Compromised (10 page)

I
'm having a bit of a problem.” Simon's voice rumbled through her dreamless sleep and roused her.

She started when she realized that they had both slept in exactly the same position as they'd finished having sex in. Exactly the same. “What's the problem?” she teased, knowing precisely what his problem was.

“I'm…stiff?” he offered.

She laughed and squeezed her muscles around a fast-hardening dick.

“Jesus, thank God you're awake. I woke up like this, and I didn't feel like I could move in case…” He groaned as she shifted her hips.

“In case it felt like you were humping an unconscious woman?”

“I wasn't going to put it exactly like that, but that's the gist of it, yes.”

“Thank God I
am
awake, then,” she said, wriggling beneath him and stroking the bottoms of her feet along his legs.

“Come here.” In one move he was kneeling between her legs and hauling her up onto his lap without breaking contact.

She half gasped at the depth of him within her and half laughed at how smoothly he'd done it. She centered her body around him and sat up, bracing her hands on his knees, leaning back a little.

He gripped her hips and pushed her down harder as he thrust upward. He moved her hands down to the bed and watched himself slide inside her. His eyes were so intense that she wondered if he was going to come at just the sight of where they were joined. But he looked back up at her and licked his thumb. He splayed his hand over her stomach, slipping his wet thumb onto her clit.

She jumped and tightened at the touch. Even her nipples hardened. He stroked her with every thrust.

Sadie found her place, the rush of feeling that was his, the tightening and fizzing of everything inside her as she came, gasping. He stopped to watch her as she did, naked desire or need on his face.

And then, as her breathing normalized, his expression changed. He was lost somewhere. He wasn't moving. She wanted him back.

She took his hand from between her legs and licked his thumb. His eyes flickered back to life as his gaze found hers. Then she slipped his forefinger into her mouth and sucked on it. Licked it with the tip of her tongue and then drew it all the way in. He watched avidly as he started moving inside her again. Then his eyes closed as his hands resumed pulling her hips down onto him. He thrust again and again and then threw his head back as he came, all his muscles tensing, making the most beautiful picture for her to hold in her memory.

He held her for a moment and then lifted her off him. He winced as he straightened his legs.

She laughed, hoping to retain some of the lightheartedness they'd had before. “You feeling your age, old man?”

He stretched, face half on the pillow. “You have no idea.” His words faded into a groan that was pain- rather than pleasure induced.

She was scared for him to go. Suddenly scared for what that meant. She was lying to him. Her very presence here was a lie. There was nothing, except her body, that wasn't a lie. As soon as he walked out of her door, they would be back to where they'd been this morning.

She let him rest there for a minute and then reached for her bedside table. She opened the drawer and took out some Greek massage oil. Having Simon in her bed felt normal, back when her life was normal. When he'd been on missions, he'd often come back with aches and pains and sore muscles. She'd always tried to welcome him home with a massage.

She climbed on top of him and poured oil between her hands. Softly she smoothed it down his back until she reached his butt cheeks. Then she dug in and massaged every muscle that used to hurt him. Every place that he used to try to stretch out when he thought she wasn't looking.

He grunted into his pillow, and the sound made her smile. She worked on his back for a while, letting her mind wander to some happier moments they'd spent together. Including the hours just spent behind closed doors, leaving the rest of the world outside. No past, no jobs—nothing except them. She'd even managed to let go of her anger about how he'd picked her up.

She continued to massage, knowing that as soon as she stopped, there wouldn't be more sex like there used to be, but they would have to get up and he'd have to leave.

She knew she'd have to sanitize her apartment now that he had suspicions about her. Not one thing could remain in her apartment that would suggest that she worked for the CIA. She had no doubt that when he'd had time to think about it some more, he'd remember the thousand euros he'd given back to her and for which buying shoes wasn't really a good enough excuse. He'd return and go through her apartment methodically until he found something incriminating.

Half of her wished that she could tell him. Just even for the courtesy that they were in the same city and working for the same side. But that again was a big hesitation. Why was he here, and why hadn't his chain of command alerted their office that they had operatives here?

She looked at the clock.
Shit
. It was nearly three. She slapped his butt. “Come on, old man. I've played hooky long enough. I'll be lucky to still have a job when I get back.”

He rolled over. “I need a shower,” he said, sitting up and nodding toward the bathroom.

She picked up his pants and threw them at him. “You can shower at your place, mister.” She thought fast. “I get about thirty centiliters of hot water with decent pressure. You are not taking that away from me.” She smiled and wrapped a robe around herself as he put on his clothes. “Here.” She handed a small bottle of water to him as he was slipping on his shoes. “Don't dehydrate.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said as he opened the front door. His voice was serious. “Don't leave town or anything.”

She bristled. The door was open; the vacuum of forgetfulness was punctured. “If you had any right to tell me what to do, I'd remind you that I live here. I have a job here. I'm not going anywhere. Now get!” She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes—hell, she could tell it barely reached her mouth.

The door shut behind him, and she got moving. She smoothed down the comforter and put a big laptop bag on it. She slid her secure PC in it and took the magazine out of the handgun her brother had left her. She wrapped both pieces in a towel and slid them into the bag.

Then she hesitated. She'd been pretty clean when she'd taken this apartment. She deliberately kept it to one room that doubled as a bedroom and living area, a kitchen and a bathroom. The smaller the living area, the fewer places to forget things in situations like the one she was in now, and the easier it would be to pack up necessities if her cover was blown, or worse.

And that reminded her. She had a go bag. Something she could grab and run with. Passports, cash in multiple currencies, chargers for virtually any electrical device, some burner phones, some travel toiletries, and some hats, scarves, scissors, and two colors of hair dye. If Simon found it, he would know for sure. Shit. That meant she wouldn't have anything here for emergencies.

Damn that man. She couldn't walk to work with a laptop bag and a backpack—it would either confirm his suspicions, should he be watching her, or make him think that she was, in fact, leaving town. She redistributed it all in her laptop bag and her purse, and sighed. It made her feel a little less safe at home without her emergency kit there.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, she headed out for the office to dump the stuff. She could sense him, or someone, following her as soon as she left her apartment building. Whoever it was, they were good. She snaked around the streets without a care in the world, walking fast, ambling and window shopping, trying to get a bead on her surveillant's face. She couldn't; he was very careful. Pretty much all she could ascertain was that he was actually male and that it wasn't Simon.

So he wasn't alone here. His team must be here too, and despite how they had just spent the afternoon, he still suspected her of something. She'd considered for a moment that Stratigos's men might be following her, but she didn't think they would be that skilled. The man following her definitely had stellar tradecraft.

Ambling to a corner and then, as soon as she was out of sight, running around the next one gave her time to hit the alleyway behind her office and sneak in the back way before her tail could catch up. There were throngs of tourists around, so at least he would think that he'd just lost her and not that she herself was using
her
tradecraft.

She ran up the back stairs to her office, dumped her bags at her desk, and slumped into her chair, panting. Safe.

But she really needed to work out more.

When Garrett returned to the hotel, he looked pissed and hot. Things that inexplicably made Simon happy. “What did you discover?” he asked as Garrett threw himself into the other armchair.

“Are you sure this isn't some wild-goose chase, mate? I mean, she's just a girl who's chosen the wrong guy to get involved with. She might be useful as an asset if you actually find out that old anarchist bastard is up to something, but apart from that…” He looked at Simon expectantly.

Could Simon have been wrong about her? That afternoon he'd forgotten everything that had been coursing through his mind all week, distracted by a Sadie he barely recognized. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face.

“Oh Jesus, not you too. The last Yank I was here with got his knickers in a wad over some girl too. Does your military training come with a course at the romance school? You can't mix work and women.” He paused, shaking his head and looking out of the window. “Okay, tell me about it. Don't leave out any details. Especially the naked details.” He leaned forward, virtually rubbing his hands together.

It was only fair to be honest with him, since they were working together. “She's my ex-fiancée. We broke up last year, and I haven't seen her since. Until here. She quit her job and moved here, it seems.” He shrugged.

“Most women just cut their hair,” Garrett said.

“She did that too.” Simon sank back in the chair and looked at the ceiling. “I could have sworn she was doing something she shouldn't be. Hanging out with people she shouldn't. And I beat up her boyfriend this morning, and when I returned to the scene of the crime, there was stuff left there, like evidence that had nothing to do with me.”

“Hold it, hold it. You beat up her boyfriend this morning, and this afternoon you had me follow her? I'm not fucking here to help you with your domestic problems. I sweated my arse off waiting for her to leave her apartment. You know it's over a hundred fucking degrees outside, don't you? Jesus.” He shook his head. “This
is
a circus Barnum is running here. You know I'm putting this afternoon's duties in my report, right?”

Simon couldn't even be bothered to object. “Sure, whatever. I had a good reason to suspect…”

Garrett leaned in. “I think you're doing one of two things. You're either subconsciously looking for a reason to keep close to her or finding a reason to keep away from her. When you figure it out, we'll all be happier. So figure it out.”

Simon got up and looked out of the window at the masses of people in front of the Greek parliament building.

“So what's the plan for saving Stamov? Do we have any of the necessary equipment?” Garrett asked.

Goddamn him.
Simon hadn't even put more than a cursory thought into Barnum's instructions to develop a plan to lift the finance minister.

“I don't have one yet, at least not one that holds water. There are just too many variables. If there are ten men trying to kidnap him, one of us on watch isn't going to be able to do much. It's a logistics issue more than anything else.”

“I can get weapons. I mean, I have weapons. But I can get pretty much anything we might need as far as hardware goes. And last summer I shagged a lovely Greek lady cop. She could be useful. Her dad's fairly high up, so she gets pretty much anything she wants. It's how things work here.”

“Are you sure she's still talking to you? I mean, have you spoken to her since you ‘shagged' her?” Simon couldn't honestly believe anyone still talked to Garrett voluntarily.

“I don't need to. She knew what we were about. I'm always clear—no entanglements and no phone numbers. Except I had hers before we…well, you know what I mean.” He looked at his phone. “Yup.” He flashed the screen to Simon. All he saw was a blur of flesh and some very red lips. “I've still got it.”

“Was that a naked photo of her?”

“Yeah.” Garrett smiled, seemingly lost in a memory. Then he looked up at Simon. “It's not what you think. She insisted I take it to remember her by.”

He didn't want to give Garrett an inch, but that kind of cop sounded exactly like the kind of rule-breaking person they could use on side. “Why don't you make contact with her? Just in case.”

Garrett frowned. “That's not how you do it. You don't give them advance notice so they have time to remember that they hate you. You have to spring your presence on them, overwhelm them. Bloody hell, it's no wonder you've been having issues with your long-lost beloved.”

Simon wanted to punch the shit-eating grin off Garrett's face, but instead he threw a sofa cushion at him. “I'm just amazed you're still alive, especially if you go around hitting and quitting.”

“One of my many fine talents.” He shrugged. “So do you want me to put my sources on notice?”

“Sure, I guess so. I have zero idea what we'd need, though. We're going to have to figure out exactly where he could be snatched from and how.”

“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” Garrett said.

“We just plan it like we were kidnapping him ourselves.”