Target For Terror, page 15
The height of rush hour had faded, so Sloan was able to sit close beside her. Too close.
“May I see the letter?” she asked.
Reluctantly, he pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her. “Will you read it to me?”
“I’ll try. I learned a little Cyrillic with Ivan but not a lot. Some parts are easy though.” She took the letter and scanned the words. “Sir,” she began, “As I sit here to write this I am still shocked from the news—something. I don’t want to believe you, but I do. I can’t deny the truth and—something.” She shrugged, unable to figure out some of the words, then continued, “I will arrange a trip to the States to visit your city within two weeks so we may discuss this matter further.” She glanced at Sloan. “I guess this explains the sudden speaking engagement here in DC.”
Sloan was looking at her oddly. “Is there anything else?”
She turned her attention back to the letter. “I can’t make out everything, but there is information about his travel arrangements and the hotel where he planned to stay.”
“Unbelievable.” Sloan raked his hand through his hair.
“What?” She folded the letter carefully. “You seem upset.” She frowned. “More upset than when you shot that man in the leg. We need to talk about that. What on earth were you thinking? What if that man dies as a result of your reckless behavior? You’ll end up in jail, right next to Uncle Alek.”
Sloan rolled his eyes. “Get over it already. I’m sure Wilcox is fine. This letter is far more important.”
“Yes, to help prove Uncle Alek’s innocence.”
“No. Don’t you see?” Sloan stared at her. “Don’t you get it? This could be used as evidence against your uncle, Natalia. The FBI could twist this letter to prove Nevsky was in fact working for the Solntsevskaya. And frankly? I’m not convinced he’s not.”
* * *
July 2 – 6:38 p.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
“Why would you say such a thing?”
Sloan could tell Natalia was upset, but he wasn’t about to sugarcoat the truth.
“Just because they corresponded about some sort of shocking news,” she continued, tucking a strand of her silky blonde hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t mean either of them worked for the Solntsevskaya.”
Sloan sighed. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that your uncle corresponded with Korolev just before he died? You don’t think that the FBI can twist that around to mean whatever they want? Like maybe Nevsky drew Korolev out here just for the sole purpose of killing him?”
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
They fell silent as the train ate up the miles. When their stop came up, he plucked the letter from her hand and tucked it safely in his pocket. “We’re getting off here.”
Natalia nodded, her expression listless as if all the will to fight had drained from her body. Knowing her uncle really could take the fall for this bothered her. Sloan couldn’t blame her for being exhausted, especially since they’d spent hours running around DC without finding the proof they needed. Annoyed at how he wanted to protect her, to keep her cushioned from the truth, he stood and prepared to get off the subway. She followed his lead, her eyes lacking the sparkle and spunk he preferred. He shoved his concern aside, although he hoped his feisty Russian princess would return soon.
“How do you know the van is safe?” Natalia asked, once they’d climbed up from the train station. “That someone hasn’t tampered with it or rigged some tracking device up to it?”
He glanced at her with admiration. “Hey, now you’re starting to think like a cop. Good job. We don’t know the van is safe. Actually, all I really want to do is retrieve our stuff, then pick up another car.”
“Pick up another car?” She looked confused. “You mean, like buy another one?”
“No. I mean like steal one.” He led the way toward the spot where he’d left the van, but instead of stopping, he purposefully walked past it, checking several of the other cars to see if anyone had done something obvious, like leaving their keys in the ignition. He saw an older model, a rather beat-up convertible that had a soft top he could easily cut through. It wouldn’t be the first car he’d hot-wired.
“Anyone watching us?” Sloan asked as he attempted to pry his fingers up underneath the soft top of the convertible and the hard, unforgiving window.
“Not that I can tell.” Natalia sounded anything but certain. Her previous listlessness had vanished, leaving her tense, alert as she stood beside him.
“Good. Keep a sharp eye out. I need a few minutes here.”
Natalia turned her back toward him as if to protect him from being seen. He winced as he tried to wiggle his hand into the miniscule opening. When that didn’t work, he pulled out his pocketknife and tore a slit in the soft convertible top, just large enough for him to reach the lock. He pulled it up by his fingertips and then yanked the car door open. Sliding into the seat, he used his knife to break open the casing beneath the steering wheel, quickly pulled out the ignition wires, and tested them by touching the red one and the green one together.
The engine roared to life. With a satisfied smile, he disconnected them. “We’re ready. Let’s go.” He turned and strode toward the spot where he’d left the van.
She grasped his arm, her nails biting painfully into his flesh when he approached their car. “Don’t. I’m scared.”
“We’re just grabbing our stuff,” Sloan soothed, heading around to the rear of the vehicle. He hesitated and looked carefully around for any sign of tampering before reaching for the doors. “Stand back.”
“Lord, keep us safe,” she whispered.
He echoed her sentiment, despite the fact that he hadn’t prayed in a very long time. Since his sister’s murder to be exact. He pulled open the doors and felt his heart leap into his throat when he saw a bruised and bloody man lying inside on top of their stuff. The familiar dark hair and skin made his stomach clench painfully. “Jordan?”
“About time you showed up.” Jordan peered up at him from his swollen and bruised face. “I need a ride.”
* * *
July 2 – 7:09 p.m. – Washington, DC
* * *
“Jordan?” Natalia wondered if Sloan was hallucinating. But no, when she stepped closer, she saw Jordan sprawled in the back of the cargo van.
“Get him into the convertible,” Sloan ordered, helping Jordan out of the car. He propped him on his feet, but Jordan didn’t look too steady, swaying from side to side like a willow in the wind. “We have to get out of here.”
Since Jordan looked to be in dire need of medical assistance, she didn’t argue but slipped her arm around Jordan’s lean waist and grabbed onto the waistband of his jeans. “Lean on me.”
Jordan could barely walk, and he was a lot heavier than he looked. They’d made it halfway to the convertible when Sloan jogged past them, carrying everything from the van. He opened the convertible door, stashed the duffle, the computer case, and the bag of food in the back, then turned back to meet them.
Jordan’s knees buckled, and Natalia feared she would have dropped him if not for Sloan’s quick reaction, grabbing Jordan’s arm above the elbow and hauling him upright.
“Come on, buddy. We’re almost there.” With Sloan’s help, they managed to drag Jordan the rest of the way to the car they were about to steal. Strange how stealing a car didn’t bother her a bit now that Jordan’s life was at risk. Not when all their lives counted on transportation.
One look at the cramped back seat made Natalia grimace. “Put him up front. I’ll climb into the back.”
“No, I want him in the back, to keep him out of sight.” Sloan pushed and shoved until Jordan was lying along the back seat. Breathing heavily, he gestured to her. “Get in. We need to get out of here.”
Natalia climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door. As Sloan climbed in and started the car, she turned in her seat to get a better look at Jordan. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere.” His lips curved in a heartbreaking semblance of a smile. “You’re cute, Natalia. Really cute.” His eyes slid closed.
Sloan hit the gas, and she grabbed onto the back of his seat to maintain her balance. “He’s confused, Sloan. I think he must have a head injury.”
“He’s not confused.” Sloan scowled as he glanced at Jordan through his rearview mirror. “You are cute. But I think your nursing skills must be rusty. Can’t you tell when someone has had the snot beat out of him?”
Offended, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course, I can tell someone beat him up. Durachok, a monkey could tell he’s been beaten up. And that’s exactly why I think he may have a head injury. I happen to know how that feels, remember?”
Ignoring Sloan, she leaned over the front seat to examine Jordan more closely. “Any other injuries I need to know about? Bullet wounds? Knife wounds?”
“No.” Jordan’s eyelids opened a slit. “I think I have a couple of broken ribs though. My chest hurts like a son of a gun.”
She sucked in a quick breath. Broken ribs were extremely painful, and if his head ached anything like hers had, the poor man had to be in agony. She sat back down in her seat. “We need to make another stop at a drugstore.”
“Yeah, okay. Give me some time though. I want to get far out of DC.”
“Are we going back to the cabin?” Natalia almost hoped so, because despite what had happened there between her and Sloan, she found herself longing for the peace and quiet of the mountain cabin. So much for being a die-hard city girl.
“No. We have to risk a hotel.” Sloan didn’t look at her. Was he remembering the intimate embrace they’d shared at the cabin too? He slipped the cell phone from his belt loop and tapped it with a finger. “Jordan called me from his cell phone right after he was jumped. There’s no way to know for sure that someone didn’t trace the call. We have to assume the cabin has been compromised.”
“Speaking of which.” Natalia snatched the phone out of his fingers, then tossed it out the window, imitating his actions from the other day. “Cell phones have GPS tracking devices on them.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sloan drawled, shooting her a skeptical glance. “I’m pretty sure that phone was clean since Jordan bought it for me, but we’ll pick up another one. I gotta say, Natalia. You’re starting to think like me.”
Was she really? “Scary.”
“Tell me about it.” Sloan switched directions, turning onto New York Avenue heading east as if they were going back into town.
“What are you doing?” Natalia thought he’d wanted to get out of DC, a sentiment she wholeheartedly shared.
“We need to change directions a bit, to pick a new place to go. I’ve decided on Baltimore.”
She couldn’t exactly follow his logic, but at least Baltimore wasn’t too far. “What about the drugstore?”
He shook his head. “Not now. We’ll wait until we hit the city. Once we reach Baltimore, we’ll stop at a drugstore and then find a cheap hotel to spend the night.”
* * *
July 2 – 7:58 p.m. – Moscow, Russia
* * *
“Is everything in place?”
“Yes. The pipeline will blow in the next few minutes while the rest of Moscow sleeps.”
“Good. And the American will be found guilty?”
“Yes. We have arranged for him to be discovered with traces of explosives in his hotel room. His guilt will not be in question.”
“Excellent. I’ll wait to hear the news of the bombing before sending the money.”
There was a heavy silence. “Fine. But if you don’t, I’ll make sure the finger of guilt points directly to you instead of to the American.”
Rage, hot and white, slashed deep. How dare he threaten to expose the truth? He didn’t possess the brains to be in charge of this scheme.
“You’ll get the money when the deed is done to my satisfaction and not before.” Setting down the phone without throwing it against the wall was a major accomplishment.
Everything was unfolding according to the grand plan. The Kazakhstan-China oil pipeline would be destroyed, and the crime would be blamed on the Americans. As would the murder of Korolev. The taste of power and control was sweet.
Success was within reach. Nothing could stop them now.
Except for the woman.
Natalia.
Chapter Sixteen
July 2 – 10:24 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
* * *
Natalia was acutely aware of Sloan watching her as she sat beside Jordan on the edge of one of the hotel room’s two double beds. She critically examined Jordan’s chest covered with an array of colorful bruises, especially along the right side of his rib cage. He winced when she gently palpated the area. Had a broken rib sliced the pleural cavity? She wished she had her stethoscope so she could listen for breath sounds.
Sloan paced, muttering under his breath. How irritating to be in tune to Sloan’s presence lurking behind her when she needed to concentrate on more important matters, like the state of Jordan’s physical health.
“What happened?” Sloan pelted Jordan with questions. “What did the guy want? Can you recognize him?”
Ignoring Sloan, she bent over to peer at Jordan’s eyes. At least his concussion appeared to be mild, his pupils reacted evenly and brisk. No other cranial nerve damage that she could see. Although the bruise over his one eye was swelling at an alarming rate.
“Well?” Sloan demanded irritably. “You must know something.”
Natalia rounded on him. “Poshi. Leave him alone. How am I supposed to do a complete physical assessment with your constant badgering?”
Sloan eyes narrowed. “I need to know what happened. We have to figure out what’s going on.”
“At Jordan’s expense?” She curled her fingers into fists, trying to control her temper. “Give me at least ten minutes to examine him.”
Jordan groaned and shifted on the bed. Grateful for the excuse, she turned back to her patient. “I can bind your ribs, which should help stabilize them. You’ll need an ice pack for your eye. And I can give you over-the-counter pain medicine.” When they’d stopped at the drugstore, she’d insisted Sloan purchase more acetaminophen and ibuprofen. She hoped they’d take the edge off his pain long enough for him to get some sleep. She picked up the Ace wrap.
“Let’s get it over with, then,” Jordan said in a resigned tone.
He groaned again when she helped him upright. Swaying slightly, he sat at the edge of the bed while she wrapped his ribs with an extra-wide elastic wrap. She had to practically hug Jordan in order to get the bandage all the way around his torso.
“I’m taking a shower.” Sloan disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door rather loudly behind him.
“Thank heavens,” she muttered as she wrapped Jordan’s chest. Sloan’s dire expression and incessant questions were driving her crazy.
“He doesn’t like the way you’re caring for me. He’s protective of you.”
She raised a brow at Jordan’s observation. “No. It’s you he’s worried about. He went nuts when we lost contact with you.” The way he’d kissed her had likely been an attempt to forget his friend’s dire condition. “I get the feeling he doesn’t have much confidence in my nursing ability.”
“He hasn’t cared about a woman for a long time. Two years.” Jordan’s eyes were focused on some spot over her head as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Since Shari died.”
After smoothing one end of the elastic wrap over his chest, she unwrapped another roll. She remembered the picture of Jordan with the brunette woman in Sloan’s living room. “Shari was your wife.”
“My wife. His sister.” Jordan’s tone was flat. “Sloan took her death very hard. He feels responsible even though he isn’t. The past two years has been difficult for him.”
“For both of you, I imagine.” Strange how Jordan seemed to be concerned about his partner when he could barely sit upright under his own power. Why did he act as if something romantic was going on between her and Sloan? She hadn’t given Jordan any reason to think she was interested in Sloan on a personal level. Or was her awareness of him more obvious than she realized? She hoped not. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmured, placing the second elastic wrap around his chest.
“Thank you.”
She wanted to ask more questions, about Sloan, about how Shari died, and about Jordan himself, but the fatigue etched in his face made her swallow her curiosity.
The poor guy needed sleep. “Here.” She dropped four pills into the palm of his hand and gave him a glass of water. “Take these, they’ll help you rest.”
Surprisingly, he did as she asked, downing the medicine and handing the glass back. He groaned as he lay down against the pillows.
She covered him with the light blanket, then doused the light. She left the room long enough to fetch some ice from the machine down the hall. She made a cold compress and then placed it on Jordan’s forehead. The lamp on the other side of the room was still on, and she stared at the second bed wondering where Sloan planned to sleep.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the bathroom door opened and Sloan emerged, looking more attractive than she cared to admit, with his hair damp from his shower and his T-shirt clinging to every contoured muscle. Her pulse leaped erratically in her chest, a sensation she tried to ignore.
Sloan glanced over at Jordan, noticing he appeared to be asleep. He didn’t try to wake him but turned back to where she stood awkwardly between the beds.
“You can rest in the second bed,” he said as if reading her mind. “I’m going to hook up the computer to see what I can find out about Michael Cummings.”
According to Aunt Lara, Michael Cummings was the FBI agent Uncle Alek was working with during his trips back to Russia. Her interest piqued. She’d like to know more about the man herself. “I’d like to help.”
