seeing Owen’s knife and the gun on the passenger side floor. At least now he knew where she’d gone. And that she was safe. For now. He looked around him. There were no windows on this side of the small kiosk. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the car, if the attendant hadn’t already.

  He checked the handle on the passenger-side door. It opened. She hadn’t locked it. He leaned inside. She’d also left the keys in the ignition. Her thoughtfulness was unnecessary. She’d stolen a car from port authorities. Seeing that they got it back wouldn’t stop her from being arrested. Picking up the gun and knife, he checked around him once again to ensure no one saw and then shut the door and returned to the other car.

  “Let’s go,” he said as he climbed in.

  M started driving.

  “She must have walked to the embassy,” Merrick said.

  Calan sure hoped she made it and was still there. He bent forward to put the weapons into his duffel bag, which he had stuffed at his feet, and then took out his passport. One of them anyway.

  After parking along the street just down from the embassy, M turned to Calan. “Maybe it’s better if just you go.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Give me fifteen.”

  “Got it.”

  Leaving the car, Calan jogged to the guarded gate that was open because it was during business hours now. He showed his passport and found his way to security. Once through that, he approached one of two clerks working a reception desk.

  He greeted her in English.

  She smiled. “Well, hello.”

  Calan recognized the smile as one only a woman physically attracted to a man would have. “I’m looking for someone. Can you help me?”

  “That depends. Are you looking for the woman you came here with before?” the clerk asked.

  Calan didn’t remember her, but she obviously remembered him. “Yes.”

  “She was just here. She left. Her passport was ready. I’m sorry you missed her. Did you just want to make sure she received her passport?”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know. My guess is the airport. The duty officer got her a taxi.”

  Calan didn’t like that at all. What if Dervishi had sent some of his men after the officer and pried him for information? Or threatened him to tell them when Sadie came to pick up her passport? Or had the taxi driver been waiting for one or both of them to go to the embassy?

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “I’m sorry, he’s left for the day.”

  That couldn’t be a good thing. “Thanks.”

  “Hope you haven’t lost her,” the woman called after him. “But if you have, I get off at five. It gets lonely in this country.”

  Without acknowledging her last comment, he turned and left the embassy. Back at the car, he lowered himself inside and M started driving.

  “We noticed someone across the street. Might be nothing but it didn’t look good,” M said.

  They had her. Calan rubbed his face. The gravity of it descended on him. An all-too-familiar desperation threatened to grip him. Not again. He couldn’t go through this again.

  “Looks like it’s time to pay Dervishi a visit,” Owen said from the backseat.

  “She took a taxi from here,” Calan said, clinging to the very small hope that it had been legitimate and she was on her way to the airport.

  “Could have been one of Dervishi’s,” M pointed out. As if he needed to.

  Calan exchanged a look with him. M was a realist and he didn’t think Sadie was on her way to the airport. But what if she was? Calan didn’t want to waste precious time being wrong.

  “She’ll be fine if she makes it to the airport,” M said, sounding uncharacteristically reassuring. “We can catch up to her wherever she goes.”

  And Calan realized how transparent he was being. He cared for her on a level that rivaled past feelings. The thought of her captured by Dervishi crippled him. The thought of never seeing her again made him want to roar.

  He should have never left their cabin yesterday morning. He should have known she’d be vulnerable after the way they’d made love. He should have known she’d assume the wrong thing. That he’d want or need to part ways as soon as they reached the States. Maybe if he’d have known what he wanted and needed where she was concerned, he wouldn’t have.

  But he did now. And he’d be damned if anyone was going to take that from him again.

  M was right. If Dervishi didn’t have her, then she’d made it onto a plane safely and they could catch up to her.

  “All right. Let’s take care of Dervishi.”

  M nodded. “Let’s finish this.”

  Dervishi’s sprawling estate made a loud statement about the wealth of the man who resided there. A long driveway curved in a half circle in front of the house. The white stone exterior topped with a red tile roof was contemporary in design, with a grand covered entrance flanked by towering turrets.

  M drove the car to a stop where a doorman waited. There was no guard station. That said a lot about his confidence. He wasn’t afraid of anyone coming after him. Not many would dare. But there had to be plenty of guards roaming the property.

  Calan stood from the car with the others.

  “May I help you?” the doorman asked.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Dervishi,” M said.

  “Is this business?”

  “Yes.”

  “He isn’t expecting anyone.”

  “Tell him Calan Friese is here to see him,” Calan said.

  The doorman nodded once and went to the door, where he opened it and spoke to a woman inside. The doorman turned and, saying nothing, simply stood outside the once again closed door. Clever disguise for a guard.

  Moments later the door opened and a man appeared, telling the guard in Albanian to let them by.

  “This way,” he said in accented English to Calan and the rest.

  They followed the man into an open, marble-floored entry with a ceiling that rose to the roof. Grand stairs led up on
both sides to the second level, an open library visible from below. Three archways on the first floor led to different areas of the home.

  The man led them to the stairs on the left, and at the top Calan saw Dervishi standing with two armed men in front of a huge contemporary desk, beyond which a wall of windows offered a view of the mountains in the distance.

  Another bit of evidence that he wasn’t worried about his safety. The desk faced the room, which meant when he sat there, he had his back to the window. That made the person who sat there an easy target for his enemies. But Dervishi wasn’t an easy target.

  “Who are you?” Dervishi asked, his eyes passing over each man.

  Calan exchanged a glance with M, who moved forward with the plain folder containing all the information they’d gathered on him, including the information on Dharr and his expanding organization, even after his death. The man to Dervishi’s left took it from him and then handed it to Dervishi.

  “What is this?” Dervishi asked. “Which one of you is Mr. Friese?”

  “I am,” Calan said. Didn’t he already know?

  “Am I supposed to recognize your name?” He sounded annoyed. “Why did you come here? Why have I allowed you into my home?”

  M met Calan’s glance again. Something was wrong.

  Reed and Owen each moved in opposite directions on either side of Calan and M. Merrick moved beside M. When Reed and Owen went too far into the room, too close to Dervishi, his men pushed the lapels of their suit jackets aside to reveal their pistols.

  Reed and Owen stopped.

  “Where is she?” Calan asked Dervishi.

  “Who?” He looked down at the file, opening it to read. After a moment, he lifted his head with an angry scowl. “You think you can come into my home and threaten me? Flaunt your men and make demands I know nothing about? I have killed men for lesser offenses.”

  “All we want is the woman,” Calan said.

  “What woman?” His perplexed and aggravated tone sounded genuine.

  Why would he play games when millions of his money was missing? “Sadie Mancini.”

  Dervishi’s expression remained perplexed. “I do not know of a Sadie Mancini. I do not know any Mancinis. Who is she? And why do you think I would know where she is?”

  “One of your men kidnapped her,” Merrick replied this time.

  “He doesn’t know you,” M muttered to Calan.

  Calan met his gaze in acknowledgment. If Dervishi didn’t know him and Sadie, did he know about the deal Dharr had worked with Zhafa?

  “My men, you say?” Dervishi pinned each of the men in the room with a questioning and demanding look. Each one shrugged or shook their head.

  “I do not know anyone named Sadie Mancini,” the man who’d led them here said.

  “Or Calan Friese,” said the man to Dervishi’s right.

  Dervishi stepped closer, taking the file with him, closing it and holding it up like a torch, anger blazing. “Someone should explain this to me.”

  Calan sensed each of his teammates studying their opponents. This could get ugly fast.

  “Gjerji Zhafa arranged a meeting with Abu Dharr al-Majid at an abandoned warehouse in Tirana.” He let that sink in a while.

  It didn’t take long. Dervishi had seen enough of the file to know Dharr was a wanted terrorist in the United States.

  “Why did Gjerji arrange a meeting with such a man?”

  “I came to Albania because I was tracking Dharr. I followed him to the warehouse and saw him come out with a suitcase after the meeting. I didn’t know until after I killed him that the suitcase contained about two and a half million euros.”

  “Why did you kill this man?”

  “My reasons aren’t important now. What’s important is I find Sadie.”

  “And you say Gjerji planned to do business with this man? Dharr you call him.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you stopped it.”

  “Yes, but only by chance.”

  “Where is the suitcase?”

  “In a safe place.”

  Dervishi’s brow lowered to an ominous shadow over his eyes. Calan watched as his mind put the pieces together. At last he turned his head. “Kostandin, how is it possible that I know nothing of a two-point-five million euro transaction?”

  “I do not know, sir. Gjerji did not tell me anything.”

  Dervishi turned his question to the other two.

  “I did not know either.”

  “Nor I.”

  Dervishi faced Calan again. “Where did Gjerji get the money?”

  Calan grunted. “You expect me to know? Where did he take Sadie?”

  Dervishi’s brow retreated to a calmer location on his forehead and a stare-down ensued.

  “Kostandin,” Dervishi finally said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have someone search Gjerji’s home and question anyone who has seen him recently. Ask them to take a look at his finances, too.”

  “Right away, Mr. Dervishi.”

  Kostandin left the open library while Dervishi continued to bore into Calan’s eyes. “Where is this abandoned warehouse?”

  Calan told him the location in Tirana.

  “It is not familiar to me.”

  “Then it appears one of your own has been working independently.” Without Dervishi’s knowledge. Calan almost cheered. That would work in their favor.

  “Yes. It does, does it not? My only question is why?”

  “How many reasons are there in an organization like yours?”

  Dervishi’s mouth curved into a cynical smile. “You have no fear, Mr. Friese. I like that in a man.” He glanced back at his men and then faced forward again. “Why don’t we all take a ride to this warehouse and see if we can put the question in front of the one who can answer it?”

  Calan turned to M, who gave a single nod of his head. Merrick did the same. Owen nodded when Calan met his gaze, and finally Reed.

  To Dervishi, Calan said, “Agreed.”

  Dervishi handed him the folder. “I have no use for this garbage. Perhaps you should give it to Gjerji.”

  Before the driver came to a stop in front of the warehouse, Sadie opened the back door and jumped. Her foot twisted as she landed. Losing her balance, her hip slammed to the ground and she rolled. She scraped her hands and bumped her knees.

  On her behind, she looked toward the warehouse. Four men were running toward her. She scrambled to her feet and made a run for it toward the street. If she could make it to one of the buildings…

  “Help!” she yelled.

  Two cars drove by, but no one was on the sidewalk.

  “Help me!” she yelled louder.

  A man emerged from a rundown jewelry store, lighting a cigarette. He looked over at her just as a man from behind grabbed her arm. She tripped and started to fall, but the man hauled her upright, pulling her back against his chest and hooking a meaty arm around her neck.

  She gripped his arm and tried to ease the pressure off her throat, letting go to wave at the man across the street. He had to help her. But he just leaned against the side of the building, smoking and watching the scene unfold in the abandoned parking lot of the warehouse.

  The driver of the taxi drove to the exit of the parking lot and without a glance back, turned the way he’d come and vanished.

  One of the four men strode in front of her, looking across the street. He pushed the sides of his jacket apart with his hands on his hips.

  The man across the street took another puff off his cigarette and tossed it to the ground. Pushing off the building, he went back inside.

  He wasn’t going to help her? Maybe he’d call someone.

  When she turned and faced the man in front of her she recognized him. Zhafa. His dark, beady eyes instilled fear with their superior confidence. This time she didn’t have Calan to come and rescue her.

  “You and I have something to finish,” he said. “It was so good of you to make this easy for me.”

  B
y leaving Calan and his team, she’d made herself vulnerable to this. But if the duty officer at the embassy hadn’t betrayed her, she’d be at the airport by now.

  “Take her inside,” Zhafa said to the man holding her.

  He forced her to walk with him behind the other two.

  Sadie fought his grip but he was too strong. What if she managed to get free? Would they shoot her?

  Inside the warehouse, she saw that it was for the most part empty. There were a few crates packed with things on one side and a table with four chairs nearby. Two windows along the back were boarded. The other six were dirty, like the cracked concrete floor.

  The man holding her forced her to the table and then shoved her onto one of the chairs.

  “Have a seat,” Zhafa said.

  Seeing rope and a pruning shears on the table, Sadie stood and pushed the chair out of her way, backing toward the crates.

  “There is nowhere to go,” Zhafa said, and then he said to the two other men, “make her sit.”

  All of them wore suits, like every other time she’d seen Zhafa. The man who’d forced her into the warehouse was the tallest and trimmest. He also had blond hair and blue eyes, which set him apart from his shorter, rounder, darker cohorts. The two who approached her now looked Arabic, with long, stringy beards and black eyes. They looked like brothers, with one older than the other.

  It was the younger one who gained ground on her first. She ran around the crates and stopped on the other side when the blond man blocked her way.

  The young Arabic man gripped her arm and the blond stepped aside, sweeping his arm with a half bow as if he were a gentleman allowing a lady to go first.

  “Pig,” she spat.

  He grinned and the young man propelled her forward. At the chair, she sat.

  “Tie her.”

  The blond man took her hands and pulled them behind the chair, though she resisted as much as she could. He might as well have been holding doll arms, it was that easy for him to tie her wrists. Sick fear and helplessness almost made her beg to be free.

  When he finished and Sadie was left to writhe her hands against the tight restraint, Zhafa bent down.

  “There now. Why don’t you tell me where my money is?”

  “I don’t know where it is.”