by Liliana Hart
“Bigger?” I asked. “Bigger than killing everyone in town?”
“It’s a small town. He’s more of a lead-story-on-CNN kind of guy.”
Dread flooded my lungs and tightened around my heart. “Do you think he has another bomb?”
“I think he’s in the market, and I know exactly who’s selling it to him.”
“Who?” I asked, alarmed.
He bit down and lowered his head, his voice soft as he said, “Me.”
Chapter Five
After the longest day of my entire existence, we pulled up in a black Dodge pickup to a hotel that had cabins for rent instead of rooms. The deputy secretary flew us via a private jet close to Waukegan, Illinois, where we found Strand’s pickup waiting and headed to where he’d been living for the past few months.
All I knew about our location was that we were close to Grayslake near an exchange point where they were supposed to meet the buyer. Apparently, Strand had been undercover with a motorcycle club, trying to determine their connection with a terrorist organization and ultimately where the buy would take place. Yousefi had gotten the chemical bomb as far as Mexico, and the motorcycle club had arranged for it to be smuggled into the country where Yousefi would then pick it up again. For a large sum of cash, of course.
Strand was not happy about the arrangements. He didn’t want me with him, and he’d argued with the deputy secretary. I was right there with him when Gill took me aside and asked if I could assist them further. Part of me felt like I was in it this far, I couldn’t stop now. But another wondered what on earth I could do. I dropped back in time. Big whoopsi. How was that going to benefit them in the long run? Still, when Deputy Secretary Gill told Strand and he argued, the elation I felt at helping them this far deflated. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and normally I might drop to listen in on their heated exchange, but after my latest experience, I felt it pertinent that I not drop for a while. As much as I hated to admit it, I was hurt by his vehement refusal to take me with him.
We didn’t say two words to each other on the short flight or the drive to the cabin. He suddenly looked very tired. We stepped into the hotel room and the first thing he did was remove the duster. For the first time all day, I saw him. Every inch of him, albeit clothed inches. The impossibly wide shoulders. The tapered stomach. The trim hips and rounded ass. My god, that ass. I couldn’t tear my gaze away as he first checked the room, glanced out the window into the endless black night, then began to strip the nonessentials from his body. First the gun belt. Then another gun hidden in a boot. A couple of knives pulled from clever places. Then his boots. I sank onto a chair in the corner, praying the pants were next.
“Do you want the first shower?”
I snapped to attention. “I…I don’t have any soap. Or shampoo. Or clean clothes.”
He nodded then turned on the bathroom light for me. “I have some soap and stuff. Probably not your brand, but they should get you through the night. And we’ve got clothes coming.”
His jaw had grown more shadowed as the day wore on, framing his mouth to perfection.
“Is that okay?” he asked, seeming annoyed.
I blinked, trying to stay focused. “That’s fine. I’ll go first. Wait. You have clothes coming?”
“Compliments of Gill. Our man should be here soon.”
I couldn’t imagine what they would come up with for me to wear. I wasn’t the pickiest shopper, but I did have standards. With a wary nod, I rose and started for the bathroom.
He stopped me with another question. “Do you want to tell me what happened today?”
Did he mean when I burst into tears like a drunken drama queen at prom? No. No I did not.
“I’m okay. It was just a hard drop. It happens.” As I strode toward the bathroom, he blocked the entrance with an arm.
“You’re mad at me.” It wasn’t a question.
“No. I don’t blame you for not wanting me to tag along. I get it. Boy, do I get it.”
“Is that what you think?”
Afraid he would see the hurt in my expression, I turned away. “I’m okay, Agent Strand. Really. You may not have noticed, but I’m a big girl.”
When he kept his arm there for an eternity and a day, I glanced up at him.
After a very long moment of contemplation, he said, “I noticed,” then dropped his arm and went back to removing items from his person. “And call me Sebastian.”
Sebastian. I liked it. And I liked his ass. I liked him, too, but that ass. They just didn’t come any cuter. I didn’t want to leave him. The pants had to come off eventually.
With the reluctance of a courtier going to the guillotine, I strolled into the bathroom and closed the door. The tiny room was outdated but clean. Couldn’t ask for more than that after an exhausting day of tracking down bad guys. Very bad bad guys.
Having no other choice, I turned on the shower and stripped. It was no wonder Strand—Sebastian—was a tad on the touchy side. His best friend was dead. A hated enemy was out there planning God knew what. And he was here stuck with the likes of me. I felt bad for him, too. It was as though the deputy secretary had something up his sleeve by sending me here.
I washed using his soap and shampoo, savoring the scent of him on my skin. He didn’t have conditioner, but the hotel had a tiny bottle. That would be enough for one washing. Clearly they didn’t understand the needs of corkscrew curls. Before I turned off the shower, I heard a heated exchange of male voices. I shut off the shower quickly and grabbed a towel. It sounded like two men arguing at first, Sebastian and someone else. But the more I listened, the more I realized it wasn’t an argument, though Sebastian was definitely angry.
I stepped out of the shower and found fresh clothes awaiting me. They’d been placed on the closed toilet lid, and I gasped. Had he come into the bathroom while I showered? He had to have. The curtain was opaque, but still. It just seemed a grave violation to have him in the bathroom and not tell me. I used his toiletries to finish my routine the best I could, did a quick French braid to try to rein in the mop that sat atop my head, then pulled on the underwear, jeans and sweater, all a perfect fit. Perhaps a little too perfect. I rarely wore my jeans so tight.
The sound of breaking glass startled me. I cracked open the door and peeked into the bedroom of the cabin. Sebastian was alone, his head bent, his hair hiding his features from me.
“What happened?” I asked him, peering around the room for bad guys. I’d had about enough of them, to be honest.
He turned as though he’d forgotten I was with him. “It’s over. I missed the meeting.”
Walking out barefoot, I stepped close, alarm rising in my chest. “I don’t understand. The exchange? Yousefi has the bomb?”
He shook his head. “No. I was supposed to be at the exchange, but I missed the meeting the group had with him. Now I don’t know where the exchange is taking place and Vince, the leader of the Disciples, feels that since I missed the meeting, I’m not fit to go to the exchange.”
“You have to try!” I said, putting a hand on his arm, pleading. “You have to find out where the exchange is, Sebastian. You have to stop this.”
Sporting a grateful smile, he turned to face me. “That was never really the plan, love. I just had to find out where and when the exchange will take place. We can’t risk losing the players or the chemical delivery device by tailing them. There is an entire team waiting nearby, ready to setup at the exchange and be there when Vince shows up with the weapon and Yousefi with the money.”
“So, you just need the time and location? That’s it?”
“Yes.”
I shrugged. “Why don’t I just go in and get the information for you.”
He turned away from me.
“Oh,” I said, catching on at last. “That’s why Gill wanted me to come. He knew you wouldn’t make it back in time for the meeting.”
“Gill can bite my ass,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re already in enough danger just by bei
ng here. Just by being with me. Vince’s spy already spotted you. Now I have to give him the cockamamie story headquarters came up with of who you are and why I missed the meeting and say it in a way that won’t get either of us killed.”
“There’s a story?” I asked, surprised. I looked down at the arm he’d grabbed hold of. His grip was firm but not painful in the least. “Shouldn’t I be in on it?”
He tugged, pulling me closer. “That’s why I didn’t want you to come. You’re not an agent, Andrea. You didn’t ask for the dangers of this life. I signed up of my own free will, but Gill had no right to ask this of you.”
I smiled. “I bet you were first in line, too.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“You said you signed up of your own free will. I bet you were first in line.”
A frustrated grin lifted one corner of his full mouth. “How’d you know?”
“Gut feeling. But I can do this—”
“No,” he said, dropping my arm. A chill swept underneath the sweater where his hand had been. “Not after today. Not after what you went through.”
“That was entirely my fault,” I said, embarrassed. “I… I almost got lost.”
His brows furrowed, causing a slight crease between them. “I don’t understand.”
“In time. I almost got lost in time, but it was my fault. I strayed too far and stayed too long. I know not to do that.”
“The point is that all that happened because you were doing the bidding of Homeland Security.”
“How many children died?”
He stilled and leveled a deep blue gaze on me, his irises shimmering in the low light. “Seven.”
I lifted my chin, trying to hold it steady. “And how many people are at risk?”
He lowered his head, his jaw working under the strain of his frustration. “Hundreds of thousands.”
I stepped closer and glared up at him. “Don’t ever ask me why I’m helping you again.”
He grabbed his duster. “Let’s go, then.”
“Wait,” I said as he pulled me along behind him. “I need shoes.”
“Oh, right.”
“And so do you,” I reminded him.
A quick glance at his own feet confirmed it. He raised a single brow. “I guess I do.”
Twenty minutes later, after a hefty trek through the woods, we slowed to a stop behind a group of bushes. A barn sat about twenty yards from us and through the slats we could see the glow of a fire inside.
“This is where they met earlier today,” Sebastian said as I picked leaves out of my braid. “Are we close enough?”
I gauged the distance. “Yeah, this should be fine. I’ll stay just long enough to get the info.” When he offered me a worried expression, I said, “I’ve done this a thousand times, Strand. I just got carried away today. That never happens normally.”
“What can I do if it does?”
His concern was endearing. So was that severe line he’d drawn his mouth into. I had a hard time disengaging from it, so I stopped trying. Just went with the flow and spoke directly to his mouth, hoping for that tug at the left corner again. “If I don’t immediately open my eyes again, just put me on life support. I’ll show up eventually, God willing.”
No tug. My wit had apparently lost all its charm. It happened.
Before I could think it through, I lifted a hand and ran my fingertips along the outline of his mouth. He stilled and I glanced up—his eyes glistening in the soft glow that filtered to us from the fire—before closing my lids and dropping.
The first thing I did was freeze time to watch his reaction again when I placed my fingers on his mouth. It was so out of character for me. I was more of a duck-and-cover kind of girl. Oh, I’d kissed boys before and I’d even had sex once, but at the ripe old age of twenty-four, I had yet to experience that extreme attraction that other girls felt the moment their eyes landed on a particularly scrumptious specimen of their liking. I chalked it up to trust issues. I also rarely squealed in delight or clapped my hands when handed a gift. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad.
After watching Sebastian long enough to legally be considered a stalker, I rewound time until a group of men entered the barn. Three biker types. They’d ridden their Harleys up the dirt road and parked them along the side of the barn. I followed them in and watched as they built a fire. They were talking about this and that, mostly about a man they thought to be a snitch. Someone named Slider, and it occurred to me that I had no idea what name Sebastian went by while undercover. I prayed it wasn’t Slider, because they had plans for that poor guy.
After a few minutes, Yousefi showed up and I had to force myself not to panic. The mere sight of him sent my heart racing. He walked in with another guy, very small, very pale, very geek-ish. Yousefi’s choice in companions surprised me before I realized a few minutes into their conversation he was the tech guy. He actually built weapons for Yousefi.
Vince, a large man with broad shoulders, a broader stomach, and lots of graying facial hair—which meant he was old enough to know better—shook his hand and offered their guests a seat around the fire. They’d set up folding chairs. Vince ordered one of his men to stand guard and the meeting commenced. They talked about the good ol’ days when Vince and Yousefi were in prison. They worked in the kitchen together and had formed a very unlikely friendship. A friendship that had Vince saving Yousefi’s life, which would explain the trust. Vince jokingly asked Yousefi who’d pissed him off, who the gift was for. It took me a moment to realize they’d been referring to the bomb as a gift the whole time. Yousefi laughed and said it was for the resident of a very large white house.
The White House. They were targeting the White House.
I almost stumbled trying to get back to my body, then I realized I still didn’t know where the exchange would take place. Cursing myself, I hurried back, rewound so I didn’t miss a single word, and waited for them to decide on an exchange point and time. More than anything else on earth, I wanted to hurry back and tell Sebastian, but these guys were nuts. They could come up with an idea only to change their minds a few minutes later, then where would we be?
So I sat through another half hour of BS. Seriously, what on earth could these guys have in common? When the conversation turned to the technical aspects of the delivery device and how exactly they were going to get it close enough to the White House for it to serve its intended purpose—its main purpose being the President of the United States—my mind started to wander. Draping myself across a bale of hay in exasperation, I had to rewind three times just to get through it all.
At last, Vince and Yousefi stood. Vince walked him to the barn door, chatting the whole time before taking Yousefi’s hand into his for a firm shake. Because they were partially transparent, I saw clearly the piece of paper that exchanged hands. Yousefi palmed the paper with a conspiratorial nod to Vince before heading out the door.
I bolted upright in a panic. What was on the paper? Was it a number in case of emergency? Was it a map? Was it a change of plans? I watched as Yousefi and his tech support walked up a path that led into the mountains in the exact opposite direction of where Sebastian and I waited crouched on the ground. I looked back, weighed my options, then realized I had to see what was on that paper before I lost him. I would never be able to find him again in these woods. I had to follow him as far as I could, now.
It had started to rain, hard, which explained why the forest was so wet around us on the hike up. The tech guy kept slipping, but Yousefi paid him no mind. They kept walking, growing more translucent with each passing moment. The forest around me dimmed, grew more cloudy. Each step took me farther away from where my anchor, aka me, sat.
Finally, a car appeared before us. An older model Buick, so unlike the stolen truck he drove before. Yousefi got into the passenger side while his tech support ran around to the driver’s. The moment the door closed, Yousefi opened the note at last. It was a picture of a marble statue, a Viking princess
, if they had those, complete with a breastplate, long hair with tiny braids peppered throughout, two swords strapped onto her back, and wings behind those. She was beautiful.
Underneath the picture were the words Midday Eucharist.
I had no idea what it meant, but the moment the picture disappeared before my eyes, reappearing an instant later, I knew I’d pushed this drop as far as I dared. I filled my lungs—not that I actually breathed during a drop—and released time, praying time would release me.
A microsecond later, I was back with Sebastian. My fingers still lingering on his mouth. Surprise still evident in his smile.
I snapped my hand back. “We have to hurry!” I said, scrambling to my feet.
Sebastian grabbed me and threw me onto the ground. When I tried to argue, he covered my body with his and my mouth with his hand, his face mere centimeters from mine as he slid out a knife and nodded toward the barn. I glanced that way and realized two men were still at the barn. Or they’d come back. Either way.
One of them laughed out loud at something the other had said. “Slider, where do you come up with that shit?” he asked him as they entered the barn.
My eyes rounded. I pried Sebastian’s hand down and whispered, “That’s Slider! They’re going to kill him!”
He hissed in a breath to quiet me, then frowned into the night.
“They’re going to kill him,” I whispered again.
He closed his eyes.
“Sebastian, they think he’s a snitch.”
“He is a snitch,” he said, regret hardening his features.
A floodtide of fear swept through me. “Is he your snitch, Sebastian? Does he know who you are?”
“No.” He placed his forehead on mine, his warm breath fanning across my cheek and stirring a stray lock of hair. “Not really. He snitches to the other agent on site, but he has no idea I’m one of them.”
