by Unknown
“There’s been a slight change of plans,” the Dutchman said.
“Here we go,” muttered Deb, who was behind the wheel.
“Give him a chance,” Yashi said from the back, then covered his microphone to reassure Phoebe. “Ian’s very good at thinking on his feet. He’s adaptable—fully capable of a midsprint pivot. If he needs to change the plan, he’ll do it, and whatever he comes up with will be just as good.”
Phoebe knew that. Quite well. In fact, she’d come face to face with a variation on that theme when she’d first gotten into the surveillance van and heard Deb and Yashi discussing the fact that Manny Dellarosa had died.
She’d been stunned, not just by that information—when? how?—but by the fact that Ian hadn’t bothered to tell her. Not even in passing.
And then her head started spinning. How did this news affect Ian’s plan to return to prison? What did it mean for his future? Apparently, whatever the answers to those questions were, Ian didn’t think they had anything whatsoever to do with Phoebe.
And that had stung. Rather sharply.
Phoebe tried to tell herself that it was an oversight. What was it that Ian had said? One goatfuck at a time.
Still … Hey, guess what? With Manny dead, I’m going to have to deal with Davio in some other way, so maybe we could plan to hang out together for a little bit longer than anticipated. Ian surely could’ve found fifteen seconds—possibly in the shower, while they were having sex—to tell her that.
If he’d really wanted to.
Out on the driveway, Vanderzee was now telling Ian, “I’m uncomfortable putting such a high-value item into your care without collateral.”
“Hamori’s going to be with me,” Ian pointed out. “Right behind me, in your car, every step of the way. If you think I can outrun his car with my rig …” He laughed his warm, familiar laugh, and Phoebe became acutely aware of how easy it was for Ian to sound both warm and familiar.
“That’s not the issue,” Vanderzee said.
Ian continued, “Hell, he can ride along in the trailer, sitting on top of the cargo, if he wants.”
“That’s not good enough,” Vanderzee said.
Ian slipped a little testy into his tone. “I’m doing this as a favor. I should be well out at sea by now.”
“You’re doing this for the one point five million dollars,” Vanderzee corrected him. “I’m not asking a lot. Just some insurance, until we meet at the dock. I promise I’ll drive very safely. Phoebe will be well taken of.”
“Oh my God.” Phoebe realized then what it was that the Dutchman wanted to keep as collateral while Ian went to the consulate and picked up the crate that held those two kidnapped children.
He wanted her.
Ian was absolute. “I’m sorry, that’s not going to work.”
“It’ll be for an hour, at most,” Vanderzee cajoled.
Around Phoebe, in the van, Yashi and Deb had already leapt into action. Both were working the computers and making frantic phone calls. Over her headset, she could hear Shel, who was in Martell’s car, too.
Deb: “Do we still have the dock?”
Yashi: “Can we get the yacht back—fast? Has it even left yet?”
Deb: “Is there a place where snipers can hide, in position, at the dock?”
Shel: “I’m pretty sure there is—Aaron, what do you think?”
Aaron, who was waiting in the truck: “I think it’s possible, sure, but it’s for shit. No way is Ian going to agree to this.”
Yashi: “Could this conceivably work?”
Deb: “Absolutely.” She was certain.
Ian spoke—both to Vanderzee and Deb. “Not a chance.”
Phoebe said, “Talk him through it. Ian, maybe this will work. Just listen. Deb, go.”
“Once we get the crate safely into the truck, taking out Hamori will be easy—we can do that almost anywhere,” Deb said, walking through the potential scenario. “Dunn can demand that Vanderzee take Phoebe immediately to the dock. We’ll put snipers in place there, and as soon as they arrive and Phoebe gets out of his car, we can take down Vanderzee and however many men he’s got with him. They won’t know what hit them.”
Ian spoke clearly and distinctly. “No deal.”
“That’s a shame,” Vanderzee said, “because this is the only way. This cargo is far too valuable …” He kept going. Yada yada yada, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. He sounded so much like the imitation that Ian had done earlier, droning on in the background, that Phoebe nearly laughed.
“We’ve still got both the yacht and the dock,” Yashi reported. “That’s confirmed. The entire crew can be FBI.”
“They can be Navy SEALs,” Deb chimed in. “As long as we’re nowhere near the consulate, we can bring in the whole freaking Marines as part of the task force, if we need to. This can work, Ian.”
Phoebe knew what Ian was thinking. What if on arrival, Vanderzee didn’t let her out of the car? “I’ll pretend I need to use the bathroom. We’re friendly. He’ll let me go.”
“Nuh-uh,” Ian said.
“We can truck the crate all the way to the dock, if we have to,” Yashi continued, theorizing other scenarios. “We can even put it onto the boat—wait to do the takedown until we’re out on the water—seriously, we could bring in a SEAL team for that. Assuming we don’t have a clear and safe opportunity before then.”
“Lookit,” Ian told Vanderzee. “I don’t have to do this. I don’t need the money. I thought I could help you out of a tight spot before I left town. But no way am I going to give you my wife as collateral.”
“Well, I’m sorry we can’t do business, then,” the Dutchman said, and their chance of rescuing those two children slipped from a sure thing to a wipeout.
And Phoebe couldn’t let that happen. She just couldn’t.
She knew Ian was going to be furious. He was going to be livid. And he’d have every reason to feel that way. Worst of all, he would probably never, ever trust her in the future.
Because she had to break her promise to him for the second time in just a few short days.
But, really, losing Ian’s trust didn’t matter, considering they had no future. They’d agreed as much.
And fifty years from now, when she looked back on this day, what would matter more? The fact that she’d helped save those children? Or the fact that she’d pissed off some man with whom she’d had an extremely passionate but short-term fling?
Saving the children won that one by a mile.
So Phoebe did it.
She got out of the van.
Phoebe. Fucking. Got out. Of the fucking. Van.
And there she came, running up the driveway toward Ian and the Dutchman, waving and smiling a sunshiny greeting, as if they were neighbors in some zany sitcom and she’d popped over to borrow some sugar.
“I was in the van,” she explained, “and since your headset’s on, I kind of heard what you were saying, and Ian, baby, I really don’t mind—”
“Yeah, but I do, baby,” Ian said, hoping that she could tell from the crazed look in his eyes that there was no fucking way in fucking hell that he was going to leave her with the fucking Dutchman as fucking collateral. He turned to Vanderzee. “I’ll be your collateral. Aaron will drive the truck. He and Sheldon will—”
Vanderzee cut him off. “The men in possession of the cargo have been told to expect you. It’s too late, at this point in time, to change that, not without my going with you to its location. And as we discussed over the phone, I can’t do that. Just as there are those who are looking for you, there are those who are looking for me.”
“And they haven’t found you here?” Ian asked, gesturing around them, because that’s what he would have said, were this real. “Are you telling me that I’m gonna be followed, all the way to the dock, because that’s not—”
“Of course not,” the Dutchman said soothingly. “This is a safe location, unknown to my enemies.” The man honestly believed that—it was said with complete c
onviction.
Ian gave a silent, inward salute to the FBI, even as he worked to fix this goatfuck. Step one. Get Phoebe’s ass back in the van. “Get your ass back in the van,” he said to her. “Honey.”
She smiled sweetly up at him. “I don’t want to. Sweetie.”
Ian turned to Vanderzee. “Well, that’s good to know, about this location being safe. But you can’t just call your people and say there’s been a change of plans?”
“If I do, they’ll believe I’ve been compromised, and they’ll take measures against your … people, when they arrive. I assure you, you don’t want that.”
“It’s really okay,” Phoebe told him. “We’ll drive right to the Lady.” There were two cars parked out in Vanderzee’s circular driveway, and she motioned to them. “We’ll go to the dock right now, right, Georg?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I’ll just get in, no big deal. We’ll drive over and we’ll wait for you there, along with Captain Bob and the rest of the crew.”
All of whom would be FBI agents, already there and in place. Along with a team of snipers, who were currently moving into position. Phoebe’s subtext was clear. Ian knew that. He got it. It was the drive from here to there that was the problem.
Meanwhile, Phoebe was looking at him like no was no longer in her vocabulary. She wanted to rescue those kids, he knew that, and she was willing to risk everything to do so. Ian admired that. He truly did. But there was no fucking way …
Still, there weren’t many options. If he couldn’t be the collateral … Francine, Martell, and Yashi were all out, because they were supposedly in Cuba. There was Deb, who worked as a stewardess on his boat. If she suddenly showed up here, Vanderzee might get suspicious.
Might? Try would, as in definitely.
That left Aaron and Shel.
Aarie was obviously thinking the same thing, because he got out of the truck and came partway up the driveway to suggest, “I could go with Phoebe. You know, head over to the boat with her and … Mr. Vanderzee.”
Ian hated that idea. But he hated it less than letting Phoebe spend any time alone with this douchebag.
Unfortunately, the douchebag wasn’t down with that. “I find that unacceptable,” he murmured.
Of course. He didn’t want Aaron—or Shelly, either, no doubt—to get any of their gay on him.
“Stay with the truck,” Ian called to his brother, who did just that, muttering about wigs and T-shirts and stupid brothers.
Phoebe, meanwhile, was unrelenting and serene. “Ian, I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine.”
“Excuse us for a minute,” Ian told the Dutchman, and pulled her back, well out of earshot. “The plan—remember the plan? Was for you to never, ever, ever be alone with him.”
“Hamori will be with us.”
He was already shaking his head. “Hamori’s taking us to the cargo. You’ll be with Vanderzee and Mr. Tall and Ugly.”
She looked at the two men standing on the Dutchman’s front steps. “With the vaguely Hitler moustache …?”
“Yes,” Ian said. “And I’m sorry, but Hitler Junior does not count as an acceptable chaperone. Neither does Hamori, for that matter.”
Phoebe looked at him somberly from behind those glasses. “Ian, if we just give up now …”
“Phoebe, I swear, I’ll get those kids out another way,” he promised her.
She lifted her chin. “Yeah? How?”
“I don’t know,” Ian admitted, “but we are not doing this. We’re going to bail. We walk away. Both of us. Together. Right now.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she clearly was. “I can’t. If I do, I’ll never forgive myself. To be this close—”
Ian shook his head. “That was not a request,” he informed her. “I wasn’t asking. I was telling.” He drew himself up to his full commanding height. “That was a direct order.”
And Phoebe laughed in his face.
* * *
“So, what?” Phoebe asked Ian, who’d made himself all large and imposing. Like he thought he could intimidate her? “Now I work for you again? That’s convenient.”
He didn’t back down. “You’re a member of this team, of which I am the leader.” He spit the words out like bullets.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m a member of this team! I agree. And sitting like a lump in the back of a car, for a forty-minute ride to a place where I’ll be very, very safe sounds as if it’s exactly in my particular limited skill set. No grappling, no need to speak Farsi, no bomb defusing or scuba diving. I can do this. And I want to. I’m volunteering. And frankly, team leader or not, it’s not up to you to decide. I’ve already cleared it with Deb. So let’s stop wasting time, and do this thing.”
The SEAL commander standing in front of her morphed suddenly into Ian-the-lover. Her lover. She didn’t know how he did it, but suddenly he was warmer and more familiar, and the heat in his eyes spoke of shared intimacies.
“Phoebe,” Ian whispered as he took her face in his hands, pushing back the stray strands that were moving in the morning breeze, his thumbs gentle against her cheeks as he looked searchingly into her eyes. “Please. I’m begging you.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he kissed her.
It was beyond romantic and heartfelt. It was sweet and tender and damn near perfect, and she felt herself melting.
As he pulled back, though, he could clearly see her remaining resolve, because he went even further.
“I can’t let you do this because … I love you,” he said, blurting it out so realistically—complete with a slightly surprised look in his eyes. “Phoebe, Jesus, I really do.”
She felt her eyes fill with tears, but there was no time for that.
Ian had made his declaration loudly enough for Vanderzee to have overheard him, and Phoebe now glanced at the Dutchman, forcing a smile. “You know I love you, too, baby,” she told Ian, also loud enough to be heard as she extracted herself from his grasp. “I’ll be fine. Go pick up the cargo, and I’ll see you soon.”
As she walked toward Vanderzee, she smiled and even rolled her eyes as if to imply that Ian was an idiot. “We really do need the money,” she told the man. “We’re leaving behind an awful lot, and who knows when we’ll be back. Is it okay if I wait for you in your car?”
She felt Ian watching as the Dutchman unlocked the doors of one of the parked cars and she climbed in.
“Be at the dock in forty minutes,” he ordered Vanderzee in a voice that she barely recognized, it was so hard and cold. “You disrespect her in any way, and I will hunt you down, rip the lungs from your chest, and stuff them down your throat.”
* * *
Ian felt sick.
As he jogged back to the truck, his brain came up with dozens of SNAFUs and worst-case scenarios in which Phoebe ended up missing or dead.
This was not okay, this was not okay, this was not okay.
And yet, he knew she was right. If they walked away now, those kids would be dead before the day was out.
Ian tried to convince himself that this would work. Georg Vanderzee trusted him. He also knew from the conversation on his headset that Martell’s car was going to follow Phoebe every inch of the way. With Francine driving, and Shelly and Martell as additional backup, there was no way they’d lose her.
Aaron was silent as Ian got into the truck. But he didn’t have to say anything—Ian knew that everything he’d just said to Phoebe had been broadcast to his entire team.
And they believed him, even if Phoebe didn’t.
You know I love you, too, baby.
Jesus H. Christ.
“She’ll be okay,” Aaron dared to say.
Phoebe’s voice came over his headset. “It looks like it’s going to be about ten minutes before we leave. Georg’s in the bathroom.”
Deb spoke up. “Phoebe, we’re going to have to cut our connection to you.”
“Absolutely not,” Ian said.
“Sorry, sir, but you need to reconsider that,” Deb countered. “We don’t want Vanderze
e accidentally listening in on our chatter.”
“Shit,” Ian said.
“I’m going to take that as an affirmative,” Deb continued. “In fact, take the device off and put it in your pocket, Phoebe. You can use it as a phone, to contact us if you need to, plus we can track you via GPS, if we have to. But we won’t have to. Martell, Francine, and Sheldon will be right behind you.”
“I know that,” Phoebe said. “Okay, I’m turning this off. See you at the dock.”
Click.
Ian exhaled hard.
Meanwhile, Hamori pulled the other dark car out in front of the truck, ready to lead the way to the cargo’s location—which they already knew was the K-stani consulate building.
“Keep breathing, Eee,” Aaron covered his microphone and reminded him. “I’d tell you it gets better, that you get used to it, but I sure as hell never have. Not when Shel’s in danger—even if that danger’s completely in my own head. And since I can’t lie the way you can …”
“Not helping,” Ian said as he jammed the truck in gear and followed Vanderzee’s man.
* * *
Francine was driving Martell’s car, and she had just taken the exit ramp onto the highway, staying close to the vehicle that held Phoebe, when Ian let loose with, “What the fuck, Deb?”
He didn’t wait for a response as he continued, just as heatedly: “We’re in the same general area as the consulate, but we’re pulling up to what looks like a private home.”
“Team Martell is heading south on the highway,” Francine announced and Ian responded with a tight “Stay close to her, France,” even as he continued his conversation with Deb and Yashi, who were trailing behind his truck in the surveillance van.
“We’ve got a crate in the structure’s garage,” Aaron said from his seat next to Ian in the truck. “Repeat, large crate visible, garage door going up. Two, repeat, two heavily armed adult males nearby.”
“You said the kids were in the consulate.” Ian had about fifty pounds of not-happy in his tone as he spoke to Deb. “You confirmed that they were there.”
“A confirmation is rarely a hundred percent,” Shel said from the backseat, behind Francine. “More like ninety-two point five.”
