Cold Cruel Kiss

by Toni Anderson

  “Russian Intelligence was pretty messed up after what went down on Christmas Day last year. Maybe they didn’t have time to contact her and exert the right amount of pressure before she quit,” Dexter suggested.

  “The Russians rarely waste kompromat,” argued Regan.

  “They were pretty shook,” Navarro agreed with Dexter. “I can see it happening. Maybe she quit before the CIA found out about the relationship with Raminsky and then she joined the Foreign Service. The Russians let it ride because she was still useful.”

  “Why burn her now?” asked Regan.

  “My contact said that there was some sort of material intercepted coming out of the Russian embassy in the spring.” Max frowned. “Let me text him and see if he knows exactly when.”

  Max needed to call Andy and prepare him for the goat fuck that was surely coming. Prepare the Lomakins for the worst. Instead, he texted him the question while Regan speed-read Lucy’s record on the screen.

  “The Russians also sent the Legat a still from the camera showing me kissing Lucy in the hotel.” Felt like a million years ago. “What I don’t get is why they didn’t send something much more compromising from last night?”

  He stared down at the floor of the van and no one said anything. He couldn’t believe he’d been this idiotic.

  Max’s phone dinged. Andy had written back. February.

  Max looked at Lucy’s file. “The intercept from the Russian embassy happened in February. That’s several months before Lucy arrived here in early May.” He frowned.

  “What if…” Dexter began.

  “Lucy Aston…” Navarro added, checking an intersection before turning right.

  “Secretly never stopped working for…” Regan grinned.

  “The Agency…” Max finished. His head was spinning. “Wouldn’t someone in the embassy know Lucy was sent to spy on them?”

  Regan’s eyes scanned the details in Lucy’s file. “Not if Langley didn’t know who to trust. She could be part of the Special Activities Center and acting in a deep undercover role. Maybe she was in it for the long game.”

  “Maybe she allowed herself to be compromised in the first place,” Navarro suggested. “So the Russians thought they had leverage.”

  “Pretty hard ass,” Dexter added.

  That idea filled Max with rage, which didn’t make sense. Why was it worse to see Lucy as the manipulator rather than the victim?

  He didn’t know why.

  “Or Raminsky did what he usually did and stomped all over a young woman’s reputation without giving a shit how much damage he left in his wake, and the CIA decided to use the situation for their benefit.”

  “Use her as bait, you mean?” Max said.

  “Yep. For whoever the actual spy in the embassy is, to lay a trap that somehow compromises them,” said Regan.

  What Max was really wondering was what had last night meant to her. That’s what was driving him fucking crazy about this situation. And the fact he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to trust a word she said to him again in the future…assuming he ever saw her again.

  “Doesn’t the ambassador usually know about any CIA intelligence officers inserted into the embassy?”

  “Not if she or her family are potential suspects,” said Regan. “CIA can’t specifically investigate US citizens unless the person in question works for the CIA themselves—always possible at an embassy. But if the Agency sent a deep plant because they knew a traitor was operating somewhere in the embassy? They wouldn’t necessarily tell anyone. Lucy would simply have to turn over any evidence she uncovered against an American to the FBI for further investigation.”

  “You think Catherine or Phillip Dickerson could be spying for the Russians?” The idea left a metallic taste in Max’s mouth.

  Regan shrugged. “Nothing could surprise me, SSA Hawthorne. Not anymore.”

  Max desperately wanted to believe Lucy wasn’t a traitor but what if he was kidding himself? “But if Lucy is actually a triple agent, why’d she ditch her phones and the wired bags? Why now?”

  “You said the Russians sent those pictures to the Legat?” said Regan.

  “Yup.”

  “So, she’s blown. Her handler would have told her to get the hell out of there. The CIA won’t confirm she works for them unless they’ve uncovered their spy. They’d rather let her take the fall for stealing the kidnap money.”

  “Or she’s dirty and laying down her exit strategy,” said Navarro.

  “And what about the girls?” Max braced as they went around a corner. Navarro sped up again.

  “The girls would be your problem, not the CIA’s.”

  Which was why he hated spooks.

  “Was the kidnapping a coincidence?” asked Max. “It seems like a hell of a stretch.”

  Regan shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt it. The timing stinks. Where is she?”

  “Heading west out of town,” Dexter answered.

  “Who? Lucy? How do you know?” Max leaned forward.

  Dexter turned in his seat and raised a tablet. “We tapped into the signals from her Sat Nav system and her Fitbit. Assuming she’s hasn’t reprogrammed the system to send out fake coordinates—”

  “Which usually takes more time to set up, especially if you’re driving,” Navarro chimed in.

  “She’s about ten minutes in front of us but can probably go faster than we can.”

  “Let me call CNU and ask if they’ve traced where the kidnappers are calling from.” As Max made the call, he stared in hope at the moving dot that Regan had now put on the screen in front of them.

  Following Lucy right now had more to do with making sure she didn’t run off with the ransom and doom the girls to a grisly fate than their personal relationship but, even so, he desperately wanted to talk to her.

  What happened if she was working for the CIA rather than being a spy for the Russians? He was supposed to detain her until they could figure it out. Could he do it? And what did it mean for them? Was there even a chance of a “them”? Certainly not if she worked for the Russians, but if she was a patriot? He didn’t know how he’d feel about her being an intelligence officer. Not anymore.

  Then he realized none of that mattered. Right now, the only thing that mattered was paying the ransom and getting the girls to safety.

  Whatever had bloomed between himself and Lucy, oh, so briefly, probably wasn’t real. Not on her part anyway. She was just a spook doing spook things.

  And, while it sucked, it wasn’t important right now. Mind on the job, Hawthorne.

  * * *

  Lucy was driving on a highway on the way out of town. She’d been in the car for over ninety minutes, and adrenaline was starting to crash when she needed it to keep her wits sharp. She opened the window to blast in some fresh air. Checked her Sat Nav. She was only thirty minutes outside the city limits. There was a junction up ahead.

  The phone rang. She answered.

  “Take the next exit. Head west.” They clicked off, likely worried the FBI were somehow tracing the call.

  She drove another six miles down a rural road with farmland on either side. The few houses she spotted were dark.

  The phone rang again. “Half a mile you’ll get to a crossroads. Pull up twenty yards before you get there and place the money securely into two garbage bags that have been placed under a rock. Take the bags you brought with you and put them back in your vehicle. Then leave. If we see you again, we will kill the hostages.”

  Lucy scanned the ditch along the side of the road as she drove. Sure enough, her headlights picked up two large, black sacks pinned beneath a large rock.

  She slammed on the brakes and then backed up a few yards. She checked the area but didn’t see anyone around. She jumped out and strode to the bags, carefully easing the rock off of them and grabbing them before the wind could snatch them.

  She ran back to the Mini and scooped piles of cash into the black plastic. She tied and dragged the first bag down into the ditch and r
epeated the process with the second bag. She scoured the Mini, checking under the seat to make sure she wasn’t missing any money.

  She got back into her car. Quickly did a three-point turn and headed in the direction she’d come from. Out of sight of the crossroads, she flipped off her lights and slowed to a crawl. She reached a small vineyard and turned into the driveway.

  She needed to swap vehicles. The Mini was too recognizable. She hoped she’d be able to come back and collect her beloved car later and make recompense for the crime she was about to commit. She grabbed her Glock from under the seat and stuffed it in the back waistband of her jeans. She rolled silently up beside an old shed. Quietly got out. She was worried about dogs or the owners waking up, but nothing moved, and the silence seemed to hum over the landscape.

  She’d spotted a truck on the way past but, beside it, tucked inside an open garage, was a small motorbike. Even better.

  She made a call on the latest cell phone the kidnappers had given her.

  “Trace this call,” she whispered to the person on the other end of the line. Then she pocketed the cell without hanging up.

  She grabbed the helmet from the handlebars and pulled it on, adjusting the fit. It took a moment to bypass the lock and get the engine started and, the moment she did, she was off, speeding down the road without any lights, hoping she hadn’t already missed the kidnappers picking up the ransom, but also praying she didn’t catch them in the act.

  She approached the junction and, sure enough, the bags were gone. Headlights heading off to her left were her best bet as nothing else moved in the Stygian night.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Lucy told me to trace this call.” Max put his work cell on mute then handed it to Regan who started typing numbers into a program the likes of which Max had never seen before.

  “Got it and relayed the call to agents at SIOC who are also recording and tracing. Gives us plausible deniability,” Regan explained. Then he overlaid the coordinates over the Sat Nav signal, but the Mini wasn’t going anywhere. It had stopped briefly near a crossroads and then turned around and started heading back toward them. Then it had stopped again.

  “Either she disabled the Sat Nav or she’s changed vehicles,” Max noted.

  A few minutes later, they reached a small vineyard.

  Navarro pulled in and, sure enough, there was Lucy’s beloved car.

  A light went on in the farmhouse.

  “Okay, let’s get out of here before they call the cops. We cannot be found operating in Argentina.” Regan repeated what seemed to be a mantra for him.

  “Wait.” Max opened the door and ran over and opened the trunk of the Mini, inordinately glad to see his bags in there. He grabbed them and ran back to the van.

  “I hope it was worth it,” Regan muttered as Max climbed back in before Navarro quickly reversed.

  Max dug out the weapon he’d picked up in Colombia and checked the chamber, shoved an extra magazine into his pants pocket. “Sure was.”

  Max fished his personal cell out of his pocket. Called Eban who was at SIOC liaising with the negotiators back at the embassy. No one was going to tell the Legat or the ambassador where the negotiators were getting their intel from. Let them assume it was some high-level drone or something. “Eban. Are you tracking the call on my work cell?”

  “We are. And triangulating where the call is originating from, presumably Lucy Aston?”

  “Yeah,” said Max.

  “Legat in Buenos Aires is worried she’s working for the Russians?” Eban probed.

  “He is,” said Max. “I’m not so sure.”

  “Asshole will be hearing from me when this is all over. Expelling you from the embassy.” Eban grunted.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Max assured him. All that mattered was finding the girls, and Lucy.

  “I’m searching for as much information as possible. I have Alex Parker helping me out, even though it’s the middle of the night.”

  “Thank him for me.”

  Lucy hadn’t been forced to make contact with Max, but she hadn’t wasted time explaining her actions either. He still didn’t know what was going on, but he wanted to trust her. “She switched vehicles. We’re following her again thanks to the cell phone signal.”

  Regan leaned between the gap in the front seats to say something to his colleagues.

  “Have the negotiators at the embassy received any word about the girls being released yet?” Max held onto the edge of the bench as Navarro put his foot down.

  “Negative, but I’m assuming the kidnappers haven’t counted their cash yet,” Eban replied.

  “True.”

  “We did finally track down Miguel.”

  “And?”

  “Just a dirt-poor kid with a knack for hacking. He fell for Kristen but didn’t think he was good enough for her so invented a background he thought she’d like. Then he got trapped in the lies when they got to know one another better. Knew he was going to be a suspect when the young woman was kidnapped and didn’t want to get into trouble, so he disappeared. No evidence he’s involved in the abduction. I’m pretty sure Alex Parker is going to put him through school.”

  Max huffed out a laugh. “Hope he deserves it.”

  “Everyone deserves a chance.”

  “You’re right. I hope Kristen forgives him for deceiving her.” Max was aware of Jon Regan watching him with a knowing gaze.

  “Max,” Eban said.

  “What?”

  “Be careful.”

  “I’m not planning any heroics.” The handgun was a precautionary measure that Eban didn’t even know about, but he knew Max.

  “Yeah, well, plans can go to hell in the real world.”

  Max looked around at his newfound colleagues. “We’re simply following what we hope is the money.”

  Eban grunted and Max hung up before he could say anything else.

  “Where is Lucy now?” asked Max.

  “A couple of miles ahead so I’m going to try to catch up some.” Not easy in an old van although she might be driving something of a similar vintage.

  “Let’s hope we don’t lose this cell signal. Otherwise, we’re sunk.”

  Max frowned. “Any chance of getting satellite images of the area that I can start examining?”

  “Use the computer on the end,” Regan told him.

  Max did as he was told. The area was sparsely populated. The perfect place to hold hostages.

  He hoped Lucy’s phone call to him proved she was on the same team as he was, rather than her attempting to lull them all into a false sense of security while she executed her escape.

  The thing was, he wanted to believe in her. She was the first person he’d wanted to believe in in years.

  * * *

  Irene watched the house. Her skin itched, especially where her finger used to be. The bandage was dirty. Infection could be a problem and yet still she sat here, watching her prison from the outside.

  When she’d run into the night, the man had chased her at first, even shooting at her a few times, but she’d managed to dodge and weave and get out of the gate and hide in the trees. Evade him. He hadn’t pursued her for long. She was pretty sure he’d gone back inside to finish off the other kidnapper before he could also escape. Or perhaps he knew she couldn’t get far.

  Later she’d snuck back, crawled behind some pieces of old rotten wood that were leaning against the crumbling stone wall near the garage. It was probably full of spiders and vermin, but they were preferable to the other monsters.

  Her teeth chattered, and she hugged herself hard.

  Was Kristen still inside?

  It was concern for her friend that had made her stop and turn around. In the darkness, it had been hard to tell where she was. It was more remote than she’d anticipated. There were bushes and walls that formed a maze around the property. She couldn’t see any lights from other houses and couldn’t hear any cars. It felt as if she were in the middle of nowhere, but she knew she’
d heard traffic during the day, so there must be a highway not too far away. Right now, the area was quiet as a crypt.

  A man moved in front of the kitchen window. Pacing and checking his watch. Seeing his face made her very afraid. If he knew she was watching him from the darkness, he’d never stop chasing her.

  The room above the kitchen where she’d been held was dark. Were the bodies of the other kidnappers still there?

  Probably.

  His car was parked beside the house. She’d been tempted to steal it. But she wouldn’t risk it without her friend, and she couldn’t risk going back inside until he was gone.

  Kristen’s words about the tree beside a window at the front of the house flittered into her mind. The man was on the phone now and seemed to be busy doing something, but she couldn’t see what. She edged out of her hiding spot and moved furtively along the wall of the garage. She kept an eye on where she put her feet as she crept behind his car and then dashed along the driveway to the front of the house. She worked her way around to the overgrown lawn. Remnants of an old path were visible in the darkness.

  She ran past the massive, boarded up, front door and windows, farther around until she was at the far side of the house.

  The sound of a car engine had her diving for cover, her heart pumping madly. A shudder ran over her flesh. What if they’d come to find her? To track her down? What if they brought blood hounds?

  There was the tree Kristen had mentioned. It was gnarly and twisted. The last place they’d think to look for her would be back in this derelict, old house.

  Irene eyed the tree. The bark was coarse. The branches bent rather than straight but tightly packed together. She touched one. It seemed solid. It should hold her weight.

  She hesitated. She’d always loved climbing trees, but she was handcuffed, and her right hand throbbed with pain. Even if they did have tracking dogs, it would be easier for her to run and never look back.

  Kristen might already be dead.

  What if trying to rescue her was a waste of time?

  And what if it wasn’t?

  She stood looking up into the dark foliage not knowing what to do. To be brave, which had gotten her into this predicament in the first place, or to run and to trust luck that she could escape and find someone trustworthy to ask for help?