“Then the guy who tried to grab you today was a brave man. He just didn’t know it.”
Lucy laughed and finished her water. “Don’t let the ambassador find out about that. She can send me back any time she wants. I don’t want to have to crawl home to my parents and admit I failed at my job.”
That explained a lot. He knew all about letting parents down. His mother still hadn’t forgiven him for immigrating to the States. He didn’t think she ever would.
They stood.
The ladies at the bar turned to watch him and Lucy leave. Maybe if he hadn’t been with Lucy, he’d have indulged in a little harmless flirtation, but he didn’t have the time for even the most superficial of flings. And from the way they turned their attention back to the bar keep, Max figured the guy was in for a very big tip.
As a young and horny soldier, Max might have been game, but as Supervisory Special Agent Hawthorne, he had a professional reputation to maintain. After all, he wasn’t in the Secret Service.
“I’ll be fine,” Lucy insisted once again in the lobby. “I live here, remember?”
She was right. They weren’t on a date, but…
They stood in front of the massive Christmas tree that dominated the center of the entryway.
Perspiration dampened the hair around her face, and her makeup appeared smudged, even though she didn’t really look as if she was wearing any. The suit jacket she wore was wrinkled, and the sleeves were obviously too long for her arms. Her blouse was the same brown his sisters had worn to their brownie troop.
“Why the ugly suit?”
Her eyes flared.
So much for his way with words, but the suit didn’t fit. Anyone in the twenty-first century could find better clothes by walking into any department store. Lucy’s clothes required effort.
Rather than being offended, she laughed and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “It’s a perfectly good suit.”
It was hideous and was also way too hot for this climate.
Then he got it because he’d already known the answer. It was a disguise, but why?
He kept his thoughts to himself. He was done sticking his foot in his mouth. That reminded him of all the notice boards he needed to set up first thing in the morning. “Build Empathy and Rapport.” “Do not insult someone’s choice of clothing.”
“You’re right. It’s a perfectly good suit. Good night, Lucy Aston. Sorry your Christmas was ruined. Thank you for all your help today.”
Her hazel eyes grew somber. She jerked her head in a nod and headed out the front of the hotel. He watched the doorman hold the door for her, then Max turned away, heading for his room and the stack of files and diaries and emails he needed to read before he could go to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Lucy grabbed the keys from the valet and gave him a good tip to compensate for the fact the poor guy was also working on a holiday.
She pushed aside the feelings of happiness she’d been experiencing with Max Hawthorne. No doubt he was charming and fun to be around, but she needed to stop thinking of him as a friend. He wasn’t her friend. She didn’t have any friends. Not right now.
So what if she was attracted to him? He’d be gone soon, and her job was still here in Buenos Aires. She wasn’t going to build fairytales around anyone ever again.
Plus, he’d despise her if he knew the truth.
She drove around the corner from the hotel and pulled over. She pushed her seat back, grabbed black leggings and a black, long-sleeved tee from her workout bag and quickly changed in the front seat. She switched her shoes for black sneakers. Took her Glock-19 from its hidden compartment under her seat and placed it in the custom holster sewn inside the back of her leggings. She dragged on a black hoodie and stuffed her ugly suit back into her bag. The fact Max had commented on it meant she might need to do a slight upgrade on her looks. Enough to avoid notice—although Max was the only person to confront her head-on about her style choices in the seven months she’d been here.
She adjusted her seat forward again and drove a few blocks east and parked in Parque Thays, a small public space that had once been an amusement park but now housed statues and a museum and provided green space for the city’s inhabitants. Last night, the square would have been full of revelers watching a fireworks display. Tonight, it was almost empty.
The note on the back of her photograph told her to meet near the MARQ. Museo de Arquitectura y Diseno.
She opened the door and was immediately hit by the humid quiet. The traffic was almost nonexistent in this part of town this close to midnight. Apartment buildings to her rear were strewn with colorful lights and fake Christmas trees in the windows. On the ground, the shadows were thick with menace. A figure crossed the park heading toward the railway tracks. No one else was visible, but she had no doubt there were unseen eyes in the darkness. The scent of the ocean skimmed the breeze as she padded silently across the grass to the museum at the south end of the park.
Once she got there, she walked around the place and then stood at the black railings at the rear of the building. She was early. Garbage was scattered on the other side of the road near the fence that separated the railyard from the rest of the world. Dead trees and stunted palms rustled in the darkness.
Footsteps approached from the south, and a man wearing a light jacket and flat cap headed in her direction. The red glow of his cigarette flared every time he inhaled.
He crossed the street and kept strolling towards her. Was this her contact or simply a man walking home after visiting relatives or friends or having a drink in a fancy hotel bar?
He stopped a few feet from her, and she had her answer.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Aston. My name is Felix.”
Sure it was.
The accent was cultured with only a faint edge of Kremlin.
Lucy said nothing. Just waited.
“Did you have nice Christmas?” He had hollowed-out features with a sharp nose and what looked like a bald head although it was hard to tell with the tweed cap.
She grunted. “Certain events overtook the festivities. I’m wondering if you had anything to do with that?”
He didn’t pretend to not know what she was talking about. “What would we want with two young women?”
Whatever expression was on her face made him snort out a laugh. “Ah yes, our insatiable appetite for sex slaves.”
Lucy bristled. “You say that like it isn’t a booming business for the Russian mafia.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t work for the Russian Mafia.”
It was Lucy’s turn to snort. “You keep telling yourself that.”
The man’s jaw hardened. He definitely did not like being challenged this way. But he knew her secrets—that she’d been working for the CIA when Raminsky had targeted her. That’s why Raminsky had targeted her. Not because he was charmed by her beauty or personality. He’d been a weapon used on her heart and her pride and now this guy, Felix, was using the ammunition Raminsky had provided to wield the final blows.
She’d been blinded by love and lust, and it had been her ruin. Or so they thought.
“Do you know where the girls are?” she asked.
The man smiled, but his eyes remained lizard-like in their coolness. “I was about to ask you the same question.”
Which wasn’t a hard “no.”
“If I did, they’d have already been released.”
The Russian took a long drag of his cigarette. Blew the smoke in her face. She took a small step to avoid it, and he smirked as if he’d won a victory.
Asshole.
“They are lucky to have you on their side.” He sounded as convincing as a second-hand car salesman desperate to make his quota for the month.
“Why am I here?” She let her confusion show.
A pigeon flew down to land near their feet, clearly hoping for food. Felix flicked out his foot, and it flew away to safety.
“I heard you were close to the investigation,�
�� he said finally.
“Heard?” She crossed her arms. His words confirmed her worst suspicion. Someone was watching her.
“A little bird told me.”
A little bird? A spy? Was he actually confessing…? “Why don’t you have this ‘little bird’ get you what you need and leave me the hell alone?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not everyone is capable of getting me the information I need, Lucy.”
Really. “Probably because a US citizen feeding Russians classified information is considered treason.”
He stepped closer so he was within touching distance. “What do you think the authorities will term what you’ve already done for us? Do you think they’ll see a blackmail victim? Or a traitor?”
Lucy took a half step back.
His mouth pursed. Eyes narrowed. “How does that stack up with your perception of yourself, Lucy Aston?”
She closed her eyes. Showed defeat and despair. Felt it down to her bones. That she had allowed herself to be compromised this way. This thoroughly. That she’d fallen for the Russians’ ploy.
He made a clucking sound. “Take for example that information you fed us regarding the Dickersons’ schedule. If that had fallen into the wrong hands, it might have made kidnapping the ambassador’s daughter easier. Don’t you think?”
The skin across her knuckles stretched tight as her fists clenched. The information she’d given them had not included anything on the children.
“Did you kidnap Kristen Dickerson and her friend?” she asked flat out.
Was he playing some kind of vicious game? It wouldn’t surprise her. Did he want her to beg for their lives or perform sexual acts to prove exactly how humiliated and beaten she was?
Would she do it?
No. But she couldn’t afford for him to test her. He couldn’t suspect she wasn’t completely cowed.
He tilted his head to the side. “How guilty would you feel if we did kidnap those girls?”
Lucy glared at him, gritting her teeth. “Very. Did you?”
He shocked her then, wrapping his hand around the base of her throat. Then he leaned forward and kissed her. He forced her jaws apart and stuck his tongue in her mouth, the taste of tobacco making her stomach recoil. Despite her revulsion, she didn’t bite or fight him. She held perfectly still as he mashed his lips against hers.
After a few moments, he pulled back and whispered, “I bet you would like to hurt me now, wouldn’t you, Lucy Aston?”
She held his gaze not bothering to hide the hate. “Yes.”
The man’s grip was an implicit threat. Lucy wished she’d worn her knife because her pistol was harder to reach. “Especially if you’re responsible for hurting innocent, young women.”
“Innocents have always been caught up in the power struggles between East and West.”
“Does that make it okay?”
“It is what it is.” He let her go and took a step back.
She rolled her eyes at his fatalistic bullshit.
His eyes narrowed. If he touched her again, she was going to shoot him. “What would you do if we were the ones who took the women? Would you be willing to confess your sins to your superiors? Would you be ready for the world to see those photographs of you fucking Sergio Raminsky?” He spat out the name.
Because Raminsky had betrayed Mother Russia and shot dead the Russian Ambassador on the steps of the US Congress. How they must hate him and everything he stood for. One of their golden boys had gone rogue. Maybe that’s why it had taken them so long to contact her. To start blackmailing her. They hadn’t wanted to use Raminsky’s kompromat.
The spy game was full of smoke and mirrors. Truth was nothing but a moment of clarity.
She shook her head to answer his question. She didn’t want anyone to see those photographs.
“We want to be kept informed of the progress of the FBI’s investigation into the kidnapping.”
“What? Why?” There was no way she could do that. “Surely you have other people you can blackmail who can give you that type of intel.” She hoped for a reply, but he gave her nothing. “I’m a junior assistant to the ambassador and, with this crisis, I’ll be needed in the office now more than ever. I won’t be privy to details of the investigation.”
“You underestimate yourself.” He traced the neckline of her hoodie. “You were already spotted having dinner with the FBI negotiator. Why don’t you use your ‘charms’ on him to find out what we want to know?”
She resisted sticking her gun in Felix’s face and pulling the trigger. Barely. Her issues with suppressed rage would have to be dealt with eventually. But not today.
“We both know that, if you put a little effort into your appearance, you’ll be able to seduce him the way you did Raminsky.”
“Raminsky is the one who did all the seducing, and we all know why.” Humiliation rose up and made her face flame. “I’m not sleeping with someone and setting them up for the same fall I took.” Especially not Max Hawthorne who deserved better.
“Is that why you dress like a Siberian nun? So no man is tempted?” Felix barked out a laugh. “Does that mean you’ll never spread your legs again, Lucy Aston?”
He stood so close, she wanted to back away. The cigarette smoke was pungent on his breath. His nicotine-stained thumb brushed her lower lip, but she kept her mouth firmly closed. “That would be a shame. After studying those photographs in great detail, that would definitely be a shame.”
“You’re a pig.” Lucy drew in a shuddering breath as she shifted away from him. Conceding the battle if not the war.
“So my wife tells me.”
She cleared her throat. She had no option but at least to appear to go along with his nefarious plan and they both knew it. “How do I contact you?”
The Russian exhaled a lungful of smoke, and Lucy scrunched up her nose and looked away, not pretending to be cool or unaffected. He handed her a business card. “Use this email address and inform us if there are any developments in the case. Any developments.”
Lucy’s fingers trembled when she slipped the card into the pocket of her hoodie. “If you didn’t take the girls, will you help us get them back? You must have plenty of contacts on the street?”
The condescension in his gaze made Lucy’s insides shrivel.
“This isn’t a two-way street.” He spoke with a sneer on his lips. “We own you. You work for us now.” The threat in his voice had her leaning away from him. “I can destroy you in an instant. Don’t forget that, little girl.”
Then he walked past her into the darkness.
About twenty feet away, he threw his cigarette butt on the ground before crossing the street and disappearing into the park.
Lucy held her breath until her pulse slowed down to a reasonable beat. She drew in a shuddering breath. Vile man. She waited another five minutes and then headed in the same direction Felix had taken.
His cigarette butt glowed on the sidewalk. She waited for it to burn out. Then she bent down and gathered it into a small envelope she had in her pocket. Felix wasn’t the only one who valued information.
* * *
The next time her prison door opened, Kristen found herself dragged out by her bound arms. Someone then kicked her in the thigh and hissed at her to stand up. Thankfully, she’d woken as he’d stomped into the bedroom, and she’d quickly pulled the canvas bag down over her face.
Kristen rolled onto her front and pushed herself onto all fours. Another kick in the stomach had her crying out in pain.
“¡Levántate!”
Even with the hood on, she could smell beer on his breath. She forced her cramped limbs to do what was asked of them. The drugs didn’t help. They made her slow and clumsy. She tucked her face toward her chest away from the direction of the last blow, fearing another strike as she scrambled unsteadily to her feet. Then she stood in the darkness, swaying.
He grabbed her arm and dragged her along with him. He took her into the bathroom and barked at her t
o use the toilet.
“Can you leave me for a minute, please?” she asked in Spanish. Her voice shook. She was beyond trying to manipulate these people. She only wanted to survive, but she’d been surrounded by diplomats her entire life and, sometimes, the simple act of asking for something produced results.
She thought he’d hit her or jeer at her, but instead the words seemed to pull him up. Remind him he’d been ordered to treat her with a little respect? Perhaps the man in charge had warned him not to touch her, and this guy was trying to figure out exactly how far he could push it.
She didn’t know. She was simply grateful he didn’t hit her again.
He grunted out another impatient word. “Hurry.”
Kristen felt like her dog, Roo. Taken to the bathroom twice a day so she didn’t have an accident on the living room rug. Kristen wasn’t being cared for out of love or consideration, instead, taking care of her basic needs caused her captors less inconvenience than the alternative.
At least it was dark.
She finished using the toilet and quickly washed up. She told herself he wasn’t watching her every move and made sure to blindly touch as much of the sink as possible in case the police ever traced her to this place.
Impatiently, he came inside the bathroom, grabbed her hands, and tugged her by the rope back to the cabinet.
He roughly pushed her inside and then put pressure on her shoulders and forced her to her knees. Suddenly afraid of what else he might do, she shrank farther into the depths of the wardrobe.
He laughed nastily as if he knew why she’d reacted that way. Something about that laugh was calculating and mean. As though he was thinking about all the things she was terrified of and how he’d do them to her as soon as he’d figured out how to do so without getting into trouble with his fellow kidnappers.
“Take this.” Again, in Spanish. Unlike the first man she’d encountered, this man’s English wasn’t very good. She held her hands out hesitantly. He placed a paper bag and another bottle of water in each hand. The water bottle crinkled loudly when she grasped it.
He closed the door, and Kristen shuddered with relief. He was her least favorite kidnapper so far.
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