Packing Heat

by Penny McCall

  “And let them know I was on to them? We were stuck in the backseat of their car going ninety on the highway.”

  “Jumping off a moving train was enough fun for one day, huh?”

  “I didn’t jump,” she reminded him. “And it wasn’t fun.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about the exit. I was thinking about the landing.”

  “I prefer the part after the landing.”

  Cole knew she was talking about flipping him into the muck, but he was thinking about being on top of her. Okay, he wasn’t really thinking, and if he didn’t get a grip he wouldn’t be walking either, at least not without limping. He could just imagine how smug Harmony would be then.

  “I think you’re jumping to conclusions,” he said. “Just because they’re Russian doesn’t mean they’re working with the kidnappers. And even if they were, they must’ve known who you were when they picked us up, so what’s the point of channeling Paris Hilton on speed?”

  “They didn’t know that we knew, and she wasn’t being honest with us, so she deserved it.”

  “They’re criminals. And you didn’t tell her the truth, either.”

  “I didn’t tell her anything.”

  “Despite four hours of constant chatter, which is quite an accomplishment.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Harmony jogged up next to him, puffing a little.

  Cole took pity, shortening his stride and hefting her duffel.

  “She was trying to get information from us. Where we were going and why. How long we’d been together.” Harmony snorted. “She really wanted to know who you were and how much you knew.”

  “She didn’t want to tip her hand, and she didn’t want a confrontation,” Cole finished, seeing it plain as day now that Harmony had pointed him in the right direction. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” And she looked worried—for all of ten seconds before the optimist surfaced again. “Once I realized they weren’t going to strong-arm us, I needed a way to control the conversation. Everyone looks at me and sees a dumb blonde, so I went with it.” She shrugged, not the least embarrassed. “And it was fun.”

  “You said ‘like’ nine hundred and sixty-three times. I counted.”

  “You were asleep.”

  “Who could sleep?”

  She grinned up at him. “If it makes you feel any better, I gave myself a headache.”

  chapter 7

  “HOW DID THEY KNOW WHERE TO FIND US?” COLE asked as they walked deeper into the city of Cleveland. “Why did they let us go? Do you think we’re still under surveillance?”

  “Boris and Natasha—Irene and Leo—whoever they are, they must have been following me. It’s the only thing that makes sense. They know I got you out of prison, and they’re wondering why.”

  “Which is the reason Irene asked all those questions about who I was and how long we’d been together. Why didn’t you just tell her the truth? That I’m here to move the money.”

  “They’re the enemy. The less they know about our plans, the better.”

  Cole took his customary pause to digest what he’d learned. She was really beginning to hate that pause. He always came out of it with a question she didn’t want him asking.

  “Why didn’t they just kidnap you and force you to get the money for them?”

  “I’m already doing what they want. They don’t gain anything by grabbing me. And they could blow their whole game. If the FBI lost another agent, they might decide there was more than greed going on and get involved. They were just keeping tabs on me.”

  “On us, you mean.”

  Exactly, and that was the part that worried her.

  “What about—”

  “Can we save the rest of the postmortem? At least until I get some painkillers, a shower, a meal, and a bed, in that order.” She wasn’t kidding about the headache. Her jaw ached, too. She had a new respect for those vapid, posturing celebutantes. Doing nothing was exhausting.

  A couple miles off the highway they came across one of those travel motels where each room had an outside entrance. Harmony went into the office and got a room in the back. Cheap, clean, two beds, one of which she collapsed onto as soon as they got inside.

  Cole wasn’t on the same page. Cole was getting his second wind, and it was blowing in from skeptic land. “Cops, feds, now Russians,” he said. “This thing isn’t going to happen if you don’t get the pressure off long enough for me to work.”

  Harmony cracked one eye open. “How do you expect me to do that?”

  Cole shrugged. “You’re the one with the contacts.”

  In other words, he was calling her bluff, and she had no choice but to make good on her big talk. She shoved herself upright and reached for her duffel, stifling a groan when her head pounded in protest. She had her FBI-issue cell phone, and a second disposable one she’d bought because it was untraceable. She pulled out the second phone, taking a deep breath as she punched in her handler’s number. She’d been dreading this moment, but it had to be done.

  Mike Kovaleski answered the phone by growling “Yeah,” which was polite for him.

  “Hey, Mike,” she said, “it’s Harmony,” and then she waited for him to ask her what the hell she was doing.

  Instead he said, “Kind of late for work, aren’t you? Like thirty-six hours late,” sounding like he had absolutely no clue she’d gone rogue.

  Mike was damn good at playing a role, but he had no reason to pretend he was in the dark on her extracurricular activities. Just the opposite, in fact. He was her handler; her actions reflected directly on him. If he’d been questioned about her activities, he’d have sent more than a pair of agents that included a novice.

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” she said, keeping her voice light, teasing, and giving up any attempt to puzzle out the mystery. Keeping Mike ignorant was more important at the moment than figuring out why no one had asked him about her in the first place.

  “Who said I was worried? You haven’t missed a day of work in five years. I knew you’d call in eventually.”

  She covered the phone and said to Cole, “FBI ears only,” and took the conversation to the other side of the room, lowering her voice. “Nice to know I’m so predictable,” she said into the phone.

  “You’re upset about Swendahl,” Mike said, sounding like a shrug went along with the observation.

  Harmony took a second to absorb that—not that she should’ve expected him to react any other way. He’d always told her she was too sensitive to be a field agent. Disappearing because she was all broken up about Richard was exactly what Mike would expect her to do. Still, it stung to be written off to emotional paralysis when she was doing what no one else at the Bureau had the guts to do.

  “I don’t agree with the Bureau’s policy, but I understand it,” she said, swallowing her pride. “I just need a few days to get my head around it.”

  “Your number came up as not available on caller ID.”

  “I’m at my aunt’s house in the Poconos. No cell towers.”

  Mike didn’t say anything, but his silence felt skeptical.

  “I haven’t taken a vacation, ever,” she reminded him. “It’s not like the copyright pirates are going to blow up the world if I’m not around to enforce the FBI warning for a little while.”

  “I didn’t say no.”

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  “I was thinking.”

  “That’s what worries me,” she said, only half in jest. “Anything . . . interesting going on?”

  “Besides Swendahl? Nope. Why, what did you hear?”

  “I caught the tail end of the news when I was driving through Pennsylvania. Sounded like something happened there.”

  “Pennsylvania’s a big black hole as far as I know.”

  “Okay. Has . . . is anything being done?”

  “Nope. It’s been quiet all around. I’m finally writing that novel.” There was silence for a couple beats, then, “I’ll see you in
a week.”

  “Or two.”

  “Two?”

  “I came up here to relax and see the trees change. You never know when peak color will hit.”

  “Swift—”

  “Bye, Mike.”

  “Well?” Cole said the second she disconnected. “Did you ask him about me?”

  “I didn’t have to. He’d have mentioned you if you were on the radar.”

  “I’m a federal prisoner. Shouldn’t the FBI be looking for me?”

  She bumped up a shoulder, as flummoxed as Cole was. First Mike didn’t know about her freelance activities, now he had no idea there was an escaped felon in Pennsylvania? “Either they’re keeping your escape really quiet, or they’re not talking about it at all.”

  And as puzzling as it was from an FBI standpoint, it answered a couple of questions about Irene and Leo. They must have followed her from D.C. to Lewisburg, with no intention of interfering as long as she did what they wanted. And then she hooked up with Cole, but since the FBI wasn’t releasing the news of his escape, the Russians had no way of knowing who he was and why she’d gone out of her way to pick him up. As long as he remained a mystery man he was safe. Losing Irene would only be added insurance, but she’d make that a priority anyway.

  “They sent feds after us. And cops.”

  “The Pennsylvania cops aren’t a problem anymore, now that we’re in Ohio.”

  “What about your coworkers?”

  “They’re not a problem anymore, either,” she said, knowing Cole would take it to mean they’d been called off.

  In truth, she found it troubling that Mike hadn’t heard anything about the jailbreak at Lewisburg. The handlers were only supposed to know about their own cases, but Mike had a way of nosing out trouble, whether or not it involved his unit. He always said the Bureau’s practice of compartmentalizing was incompatible with his ability to do his job properly. If Mike didn’t know about Cole then Cole was really off the grid, and if that was the case, then why?

  She glanced over at the convict in question and wondered. There were only a couple reasons to keep a prison escape quiet. For instance, if the guy was so dangerous they didn’t want to alarm the public unnecessarily. Cole wasn’t a mass murderer or a serial killer. He hadn’t done anything violent. He’d hacked into the government’s computer system—not an easy feat, but hardly threatening to the average American going about his daily business. Terrorist organizations, now, they might be interested in Cole, which was a hell of a reason to keep his freedom a secret. Access to the FBI’s files would be priceless to anyone who hated America.

  Of course, the FBI’s computer system had been overhauled since Cole’s incarceration. New security had been installed, supposedly hack-proof security, but nothing was perfect. In her two years at the agency going after computer criminals, Harmony had learned a lot about tracking and hacking, but she wasn’t good enough to break into the FBI’s banking system, and money was her only leverage with the kidnappers.

  “What’s going on in there?” Cole said, tapping a finger on her temple.

  She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts she hadn’t heard him come up behind her. Not good. She needed to stay sharp and focused, even around Cole. The authorities outside of Pennsylvania didn’t know he’d escaped. As long as it stayed that way she probably had nothing to worry about. But there was no point taking chances.

  “All we have to do is keep our heads down and do what needs to be done,” she said, “and this will all be over.”

  Cole smiled grimly. “That’s what worries me.”

  HOT WATER SHOULD BE ONE OF THE SEVEN WONDERS of the world, Harmony thought, even in a mediocre shower. She stood under the hot spray and imagined the dirt and exhaustion of the last thirty-six hours washing down the drain. The stress stayed with her. What she’d gone through already was nothing compared to what she’d face in the days to come. She couldn’t put that out of her mind, and if she didn’t put it out of her mind, she wouldn’t sleep, and if she didn’t sleep there’d come a moment when she needed to make a split-second life-or-death decision, and she wouldn’t be up to the challenge.

  She needed a stress reliever. She needed to go out and run. Physical exertion was always good at calming her nerves. Running would be her first choice, but she didn’t trust Cole enough to leave him by himself. Which meant she needed to do something else, maybe yoga or just dance around like a maniac until she was exhausted. Or sex. Yoga or dancing in front of Cole would make her feel stupid, but sex would involve him, and he’d made it clear he was willing, so it would be the perfect solution. Except she couldn’t have sex with Cole. They had a working relationship, nothing more, and since she was the one who’d drawn that line she couldn’t cross it now. All her credibility would be gone—not to mention he’d rub it in every chance he got. So, definitely not having sex.

  There was just one problem. Sex was all she could think about now. She soaped up a washcloth and started scrubbing a little too hard. Her skin tingled, but her thoughts were still racing, back to Cole on top of her, behind her, his large body hard and hot against hers. He was contrary and pushy and ungrateful, she tried to remind herself, but then she remembered him at the jail, his shirt off, and his pants off, and somewhere along the line the remembering turned into fantasizing, and the scrubbing turned softer as she imagined him easing into the shower, his hands wet and soapy, sliding over her skin under the hot spray, over her aching breasts and down, across her belly, easing between her legs—

  And then the hotel room door closed, the sound muffled by the running water, but the change in air pressure and the slight tremor she felt in her feet were unmistakable.

  “Cole?” she yelled, but she was already ducking her head under the spray, taking precious seconds to rinse because she’d be no good to herself with shampoo running in her eyes.

  She grabbed a towel and raced out of the bathroom, already knowing Cole was gone—along with the small roll of cash she’d had in her backpack.

  “Damn,” she yelled. “Damn, damn, damn.” Grabbing the first T-shirt she found and fighting it over her wet head and damp skin, no bra, she stepped into panties and reached for her jeans, berating herself the whole time. “Idiot,” she said, “stupid, trusting moron who had to take a shower because she can’t handle a little discomfort,” and then she heard the doorknob rattle.

  She froze just for a split-second, jeans halfway up one leg, still covering her foot, before she let go of the waistband and grabbed her gun, running across the room as silently as she could with a denim shackle. There was no time to look through the window or the peephole. She barely made it behind the door when it began to open, and she was blind, the door between her and whoever was coming through it, so she eased out and put her gun to the person’s back.

  “I know I didn’t ask you what you wanted before I left, and the restaurant here is only one of those school cafeteria-style places so there wasn’t a lot of variety, but I’ll give you first choice,” Cole said, his voice unmistakable, both for its depth and the way it made her insides shiver.

  “Cole,” Harmony said, exhaling in relief as she lowered the gun.

  “Who were you expecting? Jimmy Hoffa?”

  “Boris and Natasha. They found us once.”

  “And you figured I was long gone.” He turned to face her, his eyes dropping immediately to her breasts, then lower. “Nice outfit. Is that the way you always greet Russian kidnappers?”

  Harmony glanced down, then did a double take. Even from her vantage point it looked like she was participating in a wet T-shirt contest. “I was in the shower,” she reminded him, adding, “and don’t forget about the gun,” because she almost had, and if Cole kept staring at her like she was a buffet, the gun wasn’t all she’d forget.

  “I thought you were going to start on the bank accounts.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t concentrate on an empty stomach.”

  She pulled her jeans on the rest of the way and escaped to the b
athroom before Cole saw her anxiety, her fear, before she put her gun to his head and made him hack into those accounts so Richard didn’t have to suffer one more second.

  If ever there was an occasion for chanting mantras, Harmony thought as she toweled her hair, this was it. Too bad she didn’t know any. She settled for some deep breathing and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

  She changed her top—and added a bra. Once she’d managed enough control to make a reappearance, she found Cole already seated at the little round table, eating with a focus that amazed her.

  “I thought you were giving me first choice,” she said, taking the seat across from him and surveying the sad array of edibles still remaining: a tuna sandwich, a small salad, two varieties of pie, and something that might have been a chili dog before twelve other kinds of food had been piled on top of it and turned it into a pile of orange glop.

  “That was when you had a gun pointed at my spine. And before you spent a half hour in the bathroom. Not that I’m complaining,” he added, leering at her over the top of the taco he was eating.

  His teeth bit in, strong and white, but he never took his eyes off her, his intent gaze setting off the kind of heat that made her remember what she’d been thinking in the shower before she heard him leave the room. Suddenly her clothes felt too tight, every movement rubbing cloth across sensitive places, and food was the furthest thing from her mind. Luckily for her, she hadn’t forgotten about Richard.

  Cole finished off his taco, dusted his hands together, and got to his feet all in one motion. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  And she was going to take a walk so she didn’t have to hear the water running and think about him all wet and naked and muscular.

  BY THE TIME SHE RETURNED, BETTER FOR A HALF HOUR of fresh air and solitude, Cole was standing by the table with her duffel bag open in front of him, a pair of her panties in one hand, her notebook computer in the other. And so much for her fantasies, because it wasn’t her panties that had him all hot and bothered. If there’d been anything personal between them, she’d have been jealous.