“Let the man in, Phillip.” The ambassador sounded agitated.
Max slipped inside. She sat with her arm around her son, both of them on the couch. It was only the family members for a change.
“The kidnappers are still directing Lucy around the city.” He cleared his throat. “I need a word in private if I may, ma’am.”
Catherine’s brows drew together, and she shifted away from her son before standing up.
He’d spoken to Eban. General consensus was, this ransom drop was likely fucked. The constant churning in his gut made him feel as if he might be sick. “Alone, if possible.”
Her eyes widened in alarm.
Phillip threw up his hands in exasperation. “Fine. Kevin and I will go play some video games.” He pointed a finger at Max. “I want to know when the money is dropped off.”
The feeling in the pit of Max’s stomach reeked of failure, but he didn’t let it show. He nodded, and the man and his son closed the door into their apartment.
“What is it, Max?”
Max pulled out his phone to show Catherine the evidence of her assistant betraying them all when Brian Powell burst into the room. “We have a big problem, Ambassador.”
Catherine frowned. “SSA Hawthorne was about to explain.”
“Was he now?” The tone was derisive.
What the fuck did that mean?
Brian Powell opened a tablet and turned on the screen. “You might want to sit down for this, Catherine.”
“Get on with it, Brian,” she snapped.
Powell opened a photograph of a blonde bombshell, her face upturned in ecstasy as she rode some guy into oblivion in a fancy hotel suite.
Catherine squinted at the screen. “I recognize the guy. That’s the Russian, Sergio Raminsky—”
“The man who shot the Russian Ambassador to the United States last year?” asked Max.
Powell nodded.
Max frowned. He didn’t get it. Then, slowly, the identity of the blonde clicked into place.
“Is that Lucy?” The ambassador’s voice rose in horror.
Max felt as if he’d been poleaxed. It was all true. Lucy was in league with the Russians. His heart hardened to stone and seemed to rattle in his chest.
“Yep.” Brian glanced at Max with an expression that told Max everything he needed to know. Next shot was going to show him fucking Lucy in bed last night. It had all been a choreographed act. She’d set him up and sold him out.
Powell swiped his screen, and there was a camera still from the hotel security video with him dipping Lucy over his arm and kissing the hell out of her for show.
Max frowned, even as the other two looked scandalized. That was all they’d got? “Who sent you these?”
“They arrived anonymously,” said Powell.
Max shook his head. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
If Lucy was working for the Russians, they’d have much more damaging material than that.
“What doesn’t make any sense is that you are involved with someone who is obviously working for Russian intelligence and that same person just left the embassy with a million dollars in ransom money,” Powell stated sternly.
Catherine inhaled sharply.
“You’re off the case, Hawthorne,” Powell stated firmly.
Max’s head shot up. “What? That is not your decision to make, Powell.”
“No,” the ambassador’s voice crackled with rage. “It’s mine. You fell for the oldest trick in the book, and my daughter might now pay the ultimate price.” She whirled and walked over to a side table. She picked up the phone. “I want a full sweep of the embassy for electronic surveillance devices. Yes, now.”
She slammed down the receiver.
“I’ll go back to the Negotiation Center—”
“Oh, no, SSA Hawthorne. You are done here.” Catherine Dickerson’s face was effervescent with rage.
Sweat formed on his brow. He’d never been kicked off a case before. They needed him. This was his expertise. He opened his mouth to explain the kiss, to show them the photograph he’d been sent from British Intelligence. But it would only make things look even worse, he realized.
“Collect your things and head back to DC. I never want to see your face again.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lucy programmed her Sat Nav to an address in Tribunales. Driving around the streets of Buenos Aires in the middle of the night at the whims of these unknown kidnappers should have been scary, and yet she felt exhilarated.
Perhaps that was the effects of last night still buzzing through her system. In her mind she’d been constantly comparing Max to Sergio, which wasn’t even remotely fair. Max dedicated his life to rescuing hostages with as little violence as possible. Sergio had used his good looks and charm to target and destroy as many people as the Russian Federation directed. The only thing the two men had even remotely in common was the fact the external packaging was flawlessly beautiful.
A terrible realization hit her. She took a corner at speed and had to work to correct the fishtail. She’d fallen for the guy in a way that made her feelings for Raminsky look like a teenage crush. Max Hawthorne was the real deal.
Not that it mattered.
She swerved around another corner, applying the handbrake enough to keep the car in the center of the road.
There wasn’t any hope for a relationship. He’d still despise her when he discovered the truth, and she wouldn’t try to stop him. He was better off without her.
If she delivered the ransom and the girls were released, she could go back to doing what she was supposed to be doing for as long as possible. It might be hours or days, but she might get lucky. Her cover was probably about to get blown if the FBI were moving on Yahontov. Seeing him arrested would be worth the release of those awful images. It was the price she’d always known she’d have to pay eventually.
Or the Russians might hold onto their evidence and try to squeeze more out of her before burning her. Their “little bird” might require assistance in escaping, in which case Lucy would be more than happy to help. More than happy.
Her priority right now was rescuing Kristen and Irene. The sooner she got this money into the kidnappers’ hands, the sooner she’d relax. A little, anyway. Her part in this kidnap saga would be over and hopefully the girls would be safely back with their parents by morning.
Her personal phone rang, and it jarred her out of her thoughts. Not the cell given to her by the negotiators, but her personal cell which wasn’t “personal” at all. She didn’t usually carry it but, following orders, she’d taken it from the safe in her apartment yesterday along with the cash she’d donated to the ransom. She’d given up any concept of having a private life when she’d signed up for this gig. She ignored the call. Whatever they had to say, she had more pressing issues to deal with right now.
She thought back on what she and Max had done last night—that had been very personal. Secret and private—not out of shame. It was simply too special to spoil by sharing it with anyone else.
The cell rang again, and she swore. It had to be important if they called twice. She dug into her purse for the device.
“Aston, you need to get out.” It was her CIA handler. “You’ve been burned.”
She frowned even as she raced to the next rendezvous point. “What. How?”
“Russians sent the FBI Legat photos of you with Raminsky. Also, a photo of you kissing the CNU negotiator.”
“What photo?”
“Don’t worry.” Her handler laughed. “You have your clothes on this time.”
Bastard. Like he held any moral superiority. She wracked her brain. The hotel. The only time she’d kissed Max with her clothes on had been at the hotel for the sake of the cameras.
Shit.
Her mouth went dry. “I’m literally in the middle of a ransom drop.”
“What?” His voice rose.
“The kidnappers wanted a female.” She hefted out a long sigh. “It’s a long stor
y.”
“Get your ass the hell out of there.”
“I can’t abandon this job and let the US ambassador’s daughter face the consequences.” She didn’t like the silence that followed her declaration.
Eventually he spoke. “I can’t tell you what to do, Lucy—oh, wrong, I’m your fucking boss. I can tell you exactly what to do. Get the hell to the safe house now, without anyone following you.”
“And what do you suggest I do with the million dollars in small bills?”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“You’re not seriously telling me to dump the money and let the girls die?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. This mission is blown. I want you out of the country before the Argentines or the Russians realize who you really work for. Got it?”
Hell no. She couldn’t do it. If she told him she couldn’t do it, he’d probably deny she even existed or tell the Agency she’d gone rogue. He’d hang her out to dry and let her rot in federal jail.
“Got it.” She hung up. Shit.
Her work cell rang. She ignored it. It was probably the people at the embassy panicking she was about to run off with the cash because they bought into the notion she was a traitor.
What about Max? What did he think?
Emotion rushed her. She didn’t want to know what he thought of her. Not after what they’d shared. If he turned on her, she didn’t think she’d ever recover.
She ignored the incessant ringing because she was only seconds from the next pitstop. When she got there, she sat for a few moments waiting for new instructions. She turned the ringer off on her work cell.
After ten, fifteen seconds, the kidnapper’s cell rang again. As she answered it, she knew the FBI agents would be listening in the Negotiation Center. Max would be listening with a growing sense of horror.
“I want you to get out of the car and walk over to the fountain in the middle of the square. Take all your cell phones with you. Even the ones you think we don’t know about.” The mechanical voice sent shivers through her.
Dammit. Lucy hesitated and scanned the small square she found herself in. No one was around. She didn’t really have anything to lose.
She got out. Locked the car and walked over to the fountain still holding the cell to her ear.
“Look at the base. There’s a brown paper bag. Looks like a piece of garbage.”
She saw it and squatted down. Inside was another shiny black cell.
“Slip the new cell into your pocket.” She did so.
“Now listen to me very carefully. I want you to throw the other cell phones you are carrying into the water.”
Lucy hesitated. If she did that, she’d be completely on her own. No connection to her CIA handler, no connection to the negotiation team or Max—who probably hated her right now.
“Do it. I have eyes watching you.”
Lucy glanced around. Was he bluffing? Something skittered down her spine. She didn’t think he was bluffing. And what difference did it matter? The CIA had told her to abandon the mission and get to the safe house. This would allow her some plausible deniability about not answering the phone while covering her ass. Her handler knew all about covering his ass.
Chances were the FBI would be tracking her right now, worried she would skip off into the sunset with a million bucks, abandoning the girls to their fate. She would never do that. They didn’t know that.
She pulled out both phones, work and personal, and dropped them one after the other into the bottom of the fountain.
“Now this one.” The voice in her ear commanded.
With a heavy sigh she did what he demanded.
Then she hurried back to the car. Quickly transferred the cash out of the bags that Max had given to the ambassador and tossed them out of the window. She wouldn’t risk the FBI deciding she was dirty and trying to arrest her and messing up the ransom drop. The only way to prove she was trustworthy was for her to deliver the cash and maybe figure out where the kidnappers were holding Kristen and Irene.
Her pocket buzzed. She answered the new phone.
“I want you to head south until I call again. If you contact anyone, I’ll know, and I’ll kill both girls.”
Lucy hung up and headed south, avoiding all of the surveillance cameras she knew about, going down back alleyways and keeping under the speed limit so as to not attract the attention of the cops.
She’d failed in so much. She would not fail in this.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Max was escorted to the parking lot like a common criminal.
“Do you need a ride to the hotel?” Powell asked condescendingly.
Max narrowed his gaze. “I think I’ve got it.”
He wasn’t going to the hotel. Most of his belongings were still in the back of Lucy’s Mini except for what was in the Negotiation Center. He trusted Jennifer McCreedy to take care of his laptop and all the negotiation equipment until this shitshow was sorted out.
Powell shut the door, and Max stood there stupidly for a second. Then he headed for the gate, passing the two empty spots where Miranda’s and Lucy’s cars had been.
He paused.
Miranda must have gotten her car started or had it towed.
Max frowned. When had Lucy interfered with Miranda’s car?
He called Iain Bartlett. “Did Miranda use her car after five o’clock last night?”
“I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”
“Did she?”
“Miranda hasn’t left the embassy grounds since this whole mess began. She’s been sleeping here.”
“Thanks.” He hung up. It was possible that Lucy had popped the hood yesterday when she’d nipped out for that one half-hour period. Bold to do that when a security team and cameras were monitoring the place. He called Bartlett again. “Check the security footage of Miranda’s car over the last twenty-four hours, will you?”
“I’m a little busy searching the embassy for bugs,” Bartlett said testily. “Why?”
“I want to know if Lucy tampered with Miranda’s car or not. And I’d like to see the proof if she did.”
“Fine. I’ll let you know as soon as I get a chance.”
“Thanks.” Max hung up and headed through the darkness toward where Regan said he’d be waiting. As promised, the green van sat idling on the side of the road.
Max climbed inside, nodded to Regan, Dexter, and Navarro.
He pointed out something else that was bothering him. “How did Lucy know that Miranda would volunteer to be the bagman?”
“Miranda volunteered, not Lucy?” Regan said.
“Yep. Then Miranda’s car wouldn’t start, and Lucy offered her the use of the Mini but when Miranda got inside, it turned out she couldn’t drive stick shift, so Lucy went instead.”
Regan’s brows rose, and he pulled a face. “The kidnappers specified a woman?”
“They did. Another negotiator volunteered first, but she doesn’t know the area. Miranda volunteered next.”
Regan nodded thoughtfully. “Seems like a pretty random way to guarantee being the person to leave the embassy with the cash.”
“Unless Lucy disabled Miranda’s car and knew in advance she couldn’t drive a standard,” Navarro said.
“Pretty sophisticated,” Dexter said from the front seat with what sounded like admiration.
Things weren’t fitting together the way they should. This was why Max hated counterintelligence. There were always layers and layers to wade through, and you never really knew when you’d reached the truth.
“A few minutes ago, she dumped all her phones and the wired bags according to our sensors,” added Regan.
“Dammit.” Max glanced at the screens and the unmoving red dots. He couldn’t think of a single reason she’d do that unless she was planning to ditch them and disappear with the cash.
He ground his teeth in frustration. He was desperate to move. Navarro pulled out onto the city roads.
“I take it
the only reason Lucy is suspected of being a spy is the photo British Intelligence sent you via a friend?” Regan said, watching him. The man seemed full of secrets. Maybe they’d been tasked with figuring out if Max was a co-conspirator or simply a patsy. He hated that he was the latter.
Max opened the image and passed his phone to Regan who showed it to the others and then sent it to himself.
“She must have met Anotoly shortly after she left the bar at the hotel after eating dinner with me. She never mentioned she had another date.” Max tried hard to control the resentment in his voice. “The Legat was also sent a photograph of Lucy with some Russian agent, Raminsky.” That photo was seared into Max’s brain.
“Raminsky?” All three men said as one.
“Yeah, why? You know him?”
The other men shared a look. Regan finally spoke. “He was a high-level operative. One of his specialties was seducing vulnerable women and blackmailing them.”
Max frowned. “Know anyone in the CIA we can ask?”
“Why?” Regan asked, gaze narrowed in suspicion.
“Lucy used to work for the Agency.”
“Now that is interesting.” Regan’s expression suggested there were a million thoughts running through his brain. “I think there’s a lot more to Lucy Aston than meets the eye. I haven’t read her file yet. I was busy setting some other things up.” Regan’s brows crunched. “Why’d she leave Langley?”
“Something happened with a guy. She was vague about the details. I’m guessing now it had to do with Raminsky,” said Max.
“It doesn’t add up. The Foreign Service wouldn’t have hired her if they’d known about Raminsky, and I can’t see the CIA keeping schtum on her reference letters. Secondly, if the Russians had any sort of leverage over her, they’d want her to stay in the CIA regardless of what she wanted. Much more useful to them there than in the Foreign Service.”
They were driving through the city streets. Max didn’t know if they were simply hoping to see Lucy speeding around in her Mini or if they were trying to get as far away from the embassy as possible. Both worked for him.
Cold Cruel Kiss Page 31
