“He said you’d be safe,” Mario said.
“He also said he was a television consultant. His word hasn’t been entirely reliable. You said he was some sort of agent. Maybe he plans to have me watched for the rest of my life. I can’t live that way.”
At this, Mario made excuses to Iris and shuttled Rachel up the stoop of her apartment, his gaze darting from side to side to make sure they weren’t overheard. “He wouldn’t verify anything, but yeah, I think maybe he’s FBI or CIA. Something covert. Either way, you’ve got to let this go.”
Certain Mario knew more than he was letting on, Rachel decided to push. “I can’t, Mario. I won’t. I need answers. I deserve them, especially if my life is in danger.”
Mario’s lips pressed tightly together, a thin but pronounced line, not too different from the kind kids drew in the sand in the schoolyard.
“You’ll never find him,” he concluded.
“I could go back to the network where we first met, start asking questions. A
“That’s an invitation to unwanted attention.”
She bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet. “If someone comes looking who can lead me to Roman, then I win.”
“What if the people who tried to kill him get to you first?”
She hadn’t really thought the plan through, but Mario definitely had a point. Still, he didn’t have to know that she shared his concern. Not yet.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she claimed.
Mario cursed, first in good, old Brooklyn English, then threw in a few Italian words for good measure. “You’re pigheaded.”
“I like to think of myself as single-minded.”
“You’re reckless,” he added.
“That point has already been proved.”
He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her up to the entrance to her apartment complex. “Then you’ll need someone with a better plan.”
RACHEL NEVER IMAGINED that tracking down an undercover secret agent on the lam would prove her particular talent. Luckily, Mario was an ex-cop and an excellent partner in crime. He knew how to work the system, and despite his long and decorated devotion to the law, he’d been willing to bend a few New York statutes in order to get her to where she was now-in a dark, dingy apartment where just forty-eight hours ago, Roman had made his last known appearance in the city.
The process hadn’t been easy. First, Rachel had had to return to the network where she’d first met Roman to do some snooping. She’d kissed up to the top executive’s secretary and, as a result, now had Roman’s pager number in her possession. She wasn’t sure the number was still valid or even if it was the pager that Roman had used to receive the messages that had sent him running out on her every morning after lovemaking, but it was her best shot. She’d dialed the number-with a prophetic 911 at the end-and in the coded message, she’d left the address of the last place Mario had seen Roman.
Well, Mario had remembered the building. She’d had to guess on the rest. Luckily for her, all the other apartments were occupied and this one, from the looks of it, had government stash house written all over it. She was also quite fortunate that a fifty-dollar bill slipped to the super had gotten her inside. Clearly, if the secret agency that Roman was working for used this place, they weren’t anymore.
Comfort hadn’t been a consideration in the decor, but Rachel made do on the faded, dusty couch sitting dead center in the room. She waited just over two hours, finally dozing off with her cheek pressed against the arm and her legs folded safely beneath her. She woke to a light knock, but she didn’t rise. She waited. Seconds later, the locks surrendered to keys.
She should have been shocked to see him, surprised that he’d followed her breadcrumbs, but instead, relief washed over her the minute her eyes connected with Roman’s steely-blue gaze. The possibility that she’d be greeted by an austere government agent ordering her to keep her nose out of serious spy business had definitely occurred to her-and to Mario, who insisted on waiting at the curb. If he hadn’t heard from Rachel by sundown, he was coming up to get her.
But now she concerned herself only with Roman as he slid inside and locked the door behind him. His face held no emotion, except, perhaps, a tiny glimmer of sadness.
“You came,” she said, her voice deep and raspy after her unplanned nap. She sat up, stretched, cleared her throat.
“I shouldn’t have,” Roman replied.
“Then why did you?”
“Because you asked.”
Volume wasn’t needed in the enclosed space of the apartment. His words echoed off the bare walls. Roman then turned and revealed a panel near the door, then cursed when he found the compartment empty.
“What’s missing?”
“Jamming device. In case anyone is listening. This safe house isn’t used anymore. They released it yesterday.”
Rachel nodded. “That’s why I had no trouble getting in.”
“We can’t talk here.”
He held his hand out to her and Rachel’s fingers itched to touch his. But what price would she pay for feeling his warmth against her skin, even for an instant? She’d come here only to hear his explanation, to understand why he’d chosen her and what pawn’s part she played in this intriguing chess game. Because perhaps she’d played no role at all. Maybe she’d just been a woman he couldn’t resist. Maybe she’d just been a decoy. Or worse, a distraction.
She stood on her own and ignored his proffered hand.
“Where can we go?”
Without warning, he snatched her hand, which she immediately tried to yank away.
“Let go of me.”
“We need to get out of here quickly.”
She tugged harder as he turned to undo the locks. “Mario is waiting for me. He’ll call the police if he thinks for one minute that I’m in danger.”
“Mario knows I’m here.”
For a long, intense moment, he stared into her eyes.
“He trusts you?”
“I had him move his car to the alley around back, just in case. I’m sure he’ll take us somewhere we can talk, unheard.”
She stopped struggling. No way would Mario succumb to Roman’s charm. She seemed to be the only one who had trouble resisting that particular weapon. If Mario trusted Roman, she could, too. For the moment, at least.
They exited through a back door, cutting through a stinking alley, and after Roman picked the padlock on an iron gate, he directed her onto a side street lined with old, sagging oaks. Mario had pulled up to the curb only a few steps away, so soon they were inside and speeding down the street. Roman leaned forward and murmured instructions into Mario’s ear. The older man nodded, then headed downtown.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Somewhere busy. Somewhere we can blend in and not draw attention to ourselves.”
She nearly growled in frustration. “Who are you?”
“I’ll explain everything once we arrive.”
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She’d come looking for him to hear what he had to say for himself. Doubts about his veracity niggled at her, but when Roman turned to her, his gaze intense, his mouth moist, as if he’d just softened his lips with his tongue, as if he wanted nothing more than to kiss away the tension she knew emanated in fractious waves off her body, she knew he’d tell her the truth.
And that frightened her most of all.
