Smoke and Shadows (14 page)

“That son of a bitch,” Viktor snarled.

“This is bad. This is bad,” Marissa muttered over and over.

“Are you saying he’s planning to deploy chemical weapons on U.S. soil?” Viktor verified. “How is he even planning on bringing it in?”

“Watch your ports closely,” Jiro advised. “The lab uses a binary agent. They may import the components separately and assemble them here.”

Damn it
, Viktor thought. Forget the killing of agents. Try killing thousands of innocents.

*****

Derek had his hand around the neck of the whiskey bottle, lifted it to his mouth, and tossed it back. No matter how much he drank, he couldn’t get wasted enough to numb the festering pain in his chest. Was this what a broken heart felt like? He laughed mirthlessly. Derek Lockwood, 42, married less than two months, and looking at divorce soon. Well, fuck that. He would never give her a divorce. He might even take a page from Jack’s book and whisk her away until she realizes that there is no one else for her except him, damn it.

He tensed when he heard the keycard at the door. So his lying wife returns. He watched the door swing open as Sophie walked inside.

“Derek?” Sophie asked tentatively. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

She flipped on the lights in the kitchen and the hallway.
 

He didn’t answer her. He didn’t know what to say and wanted to lash out at her. How could she throw away everything they’d shared? He was so certain she loved him as much as he loved her. He was insanely in love with his wife.

She walked in further, dropped her purse and her gym bag on the sofa, and switched on the lamp in the living room, making him flinch at the sudden luminosity.

“Are you drunk?” There was accusation in her voice.

“How was your evening?” Derek ignored her question. He wanted to get this over with.

There it was. Guilt. Sophie averted her eyes and pretended to dig into her purse.

“It was fine. Beth says hi, by the way.”

Derek laughed without humor. Sophie’s eyes narrowed as she asked, “What’s so funny?”

“Am I laughing because something is funny?” Derek asked sarcastically. “No. I’m laughing because my wife is a lying b— is a liar.”
 

Her eyes became shifty, but he’d have to hand it to her, she still managed to look indignant. “What are you talking about, Derek? When have I lied to you?”

“Where were you really this evening, Sophie?” Derek asked softly.

“I told you, I was with Beth—”

“Stop lying!” Derek roared as he jumped to his feet and stalked toward her. Sophie started backing away, but he gripped her shoulders and got into her face. “I saw Beth at Rooster Bar. You—were—not—with—her. Tracked you down.” He gritted his teeth. “You were with some man in a Japanese restaurant. He touched your face and you let him.”

Sophie’s face paled.

“Why, Sophie?” Derek’s voice broke as he sank to his knees. He buried his face in her belly. “I love you, don’t you see? You’re breaking my fucking heart, Angel. Tell me what to do. Please. I can’t let you go.”

“Derek—” Sophie’s voice caught in a sob. She knelt in front of him. Her fingers stroked his hair and tears spilled from her eyes as her face crumpled in remorse. “Derek, you have me. All of me. I’m in love with you.” She heaved deeply. “Only you. God, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry I lied to you, but Viktor needed my help.”

Derek froze. A sense of foreboding quickly replacing the short-lived relief he felt. “What the fuck are you saying?”

Rising, he pulled Sophie to her feet. “Did Viktor drag you into his shit again?” Derek asked, fury ratcheting straight to his head.
 

“Um, you’d best talk to him. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable—”

Derek was already punching Viktor’s number.

His friend answered on the first ring.

“I guess your wife couldn’t keep her mouth shut,” Viktor said dryly.

“Fuck you, Viktor. Do you know what hell you put me through tonight?”

“Not sure I follow, Lockwood.”

“She told me she was meeting Beth Turner for drinks. I find out she isn’t and I locate her in a Japanese restaurant having dinner with some dickhead. Are you getting the picture now?”

“Ah, fuck.”

“What did you have her do?” Derek demanded.

“Ask her. I’d rather not talk about this over the phone.”

“This better be the last time you go behind my back and pull shit like this again, Viktor.”

“Can’t promise that.”

“Damn you. Go to hell!” He disconnected and threw the phone on the kitchen counter. It slid across the surface and clattered to the floor.

He glared at Sophie. “What did Viktor want?”

“He wanted me to arrange a meeting between Sensei Jiro, him, and Marissa Cole.”

“What does Viktor want with Matsuda?”

“I really have no idea, Derek. I’m just a go between.”

“I wish you’d told me about this sooner, Sophie,” Derek said, still angry, but surprisingly, the pain in his chest was gone. “Marissa Cole had two attempts on her life over the weekend. The car bomb last Sunday was her.”

“I saw that on the news. It was reported as an engine malfunction,” Sophie said, her eyes wide. “That was her?”

“Yes. From what I’ve gathered from the latest briefing, agents involved with two ops from eight years ago are being targeted.”

“So, you’re okay? They won’t come after you?” Sophie asked fearfully, stepping closer to him, her upturned face seeking reassurance.

 
“Don’t think I’m targeted, but I’m not taking any chances, especially with you,” Derek said. “I feel like killing Viktor for dragging you into this mess.”

“Sensei Jiro wanted to talk to him,” Sophie said. “So whatever they discussed must be important. Viktor has his reasons, Derek.”

“I thought my life was over today,” he whispered. “Why were you with that guy? And why did he touch your face—that way?”

His wife cringed.
 

“Sophie, you haven’t told me everything, have you?”

“There’s nothing to tell!”

Oh, yeah, my wife is defensive.
 

“Try me.” He continued to glare at her.

“That was David—a classmate. We went out a few times, but we’re just friends.”

“Why was he touching your face?”

“I don’t know. He was . . . um . . . feeling sweet?”

Oh, Angel, wrong answer
, Derek thought as an overwhelming sense of possessiveness and jealousy washed over him. When he got into this mood, he wanted nothing more than to fuck his mark into her. He was semi-erect by the time he gripped her waist and hauled her against him.

His mouth crashed down on hers. Sophie yelped in outrage and tried to push away. But his tongue ruthlessly pushed through her lips and duelled with her tongue. He delved deeper, tilting her back as far as he could. She tore her mouth away, “Derek, I can’t breathe—”

He shut her up again with his mouth. Her struggling only fanned his lust. He tightened an arm around her, his other hand lifted her skirt, fisted her underwear, and tore it off. She struck his shoulder. He growled and took her down to the floor. He buried his face in her neck, kissing her down the length of her jaw.

“Derek?” Her whisper brought him momentarily out of his haze of alcohol, lust, and jealousy.

He raised his head and looked into her eyes.

“Are you making love to me because you’re angry?”

“No, Sophie, I’m making love to you because you’re my wife, and there’s nothing more I would want to do than remind you of it.” His nostrils flared with righteous ownership.

His fingers sought her core and found her already wet and ready. He slipped a finger inside her and watched her eyes close in ecstasy.

“Let me remind you, Sophie.”

“Yes, Derek.” Her sweet surrender took him over the edge. His hunger turned primal. Replacing his hand with his mouth, he feasted on the addictive nectar flowing from her core. Groaning with satisfaction as he speared his tongue into her slick channel, knowing she was bucking her hips wildly because of him. After wringing every last tremor of her orgasm, he crawled up her body, lowered the zipper of his trousers, and freed his cock.

“Are you mine?” He trapped her wrists on either side of her head.
 

“Yes, Derek,” Sophie whispered.

“No one else gets to do this to you.” He buried himself inside her, canted his hips and shifted the angle of his thrust. “Understand me? No one.”

“Yes!” Sophie cried out.
Jesus, is she having another orgasm?
Her inner muscles gripped him. He wasn’t going to last. He jackhammered his hips, thrusting hard, desperate to mark every part of her.
 

“Fuck!” he roared at the same time Sophie screamed his name, both of them reaching their climax simultaneously as they spiralled into erotic oblivion.

*****

Stuart Kwon stood at the pier at the Port of Murmansk, located in the Murmansk oblast of Russia. It was the dead of winter, the waves of the Barents Sea crashed desolately against the hull of the Cassiopeia—the ship that would bring destruction to his enemies.

He watched his men load three shipping crates into the belly of the ship. Each crate was labelled as a chemical agent for petroleum refining, but mixed within its depths were the binary agents for his SK nerve gas. Yes, he had grown into his father’s egomaniacal proportions. To brand a death-dealing device with his own initials was the ultimate sign that he had crossed into the line of a sociopath. Daliyah knew what he was capable of, and kept that darkness at bay by absorbing the responsibility from him. But with her death, nothing could stop him from being a threat bigger than his father.

His poor nephew, Rafiq, was nothing like his mother. The boy was only consumed with revenge and had none of Daliyah’s cunning. It matters not; he serves his purpose well—a distraction for Viktor Baran and his cohorts, the CIA. Giving his nephew a bone to chew on would keep him out of Stuart’s own insidious plan to unleash destruction on Washington DC. If Rafiq managed to destroy AGS, the better. His plan would be easier to carry out without Baran breathing down his neck.

He would have loved to watch Baran take his last breath, knowing that everything he’d worked for was destroyed. But Stuart wasn’t sentimental. He loved Daliyah, but he had no problem having Rafiq plunge and twist the knife.

“Crates are loaded,” Owen Reed, his associate, informed him. Reed was an American citizen and had a solid front as an importer. This made it easier to smuggle the binary agents and canisters onto U.S. soil. He was a former Army Ranger—one of the best snipers— disenfranchised by the U.S. government, turned mercenary. He had worked for Stuart for the last six years.

“Excellent.” Stuart ignored the shiver of excitement that slithered through his body and chalked it up to the freezing temperatures at the pier. He adjusted the collar of his expensive wool coat and said, “Are you sure you can do this without Stan Morgan? Do I need to send another one of my men with you?”

“I’ll be fine without him,” Reed said with a trace of irritation in his voice. “I already have men in place on the other side.”

Stuart smiled inwardly. Nothing inspired a person to work harder than to imply doubt in his abilities. It was still unfortunate that their regular transporter, Morgan, refused to accept the job without knowing its contents. He’d become harder to engage lately and seemed to be sticking to more legitimate business. “Anything else you need from me?”
 

“Keep your nephew out of my way,” Reed said. “And make sure the money is there when I need it.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Stuart replied. “I shall talk to you in two weeks.”

Reed gave him a two-finger salute and headed up the gangway.

Stuart stared for a few more minutes at the Cassiopeia before turning around and slipping into the awaiting limousine.

CHAPTER NINE

Two weeks later

“Now, that’s a beautiful man,” Allison gushed at the collection of photographs spread out on Marissa’s table.

“If the megalomaniac, world-domination type bastard is your thing, have at it,” she mocked her analyst.
 

Stuart Kwon, son of the late international model Sarina and former NKUF leader Min Kwon, was a sculpture of perfection. Tall, lean, and outfitted in the latest fashion by Armani, Marissa had to admire the man’s fashion sense. He knew how to disguise his thirst for power and revenge by hiding behind a facade of urban chicness; dark thick hair, light olive skin, high-bridged nose, generous lips and clean-shaven. His dark brown eyes with an exotic Asian tilt only added to his appeal.

“I prefer him with a bit of stubble.” Allison picked one of Stuart’s pictures where he was in a tuxedo and had obviously grown into his five o’clock shadow. “Makes him more sinister and fits his profile.”

“Sounds like you like them dark, dangerous, and deadly,” Marissa added with a laugh.

“Don’t let Viktor hear you say that,” Allison teased.
 

Marissa shook her head and grinned. Though she and Viktor behaved professionally at AGS and at Langley, it had not escaped anyone’s attention that they were more than just working together. Viktor would text or call her at all hours of the day. If he couldn’t get to her, he would call Allison, and at one point, he even called Yeager. Exasperated, Marissa called him and told him to “get a life.” Viktor didn’t respond—immediately. He did make sure her ass turned a pretty shade of red when they got home that night. She felt her cheeks flush.

“You’re blushing.” Allison smirked. “Baran sure must be something if the mere mention of his name could incite such a reaction.”

“Where are we on the payoffs to the families involved in the Nasir ambush?” Marissa asked, switching back to business. “Have we found a link to Rafiq Shadid or Stuart Kwon?”

“That’s a dead end. The money transfers are too diluted and laundered. There is no direct link whatsoever, and the families are not talking.”

“What other updates do we have from Damascus?”

“We’ve got assets on the ground monitoring the conflict. There are concerns that an Al-Qaeda splinter group is infiltrating the rebels and disrupting Nasir’s efforts in unifying the opposition in a peaceful manner. Nevertheless, Nasir’s party is gaining a strong support.”