One Dark Wish, page 24
He sat on the window seat, one leg up, and watched the rain puddle around the courtyard. “Remiel gave me an out, if I help you solve the cipher.”
“When you met in the alley?” She sat in front of him. Her rising breasts betrayed her shallow breathing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
She touched his knee and scooted until she sat between his legs. Her hand rested on his chest. “Everything we do matters.”
He picked up her hand and kissed the palm. She made a fist, as if saving the kiss for later. “Remiel said that if I help you, he’ll protect Jack in prison.”
She tilted her head. “Can Remiel do that?”
“I wasn’t sure—” Nate shook his head. “But now that I know for sure that Remiel was responsible for taking down two A-teams, I think it’s possible.”
“How do you know for sure what he did?”
“Tonight, with Remiel, I saw Fletcher Ames, lead torturer in Remiel’s POW camp.”
She scrambled off to pace the room, arms flying. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Remiel’s promises are bullshit.” Nate stood and took her shoulders to keep her still. “Remiel would never help me. He’s a psychopathic liar who kept me and my men in that POW camp for years. If Kells and the rest of the unit hadn’t rescued us, we’d still be there.” Nate moved his hands across her collarbone to caress her smooth neck. “The whole thing is a ploy to get me to help you.”
She gripped his wrists and whispered, “Or maybe it’s a one-upmanship ploy against the Prince. Remember, if we’re the pawns, then the real battle is between the Prince and Remiel and Kells. That means there’s a good chance Remiel will keep his word and protect Jack for no other reason than to strike at the Prince. But only if we solve the cipher.”
Nate chewed the inside of his cheek. What if she was right? She might not know how to work on a team, but she had a talent for assessing situations. He nodded to the colorful notes, journals, and pens on the floor. “Do you have a plan?”
“The beginnings of a plan.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, and he wanted nothing more than to take her to bed. To bury all of his pain and stress and worry inside her. To make this all go away.
He sighed. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“You’re going to be furious.” She picked up her papers and stacked them on the couch. “I started my plan earlier this evening. When we were at the hotel, after we saw Rebecca’s diary, you went to the bathroom, and I asked Miss Nell to do something for me. And she did.”
Oh. Hell. No. “Tell me you didn’t.”
She picked up the ledger and put it in her straw bag. “I gave Miss Nell my report and asked her to mail it to the granting agency before midnight. It’s on its way.”
He paced the room. Since the area was small and he was large, he turned every eight steps. He flexed his hands, and his chest heaved in and out. Oh, he was angry. She’d lied to him, done what she wanted, Nate and the rest of his men be damned. Not to mention putting her own life in danger. He watched her pick up note cards and pens. His stubborn, willful historian had disobeyed his orders. “When were you going to tell me this?”
She cleared her throat. “At the club. But then you met Remiel…” She sat on the couch and grasped her knees. “I never had the chance. But it’s okay.”
“How is any of this okay?” He stopped in front of her, hands on hips. He stared at her hands but wouldn’t meet her gaze. He didn’t want her to see how betrayed he felt. “Why would you do that knowing how dangerous it was? What do you not understand about Fianna warriors? They’re straight-up killers, Sarah. They told you not to.”
“No, they told me to stop my research.” She stood to face him. “They didn’t tell me specifically not to apply for the grant to study the diary. But it’s part of my plan. If we can go to Remiel, tell him I need time to win that grant money before solving the cipher—”
“No.” Nate started pacing again. “We’re not going to Remiel. We’re not asking for more time. Even if we knew how to find him, he’d never agree to it.”
“How do you know?”
He hit the wall with his fist, and she flinched. His hand left an indentation in the drywall, and now his knuckles ached. “Because I spent years being tortured in his fucking POW camp. Remiel does not negotiate.”
“Then we’ll go with my second plan.”
Nate shook out his hand and looked up. “Heaven have mercy.”
“We don’t need mercy.” She spoke with such matter-of-factness that he almost believed her. “We need luck. We’re going to go to the auction and steal my diary.”
He threw himself in the armchair. “The one that’s surrounded by guards and alarms?” He snorted. “With U.S. senators in attendance? That’s a great plan.”
“Sarcasm noted.” She picked up her colored pens and added them to her bag. “The diary is my best clue to solving the cipher.”
“I thought it was unreadable. Hence applying for the grant?”
“It was unreadable because I didn’t want to touch it without restoring it. I didn’t have the money or equipment or proper conditions to study it.” She threw a small journal into her bag. “Now I’m going to tear those diary pages apart and hope we can find clues to help us.”
This idea was insane, and they were on a course destined for epic failure. By attempting to solve the cipher, they were putting themselves in the middle of a war between the Prince, Remiel, and possibly Kells. No way was this going to end well.
“Sarah—” A noise at the front door stopped him mid-thought. It was still dark outside and at least an hour before sunup.
Sarah whispered, “What’s that?”
Someone jiggled the handle. “Wait here.” He went into the bedroom to get the gun, and when he came out he found Sarah near the front door holding an envelope.
“Someone shoved this beneath the door.”
He went to the door’s security window and didn’t see anything. He moved to the window seat overlooking the courtyard. Sarah came up behind him. Her scent made it difficult to focus, but he kept his attention on the area below. A figure passed the fountain and headed for the alley. He was only in view for a moment, but it was enough for Nate to recognize him.
“It’s the hoodie guy,” she said into his shoulder.
He turned to her, keeping his face hard and his voice low. “Next time I tell you to stay put, you stay.”
She held the envelope to her chest. He recognized the hurt in her eyes, but he didn’t have the luxury of caring.
“If we’re going to do this—”
“Go to the auction?” Her eyes widened. “Steal the diary? Solve the cipher?”
“Yes. If we do this, we do it my way. My rules. That means if I tell you to get down or run, you do it. No questions. Agreed?”
She waited a moment before pushing her hair over her shoulders, before licking her lips, before her scowl turned into a smile that made him wonder who was in charge. “One condition.”
He frowned and took the envelope from her. He wasn’t used to negotiating orders. And he sure as hell didn’t like it. “What?”
She kissed him on the cheek. “You drink another cup of tea.”
* * *
Sarah felt like twirling around the room. Instead she put more water on to boil. Despite Nate’s anger, she’d won. Nate was going to drink another cup of tea and help her solve the cipher. She hadn’t worked out all the details, but they were sure to follow. “What’s in the envelope?”
Nate took out a stack of eight-by-ten photos.
She looked over his shoulder. Her photos. “They’re my pictures from yesterday morning on the Isle of Grace.”
“The ones I had developed at that pharmacy?”
“Yes.” She sat in the armchair near the couch and sorted them on her lap. “Why did that hooded man drop them off?”
“I don’t know.” Nate turned the envelope over. “Look.”
Like the envelope the previous day, words were written on the flap.
JCH Room 424. 0530 Hours. 802419.
She took the envelope. There were no other identifying marks.
Nate was looking something up on her phone. “JCH means Joseph Candler Hospital.”
“That’s where my father is.”
Nate checked the clock. It was ten to five. “How quickly can you be ready?” He found a set of keys on a hook next to the front door.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Make it ten.” He kissed her hard and grabbed her hand to lead her to the bedroom. “We’re going to see your father.”
* * *
Etienne stood by the Brigid’s railing and stared into the dark water below. This quiet time between the moon’s sleep and the sun’s awakening was his favorite part of the day. Few people were out, and no one was around to judge.
A few hours ago he’d found Antoine, but the punk had been no help. Etienne had even offered serious bills, but Antoine had barely twitched. With no other choice, Etienne returned to the Brigid. He was hours past check-in, and it was time to face his cousin.
The Warden came up next to Etienne. “Remiel has made changes.”
Etienne closed his eyes. In Remiel’s world, changes were never good. “What changes?”
The Warden’s oversize black hood covered the eyes and kept the rest of the face in shadows. “Remiel is waiting.”
Etienne took a deep breath and went below. Remiel sat at his desk studying a map and eating strawberries. Fletcher Ames lay on the floor, mouth duct-taped and hands cuffed to a ring mounted to the wall. His eyes were closed, and his body twitched. It was hard to tell if he was asleep, in pain, or both.
Two men sat in the chairs flanking the desk. The taller, wider man wore all black and had a gun strapped to his chest. His arms and fingers were inked with random designs, and teardrops were tattooed below both eyes. Another merc. Awesome.
It wasn’t until the second man in a tracksuit shifted that Etienne knew he was fucked. Antoine clasped his hands behind his neck as if he belonged in Remiel’s inner circle. As if he was one of the fucking family.
Remiel raised his head. His blue, dead eyes offered no clue as to his mood. “You’re late.”
“I know.” Etienne wasn’t about to apologize in front of Antoine.
“What happened with Leroy?”
“He didn’t show.” It was the truth, after all.
The unknown man laughed, and Etienne clasped the handle of the knife he kept strapped to his belt. Didn’t this guy know the help kept quiet?
“I told you,” Antoine spoke in a sniveling, suck-up voice. “Etienne lost it.”
“Is it true, Cousin?” Remiel said. “Did you lose your encrypted cell phone? The one thing the Prince, not to mention Kells Torridan, could use to find me?”
Since they both knew the truth, Etienne answered, “Yes, sir.”
“You’ve no idea where you lost it? Or who could’ve taken it?”
“No, sir. I’ve looked everywhere.” Etienne fought the panic in his voice. “I need time—”
“No.” Remiel came over to clasp Etienne’s shoulder. “There’s a tracker on the phone. I know where it is.”
Thank you, God. “I’m sorry, Coz. It won’t happen again.” Etienne blinked a few times as relief rushed through him. “Where is it?”
Remiel pushed on Etienne’s shoulder until his knees hit the wood floor. “Walker has it.”
Etienne stopped breathing until it felt like his lungs were going to explode.
The mercenary bent down in front of Etienne. The monster truck of a man stank like cabbage. His eyes showed no other emotion than barely controlled violence.
“This is Igor.” Remiel smiled as if pleased with a pet. “He’s one of Leroy’s men.”
A Russian? Etienne closed his eyes.
Remiel whispered in Etienne’s ear, “Igor will be my head of security until our business with the Russians is done.”
Igor had taken Etienne’s job? He swallowed before opening his eyes and croaking out, “I can find my phone. I can handle—”
“You can’t handle shit,” Antoine said.
“Fuck you.” Who the hell was Antoine to be passing judgment on anyone?
“No,” Remiel said in a measured, careful voice as he went back to his desk and put on his reading glasses. “Antoine is correct. It’s been a stressful few weeks, and we’ve lost a lot of men, paid as well as family members. You, Etienne, need time away. Time to remember why the stakes are so high.” Remiel nodded to Igor, who grabbed Etienne’s arm and forced him up. “Before I allow you to kill Walker, you need time in the box.”
“No!” Etienne fought to break free, but Igor’s grip threatened to snap Etienne’s arm. “Cousin. Please. I promise—”
“It’s for the best.” Remiel nodded at Fletcher still on the floor. “I can’t allow any more mistakes. Not now that I’ve come this far.” Remiel nodded to Igor. “Take Etienne away.”
“Cousin!” Etienne screamed until his voice was hoarse. “Please! No!” He fought Igor by kicking and dragging his heels, but the Russian was far stronger and forced Etienne up the stairs.
Once above, Igor threw Etienne onto the deck, and he hit his nose. Pain drove into his head, and blood tracked down his face. Igor laughed and kicked Etienne in the ribs. Agony ripped through him, and he curled into a ball. If Igor wanted him, Igor would have to carry him.
Igor kicked him again, and Etienne moved toward the edge of the yacht. Every breath was like driving knives into his face and ribs, and he rolled until he could almost see the water below.
Rain started, and he raised his head. It was still dark, and he’d have even more cover if the clouds hung around. If he did this, he’d be on the run from his cousin forever.
Was the box that bad that he’d risk spending the rest of his life in hiding? Hell, yes.
Igor stomped over, and Etienne pretended to be knocked out. He was not going into the box. He found the knife at his waist and stopped breathing because things hurt less that way. Igor lowered himself on one knee. When he rolled Etienne over, Etienne attempted to drive the knife into Igor’s neck. Except Etienne missed and hit Igor’s arm instead.
Igor grunted and backhanded Etienne. His head hit the metal handrail, and everything blurred. As he used the railing to pull himself up, Igor advanced, hands fisted.
Etienne swung his legs over the rail and dropped. The cold water stripped the breath from his lungs, and his muscles numbed. But he forced himself to swim. He’d made the choice to leave, and he’d be hunted forever. Shore lights shone ahead. He had one choice left. To kill Walker and save his own ass, he needed leverage. He needed that historian.
Chapter 30
Sarah sat in the Sentient Bean coffee shop across the street from the hospital and cradled her coffee mug. She was curled up in a green velvet chair while Nate waited for the rest of their order. He wore black combat pants, combat boots, and his jacket to cover his weapon. All she’d had was a pair of jeans, Keds, and a pink sweater set. Not quite sneaking into hospital or stealing million-dollar manuscript clothes. Maybe she should’ve been more specific with Samantha. On the other hand, Sarah had had no way of knowing how her life would change from yesterday to today. At least the shop’s aroma of mocha, with undertone of mildew, eased the bitter taste of worry.
Nate had driven them here and hidden the Juliet’s Lily truck a block away, near a construction zone. She’d forgotten he shouldn’t be driving until they’d arrived. She’d said something, but he’d dismissed her worries.
Nate returned with a plate of two croissants, a piece of strawberry pie, and some napkins. “It’s early. They don’t have much available.” He placed everything on the table in front of her.
The buttery croissants smelled heavenly, and the piece of strawberry pie looked delicious. Since leaving the apartment, he’d been polite yet distant. She wasn’t sure whether to blame post-sex awkwardness, his driving when he knew he shouldn’t have been, or his focus on their next task. Considering what she knew about men like her father, she figured the latter. She hoped for the latter. She preferred the latter. “Thanks.”
The female barista with long blond hair came over with two takeaway coffee cups and two forks and placed them on the table.
“Here you are.” She spoke directly to Nate, her attention on his upper arms. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“No,” Sarah said more sharply than she’d meant to. Well, not really.
Nate put a hand on Sarah’s shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you for the coffee, ma’am.”
Seriously, did Nate have to be polite to everyone?
When the woman returned to the counter, Sarah took another sip of her coffee and wiped her lips with a napkin. “Why do you need two takeaway cups?”
Nate sat on the edge of the chair across from her, elbows on forearms, hands clasped.
She stiffened. She knew male nonverbal lecture clues well.
“I want to chat up the security guard. I need intel on the hospital’s layout.” He reached out to palm her cheek. “I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, eat everything.”
“There are two croissants. And a piece of pie.”
He kissed her nose. “I’m sure you can finish them by the time I return. You must be hungry.” He picked up the coffee and left the shop.
Sighing deeply, she drank her coffee, and a few minutes later had eaten the two croissants and was staring at the pie. Scanning the shop, she noticed the newsstand with the paper’s headline: RUSSIA BLAMES U.S. FOR STOLEN ARMS.
Sarah turned toward the window and saw Nate near the emergency entrance, talking to someone.
