loved to travel and set off for distant lands, but avoided guns and thieves and con artists at all costs. Now she was thinking about becoming all of the above?
Unless, of course, the suave, sexy agent was Roman Brach. That might change her mind a bit.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Tremayne instructed. “I’m simply suggesting a nice vacation once your work is complete, and you can consider then whether you’d like to remain on our payroll. We understand that two friends of yours, Mario Capelli and Iris Rivera, are planning a trip to Puerto Rico. It’s reportedly a romantic getaway, but we thought, perhaps, you’d like to tag along. I doubt they’d mind.”
“You’ve spoken to them?”
Tremayne shrugged one shoulder. No, she wouldn’t have any way to speak to them. Mario wouldn’t trust this woman if she paid her full fare with a fifty-percent tip, cash up front. But Roman, he’d trust. With a hard swallow, she tamped down her hopes for a rendezvous with Roman. For now, she had a job to do.
“How much time do I have?”
“From the notes we retrieved, the scheduled broadcast is only a few days away.”
“What language will the message be in?”
Rachel had copied the signature but not the images. She had never seen them before.
“That’s where this agent comes in,” she said, gesturing to the man who’d entered behind her. “He’s an expert linguist and has studied the text of all the previous messages for nuance and syntax. He’ll tell you what to write.”
“How do the terrorists know when to look for the graphics?”
The pattern, Tremayne explained, hadn’t been so difficult for them to figure out, once they realized exactly what they were looking for. Rachel had a little over three days to work with Tremayne’s Arabic-speaking assistant and create the graphic that could possibly stop some unnamed and unexplained attack.
For now, Rachel would concentrate only on that goal. Only once she was successful would she allow herself to contemplate if she’d ever see Roman again-and if she did, what then?
YOU WOULD THINK AFTER saving the world, the CIA or the FBI or whatever agency she’d really been working for could have sprung for tickets on a plane that actually departed on time.
Realizing in her exhaustion that her wrist had slipped from holding up her head and ended her nap, Rachel shook consciousness into her body and reached for the caffeine-laden diet soda she’d balanced on her backpack. The warm, fizzy bubbles scraped down her throat, and once her vision cleared, she glanced down at her watch. The plane was now more than two hours late. A quick look around told her that Mario and Iris had once again left her for a stroll around the terminal. She couldn’t blame them. She wasn’t exactly delightful company, especially since the two of them had stars in their eyes only for each other.
In spite of her own foul mood, she grinned a little at the way Iris and Mario’s romance had developed. Mario had a reputation as a matchmaker. This time, however, her ill-fated affair with Roman had actually spurred Mario to make a move on Iris. About time, too, since he’d been sniffing after her for as long as Rachel could remember. She was happy for them.
And miserable for herself.
After yawning unattractively-something she realized only when a blond guy in a baseball cap leaning against a nearby wall chuckled and made brief eye contact-Rachel shifted in her seat. She rubbed her makeup-free face, combed her fingers through her hair and hoped she didn’t look as exhausted and cranky as she felt.
Once she’d turned over the new graphics to the Agency, she’d expected to hear from Roman. Perhaps even see him. How hard would it be to run into him in the Agency’s headquarters? But he’d not only made himself scarce, she’d also had no further dealings with Amelie Tremayne. None of the other agents seemed to know how to contact Roman, and this time Rachel didn’t feel like chasing him.
She’d done her bit as the hunter. Might be nice to be the prey again. Maybe she’d find someone new in Puerto Rico. Someone whose career didn’t interfere with pursuing a real life with real lovers and real relationships. Someone who would tell her his real name the first time they met. Someone who would be honest that their affair would last only a few hours or a few days, instead of playing her by her heartstrings. Not that Roman was guilty of all that, but the longer they remained separated, the worse his crimes and misdemeanors would become. It was the law of ex-lovers.
“Ms. Marlowe?”
Rachel looked up into the serious gaze of a rather official-looking airline employee. A woman. At least, Rachel was almost sure she was female. The gruff tone and boxy suit made it hard to tell.
“Yes?”
“Could you come with me, please?”
The
“Why?”
The employee curled a strand of her short hair around her ear, revealing a small earpiece like the ones worn by the agents Rachel had been working for all week.
“The delay will be minimal, I assure you. Please.” The woman gestured toward the hallway, and from the wide-eyed stares of her fellow passengers, Rachel was fairly certain her travel mates had pegged her as some sort of terrorist moll. Did terrorists even have molls?
She grabbed her backpack and laptop, glancing around for Mario and Iris, who were nowhere to be found. She hadn’t been around these Agency types much, but she figured the disappearance of her friends had been no accident. She had no idea why the Agency wanted her again-their business had been concluded. But this imposing woman’s attitude unnerved her and she had to fight the instinct to flee.
The people around her murmured and stared, but no one said anything. The blond guy in the baseball cap made a motion toward her, but then stopped before she could make eye contact again. Even as she walked away, she spun around to glance back at him, experiencing a vibe that denoted more than idle curiosity. But he had his back to her, with his cell phone glued to his ear.
False rescue alarm, she supposed. Probably best for both of them.
After a short walk down the terminal, the so-called airline official led her to an unmarked door. She slid a card key through the lock and pushed it open. Rachel walked through and the door was shut soundly behind her. The hallway was narrow and dark, with only weak fluorescent lighting lining the path to another door at the end. That revealed a staircase that conveniently only went down. Rachel ventured into what she imagined were the bowels of the airport. When she emerged, she saw only one door to the left. She took a deep breath and walked through, not entirely surprised to see Amelie Tremayne sitting comfortably in a well-appointed luxury suite sporting a full bar, several plush couches, a small conference table and fine art on the walls.
Rachel always wondered where celebrities hung out when they flew commercial. She figured this was it.
“Please, come in, Ms. Marlowe.”
Rachel paused with her hand on the doorknob.
“Do I have a choice?”
Tremayne smiled, and the effect was as sharp as steel. “Not if you plan on leaving the country in half an hour, no.”
“Technically,” Rachel said, closing the door behind her, “Puerto Rico is part of the United States. You’d think someone in your high-ranking position would know that.”
Tremayne toasted her with a highball glass filled with an amber liquid Rachel would bet big bucks was ginger ale. “I should be more specific. If you wish to leave the mainland, then I’ll need a few moments of your time.”
Rachel tossed her backpack on the nearest table. She really didn’t have much choice. But she’d already told the Agency where to shove their long-term job offer. She just wanted to get away.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Rachel said.
“What makes you think I’ll let you go in five minutes?”
Rachel sighed wearily. “Oh, you can keep me here as long you want. But any offer you make me after five minutes won’t be listened to with an open mind, so I suggest you start talking.”
“You’ve gotten much bolder than when Roman first reported on you.”
She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, hating the idea that he’d reported back to this woman about their interactions, but knowing that until very recently, their personal relationship had been a well-kept secret, even from this super-spy. Besides, the bitch was probably just jealous, anyway.
