Compromised (14 page)

W
hen Simon awoke, he took a moment to watch Sadie sleep. Her skin reflected the small amount of light that the window allowed in, making her look as if she were a sleeping angel. He smiled. One with a filthy mind.

He could tell she was the same Sadie he'd asked to marry him, but in so many respects she was totally different. Changed in a way that sometimes people do within a relationship, he supposed. Maybe if they'd stayed together, she would have changed in exactly the same way.

Rolling on his back and staring at the ceiling, he wondered if he should tell her that he wanted her back in his life. Wondered if it was too big of an ask. She'd have to leave Greece, settle somewhere, and be prepared for at least another three to five years of him rarely being around much. And that seemed to be the key problem. Question was, did he love Sadie as much as he loved his job? Would he give up Delta Force for her? He'd have to make that decision before he broached the subject of them getting back together.

He wanted to wake her, to talk to her, to do unspeakable things to her. But he knew that as soon as she was awake, sober, she would remember that her friend was dead. She needed to sleep as long as she could.

His phone bleeped. Dammit. He reached for it before it could ring again and disturb her.

Too late. She rolled onto her back and stretched. Her eyes opened and her gaze rested on him. She smiled and closed her eyes again, and then they shot open a second before she sat upright.

She remembered.

He glanced at his phone. It was Garrett with a 911 text message. He needed to go. But leaving Sadie was torture.

She put her face into her hands. “Oh God. It wasn't a dream, was it? Sebastian died, didn't he?”

He stroked her back. “I'm afraid so. And as much as I want to stay and talk to you, I really have to go. I've been here too—” Pain pierced his heart as he realized that he was doing what he'd always done.

She waved her hand. “It's okay. I understand.”

He knew she did. But he also knew that they'd had too many moments like this in the year or so they'd been together. Him having to leave for one operational crisis or another, whether or not she was hurt, happy, sad, or just tired. He felt like he'd already missed years of sharing in her emotions. In that minute, he realized that he could leave CAG for her. Would. There were other people who could do his job, but only he could love Sadie as much as he did.

He pulled on his pants and sat next to her on the bed. “I'll come back tonight and we can have dinner and talk about everything that's worrying you right now, okay?” He held her hand and looked for her acquiescence. He wanted to say “and make plans,” but he didn't. He didn't have time to explain that part to her now. She nodded and squeezed his hand, not meeting his eyes.

He donned his T-shirt, grabbed his phone again, and kissed her on top of her head, holding his lips there for a second. “Sorry,” he said again, against her hair.

“Sure,” she said, sounding distant.

Shit. He'd have some making up to do tonight. And the rest of all the nights ever.

He couldn't help but grin as he shut the door behind him. Being absolutely sure about his future was rare, and he intended to enjoy every second of it.

It took him barely ten minutes to run back to the hotel. Even in the heat of the early morning, he felt lighter and freer than usual. It was going to be a great day. Whatever happened, if he ended his day with Sadie, it was going to be a great day.

“What's up?” he said as he closed the hotel room door behind him. He didn't bother registering surprise that Garrett was in his room again. Clearly the term “personal space” didn't translate into the Queen's English.

He was looking at the room service menu. “Which should I have—the sausages or the yogurt-and-honey thing?”

“Please tell me that wasn't your nine-one-one emergency.” He threw his phone on the bed and went to the bathroom to switch on the shower.

“Well, sometimes it's difficult to know how best to set up your day for success, you know, mate?”

Simon's happy, great-day feeling started to fray around the edges. He poked his head out from the bathroom. “And I say again: Please tell me your breakfast choices weren't the subject of your nine-one-one text.” So help him, he would flush that bastard's head down the toilet if it was.

He put the menu down. “Nope, but I'm betting that in a few minutes, you'll prefer my breakfast to be your emergency. Take a look at that.” He threw his phone to Simon, who caught it one-handed, just preventing it from ending up in the bottom of the shower.

“What am I looking at?” he asked as he swiped into the iPhone.

“Last night's photos,” Garrett replied, holding his hand over the mouthpiece of the room phone. “One bottle of champagne—” He looked at Simon and raised his eyebrows in question. Then shrugged. “Two glasses. Orange juice, sausages, eggs, and your yogurt-and-honey thing too. Yup, charge it to the room.”

“That's coming out of your fee, you know,” Simon said, leaning against the frame of the door to the bathroom.

“No, it won't. It will miraculously be wiped from your mind in five, four, three—”

“Oh shit.
Shit
.” Simon felt the lightheartedness of his morning sink into a hot tar pit of hell as he viewed the pics on Garrett's phone.

“And there you have it. Yes, mate. Shit indeed.”

He skimmed through the photos of the Russian finance minister leaving the hotel where he visited mistress number two, not with the mistress, but with the old man he'd seen with Sadie at the warehouse. Her boyfriend's uncle, allegedly. Hell, he hadn't even gotten to the bottom of that either. Did she really consider that boy as her boyfriend? She couldn't, could she? There was no way the Sadie he knew would sleep with two men concurrently. Doubt seeped into his brain and obliterated any remaining happiness he'd felt this morning. Thing is, he didn't know her now.

Getting his head back on the mission, he sat on the end of the bed and accepted a silently proffered cup of coffee. He continued to flip through the photos of the two men inside the hotel, talking. Then he came to a candid photo of a stunning woman with long, light blond hair, smiling at something beyond the camera, her hair blowing around her head in the breeze. He handed the phone back to Garrett. “Really?”

He looked at the photo and smiled. “Not what you think, mate.”

Simon didn't really care. “It looks from the photos that they didn't want to be linked together outside the hotel. I mean, they seemed to be chatting inside the hotel, but as soon as they exited they went in different directions and didn't acknowledge each other. Does that feel right?”

“That's my impression, yes. I followed him to the hotel, figured as it was his second stop of the day, I might be waiting for over an hour. So I got a drink at the bar and waited. Before I'd even finished my second drink, they came down together in the lift. I got a photo of the doors as they opened, because I was actually trying to get a photo of a woman at the other end of the bar.”

Simon rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Hey, if I hadn't, we wouldn't even have a clue that these two knew each other and may have been meeting each other all this time,” he protested.

“Whatever. So you think there was never a second mistress? I followed her in to the hotel on her first day in the country and watched her check in.”

“She was there. But she checked out the following day and flew home. At least the bellboy told me he put her in a taxi to the airport. I suspect he's been meeting this guy all along.”

“What's his name?” Garrett asked.

Simon pulled up a secure file on his PC. “Geronimo Anton. Also known as ‘Stratigos.' Responsible for car bombings, stabbings, and some firebombing in his youth. A known anarchist, in and out of prison. But obviously out now.”

“So why would Stamov be mixing it up with an anarchist? What could they possibly have to talk about?” Garrett asked.

“Could it be that he's heard about the abduction rumors and has enlisted Stratigos's help to protect him?” Simon said.

“I've been following him for most of the time that I haven't been drinking with him, and I haven't seen anyone on watch or anyone surveilling him except his own Russian bodyguards. So that probably isn't it.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Room service. He let the waiter set up, and Garrett tipped him well…on the check. More money added to Simon's room bill. He sighed, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much. He picked up a sausage and ate it with his fingers as he thought, resisting the urge to lick all the other sausages so that Garrett couldn't have any.

Except he had the distinct impression that not only would that absolutely not bother Garrett, but that Simon might even go up a few notches in his estimation. How did he get stuck with such an immature jerk?

Then he remembered what a good operator he'd seemed at the docks and mentally shrugged. They were just different.

“So what's your take?” he asked, seeing if Garrett's brain was hardwired the same as his.

“The girlfriend checked in and out within a day. That was planned and means that the frequent stops at the hotel were planned, probably when he was still in Russia. So he'd already arranged to meet Stratigos and figured out a way to cover up the meetings. Given Russia's, uh, shall we say, ‘assertiveness' in its dealings with other countries, I doubt they're putting together a surprise party for someone. Russia has long been offering to cover Greece's debt to the European Union in return for some latitude in building Russian military bases in the middle of Europe, and Stamov is the finance minister.”

Simon agreed. “But why is he negotiating with anarchists instead of the government?” Simon honestly didn't have an answer to that one, but Garrett did.

“In some respects, Greek governments are kind of like Italian ones. Elections and referendums are fairly common. It wouldn't actually surprise me at all to find out Russia was funding a Soviet-friendly opposition to the incumbent government,” he said.

“Why would Stamov have to meet him daily to agree to that?” Simon grabbed another sausage and finished it before he even really registered eating it. He wondered what Sadie was doing, and something pulled at his conscience. He should have stayed with her. Made sure she was okay.

“Guess I'm having the yogurt, then,” Garrett said, making no move to eat anything. “But yes, taking meetings is very old school. Hiding them, though, is definitely some kind of subterfuge. It's all possible, but it sounds like a long con to me. Nothing that needs to be settled before a G20 meeting, or even at a G20 meeting. The timing is just off.”

“You think it's about something that's going down now?”

“Stamov
is
involved in something going down now—his alleged abduction. What are the odds he's involved in two separate things? Could he be in on the kidnapping? Could it be a bait and switch?”

“God only knows. But our mission is to watch him and take him if it looks like he's about to be lifted,” Simon said. His role really wasn't strategic like this. Both he and, he assumed, Garrett were point-and-shoot operatives. The mission is given and they carry it out. This not knowing exactly what was happening was a little out of his comfort zone.

Garrett put his cup down. “And not for nothing, you know that counterabduction is close to impossible with just the two of us, especially when one of us is off mooning over some girl and not concentrating on the job.” He raised his eyebrows at Simon, no hint of sarcasm playing on his face.

Simon sighed. “I know. I know. But she's involved in this somehow. What would you do?”

“Me? If I were you, I'd get my excessively handsome partner-in-crime to occupy Stamov with wine, women, and song, while I go to my girl and make her tell me what the fuck is going on.” He smiled a shit-eating smile that didn't make it to his eyes, or most of his face, for that matter.

“Fuck.” Simon sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Let's finish our planning, and then I'll go speak to her this afternoon.” At least he could make sure she was okay after the death of her coworker. He clenched his fists. If only they could have spent time together without all the life-and-death stuff happening around them. Maybe then they would have had time to work it all out. Maybe then they'd already be married.

Maybe.

Sadie was at the airport, looking for the State Department courier who always took the midday flight to London and then went on to Paris before returning to his home base at the embassy in Rome.

She'd snagged the diplomatic pouch from the hook before Shaw had shut down the office, because she realized that Stephanie, the tech analyst in Paris, might be able to help her with the weird thumb drive she hadn't been able to figure out. The diplomatic pouches traveled daily between embassies and Washington, DC, as a part of an international agreement. No foreign government or customs or immigration could touch the diplomatic pouches when they were en route.

The courier walked in through the revolving doors, looking just like a regular tourist. She waved and he smiled and walked over.

“This is a happy coincidence,” he said, holding out his hand. “Or is it? I went to the office and it was locked up. Everything okay?” He blew a section of his floppy surfer-style hair out of his eyes. Oh, if she were ten years younger.

Her heart twisted as she thought about Sebastian. “A colleague died yesterday. He had a heart attack right there in the office. She could feel her chin tremble, and she tried to hide it from the courier as well as herself.

“That's terrible. I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” He put his small carry-on down and his brow furrowed. “How long will the office be closed?”